Theater Streaming: Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherland Fight the Power in Vietnam-era Documentary F.T.A. (1972)

Over the past few years of intensifying chaos in our world, I’ve often thought about the interviews Donald Sutherland gave to promote The Hunger Games, the first film in a franchise for which he portrayed the insidious President Snow. It was 2014 and he hoped that the film’s message would inspire young people to become “more politically aware.” It wasn’t long that reality, rather than cinema, brought that shift. 

As can be seen in the newly-restored and long obscure documentary F.T.A. (1972) (meaning: Free the Army or occasionally another more profane 'F' word), Sutherland has long been in the fight himself, much like his costar Jane Fonda. The film documents how an anti-war musical, comedy and dramatic performance troop, a sort of antidote to the cheerfully oblivious USO shows, led by Sutherland and Fonda on a tour of the US and Pacific Rim bases, brought comfort to members of the military who opposed the Vietnam War. 

Until now, F.T.A. has been difficult to see. The film was taken out of release only a week after it was released. According to director Francine Parker, that was due to a call from the White House. 

The restoration includes a new introduction by Jane Fonda which helps to put the film in context. She explains that she was challenged by GIs to get involved in the anti-war movement and that she accepted because she saw a significant resistance to US involvement in Vietnam within the military.

It’s a remarkable film in the way it respects the goal of Fonda, Sutherland, and company to focus on the needs and voices of the military members who question the actions of their government and the local activists in the places where they are stationed. They often take a back seat to the voices around them, thought notably taking the heat whenever there is government resistance or a disruptive audience member. It was gratifying to see Okinawan folk artists singing their protest songs and the troop members taking the time to listen to the concerns of their military audience. 

Fonda is particularly adept at switching roles, from vigorous spokesperson to empathetic listener. She speaks with a confidence and authority that was and continues to be challenging for many to accept from a woman and that she’s kept her intensity fresh for so many decades is inspiring. Here you also get the rare chance to observe her taking in GI stories, asking questions, and carefully processing what she hears with compassion and intelligence. This is a wealthy star who could have lived in uncomplicated luxury and instead has risked her safety and reputation throughout her whole adult life to fight for a better world. 

While Sutherland is less prominent in the film, it is clear he was committed to playing a supportive role in the resistance and understood the power in showing up and providing a platform for the voices that needed it. He’s always quietly mesmerizing when he does have the spotlight, as when he recites a passage from Johnny Got His Gun, demonstrating a perfect intersection between his dedication to his craft and his desire for justice.

The troop is appealing in its diversity and enthusiasm (members included Holly Near, Paul Mooney, and Rita Martinson). Folk singer and civil rights activist Len Chandler is a stand-out both for his musical talent and invigorating revolutionary zeal. Chandler is a great example of the spirit of the troop, holding up lyrics for a nervous military performer, enthusiastically boosting sing-alongs, listening supportively to the concerns of young black men understandably resistant to invading another country when they are not supported at home, and reveling in the community feeling meant to make those who resist feel less frightened and alone. 

The film has an unusual effect today. It is very much of its time, with artists hollering folk tunes, shouting for the release of Angela Davis from prison, and flashing peace signs, but all of the issues the artists, military personnel, and locals discuss are as pressing today as they were then. In observing a sketch where a white doctor beholds a heavily pregnant black woman and questions her condition, it’s chilling to think how that kind of disbelief is still dangerously prevalent in the medical community and continues to endanger lives. 

While it's frustrating to realize how long people have been fighting for the same issues, it's encouraging to think of the tenacity of some of these life-long activists. If Jane Fonda is still going. If Donald Sutherland is still going. If Angela Davis is still going. Then we can keep it up too. F.T.A. reinforces the importance of compassion and community in that fight. 

F.T.A. is streaming virtually via Kino Marquee . 

Many thanks to Kino for providing access to the film for review.

All photos courtesy of Kino.

On Blu-ray: Real Life Marrieds Cary Grant and Betsy Drake in Room for One More (1952)

 

Based on the 1950 autobiography by Anna Perrott Rose, Room for One More (1952) is a charming and surprisingly edgy story about a family that fosters two troubled children. Starring the then-married Betsy Drake and Cary Grant, it’s an interesting mix of humor, drama, and ideas about parenting that are sometimes dated, but more often forward-thinking and bold. I recently enjoyed the film on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive. 

It’s amusing that Drake and Grant were actually husband and wife at the time of filming, because while they have great chemistry onscreen together, they appear so different. With her sensible hair and modest beauty, Drake looks like a middle class housewife. On the other hand, the tanned, sexy Grant, with his sleekly pomaded hair looks like a movie star. Of course, it is most important that they are believable as parents and both connect well with their movie brood (which includes the always delightful little-old-man-child George “Foghorn” Winslow). 

Drake is the steady half of the pair. She knows what it takes to keep her household happy and healthy. While it is an enormous, risky thing to add two struggling children to a family that already has three, she handles difficult situations with serenity and she does so by giving the kids the power to make their own happiness and security. 

Grant has his own moments of parenting brilliance. His is the final decision in bringing teenaged orphan Jane (Iris Mann) into the fold for good and he has an amusing discussion about the birds and the bees with a clueless Jimmy-John (Clifford Tatum Jr.). However, his primary job is to be the family doofus and he fills that role brilliantly, with double takes, physical humor, and an instinct for how to draw the most hilarity out of his interactions with a cast of children he seems to enjoy. 

The Rose house is a chaotic tumble of adorable children and animals, but there are a couple of things that keep the film from falling into sloppy sentimentality. One, Jane and Jimmy-John are deeply affected by the trauma they’ve experienced in their young lives and while the solutions to their anguish are occasionally a little too pat, they’re based in practical thinking. The other, more amusing element is that this family film is filled with references to Poppy’s extreme horniness in a setting where fulfilling the needs of five children is a 24-hour job. 

It’s an unusual film, somehow both sweet and brutal, and always attuned to the fact that we are at our best when we look out for each other. 

Special features on the disc include the classic cartoons Operation Rabbit and Feed the Kitty, and a theatrical trailer. 

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection .

Book Review: Shooting Midnight Cowboy

 

Shooting Midnight Cowboy: Art, Sex, Loneliness, Liberation, and The Making of a Dark Classic

Glenn Frankel

Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021

John Schlesinger was not in attendance at the 1970 Academy Awards ceremony when he won the best director Oscar for Midnight Cowboy (1969). He had his towering blonde star John Voight accept on his behalf, and asked the actor to highlight the contribution James Leo Herlihy’s source novel had made to the success of the film. For that reason I find it interesting that in writing about the making of the film, Glenn Frankel has also spotlighted Herlihy as the heart and soul of the project. 

Writers, whether of screenplays or novels are rarely given such prominent recognition in the making of a film, which makes it especially satisfying to see Herlihy’s central role in the film’s production history. It is also appropriate, because the wistfully drifting spirit which defines the film comes directly from the author and the way he processed the turbulent scene in late sixties New York. 

Before digging into the particulars of the production, Frankel sets the scene by using Herlihy’s story to reflect his own personal imprint on the novel and the dramatic change of the times he lived in. For a while I felt impatient to get into the production back story, but this background is essential to understanding the film and how it was made. That said I enjoyed the details of the production in the second half of the book so much more that I think these opening chapters could have been more effective if they were at least somewhat condensed. 

While Midnight Cowboy was a studio production, United Artists was a different kind of studio, and Schlesinger was able to make his movie with more of an independent eye. The book is at its best when it explores how that freedom allowed a feeling of creative, collaborative community during filming and in the creation of key elements such as the script, set, and costumes. A lot of the film’s authenticity is thanks to that liberty, like the fun of costume designer Ann Roth spotting a key piece in the backseat of a hustler’s car or the way Schlesinger was able to use unusual lighting and different kinds of cameras to achieve his vision. 

Frankel is also diligent in recording the stories of those made most vulnerable in the process. Often a production history will focus on the ravings of the director (Schlesinger had his moments) or the drama between the stars (in this case, Dustin Hoffman and Voight were strong collaborators). I appreciated that Frankel acknowledged less prominent stories like the emotional torment Schlesinger’s partner Michael Childers endured from the crew as his assistant and the trauma actress Jennifer Salt suffered in filming a graphic rape scene. He also acknowledges casting director Marion Dougherty’s essential role in the success of the film and the frustration she felt being overlooked for her contributions. 

I found this production history more satisfying than most, partly because of how Frankel acknowledges that exploring the times in which it was made is key to understanding this particular film, but also because he gets the complexity of filmmaking and the necessity of capturing small details that affect the whole. 

Many thanks to Farrar, Straus and Giroux for providing a copy of the book for review.

On Blu-ray--Laurel or Hardy: Early Solo Films of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy

 

Before Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy became one of cinema’s greatest comedy teams, they each had thriving solo careers in silent movies. Now a new release from Flicker Alley, Laurel or Hardy: Early Solo Films of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, brings thirty-five of these early films to Blu-ray, newly restored by the Library of Congress and Blackhawk Films and featuring fresh piano scores by some of the best accompanists in the business. 

Often billed as “Babe” Hardy, Oliver Hardy appeared in hundreds of films early in his career, both as star and bit player. Laurel made fewer films as a solo act, but was lead player in more of them than his future partner. 

Music hall veteran Laurel seems to have come to the movies with his screen persona essentially developed. His toothy grin, occasional fits of bawling with mouth wide open, playful impishness, and a general feeling of being resourceful, but also tossed about by the world all transferred to his partnership with Hardy. Aside from playing second banana to Larry Semon (whom he disliked) in Bears and Bad Men (1918), Laurel is the main attraction in the titles featured here. 

Hardy’s screen image was much more diverse in his early years. He shows himself to be the stronger actor of the two, with an ability to pivot from angry bully to soft Mama’s boy so smoothly that he sometimes seemed like different people from film to film. He often plays support to other players in his shorts here: Semon (again) and the Charlie Chaplin impersonator Billy West among them. His appearance is also quite different: Laurel never went heavy on the make-up, while Hardy often wore heavy eyebrows and a mustache, a look which dates his early films more than his eventual partner’s. 

The booklet included in the set is a helpful guide to the period and the films, adding important context about where each man was in his career at the time of filming and highlighting early concepts that were later revisited in the films the comedians made as a duo. 

Overall, the effect of the set is a bit stunning. When you think of what it must have taken to restore them, to see these films that are over a century old looking as sharp and clean as they do and accompanied with such loving care is miraculous . They’re important because of their place in film history, but they’re also a riot to watch and a testament to the timeless nature of great comedy. 

Many thanks to Flicker Alley for providing a copy of the disc set for review.

Vera West: Universal's Queen of Ghoul Glamour

 
My latest video is about the talented and tragic Universal Studios costume designer Vera West. She was one of the first women to head a costume department at a major studio. While she made her mark in a variety of genres, her most influential work was in horror, including some of the most famous Universal chillers. This is her story:

   

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Podcasts for Classic Film Fans: February Round-up

Before I start with this month’s recommendations, I want to briefly mourn the end of one of my favorite podcasts Switchblade Sisters. The last episode will drop on February 25. I’ve featured some of the more classic-leaning episodes of the show in my round-up before. I was always grateful for the thoughtful insights from host April Wolfe and her guests. I highly suggest listening to the archives of the podcast if you enjoy genre film. 

I also recommend this week's episode, featuring director Nora Unkel talking about The Bride of Frankenstein (1935).

I Saw What You Did

Mid-Century Modern S**tbox (Ganja & Hess/Losing Ground)

February 2, 2021

Bill Gunn. Kathleen Collins. Two filmmakers who would have set the world on fire if they were white. Gunn knew it and he spoke out about it. We can still appreciate their accomplishments. This episode is a great place to start. Such a gorgeous tribute. I'm grateful for this show.

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NPR: Pop Culture Happy Hour 

February 2, 2021 

Our Favorite Cicely Tyson Performances 

The always insightful Jourdain Searles talks about her favorite Cicely Tyson performances. This brief episode was just what I needed to process the passing of this prolific and profound actress. 

The Film Programme 

Leslie Caron 

January 31, 2021 

I had a huge grin on my face while listening to this interview with Leslie Caron. She speaks elegantly and affectionately about her career, including her time dancing with Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. I imagined her dressed in a Chanel suit, touching the rim of a teacup as she reminisced. Such class and intelligence.

On Blu-ray: High-Stepping Co-eds in Good News (1947)

 

The sparkling collegiate musical Good News (1947) is a good fit for the talents of leads June Allyson and Peter Lawford, though it is briskly stolen by Joan McCracken in a supporting role and featured player Mel Torme. The film looks and sounds great on a new Blu-ray release from Warner Archive which also offers a peek at the even peppier 1930 film version of the Broadway show.

Allyson stars as Connie, a serious student working multiple jobs to support herself at the swank Tait College in 1927. She tutors the self-absorbed football star Tommy (Peter Lawford) and they start a flirtation, though he’s still stuck on the snobby Pat (Patricia Marshall) who wants him for his massive inheritance. Amidst this drama there’s prom, further romantic maneuvering, and the requisite big football game. 

While Allyson was a bit long in the tooth to be playing a college student, she’s charming in the role. I’ll admit I’ve never enjoyed her eager-to-please vibe, but she’s sympathetic here and has great chemistry with Lawford. He makes his feather-light talents work despite clearly having no business being in a musical. 

While the pair is a pleasant match, it’s hard to accept Connie with a guy as selfish and insensitive as Tommy. You want to tell her to run away while she still can. 

In contrast to the gently appealing vibe of Allyson and Lawford’s scenes, supporting player Joan McCracken is like a box of firecrackers. Everything about her is brightly charismatic and exciting, but when she starts to dance she inspires ecstatic joy. The Broadway star didn’t make a lot of movies and it’s a shame, because somehow her stage style works brilliantly on the screen. In the opening of the film and especially leading the film’s centerpiece, the Pass That Peace Pipe production number, Cracken appears effortlessly precise and filled with the joy of performance. 

There are other pleasant songs and engaging dances in the film and Allyson and Lawford lead a delightfully engaging finale, but the Pass That Peace Pipe scene is a marvel that stands on its own. It’s an astonishing feat of precision, with dozens of dancers packed tight in a soda shop set, moving quickly and efficiently, with limbs flailing, all perfectly in-sync. The energy popping in that scene is heart-pounding. This is what makes Good News a true classic. 

I also felt a bit swoony every time featured player Mel Torme appeared onscreen. He doesn’t get nearly enough screen time. You get the impression he wasn’t much of an actor, but who cares with that voice? As it is, he makes the most of the time he gets the spotlight in Lucky in Love, strumming an ukulele, and demonstrating in his easygoing way why he was known as the “Velvet Fog.”

The disc special features are especially entertaining; there’s a couple of fantastic clips from the high-energy 1930 version of Good News (which used more of the songs from the stage version), a radio interview with June Allyson, the deleted musical number An Easier Way, and a theatrical trailer. There’s also a menu with links that go directly to the songs in the film.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.