June, 2007
Tributes and Posters and Hoppy, too!
If I take only one thing away from the American Film Institute’s Life Achievement Award ceremony for Al Pacino, it’s this: his first recollection of performing is doing an impression of Al Jolson singing “Sonny Boy” for his neighbors in the Bronx. I never would have linked the names of Pacino and Jolson before; now I’m not sure I can ever separate them in my mind!
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The Pacino evening, which will be broadcast (in edited form) on USA Network June 19, was a typically classy affair with well-selected film clips, testimonials from various friends and colleagues, and greetings from notables ranging from Sean Penn to last year’s recipient, Sean Connery.
Pacino seemed genuinely moved by the tribute. Even he is astounded by the Scarface phenomenon, and admitted that the idea began with him being amazed by Paul Muni’s performance in the original 1932 film. He then recalled how Francis Coppola fought for him to get the part of Michael Corleone in The Godfather and how it changed the course of his career, steering him toward movie stardom and away from the life he originally sought in the theater. Yet, unlike other stars who’ve been lured by Hollywood, Pacino has never forsaken the stage, nor has he given up on his pet film projects. (20th Century Fox Home Entertainment is releasing a boxed set of his highly individual, even eccentric, films: Looking for Richard, Chinese Coffee, and The Local Stigmatic.)
When I interviewed him briefly before the ceremony, I asked if the AFI had to twist his arm to agree to be feted this way, and he replied, without hesitation, “No,” adding, “How’s that for an honest answer?”
(For additional photos of the AFI event - and other recent happenings - visit the Photos page.)
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During an all-too-brief trip to New York City a few weeks ago I had exactly one hour free, and decided to seize the opportunity to check out a new installation at the Museum of Modern Art curated by my old friend Ron Magliozzi. It’s called Sensation and Sentiment, and it’s a remarkable display of mostly oversized posters from around the world for films made from 1912-1914. With equal parts zeal and scholarly intent, Ron has provided historical perspective for these posters, using vintage photographs and captions to show how such bold, colorful images were used to attract audiences in the earliest days of moving pictures. There is hardly any text on these posters: it’s the visuals that matter. (Some of them are signed, in the fashion of art posters, but many are not.)
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Later this summer the Museum will screen a number of these pictures, which survive because they were assembled and maintained along with the posters by a collector many years ago.
I can’t say enough about this impressive display, and the images I’m able to reproduce here can’t begin to do justice to the impact they have when they are seen in person. Some take up an entire wall all by themselves! If you’re in Manhattan during the next few months, make sure you stop by the Museum and give yourself time to take in this extraordinary experience.
(While we're on the subject of poster art, be sure to read the review of an exceptional new book on our Picks page.)
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Film buffs are eternal optimists, always hoping that someone, somewhere, will venture into a garage, an attic, a basement or a shed and find a long-lost movie. The fact that this kind of miracle continues to occur in the 21st century only fuels that hope.
Most recently, archivist Scott MacQueen, who’s made his fair share of discoveries over the years, turned up a shot from the 1930 Warner Bros. movie The Gorilla in the Petrified Films outtake collection that belongs to Getty Images.
There is a subset of film buffs with a tremendous fondness for all things gorilla—especially guys in gorilla suits, like the immortal Charlie Gemora, who probably worked on this movie—so excitement is high-pitched about this latest discovery. Once MacQueen located the first clip, Getty researcher John Leifert found two more! They’re brief but fascinating.
(Is there a possibility this “scare comedy” is any good? I rather doubt it. In 1930, Photoplay magazine opined, “A goodish enough thriller—but it’s been dolefully slowed down for the screen. [Joe] Frisco, Broadway funnyman, is less funny than usual.” But that seems to be par for the course for recent discoveries.)
You can track the whole story, watch the silent footage, and share in the followup at this link.
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Longtime movie buff and comic art collector/dealer/publisher Russ Cochran is preparing the ultimate book about Hopalong Cassidy, to be called Hopalong Cassidy: An American Legend. Michael Cochran has been working closely with William Boyd’s indomitable widow Grace Bradley Boyd on the text. Gemstone Publishing will be printing a limited edition of one thousand copies, bound in leather. I can hardly wait!
At present, Cochran is attempting to round up as many vintage snapshots of kids dressed in Hoppy regalia as possible. He already has one of a young Bill Clinton, believe it or not!
If you have, or know of, such photos, please visit his website www.russcochran.com, click on the contact link and contribute to what promises to be a fantastic book.
Incidentally, if you don’t already know, after years of lobbying by Hoppy fans, the United States Postal Service has announced that there will be a Hopalong Cassidy stamp in 2008. Good news indeed.
(Unless I dreamt this, I actually shook William Boyd’s hand when he rode his white horse Topper in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade some time in the 1950s. Come to think of it, why should I doubt that memory? “Print the legend...” right?)
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Every time I watch an old movie—especially a cartoon or a comedy short—I’m reminded of the fact that as I was growing up, soaking in all of this material from the 1920s and 30s, I became aware of things I had never encountered in real life. Cactus, for instance. How many times did I see sight gags in which characters landed, fanny-first, in a bed of cacti. But what did I know of cactus in the suburbs of New Jersey?
Eventually, I saw cactus for real when I moved to the West coast, but there are many other slapstick staples that haven’t passed before my eyes.
For instance, alum. The dictionary says it’s a substance used in dyeing, and I believe it has some use in food preparation, as well. But I’ll be darned if I know what it really is, except that it shrinks and shrivels things like people’s lips. For proof, see what happens to the pompous opera singer named Leopold when Bugs Bunny gives him liquid alum in Chuck Jones’ cartoon Long-Haired Hare.
I’ve never seen a steam-cabinet, intended to sweat excess weight off a person’s body, except in Our Gang films and other two-reel comedies of yore.
Fly paper... an asbestos curtain... limburger cheese. What would gag-men have done for ideas without these staples of everyday life? There are stereotypical characters, too, like nosy landladies, who propelled more plotlines than you can shake a stick at (if you’re in the mood to shake a stick).
I’m sure I’m forgetting many other examples. I invite you to send yours in, and we’ll continue this trip down memory lane next time.
