Twelve movies

[One to four stars. Four sentences each. No spoilers. Sources: Criterion Channel, TCM, YouTube.]

Double Jeopardy (dir. R.G. Springsteen, 1955). The story begins with a hapless drunk (Robert Armstrong) and his two-timing wife (Gale Robbins), then shifts abruptly to the digs of a posh executive (John Litel), his daughter (Allison Hayes), and her fiancé, who is also the executive’s lawyer (Rod Cameron). A blackmail scheme links the two worlds. The most interesting thing about the movie: the near-look-alike couples on the two sides of the class divide, Hayes and Cameron, and Robbins and her used-car salesman boyfriend (Jack Kelly). ★★ (YT)

*

Cloudburst (dir. Francis Searle, 1951). John Graham (Robert Preston), a Canadian cryptographer working for British intelligence, seeks vengeance for his wife’s death in a hit-and-run accident. I liked the scenes of the code room, with men and women toiling away with primitive tools (paper and pencil). And I liked seeing Robert Preston (!) playing a character bent on killing those who have wronged him, whatever the consequences. And I liked the British emphasis on duty that, finally, takes over the story. ★★★★ (YT)

*

Deep Valley (dir. Jean Negulesco, 1947). Ida Lupino is Libby Saul, a young woman living with her estranged parents (Fay Bainter, Henry Hull) in rural isolation and poverty. Libby is damaged: she’s spoken with a stutter ever since she saw her father hit her mother, and there’s at least a hint that she’s been the target of someone’s unwelcome advances. Into Libby’s life comes an escaped convict (Dane Clark) — and love. A variation on High Sierra (which paired Lupino with Humphrey Bogart), with great performances by the two principals, beautiful contrasts of light and darkness by cinematographer Ted McCord, and a particularly bitter kind of tragedy in the ending. ★★★★ (YT)

*

Lizzie (dir. Hugo Haas, 1957). From a novel by Shirley Jackson, who, despite what you might read at IMDb, was not unhappy with the movie. Eleanor Parker is Elizabeth Richmond, a quiet, asocial museum employee receiving threatening notes signed “Lizzie.” Figuring out who Lizzie is requires the uncovering of what Elizabeth’s psychiatrist (Richard Boone) calls “multiple or disintegrated personalities” and the exploration of very dark territory in Elizabeth’s childhood. A brave film of modest proportions, released several months before The Three Faces of Eve, with great shots inside the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History, two songs by Johnny Mathis (huh?), and only occasionally appropriate comic relief from Joan Blondell as Elizabeth’s aunt and director Haas as a platonic pal next door. ★★★ (YT)

*

Knock on Any Door (dir. Nicholas Ray, 1949). “Live fast, die young, and have a good-looking corpse”: so says Nick Romano (John Derek), a young punk on trial for murdering a policeman, defended by a lawyer (Humphrey Bogart) who takes a special interest in his case, prosecuted by a vengeful DA (George Macready, with lighting and camera angles forever accenting the vicious scar on his right cheek). The courtroom histrionics go on too long, and the movie’s resolution is disappointing in its obviousness. Look for Jimmy Conlin (of a zillion movies), Sid Melton (The Danny Thomas Show), Allene Roberts (The Red House), Houseley Stevenson (Dark Passage), and in a nightspot, in the distance, at a piano, Dooley Wilson. ★★★ (CC)

*

The Case of the Howling Dog (dir. Alan Crosland, 1934). Perry Mason makes his screen debut as the head of large legal operation, with two switchboard operators, countless secretaries, and detectives and sous-lawyers galore. As Mason, Warren William is sharp, suave, and underhanded. His relationship with Della Street (Helen Trenholme) might be filed under F, for Friends with Benefits. Our household gave up on trying to follow the (bewildering) plot early on and enjoyed the clothes, the furniture, the presence of Mary Astor, and a wild scene in which a radio playing the song “Dames” is the background music for a murder. ★★ (TCM)

*

The Seventh Victim (dir. Mark Robson, 1943). Still one of the strangest movies I’ve ever seen. Two years after a first and only viewing, I was surprised by how many scenes I could anticipate. Perhaps the strangest one this time around: the noisy crowd of actors, still in costume, exiting a theater and making their way to a tavern. The eeriest: the abrupt, startling ending. ★★★★ (TCM)

*

Whirlpool (dir. Otto Preminger, 1950). The Laura overtones are strong — Gene Tierney’s presence, a portrait on a wall (though not of Tierney), a disembodied voice playing on a sound system at the movie’s end — but it’s a very different story, focusing on relationships between a scheming astrologer/hypnotist (José Ferrer) and his former and present clients (Barbara O’Neil, Tierney). Richard Conte is not entirely convincing as a psychoanalyst; Charles Bickford is entirely convincing as a police detective. ★★★★ (YT)

*

Backfire (dir. Vincent Sherman, 1950). A mysterious visitor (Viveca Lindfors) comes to a hospital to tell Bob Corey (Gordon MacRae), a WWII vet recovering from surgery, that his friend from the service, Steve Connolly (Edmond O’Brien), is in pain and peril. As Bob questions people to find out what happened to Steve and where he can be found, the movie moves from one flashback to another. And in present time, one person after another is being knocked off by a mysterious assailant. With Ed Begley, Dane Clark, Virginia Mayo, and other possibly familiar faces. ★★★ (TCM)

*

Craig’s Wife (dir. Dorothy Arzner, 1936). From a 1925 play by George Kelly. Rosalind Russell is Walter Craig’s wife Harriet, a woman intent on exercising panoptic control over her husband (John Boles) and her household servants (including Jane Darwell). A cold, terrifying picture of a marriage. Keep your eye on the vase. ★★★★ (YT)

*

Harriet Craig (dir. Vincent Sherman, 1950). Now with Joan Crawford and Wendell Corey as Harriet and Walter, in an even darker picture of a marriage. This time Ellen Corby is among the servants. Lucile Watson provides welcome relief as a party guest, cheating at cards and, later, telling an important truth. Hard question: to what extent, if any, do these movies invite an audience to feel compassion for Mrs. Craig? ★★★★ (YT)

*

The Garment Jungle (dir. Vincent Sherman, 1957). Overtones of On the Waterfront: a garment manufacturer (Lee J. Cobb) is determined to keep the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union out of his shop by any means necessary. His son (Kerwin Mathews), who comes back home after several years abroad and is forever a cipher, sees things differently. I was most struck by the performances of Robert Loggia as a pro-union worker, Gia Scala as his worried wife, and Richard Boone (from Lizzie) as what they used to call a legitimate businessman: “Everything for the Needle Trade.” ★★★★ (CC)

Related reading
All OCA movie posts (Pinboard)

Word of the day: furbish

Today’s Zippy has taught me that furbish is a word.

Makin’ whoop

Just wondering who thought it was a good idea to put something close to a millennial whoop in this Sensodyne commercial. That oughta get the kids’ attention!

Far more congenial than the whoop, for me: this recording of “Makin’ Whoopee” (Gus Kahn-Walter Donaldson), by Art Tatum, Lionel Hampton, and Buddy Rich (August 1, 1955). Stay with it.

*

Here’s a surprising example of a pre-millennial whoop. Thanks, Kevin.

[If what’s in the commercial is a pre-existing song, it’s one Shazam doesn’t recognize.]

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday  Saturday Stumper is by “Anna Stiga,” Stan Again, Stan Newman, the puzzle’s editor, using a pseudonym that signals an easier Stumper. This one was indeed easy. I hesitated with one square, where 44-A, seven letters, “Reality host with 10 Primetime Emmys” crossed the first letter of 45-D, three letters, “Alphabet-enders preceder.” I sang the alphabet song in my head — it was no help. I finally entered the letter I thought had to be right, and it was, and I couldn’t see why. And then I saw why.

Some clue-and-answer pairs I especially liked:

1-D, five letters, “Word from the Latin for ‘sweet.’” I learned something.

11-D, “Soap substitute brand.” The name brings back my adolescence. I had no idea that this product is still manufactured.

15-A, seven letters, “Have a Bath break.” Just because.

30-A, thirteen letters, “What Robert Louis Stevenson called wine.” It can be that.

35-D, six letters, “Half a Cocoon real-life couple.” I can think of only one real-life couple in Cocoon, with only one six-letter name between them. But the spelling of that name might be difficult for solvers who haven’t seen enough old movies.

38-A, three letters, “Home of the new TWA Hotel.” Spoiler links: everything old is new again.

39-D, five letters, “Dates, e.g.” Neat.

52-A, six letters, “Brewers once worked there.” I found the start of the answer cleverly misdirective.

My favorite clue in today’s puzzle: 20-D, nine letters, “It features Beetle Bailey’s sister.”

The answers are in the comments.

Recently updated

Sardines, a game Now with a little help from the OED.

Sardines, a game

From the Peppa Pig episode “Chloé’s Big Friends” (first aired November 22, 2010). Cousin Chloé’s friends Belinda Bear and Simon Squirrel don’t really want to play what they call “baby games.” They’re almost grownup! And they’ve already sneered at Hide and Seek.

Peppa: “Let’s play another game. Have you ever played Sardines?”

Belinda: “What’s that?”

Chloé: “Someone hides, and we all try to find them.”

Simon: “That sounds like Hide and Seek.”

Chloé: “But when you find them, you keep quiet and hide in the same space until everyone is hiding there.”

Peppa: “Like sardines in a tin!”

I’d never heard of it, but the Internets confirm that Sardines, the game, is a thing.

*

Later in the day: The Oxford English Dictionary has this definition: “A party game of hide-and-seek, in which each seeker joins the hider upon discovery until one seeker remains. Also sardines-in-the (also a)-box (U.S.).”

The dictionary’s first citation, from Mendell and Meynell’s Weekend Book, says that “Sardines is gaudier still” and goes on to explain the game. (Gaudier than what?) The next citation is more interesting: “‘Hide-and-go-seek’ or ‘sardines-in-the-box’ with all the house thrown open to the game.” From F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby (1925).

Also from Peppa Pig: Edmund Elephant is a clever clogs.

Related reading
All OCA sardine posts (Pinboard)

Two skies

Clifford B. Hicks, Alvin’s Secret Code (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1963).

The scudded in that passage has stuck in my head since I first read Alvin’s Secret Code in childhood. Here is another scudded, which I discovered much more recently:

Robert Musil, Young Törless. 1906. Trans. from the German by Mike Mitchell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).

Alas, the similarities between the two works end there.

[Are clouds the only things that scud? No. Thanks, Martha.]

Candy stores

New York City Candy Stores: A Look Back: a short narrative with photographs, at YouTube.

Revery: I remember Mary’s for cap guns, comic books, and water pistols. There was also at least one plastic bust of a composer (Beethoven?) for sale. Picholz’s had a full-fledged soda fountain and a long display of magazines. I think we bought Coke syrup there (for school-day stomach jitters). A third Brooklyn candy store, nameless to me, was a source for charlotte russe. A fourth, also nameless, was a source for pumpkin seeds.

Here, courtesy of the New York City Municipal Archives, is Picholz’s location, 4417 New Utrecht Avenue, circa 1939–1941, then a candy store owned by L. Stoppick. His name is on the awning. A great location, right by the stairs up to the El. Notice the bakery next door offering charolotte russe: 5¢.

[Click for a much larger store.]

L. Stoppick was at this location in 1922.

[The Retail Tobacconist, February 9, 1922.]

I suspect that “fine smoke shop” was a euphemism for “candy store.”

Since at least 2012, 4417 has been home to an Ecuadorian restaurant, Sol de Quito.

[The name Picholz was spoken, never written. I was guessing, but it turns out that I guessed correctly.]

Tinta Azul

I know that one is never supposed to buy wine for the label, especially not a label with a picture of a critter. But Tinta Azul I had to buy for its label. Look: tile work. And the name means “blue ink.”

Tinta Azul is a red blend from Portugal. It has a dark, inky color. But I’d describe the taste as “wet.” It’s nearly tasteless. But the label is just fine.

[My dad was a tile man, floors and walls: Leddy Ceramic Tile.]

A Robert Walser biography

Susan Bernofsky, Clairvoyant of the Small: The Life of Robert Walser. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2021. viii + 378 pages. $35.

Translator and, now, biographer Susan Bernofsky’s Clairvoyant of the Small is a brilliant account of Robert Walser’s life, deeply researched, and deeply respectful of its subject, recording Walser’s idiosyncrasies and strangenesses while never reducing him to a condition or attempting a diagnosis in retrospect. The writing is full of inventive turns of phrase along the way, as when Bernofsky describes the inveterate walker Walser’s frequent shifts of residence (she counts sixty-six known addresses between 1878 and 1929) as “a slow-motion real-estate version of walking.” Here is the gist of Walser’s work in one beautiful sentence: “The marginality he celebrates is that of secretly magnificent complexities hiding in plain sight all around us under the guise of the ordinary and small.” A clairvoyant of the small indeed.

For anyone curious about reading Walser in English, I recommend The Walk, from New Directions (Susan Bernofsky’s revision of Christopher Middleton’s translation).

Related reading
All OCA Walser posts (Pinboard)

[The phrase “clairvoyant of the small” comes from Jo Catling’s English translation of W.G. Sebald’s essay about Walser, “Le Promeneur Solitaire,” in A Place in the Country (New York: Modern Library, 2013). Catling gives Sebald’s German: “ein Hellseher im Kleinen,” which borrows from Walser’s “dafür ist es ihm vergönnt gewesen, in seiner kleinen hell zu sehen,” which Catling translates as “he has been granted the gift of farsightedness in his own small world.” Catling notes that “‘Hellsehen’ (‘seeing clearly’) has in German the additional meaning of clairvoyance.”]