His name in the credits is as synonymous with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer as hearing Leo the Lion roar before a film. Douglas Shearer was MGM’s head sound designer and recording director. By some, Douglas Shearer could simply be reduced to the brother of actress Norma Shearer. He moved to Los Angeles from Canada to join his mother and two sisters (after not seeing them for four years). Norma became not only one of MGM’s movie queens but one of the biggest global stars of the 1930s.

The transition from silent to talking pictures was an uncertain time in Hollywood. Shearer, an engineer by trade, muscled his way in and with his significant inventions, transformed talking pictures and filmmaking. “During his more than 40 years with MGM, he contributed more than any other man in Hollywood to the perfection of motion picture sound,” said writer and filmmaker, Ephraim Katz. But Douglas paved his own way and was conscious of the implications of nepotism. He went so far as living by himself away from his family, making a point that he was not connected to Norma. He didn’t need Norma’s star power, though it probably didn’t hurt in making initial connections.

Shearer’s first job in Hollywood was in the prop room, where he called himself “assistant animal guy,” as he wrangled several pigeons, cows, chickens and pigs, according to film historian Gavin Lambert. While working with the livestock, it was the discussion of sound that peaked Shearer’s interest. He pitched an experiment to MGM of adding sound to a film trailer, and in turn, was given a job in special effects at MGM. “I had enough background in industrial plants and mechanicals so that I thought the competition wouldn’t be too tough,” Lambert quotes Shearer.

By 1928, Shearer was the head of MGM’s sound department — a position he held for 40 years. “Overnight, I was the one-man sound department,” Lambert quotes Shearer. MGM was the last major studio to make the conversion to sound, and they relied heavily on Shearer. He visited Bell Laboratories in New Jersey to study the latest equipment and hired a team.

With “more stars than there are in heaven,” MGM’s look was important, but so was its sound. “Douglas gave it a clarity and spaciousness unequalled at the time,” Lambert wrote. But Shearer didn’t just learn how to produce sound in the early days, he had to eliminate extraneous sounds. The cameras of the late-1920s were loud, so his team developed a quieter camera. He also faced issues of microphone placement, which was solved by creating a moving microphone on the boom to move with the actors, according to film historian Charles Foster.

Shearer created other innovations that became industry standards and landmarks, such as:

• The first lion’s roar that was heard behind the MGM logo.
• Shearer suggested synchronized singing with already recorded music for THE BROADWAY MELODY (’29), which became standard procedure with the playback system.
• He electronically created Tarzan’s famous yell.
• Shearer was able to “retouch” singing. For example, he would adjust the soundtrack frame by frame if a singer like Jeanette MacDonald went flat in the high-note range.

With a total of 14 Academy Awards, Shearer was awarded seven competitive awards from 1930 to 1958, ranging from Best Sound, Recording to Best Special Effect and seven others for technical and scientific achievements. He received the award for Best Sound the first year it was introduced for the film THE BIG HOUSE (’30).

Always innovative, Shearer’s projects took him outside of sound as well. He developed an improved system of color process photography. He also worked on the 65mm big screen look for BEN-HUR (’59).

During World War II, he took a hiatus from films to help the government. Shearer helped with the research and development of radar and devices that determine when and where nuclear explosions take place, according to his New York Times 1971 obituary. When President Roosevelt offered Shearer a civilian award for his work, this was one accolade he declined. “I didn’t do it for the personal glory,” Shearer told Roosevelt. “I did it to help save lives and get the war over and done with.”

Though Shearer is considered by many one of the most influential figures of Hollywood history, it’s those in front of the camera, like his sister Norma, that are better remembered today. In a 1963 interview, actor Spencer Tracy noted that Shearer was the only person he knew to have a plethora of Academy Awards and to never be seen on screen. “He has made many stars by his achievements … I wonder where I would have been today if it wasn’t for the genius of this man,” Tracy said. “He is a star himself, but he will never admit it.”

It can feel a little awkward when a child is told they did a better job at work than an adult. That was the case with the Academy Awards at least. At 9 years old, Jackie Cooper was the first child nominated for a Best Actor at the 4th Annual Academy Awards. Nominated for SKIPPY (’31), Cooper was competing against Richard Dix, Fredric March, Adolphe Menjou and Lionel Barrymore. It was Barrymore who took home the award that night for his performance in A FREE SOUL (‘31).

Three years later, 6-year-old Shirley Temple looked like a serious contender for a Best Actress nomination at the 7th Academy Awards. This same year, there was heartburn that Bette Davis hadn’t received an official nomination for OF HUMAN BONDAGE (’34). As a compromise, Temple’s autobiography notes that a special Juvenile Academy Award was created, “In grateful recognition of her outstanding contribution to screen entertainment during the year 1934.” Claudette Colbert took home the Best Actress award that year for IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT.

The juvenile statue awarded to the young actors was half the size of the regular Academy Award; standing about seven inches tall. Temple was the first to receive an award that was presented 10 times to 12 honorees over the next 26 years. The juveniles ranged in ages 6 to 18.

Shirley Temple, 1934 at the 7th Annual Academy Awards

As Temple sat bored at the Academy Awards, she was surprised to hear her name announced during the ceremony. Host and humorist Irvin S. Cobb called her “one giant among the troupers.” As she grabbed her miniature-sized award, she asked, “Mommy may we go home now?” according to her autobiography. “You all aren’t old enough to know what all this is about,” Cobb told Temple. Shirley’s mother told her that she received the award for “quantity, not quality,” because Temple starred in seven films in 1934.

In 1985, Temple received a full-sized award, as she felt the juvenile actors deserved a regulation-sized award like everyone else, according to Claude Jarman, Jr.’s autobiography.

Mickey Rooney and Deanna Durbin, 1938 at the 11th Annual Academy Awards:

The second time the special award was presented was to two juvenile actors: Mickey Rooney, 18, and Deanna Durbin, 17. They received the award for “their significant contribution in bringing to the screen the spirit and personification of youth and as juvenile players setting a high standard of ability and achievement.”

“Whatever that meant,” Rooney commented in his autobiography on the award.

This was Durbin’s only recognition from the Academy. The following year, Rooney received his first adult nomination for BABES IN ARMS (’39). In total, he received four other competitive awards as an adult, and received one Honorary Award in 1983 in recognition of “50 years of versatility in a variety of memorable film performances.”

Judy Garland, 1939 at the 12th Annual Academy Awards:

Judy Garland, 17, was presented her Juvenile Academy Award by her frequent co-star Mickey Rooney. Garland received her award for “her outstanding performance as a screen juvenile during the past year” for her performances in BABES IN ARMS (’39) and THE WIZARD OF OZ (’39). Garland wouldn’t be recognized with a nomination by the Academy again until her 1954 performance in A STAR IS BORN. Garland reported losing the Juvenile Award in 1958, and it was replaced by the Academy at her own expense.

Margaret O’Brien, 1944 at the 17th Annual Academy Awards

Margaret O’Brien, 7, received the Juvenile Academy Award “for outstanding child actress of 1944” for the film MEET ME IN ST. LOUIS (’44). When Margaret O’Brien received her Oscar, she said she wasn’t really that interested in it at the time. “I was more excited about seeing Bob Hope. I was more interested in meeting him than the Oscar that night,” she said, quoted by her biographer.

In 1958, O’Brien’s award was lost. Her housekeeper, Gladys, took the Juvenile Academy Award home to polish and didn’t return. A short time after, Gladys was put in the hospital for a heart condition and the award was forgotten. When Margaret reached out later about the award, the maid had moved, according to her biographer.

Nearly 40 years later, two baseball memorabilia collectors — Steve Meimand and Mark Nash— returned the award to O’Brien in 1995. The men had bought it at a swap meet in Pasadena, according to a Feb. 9, 1995, news brief in the Lodi New-Sentinel. “I never thought it would be returned,” she said in 1995. “I had looked for it for so many years in the same type of places where it was found.” In 2001, O’Brien donated her Oscar to the Sacramento AIDS Foundation.

Peggy Ann Garner, 1945 at the 18th Annual Academy Awards

After appearing in films since 1938, Peggy Ann Garner’s breakout role was in the film adaptation of A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN (’45). That year at the Academy Awards, 14-year-old Garner was recognized with the Juvenile Award “for the outstanding child actress of 1945.” It was an unexpected honor for Garner, who was confused why she was asked to sit in an aisle seat. She thought it was a mistake when her name was announced, according to Dickie Moore’s book on child actors.

Claude Jarman Jr., 1946 at the 19th Annual Academy Awards

Claude Jarman Jr. was plucked from his home in Knoxville, Tenn. and thrust into stardom when director Clarence Brown selected him for the lead role in THE YEARLING (’46). Jarman wrote in his autobiography that he gave a brief speech saying it was a thrilling moment and “This is about the most exciting thing that can happen to anybody.” However, later admitted that at age 12 the significance of the award escaped him. Following Shirley Temple’s example, Jarman also later received a full-sized Academy Award.

Ivan Jandl, 1948 at the 21st Annual Academy Awards

Ivan Jandl received the Juvenile Academy Award in his only American film, making him the first Czech actor to receive an Academy Award. At age 12, Jandl was recognized for his “outstanding juvenile performance of 1948 in THE SEARCH (’48).” The film was one of only five films Jandl starred in. Jandl was not permitted by the Czechoslovakia government to travel to the United States to accept his award, which was accepted on his behalf by Fred Zinnemann, who directed THE SEARCH.

Bobby Driscoll, 1949 at the 22nd Annual Academy Awards

Bobby Driscoll received the award for “the outstanding juvenile actor of 1949” after appearing in the film-noir THE WINDOW (’49), as well as his performance in the Disney film SO DEAR TO MY HEART (’48). “I’ve never been so thrilled in my life,” 13-year-old Driscoll said when he accepted the award.

Jon Whiteley and Vincent Winter, 1954 at the 27th Annual Academy Awards

Scottish actors Jon Whiteley, 10, and Vincent Winter, 7, co-starred as brothers in THE LITTLE KIDNAPPERS (’53). The co-stars were awarded for their “outstanding juvenile performances in The Little Kidnappers.” Whiteley’s parents wouldn’t let him attend the award’s ceremony, so it was mailed to him. “I remember when it arrived, hearing it was supposed to be something special, I opened the box and I was very disappointed. I thought it was an ugly statue,” Whiteley said in a 2014 interview.

Vincent Winter was also not present for the award, so Tommy Rettig accepted the award on behalf of both actors.

Hayley Mills, 1960 at the 33rd Annual Academy Awards

The last Juvenile Academy Award was award to Hayley Mills, 14, in 1960 for her role in POLLYANNA (’60). The award was presented by the first winner of the Juvenile Award, Shirley Temple. Mills was unable to attend, and it was accepted on her behalf by fellow Disney star Annette Funicello.

In a 2018 interview, Mills said she didn’t know she had received it until it arrived at her home. Mills was in boarding school in England at the time of the ceremony. “I didn’t know anything about it until it turned up. Like, ‘Oh, that’s sweet. What’s that?’ I was told, ‘Well, this is a very special award,’ but it was quite a few years before I began to appreciate what I had,” she said in a 2018 interview.

The Aftermath

Throughout the tenure of the honorary Juvenile Academy Award, other children were still occasionally nominated, including Bonita Granville, 14, for THESE THREE (’36); Brandon de Wilde, 11, for SHANE (’53); Sal Mineo, 17, for REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (’55) and Patty McCormack, 11, for THE BAD SEED (’56).

Once Patty Duke, 16, won the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Supporting Role in 1963 for THE MIRACLE WORKER (’62), the honor was discontinued. Following Duke, Tatum O’Neal, 11, received the award for Best Supporting Actress for PAPER MOON (’73).

In recent years, there has been discussion about bringing the award back. In a 2017 Hollywood Reporter article, the argument was made that after the discontinuation of the award, fewer children have been recognized by the Academy. The performance of Sunny Pawar in LION (2016) wasn’t nominated, which was viewed as a snub, according to a 2017 Hollywood Reporter article. Other children haven been nominated in major categories, like Quvenzhane Wallis for BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD (2012), which to date makes her the youngest nominee for Best Actress in a Leading Role, and Jacob Tremblay in ROOM (2015). But the last time a child has won a competitive award was Anna Paquin for THE PIANO (1993).

Being a child star may sound like a dream come true. But when Jackie Cooper became an adult, he quickly saw everything that he missed out on. “I don’t think our success as child actors is ever an advantage. It’s actually against us,” Cooper said in an interview. Starting out as an actor at age 7 in 1929, Jackie Cooper was a star by 1931 after the release of SKIPPY (’31). SKIPPY not only solidified Cooper as a star, but also proved he could tug at heartstrings when he turned on the tears. The role earned him an Oscar nomination and the distinction of being the youngest actor to do so until 1979.

 With blonde hair, chubby cheeks and a pout, Cooper was dubbed “America’s Boy.” And though his characters seemed like the all-American child of the 1930s, Cooper’s home life was anything but. When he was two years old, his father John Cooper went out for a pack of cigarettes and never returned home. His mother Mabel became the financial supporter, traveling as an entertainer, while Cooper’s grandmother, Nonnie, took care of him. Cooper was not fond of Nonnie, according to his autobiography, but she is the reason he began acting. Because they were poor and Mabel was the only source of income, Nonnie and Cooper would seek work as movie extras — receiving $2 and a boxed lunch per day.

 When Cooper became a successful child actor, money was no longer an issue at home. But he was under tremendous pressure. “The pressure to get the scene right, to learn the words, to act this way or that way, to smile or cry or look scared for the cameraman, to do a nice interview. The responsibility to work correctly for the director who tells you that if you don’t do a good job, he may get fired and he has three little babies at home who need to be fed,” Cooper wrote in his autobiography. He was often told to “be nice” and when Nonnie was on set, she held over him that his mother was ill. However, as a child, Cooper thought he was happy. It was as an adult that he described himself as a “child who grows up empty and doesn’t realize it until it’s too late.”

“Later people tried to rationalize to me that I had gained more than I had lost by being a child star … But no amount of rationalization, no excuses, can make up for what a kid loses — what I lost — when a normal childhood is abandoned for an early movie career,” Cooper wrote.

Cooper also didn’t have basic life skills, which he soon realized after Mabel died when he was 19. While he had money and career experience, he had no friends, didn’t receive an adequate education and had trouble reading as an adult because he wasn’t properly trained. But most of all, Cooper was given no advice on money or finances. “Child stars aren’t taught anything about money, and that is one of the unsung tragedies of the child star trade,” Cooper wrote in his autobiography. As a child, Cooper was given an allowance by his mother, and after Mabel died, Cooper’s uncle, director Norman Taurog, handled Cooper’s finances — even after he was married and while he fought in World War II. Cooper was given a checkbook and never knew the balance of his account.

Cooper said the war made him grow up, and he credited his last wife, Barbara, for giving him life experiences he never had before he met her. As an adult, Cooper continued to act and also direct. Because of his own experiences, Cooper didn’t like to work with children.  “They should be roughhousing,” he said. “They should not be made to drain themselves.”

Hollywood and its celebrities have influenced fashion and beauty trends since its inception. In 2017, Kim Kardashian popularized contouring face foundation, adding an extra step in routine application of makeup. Hairstylists across the United States in the 1990s mimicked Jennifer Aniston’s layered Friends haircut, and in the 1940s, Veronica Lake’s peekaboo bangs caused concerns about the dangers of women’s hairstyles in wartime factories.

One fashion and beauty influencer from the 1930s through the 1950s was one of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer’s top stars: Lana Turner. From her early days as a pin-up girl to her peak of top glamour, Turner influenced beauty trends internationally. The trends of some of Turner’s contemporaries faded as times changed. Dorothy Lamour’s sarong went out of style and Lake’s one-eye-covered hairstyle was no longer in vogue as shorter haircuts of the 1950s became popular. But Turner evolved with her audiences.

In the late 1930s, audiences were introduced to her as a teen actress. By the 1940s, she was a bona fide star and a top World War II pin-up. In the 1950s, she became every inch the star — a sophisticated glamour queen. Throughout her career, her looks changed from red hair to long blonde tresses, to occasionally brunette. Swathed in Hollywood designs, furs and jewels, Turner influenced a number of trends throughout her film career.

Every Inch the Star

It’s no wonder that Turner was influential on pop culture of the past and the present. Nicknamed “The headline girl,” Turner dominated the news – from her eight marriages and divorces and the murder of her boyfriend. She was also nicknamed “The Queen of the Night Clubs.” Whether it was Ciro’s, the Mocambo, the Cocoanut Grove or The Trocadero, Turner was a fixture of Hollywood nightlife. Her daughter and biographer Cheryl Crane wrote that when Turner made an entrance into a nightclub, bandleaders would start playing “You Stepped Out of a Dream” from ZIEGFELD GIRL (’41) and a hush would fall over the crowd.

The MGM commissary even named a dish after their top star: The Lanallure Salad. In addition to all of this, she proved to also be a great actress with performances in THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE (‘46) and THE BAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL (‘52). Turner may have only stood 5’3”, but every inch of her was a star.

The Sweater Girl

Starting with her first movie, Turner was already setting trends and turning heads. In THEY WON’T FORGET (‘37), Turner’s character walks down the street in a form-fitting sweater — a sight audiences didn’t forget. This scene caused Lana Turner to be nicknamed “The Sweater Girl.” At 16 years old, Turner and her mother weren’t thrilled with the nickname. Turner was embarrassed and at one point said she was ashamed to face people. But it also influenced a trend of tight sweaters that emphasized the bust size.

“I believe it is no exaggeration to say that I have done more for the sweater than the sheep, the silkworm, or the Yale football team,” she said. The Sweater Girl trend continued throughout the 1940s and into the 1950s, with almost every major female star photographed in a tight sweater. In a December 16, 1949 article in The Pittsburgh Press, Harvey J. Scott is quoted as saying, “But our real problem is with bobbysoxers. They are the sweater girls — just kids showing off their curves and apparently liking it. What kind of mothers and wives are they going to be?”

Global Influence

It wasn’t just American audiences who were fascinated with Turner’s glamour — her influence reached globally. Eva Perón (known as Evita) was the wife of Argentine President Juan Perón and she was First Lady of Argentina from 1946 until her death in 1952. Perón was known for her high-fashion wardrobe, which highlighted her rags-to-riches background. Perón was heavily influenced by Hollywood, especially when she wore her hair blonde.

During a visit to Argentina in February 1946, Lana Turner’s jewelry was seized by customs, which held her up for hours. “She learned that every piece was photographed to be copied later,” Crane wrote. While at a party during her visit, Turner felt Perón watching her the whole time. Perón was said to have copied fashions and hairstyles unique to Lana Turner. When Patti LuPone played Evita on Broadway, Turner met her backstage and shared this story with her as well, according to LuPone’s autobiography.

Another admirer was Spanish artist Salvador Dali. Turner was in Carmel at the same time as Dali, who she met over cocktails. Dali wanted to paint Turner but only wanted to paint the corners of her eyes. “You have the most beautiful corners of your eyes I have ever seen,” he said. Turner refused the offer for the painting.

Still Influential

Even though Lana Turner died in 1995, her legacy and influence lives on. In her 1990 song “Vogue,” Madonna lists Turner as one of the many other classic stars with style and grace. That same year, author James Ellroy worked Lana Turner into his neo-noir novel L.A. Confidential. Turner’s character is also mentioned in the 1997 film version and portrayed by Brenda Bakke. Singer Elizabeth Grant took on the stage name Lana Del Rey, influenced by Turner. The popular singer/songwriter was inspired by Turner’s first name and “Del Rey” came from the Ford Del Rey sedan. Releasing an album in March 2021, Del Rey’s style and moody musical sound is heavily influenced by vintage style and Los Angeles imagery.

“There’ll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago,” goes the song “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” released in 1963. That Christmas song’s lyric may have left you scratching your head each time you hear it. Written by Edward Pola and George Wyle, the song looks back at old holiday traditions. Ghosts, goblins and creepy murderous tales are strictly relegated to Halloween, right? That’s how it stands today, at least. But in the Victorian era, telling ghost stories was part of the Christmas tradition.

The death and rebirth of a new year during the Winter Solstice seemed like an appropriate time for telling ghost stories. “Whenever five or six English-speaking people meet round a fire on Christmas Eve, they start telling each other ghost stories,” wrote author and humorist Jerome K. Jerome in Told After Supper (1891). “Nothing satisfies us on Christmas Eve but to hear each other tell authentic anecdotes about specters. It is a genial, festive season, and we love to muse upon graves, and dead bodies, and murders, and blood.”

Even while we don’t tell ghost stories today at Christmas, one ghost story is still one of the most beloved Christmas tales, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. But even when it was published in 1843, it was not the first, or last, paranormal story told about Christmas. While the tradition of sharing Christmas ghost stories died long before the dawn of film, it still found its way onto the screen:

A CHRISTMAS CAROL (’38 and ‘51) 

Ebenezer Scrooge is a bitter and mean old man who has no patience for humanity or happiness. On Christmas Eve, a series of ghosts visit Scrooge and take him on a journey of self-exploration. Scrooge revisits his past, present and future and is warned to change his ways before it’s too late.

Since first appearing in a short film in 1901, A CHRISTMAS CAROL has been retold on film and television numerous times for over 100 years. The story has even been retold by The Muppets and Mickey Mouse for family-friendly audiences. It has also been modernized into various time periods, with Scrooge-like characters portrayed by Bill Murray, Henry Winkler, Cicely Tyson, Matthew McConaughey, Vanessa Williams and Susan Lucci.

But there are still several, more faithful retellings of the Dickens novel, including the 1938 version, starring Reginald Owen, and the 1951 version, starring Alastair Sim as the main character.

Released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the 1938 version has a lighter and more joyful vibe. Owen’s Scrooge is more of a grump rather than entirely mean-spirited. He is almost immediately remorseful and says he loves Christmas while he’s with the Ghost of Christmas Present. Gene Lockhart plays Bob Cratchit as a cheerful man, despite having to work for a tyrannical boss. The 1951 version, made in England and released by Renown Pictures Corporation, is a darker telling of the Dickens story. Alastair Sim’s Scrooge is more brutish, cruel and dismissive to Bob Cratchit, played by Mervyn Johns. Johns plays Cratchit as a meeker and more browbeaten character.

Regardless of the films’ differences, the message of both versions is the same. The ghosts in A CHRISTMAS CAROL aren’t meant to frighten the audience but to encourage self-reflection. Scrooge isn’t just haunted by Jacob Marley and the three ghosts; memories of his past haunt him — that’s why he’s so bitter.

BEYOND TOMORROW (’40) 

On Christmas Eve, we meet three elderly businessmen: George Melton (Harry Carey), Allan Chadwick (C. Aubrey Smith) and Michael O’Brien (Charles Winninger). The three men live together and are old friends, but they all have very different pasts. George is a man of little faith and is business-focused with a dark past. Distinguished Allan has a military background and lost his only son in World War I. Michael is the most whimsical of the three.

On Christmas Eve, Michael has the idea that they throw three wallets out into the street to see if an honest person returns them. A young man and woman, Jean Lawrence (Jean Parker) and James Houston (Richard Carlson), return the wallets. Neither having a family to go to that night, they join the gentlemen — all becoming fast friends by the end of the night. As Jean and James fall in love, they become close friends with the three men. Tragedy strikes when all three men are killed in a plane crash, leaving money to the couple so they can marry. However, with the new wealth and publicity, James becomes a singing radio star, forgetting about Jean in favor of another woman. The three men’s ghosts try to guide James away from the other woman and encourage Jean to fight for her love.

In this story, the past lives of the three men don’t affect them in life, but in death. Carey’s character, George, is sort of like Scrooge. It’s hinted that he has a dark past, which may involve another woman and murder. Also, in his old age, anything but money is foolish to him. In death, George’s friends warn him that all he has to do is feel sorry for his past, but George has no regrets, even if it means going “to the dark place.”

In contrast, the other two characters are rewarded in death. Smith’s character gets to see his son again, who comes to fetch him. His son tells him that heaven is anything he wants it to be. Charles Winninger’s character is reluctant to leave his friends on Earth because he wants to continue to help them. But before leaving for heaven, he is able to. Even in death, the ghosts have to do good deeds not only to help their friends who are still living but to allow them to rest in the great beyond.

While we may not still tell ghost stories around the fire, the holiday season closes another year, allowing us to reflect on past memories. Some memories may be good, and others may haunt us in a way. However, 2020 may haunt us forever.

His name is synonymous with staccato violin notes that remind audiences of knife stabbing and have made many reluctant to take a shower. Composer Bernard Herrmann is the master behind iconic scores for films like THE DEVIL AND DANIEL WEBSTER (’41) and PSYCHO (’60). The Academy Award-winning composer scored the two films that are often argued to be the best of all-time: CITIZEN KANE (’41) and VERTIGO (’58). His work continues to be reused in pop culture, from his whistling TWISTED NERVE (’68) theme used in Quentin Tarantino’s KILL BILL: VOLUME 1 (2003) to Lady Gaga using part of VERTIGO’s prelude in her “Born This Way” music video.

Known best for his collaborations with directors Alfred Hitchcock and Orson Welles, other works of Herrmann’s often go overlooked. Below are a few of his scores that are less often discussed.

JANE EYRE (’43)

In this adaptation of Charlotte Brontë’s novel, Jane Eyre (Joan Fontaine), who is hired by the wealthy Edward Rochester (Orson Welles), works as the governess for Rochester’s daughter which leads to her discovering secrets in the house. “On a project like ‘Jane Eyre,’ I didn’t need to see the film beforehand. One just remembers the book,” Herrmann said in a 1975 interview, discussing this film’s score.

JANE EYRE was Herrmann’s first project with 20th Century-Fox, which started a 19-year partnership with the studio and a long friendship with composer and Fox music director Alfred Newman. Fox studio head Darryl F. Zanuck initially sought composer Igor Stravinsky to score the film, but negotiations fell through. Producer David O. Selznick and Welles were the driving force behind hiring Herrmann for the project, according to Herrmann’s biographer Steven Smith.

Herrmann’s score has a dark, gothic feel that matches the theme of the novel. New York Herald Tribune composer critic Paul Bowles described the score as “gothic extravagance and poetic morbidities. It contains some of the most carefully wrought effects to be found in recent film scores,” Bowles wrote. According to Smith, Herrmann called it his first “screen opera.” The score foreshadowed work on another Brontë project — his “Wuthering Heights” opera that didn’t see a full theatrical performance until 2011.

ON DANGEROUS GROUND (‘51)

Directed by Nicholas Ray, an adaptation of Gerald Butler’s book Mad with Much Heart. The film follows a rough city police officer, Jim Wilson (Robert Ryan). After Jim is too violent with a suspect, he is sent to a rural area as punishment. His job is to help with a manhunt for the murderer of a child. A blind woman, Mary Malden (Ida Lupino) is the sister of the murderer, and she tries to convince Jim to protect her brother.

ON DANGEROUS GROUND is one of Herrmann’s few film noir scores. Film noir expert and host of TCM’s Noir Alley Eddie Muller said, “Herrmann’s score is one of the most distinctive crime scores of the era.” In a June 2019 introduction of the film, Muller noted “Herrmann’s score is unlike any other music written for film noir. A dramatic clash of brass, strings and percussion that goes a long way to unify the film’s unusual — almost schizophrenia — structure.”

Herrmann admired Ray’s storytelling and engineered a creative score that illustrated good and evil. For Lupino’s character, Herrmann used the viola soloist Virginia Majewski, who Herrmann advocated to have on-screen credit. Herrmann also had the rare freedom to compose, orchestra and conduct the entire score. The most notable cue is “The Death Hunt,” that has a driving, frantic tempo and can be compared to his later NORTH BY NORTHWEST (’59) score. Muller noted that to make sure “The Death Hunt” cue was effective, Herrmann fought to have the sound mix corrected during the scene so that the barking dogs wouldn’t drown out his score.

THE SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO (1952)

Based on an Ernest Hemingway short story, Gregory Peck plays Harry, a novelist who uses his earnings to travel. While on safari in Africa, Harry suffers an injury that results in a deadly infection. As he lies dying, he thinks back on his life and past romances, and his safari companion Helen, played by Susan Hayward, nurses Harry through his illness.

While some of Herrmann’s most famous scores drive thrillers and adventures, scores like THE SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO show he can create beautiful, gentle and charming tunes. His cues are dreamy and wistful, matching the mental state of the ill Harry, whose mind travels to the past while on his death bed. Herrmann’s cue entitled, “The Memory Waltz,” is particularly dreamy. Herrmann said he tried to create music of “a highly nostalgic nature” as a man dies and deals with his “emotional past.”

On the film’s release, New York Times film critic Bosley Crowther praised Herrmann’s score. “For it is Mr. Herrmann’s music, singing sadly and hauntingly, that helps one sense the pathos of dead romances and a wasted career. A saxophone and a piano in a Paris studio, an accordion on an old Left Bank bar and an arrogant guitarist in a Spanish café—these are also actors in the film. Perhaps they come closer to stating what Hemingway had to say.”

MARNIE (1964)

Marnie (Tippi Hedren) is a thief who suffers from psychological trauma of her past, which comes to a head after she marries a widower (Sean Connery) from a wealthy Philadelphia family who does not readily accept her. MARNIE was the end of an era. It marked the last of seven films that Herrmann collaborated on with director Alfred Hitchcock on, beginning with THE TROUBLE WITH HARRY (’55).

Much had changed for both Herrmann and Hitchcock by 1964, including how they were both viewed by Hollywood executives. Herrmann and Hitchcock were being pressured to be more “hip” for 1960s audiences. The studio even urged Hitchcock not to hire “old-fashioned” Herrmann. But if Hitchcock did hire Herrmann, they encouraged him to also have a title pop song, according to Smith. The film was a box-office failure — Hitchcock’s first failure in many years. Today, the film is now appreciated by audiences, but Herrmann’s score still is often overlooked when compared to other Hitchcock titles.

The main title of MARNIE features blaring horns, which sound haphazard against more melodic violins — illustrating the mix of trauma and beauty. A notable cue is “The Foxhunt,” which begins with a jaunty, almost cheerful, tune filled with horns and violins. But the cue turns more haphazard and frantic as it continues. While this was Herrmann’s last completed score for Hitchcock, Herrmann started work on TORN CURTAIN (’66) but was replaced due to artistic differences.

IT’S ALIVE (’74)

The Davies family (Sharon Farrell and John P. Ryan) are expecting their second child. But when their baby is born, he is a monster who kills anyone in his path. The 1970s marked a new era for Bernard Herrmann. He began working with younger filmmakers who appreciated his work of the past. These included Martin Scorsese and Brian De Palma. One of these collaborations spawned a friendship with director of IT’S ALIVE, Larry Cohen, who cited Herrmann as a major influence in his career up until his death in 2019.

Herrmann enjoyed the experience with his film because he enjoyed working with Cohen. To add to the eerie, creepy vibe of the film, Herrmann incorporated a Moog synthesizer into the score. He also uses a viola for a mournful note, according to Smith. Herrmann also had fun naming his cues, such as “The Milkman Goeth” when the baby kills the milkman.

Herrmann was set to work with Cohen again for the film GOD TOLD ME TO (’76), but Herrmann died in 1975 before he could begin.

When Juano Hernandez is on screen, your eyes are on him. The Afro-Puerto Rican actor has a commanding presence, and the characters he portrayed are memorable long after the film ends. “He also has one of the great faces ever in films,” said the late Robert Osborne, former Turner Classic Movies host and historian. “Once you see him, you never forget him.”

Hernandez’s first credited film role came in 1932, but it was in 1949 when he had his breakout role with INTRUDER IN THE DUST, his first film with a major Hollywood studio. In the 1930s, Hernandez primarily starred in “race films” produced between 1914 and the 1950s outside of major Hollywood studios and starring all-Black casts for segregated audiences. From 1932 to 1940, Hernandez starred in four race films, some of which were directed by Oscar Micheaux. INTRUDER IN THE DUST was his first film in nine years.

INTRUDER IN THE DUST is a film adaptation of William Faulkner’s 1948 novel. Hernandez plays Lucas Beauchamp, a Black man accused of shooting a white man in the back in a small southern town. Lucas looks to a white teenager, Chick Mallison, played by Claude Jarman Jr., for help. Lucas says Chick is still uncluttered of the notions older white men have. Chick, his friend Aleck and elderly Miss Eunice Habersham help discover what really happened.

Released by MGM, INTRUDER IN THE DUST is a captivating film disguised as a whodunit crime drama, and it explores racism in a small town. As the confident Lucas, Hernandez walks proudly through the town wearing a long dark coat, black hat and toothpick hanging from his mouth. Historian Donald Bogle calls Hernandez’s Lucas “one of the strongest Black male characters you will see in Hollywood movies, up to that time.”

Lucas is proud and won’t act subservient. He initially angers Chick because Lucas treats him like an equal. But Lucas also asks Chick to help him and to convince his uncle John (David Brian) to act as his lawyer. Reluctant to take the case, John says, “Has it ever occurred to you if you just said ‘mister’ to white people and said it like you meant it, you might not be sitting here now?” Lucas replies from his jail cell, “So I’m to commence now? I can start off by saying ‘mister’ to the folks that drags me out of here and builds a fire under me?”

During an interview with Robert Osborne, Bogle said, “It is a highly distinctive character. The character is proud and there is a kind of defiance he has. He has so much pride that he doesn’t care to prove anything to the whites in his community. He becomes a focal point for them, because he’s a Black man who will not play the role of one of their subservient figures.”

White characters in INTRUDER IN THE DUST view Lucas as haughty, and MGM studio heads felt similarly about the character. According to producer Dore Schary’s autobiography, Mayer felt that Hernandez’s character was “too uppity.” Mayer also complained that “He ought to take off his hat when he talks to a white man” and “he didn’t even say thank you to the lawyer.” Mayer wasn’t keen on veteran director Clarence Brown’s project , but Schary championed it. This was a departure for Brown from the ultra-glamourous, glittering films that Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer was known for.

INTRUDER IN THE DUST was filmed on location in segregated Oxford, Mississippi. The racism Lucas experiences onscreen was similar to what Hernandez experienced while making the film. Hernandez and the other Black actors had to live in a separate area from the rest of the cast. Hernandez stayed with a local undertaker, according to a 1949 New York Times article. While author William Faulkner coached Puerto Rican-born Hernandez with his southern accent and appreciated his performance, Faulkner did not invite Hernandez to dinner at his home, Rowan Oak, with the rest of the cast and crew. Hernandez also refused to go into any Oxford businesses that required only Black patrons to remove their hats when they entered.

Initially, the cast and crew were viewed with skepticism, because of the topic of the film. In order to be more welcome in the town, Clarence Brown had to charm the people of Oxford, cast some as extras and champion the economic development the picture would bring, according to Brown’s biographer Gwenda Young.

INTRUDER IN THE DUST was one of four movies dealing with racism released in 1949, but it was still unusual to highlight the issue in American films during this time. “Messages against racism were virtually nonexistent in 1940s Hollywood,” Claude Jarman Jr. wrote in his autobiography. “… [The film] may seem like a primitive step today, but in a time when racist attitudes were prevalent, making a movie of INTRUDER IN THE DUST was akin to taking a first step on the moon.”

To be sensitive towards the topic of racism, Schary consulted NAACP president Walter White, who praised the script but warned against the use of derogatory racial slurs used by some of the characters. The final product was an intriguing film with stunning cinematography by Robert Surtees and deft direction by Brown. Unfortunately, Mayer didn’t promote INTRUDER IN THE DUST, and Brown discovered race “problem pictures” were doing poorly in the box office, according to his biographer.

“L.B. predicted the film would be a dismal flop at the box office. I predicted it would be viewed in years to come as one of the best. We were both right,” Schary wrote in his autobiography. Critics provided mixed reviews, with southern critics largely praising the film while ignoring the racial issue.

However, Black author and critic Ralph Ellison championed it for its depiction of a Black man with courage, pride, independence and patience “that are usually attributed only to white men.” Comparing it to the other race relations films released that year, Ellison said, “It’s the only film that could be shown in Harlem without arousing unintended laughter, for it is the only one of the four in which Negroes can make complete identification with their screen image.“

Fred MacMurray attributed his film success to Claudette Colbert. Before MacMurray became a beloved father figure in 1960s Disney films or on TV’s My Three Sons, he was a romantic leading man from the 1930s and ‘50s. Seven of those films co-starred Colbert from 1935 to 1949. The screen team was born when MacMurray was cast in his first major film, THE GILDED LILY (’35). It was only MacMurray’s second credited film role, and he landed the role for an unusual skill: his ability to naturally talk while simultaneously eating popcorn. 

Actor Charlie Ruggles tipped off his brother, director Wesley Ruggles, to a handsome new actor that he should consider for his new film, THE GILDED LILY. Wesley screened MacMurray’s first credited role in GRAND OLD GIRL (‘35) and spotted him eating popcorn casually at a football game. It was important for the male lead of THE GILDED LILY to be able to eat popcorn with casual skill due to a scene where the two leads sit on a park bench as pals and discuss mundane topics like peanuts vs. popcorn. As they talk, MacMurray tosses kernels into his mouth. Since Colbert had approval of her leading men, she agreed with casting MacMurray and went to bat for him against the Paramount studio heads, as noted by MacMurray’s biographer Charles Tranberg. 

The film follows two friends, a reporter, Peter (MacMurray), and a stenographer, Marilyn (Colbert). They meet on a New York City park bench and discuss life and then go their separate ways. On the subway, Marilyn meets and falls in love with wealthy Lord Granton (Ray Milland), but she is jilted when he sails home to England to marry. Peter writes an article about the romance and creates a media heyday. He calls Marilyn the “No Girl” saying she turned down Lord Granton’s marriage proposal. Marilyn becomes internationally famous and cashes in on the fame by becoming a nightclub performer.

Landing the acting job was the easiest part of THE GILDED LILY for MacMurray. Shocked to be selected since he felt that he was a nobody, MacMurray was green and a nervous wreck. Later he called himself “a basket case,” and upon arriving for his first day on set, MacMurray said he “felt all empty and hollow inside and weak in the knees. I felt drained. My mouth was dry and I was hyperventilating. I practically collapsed.”

But Claudette Colbert immediately helped to put her new co-star at ease, thus starting their partnership. “When Claudette saw me standing there petrified, she put her hand on my arm and with a grin on her face quietly said, ‘Now what are you so frightened about?’” MacMurray later said. The love scenes in particular brought on anxiety as MacMurray tried to kiss Colbert in front of a large crew. “Claudette rumpled my hair and kidded me, and finally I made it,” he later said. 

THE GILDED LILY made MacMurray a star and birthed a screen team. Because of the success of the film, Colbert and MacMurray were cast in another picture together in 1935, and several others over the next 14 years, including: THE BRIDE COMES HOME (’35), MAID OF SALEM (’37), NO TIME FOR LOVE (’43), PRACTICALLY YOURS (’44), THE EGG AND I (’47) and FAMILY HONEYMOON (’48). As his career progressed, MacMurray gave Colbert credit not only for boosting his confidence, but MacMurray said that he learned more from Colbert than he did on any other film, according to Colbert’s biographer Lawrence J. Quirk.

Quirk noted that part of the secret to their successful chemistry was their differences. Colbert was the pinnacle of glamour and — in contrast — MacMurray was the casual everyman who may live next door. On the sets of their films, cast and crew could see the chemical reaction that resulted in their on-screen magic. Robert Young, who co-starred with the pair in THE BRIDE COMES HOME, said that you could immediately see they were “simpatico” and “egged each other on” to give their best.

“I’ve seen them take a situation that seemed intrinsically lifeless to me … and bring it stingingly, charmingly, excitingly to life,” Young said in Colbert’s biography. “And sometimes, they’d do bits of business that didn’t look like any great shakes to me at the time from my vantage on set, but that came out extraordinarily well during the rushes.” 

On their films NO TIME FOR LOVE and PRACTICALLY YOURS, director Mitchell Leisen watched the two as they planned their scenes before filming. “Many times when I was setting up the next scene, they’d go off in a corner and work it up themselves. They’d show me how they wanted to do it and it would be just right. I might edit it a bit, but they were talented natural performers, and I wanted them to do it in a way that was comfortable for them.” 

However, all good things have to end, even with a popular screen team. Colbert and MacMurray’s last two films together were not as satisfactory for the pair. Colbert’s last moneymaker was THE EGG AND I. Later, Colbert said she did the best she could with the film and “Fred was a big help with it—as always,” according to Quirk. On their last film together, FAMILY HONEYMOON, the two knew it was time to call it quits.

“We had been getting together for 14 years and by 1949, Claudette knew as well as I did that things run their good and proper course and then they are simply over,” MacMurray later stated. “We had a long run, a rewarding one, and there are no complaints to offer in retrospect.”

Joan Crawford was one of Hollywood’s top stars, eventually winning an Academy Award for Best Actress in 1946. But she credited growing as an actress to an actor who has been forgotten by many: Lon Chaney. Dubbed “The Man of a Thousand Faces,” Chaney was known for transforming physically for many different roles, often donning makeup or costumes that were painful in order to get the right look. “He will do anything, and permit almost anything to be done to him, for the sake of his pictures,” said director and frequent collaborator Tod Browning.

Chaney transformed into Quasimodo for THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME (’23), the acid-burned PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (’25), a sharp-toothed vampire in LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT (‘27) and an armless circus worker in THE UNKNOWN (’27). It was the latter that Crawford, then early in her acting career, worked with Chaney in. “Mr. Chaney was known as a generous man to young actors. He certainly was to me,” Crawford is quoted as saying by biographer Charlotte Chandler.

In THE UNKNOWN, Chaney and Crawford are circus performers. Chaney is Alonzo the Armless, a knife thrower, and Crawford is Nanon, his assistant during the act and the daughter of the circus’s owner. Due to having been groped and harassed by men, Nanon does not want to be touched by men and has a fear of their arms and hands. Because of this, she feels safe around Alonzo but rebukes the advances of Malabar, the circus strongman, who is in love with her. However, Alonzo has a secret … he actually does have arms but is hiding from the police, so he transformed himself into an armless performer to change his identity. To keep Nanon, Alonzo takes drastic and horrifying measures.

By 1927, Chaney was one of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer’s top stars and Crawford was a “little contract player,” as she called herself. But as Chaney had done with other young actors — like Loretta Young — he helped Crawford and she cited him for the rest of her career as someone who influenced her career. “With him I became aware for the first time of the difference between standing in front of a camera and acting,” Crawford said. “Until then I had been conscious only of myself. Lon Chaney was my introduction to acting.”

When they first met, Crawford said Chaney greeted her like a long-lost daughter and treated her like she was the star of the picture. But once he had his costume and make-up on, he became that character. “He had such a friendly, charming manner, except when he was getting into costume and putting on his makeup,” Crawford told Chandler. “He did this in his dressing room for a couple of hours before we started shooting. Then, he became Alonzo. That is when you had to be careful.”

THE UNKNOWN was directed by Tod Browning, who was known for his eerie films with a seedy atmosphere, like WEST OF ZANZIBAR (’28) or FREAKS (’32). Working together several times, THE UNKNOWN is considered Chaney and Browning’s best collaboration … and also their most bizarre and unnerving, according to Chaney’s biographer Michael Bliss. With most of their films, the plot idea started with a situation or a character type. Then the script was built around that idea. In the case of THE UNKNOWN, it was starting with a scenario of an armless man.

In many of his films, Browning’s depictions of people with disabilities are negative; often linked to crime or something horrific. THE UNKNOWN is no exception. In the film, Chaney’s Alonzo is pretending to be disabled to hide from the law for a crime he committed. Because he can be identified by a double thumb, he uses a corset and layered clothing to strap his arms to his body. Even while hiding out, he continues to commit crimes and murder. Alonzo also lusts for Nanon, and the young girl becomes an obsession. And while Nanon cares for Alonzo, she doesn’t consider him as a romantic partner.

As the armless man, Chaney’s character uses his feet for ordinary tasks, like smoking and strumming a guitar. Crawford said that Chaney had to learn how to hold a cigarette with his toes. Other actions were performed by a double. Paul Desmuke (or Dismuki) was a real-life armless circus performer who performed the knife throwing and other action in scenes.

Tod Browning tried to place his characters in believable surroundings, rather than putting his characters in supernatural or storybook settings, like Frankenstein’s monster or the Mummy. “The thing you have to be most careful of in a mystery story is not let it verge on the comic. If a thing is too gruesome and too horrible, it gets beyond the limits of the average imagination the audience laughs. It may sound incongruous, but mystery must be plausible,” Browning said.

The film was met with favorable reviews, but also astonished audiences and reviewers. “It is gruesome and at times shocking, and the principal character deteriorates from a more or less sympathetic individual to an arch-fiend,” said the June 13, 1927, review in the New York Times. The New York Times also compared the story to a mixture of “Balzac and Guy de Maupassant with a faint suggestion of O. Henry plus Mr. Browning’s colorful side-show background.” 

Even 93 years after its release, THE UNKNOWN confuses and shocks audiences. Many continue to call it one of the strangest film plots, according to the Museum of Moving Image. Even the British Film Institute calls the film “Out-there stuff.” Rest assured, at one point in the film your jaw will drop during THE UNKNOWN. And oddly mixed into this sadist tale, is the story of the budding career of Joan Crawford.

Mickey Rooney’s home studio wanted him to serve his country during World War II … but not in the way that you think. During World War II, Hollywood film studios helped express patriotic ideas through film. This could be through a film on soldiers experiencing military life, depicting Americana or Americans on the World War II homefront making sacrifices for those overseas.

As Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer’s top box-office draw, Rooney was cast in homespun comedies and musicals with wholesome values. Since 1937, Rooney starred in the Andy Hardy film series, where he played a teenager that figured out life, love and turned to his judge father for a “man-to-man talk” when he needed help. In total, there were 15 Andy Hardy films from 1937 to 1946 (and one later in 1958 with Andy Hardy as an adult) and they were hugely successful for the studio.

MGM felt that Rooney’s films, like Andy Hardy, personified American ideals and what servicemen and women were fighting for overseas. At least … that’s what MGM told the draft board.

With the war raging overseas, it was a real possibility that Rooney would be drafted, especially when other MGM contract players enlisted or were drafted. But studio heads wanted to keep Rooney out of the war and in front of film cameras, according to his biographers Richard A. Lertzman and William J. Birnes.

In 1942, Eddie Mannix, MGM executive and “fix it” man, sent formal documents to the local draft board to get Rooney an occupational deferment. Mannix cited the Andy Hardy films and their patriotism and that Rooney would soon begin production on another film important to the American homefront, THE HUMAN COMEDY (’43). Lertzman and Birnes noted that Mannix also stated the main reason MGM didn’t want Rooney in the military: the studio would lose millions.

The appeal was denied, but Rooney received an extension; allowing him to make THE HUMAN COMEDY. Based on a story by William Saroyan and directed by Clarence Brown, THE HUMAN COMEDY is a quiet story that follows an American family, the Macauley’s, during a year of adjustments in the small town of Ithaca. The film is narrated by Mr. Macauley, played by Ray Collins, who died two years prior. The eldest son Marcus (Van Johnson) is drafted. To help support the family, teenaged Homer (Rooney) gets an evening job in the local telegraph office. Homer’s family is rounded out by Ma (Fay Bainter), his sister Bess (Donna Reed) and his five-year-old brother Ulysses (Jackie “Butch” Jenkins).

As Homer gets more comfortable in his job, he matures and feels like everyone around him is changing — when it’s really just that he is growing up. As a telegraph delivery boy, he takes difficult messages to mothers who have lost their sons, and he has the responsibility of looking after alcoholic telegraph operator Willie Grogan, played by Frank Morgan. Everyone around Homer also changes and adapts. Bess and her friend Mary allow three soldiers on furlough to join them at the movies; knowing that soon they will see action on the battlefield. Homer’s boss Tom Spangler and socialite Diana Steed marry — bridging a social class gap and realizing that they are more similar than they think. Even Ulysses starts to learn more about life around him, like what it means to be afraid.

While the entire cast of notables play their roles superbly, Mickey Rooney is the standout performance in THE HUMAN COMEDY, and earned an Academy Award nomination for the role. In many of his other films, Rooney’s characters were variations of his Andy Hardy character. It didn’t matter if Rooney was portraying Huckleberry Finn or putting on a musical show with Judy Garland, shades of Hardy shine through.

But in THE HUMAN COMEDY, he plays the role in a restrained and mature manner. He’s emotional but doesn’t overact. It’s one of Rooney’s best performances. Perhaps because of a warning director Clarence Brown gave him: “The first time you shed an unnecessary tear or start any of the mugging you’re famous for, I’m going to halt everything, walk right out in the middle of the set, and give you a swift kick in the pants.”

Despite the early admonishing, Brown later said that Rooney was one of the greatest film talents and “could do no wrong in his book,” according to Brown’s biographer Gwenda Young. In one scene, Rooney had to emotionally read a telegram and react to the bad news. Brown was amazed that with each take, Rooney would “read it as though he’d seen it for the first time.” Brown and Rooney both later said that THE HUMAN COMEDY was one of the best films they made.

The film also features new talent such as Van Johnson, Donna Reed, Don DeFore, Barry Nelson and Robert Mitchum in his first film role.

Released in March 1943, the film garnered mixed reviews from critics, but ultimately was a success. Critics like Bosley Crowther of the New York Times said it was charming and had “moments of extraordinary beauty” but was also filled with “maudlin gobs of cinematic goo” when it came to some of the sermon-like dialogue. Critics overseas, who were closer to the battlefield, struggled with the message of “all men are angels,” according to Young.

As Rooney was filming THE HUMAN COMEDY, Mannix continued to submit appeals to the draft board from August 1942 to February 1943. Studio physician Dr. Edward Jones even stated that Rooney had a heart flutter, classifying him as 4F — unfit for duty, according to Lertzman and Birnes. Eventually, Rooney was able to serve his country more than in his film roles. Rooney was reclassified as 1A and he was enlisted in the Army in June 1944. Rooney later said he was proud of his service and continued to support veterans and attend World War II veteran ceremonies, including leading the Memorial Day Parade in Washington, D.C. in 2008.

Before becoming an actor, Woody Strode was a star on the football field. Strode, Kenny Washington and famed baseball player Jackie Robinson were stars of the UCLA football team in 1939. And after World War II in 1946, Strode again joined Washington in a historic move. The two played for the Los Angeles Rams as the first Black players to join the NFL in 13 years after the league had banned Black players.

But in 1947, after only one season on the team, Strode was looking for another career. Racism played a role in his departure from the Rams, as he experienced a level of discrimination that he previously hadn’t experienced growing up in California. Born in Los Angeles in 1914, Strode said racial tensions weren’t bad growing up, but got worse as time went on. “The racism was more subtle than in other areas of the US that would say ‘Whites Only.’ Signs in Los Angeles would instead say, ‘We reserve the right to refuse to serve anyone.’ We knew we weren’t wanted so we didn’t go there,” he said. Strode and his friends knew that they wouldn’t be welcome in areas like Beverly Hills, Pasadena or Inglewood.

“I didn’t realize that going to UCLA was a rare step for a Black kid,” he said.

While playing for the Rams, Washington and Strode experienced discrimination from other players who were opposed to playing with Black teammates and would be the targets of tackles. Rams owner Dan Reeves also objected to Strode’s interracial marriage to Luana, who was a distant relative to Liliuokalani, the last queen of Hawaii. “You’d have thought I was marrying Lana Turner, the way the whites in Hollywood acted,” Strode said.

Road to Hollywood 

When Washington and Strode were UCLA stars, Warner Bros. gave the two summer jobs. They took care of the duo, and they frequently interacted with Jane Wyman, Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland and Ann Sheridan. “I remember walking up to Errol Flynn and him saying, ‘Oh you and Kenny! I just love watching you guys play!’ All the stars were football fans,” Strode said as quoted by historian Donald Bogle. During this time, Strode appeared in three uncredited film roles. But after 1943, his main focus was athletics.

However, in the early 1950s, Hollywood again called Strode when he was discovered while competing in a wrestling match. Unfortunately, his roles from 1951 to 1958 were usually minor and that of natives such as THE LION HUNTERS (’51), JUNGLE MAN-EATERS (’54) and TARZAN’S FIGHT FOR LIFE (’58). It wasn’t until 1960 that Strode was cast in a role with any real substance. Strode recalled director John Ford calling him to his office and saying, “I have a little thing going called Sergeant Rutledge and I thought you would play the title role.” Strode thought Ford was joking.

The film focuses on the Ninth Cavalry in 1866, a Black cavalry regiment of the United States Army that primarily worked to keep the new American West safe. In SERGEANT RUTLEDGE (’60), Strode would play the title character who was the top sergeant of the unit. His character is falsely accused of raping and killing a white teenage girl. The story is told in flashback during the trial as each witness takes the stand.

Warner Bros. wanted Sidney Poitier or Harry Belafonte for the role, but Ford felt they weren’t tough enough. Strode’s autobiography Goal Dust recounts that Ford wanted an actor who was tough, could fight and didn’t need a double, and he wanted Strode. Ford then cast Strode in his next two films, TWO RODE TOGETHER (’61) and THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE (’62). Strode is also in Ford’s last feature film, 7 WOMEN (’66).

“He was the first director to pay me $1,000 a week, and most important, he kept me working,” Strode wrote in his autobiography.

Friendship with Ford 

While Ford helped Strode with his career, the two developed a father-son friendship and Strode stayed with Ford for four months near the end of Ford’s life. “We’d sit together in his green room, read books and talk all day. John Ford had become lonely. John Wayne was involved with his family and his own projects and everyone else was scattered. I replaced all those friends,” Strode wrote.

Strode’s wife Luana and his children would visit him at the Ford home and swim, and Ford wanted Strode to attend the funeral of his sister. “Imagine me at this funeral sitting next to God in a turtleneck sweater and his head angel. I felt like Gabriel.” The day before Ford died, Strode was summoned and sat at the end of his bed until Ford died at 6:35 p.m. on August 31, 1973. Strode stayed for two hours until Ford’s body was taken away, according to Ford biographer Scott Eyman.

On to Europe

In 1965, Strode’s race became an issue, but not in the way that you would think. When interviewing to be cast in a role in MAJOR DUNDEE (’65), he was told he was not Black enough. Director Sam Peckinpah said that his character wouldn’t be Black but “a mongrel,” according to his autobiography. Strode was not in the film. “After being colored for 50 years, I wasn’t Black enough to play a Negro,” he wrote.

Because of experiences like this one and other struggles in Hollywood, Strode moved to Europe. Through the late 1960s into the 1970s, he was able to find better roles abroad. In an interview published in the June 1982 issue of Ebony, Strode said he received larger salaries and better roles in Europe than he did in Hollywood. “I’ll continue to work in Europe because I’m a star there. I have the world market on my side even if I don’t have the American market,” he said.

While Strode acted into the 1990s, with one film released after his 1994 death, he still considered SERGEANT RUTLEDGE as his favorite role. “It had dignity. John Ford put classic words in my mouth,” Strode said. “I had the greatest Glory Hallelujah ride across the Pecos River that any Black man ever had on screen. And I did it myself. I carried the whole Black race across that river.”

As his boat moved inland to Omaha beach, he saw bloody bodies floating in the water. Some were alive and begging for help. At age 32, director Samuel Fuller was part of the Normandy invasion during World War II. As he and his unit made their way through the water to the beach, some around Fuller were hit and never made it to the beach. “It was horrible. Worse than Dante’s Inferno,” Fuller wrote in his autobiography A Third Face: My Tale of Writing, Fighting and Filmmaking. “I swallowed a ton of salt water mixed with American blood.”

Memories of June 6, 1944, would change Fuller’s life forever. And when he turned to filmmaking, scenes from this day and his World War II days seeped into his storylines and imagery. Fuller was not only part of the D-Day invasion on Omaha Beach, but he also took part of Operation Husky, the allied invasion of Sicily, and the invasion of North Africa. And he liberated the Falkenau concentration camp. Through it all, he kept notes. Scenes in his films were based on moments he witnessed during war from a severed arm with a wristwatch in THE BIG RED ONE (’80) to wanting a bullet hole in a helmet for luck, like in THE STEEL HELMET (’51).

Before the war, Fuller wrote screenplays in Hollywood. When he returned, he not only wrote screenplays but began directing films; making his feature-length directorial debut in 1949. It was his third feature film, THE STEEL HELMET (’51), that established Fuller in Hollywood and caused the public to take notice—though not all of that attention was positive. The film was written, directed and produced by Fuller. He focused the film on his war experiences, but instead of setting the story during World War II, he made the film contemporary with the current, less-popular conflict, the Korean War. While hundreds of World War II films were made each year in America from 1941 to 1945, fewer Korean War films were made, since Americans were not enthusiastic about another war.

Fuller felt that the bravado in most war films was fake. “You never saw the genuine hardship of soldiers, not ours or the enemy’s, in movies. The confusion and brutality of war, not phony heroism, needed to be depicted,” he wrote.

THE STEEL HELMET follows a rag-tag, mismatched group of soldiers of different backgrounds, races and creeds as they fight in the Korean war. Sergeant Zack (Gene Evans) is the only person in his unit that survives an ambush from the North Koreans. He is helped by a South Korean child, who he nicknames “Short Round,” played by William Chun. Though the rough and independent Zack doesn’t want Short Round in toe, the child follows just the same. As they travel, they pick up other stragglers, including Corporal Thompson (James Edwards), a Black medic, and inexperienced Lt. Driscoll (Steve Brodie) leading a patrol. There are racial tensions in the group, but they have to unite when they are under the attack of snipers and outfit a Buddhist temple as an observation post. In the post, a North Korean major is also hiding out. Knowing of racism in America, the North Korean major tries to divide the group by discussing inequality in their country.

Sergeant Zack is the anti-hero, and not the typical soldier you would see in a 1940s World War II film. “I was determined to make it look real; my soldiers are real and deeply flawed,” Fuller wrote in his autobiography. “War brings out the best and the worst in you.” A major studio heard about Fuller’s film and offered to produce it with John Wayne in the lead as Sgt. Zack. Fuller declined. “That would have taken all the reality out of the film. This wasn’t a gung-ho war movie … With Wayne, I’d end up with a simplistic morality tale,” Fuller wrote.

Casting Evans as the lead role was a gamble. At that point in his career, Evans had acted in 12 films, all largely uncredited. THE STEEL HELMET would be Evans’s first leading role and casting him was a decision that wasn’t fully supported by executive producer Robert L. Lippert. In fact, associate producer William Berke tried to fire Evans and pay him off so that a more famous actor could play the lead role. When Fuller learned this, he was furious and fought to keep Evans in the film.

Throughout the story, Fuller used his real life experiences. For the closing scene, Fuller said, “We shot the scene to look like a horrible nightmare, harkening back to the horrible images I’d never forget from Omaha Beach.” Rather than ending the film with THE END, Fuller’s end card reads “There is no end to this story.” He felt "until we end the violence, this is just one episode in the continuum of horrible war tales. Violence begets violence.”

The exterior shots were filmed at Griffith Park, with UCLA students dressed as Korean soldiers. THE STEEL HELMET was shot in less than two weeks at under $200,000 and was released after only six months of the United States being in Korea. The film was successful when it was released, but also “all hell broke loose.” Reporter Victor Reisel called Fuller “pro-communist and anti-American,” because of the film, and reporter Westford Padravy said that the film was “financed by Reds.”

Accusations didn’t end in the newspaper. Fuller was investigated by the FBI and J. Edgar Hoover and was summoned to the Pentagon to be questioned by 20 officers who had just watched the film. The group questioned the fact that a character was named Thompson, which apparently was a communist code word. They also said there was no such Buddhist temple in Korea, which Fuller showed them on a map, and were concerned with the depiction of killing a POW. Despite the pitfalls, studio heads were contacting Fuller to hire him. He went with 20th Century-Fox because Darryl F. Zanuck asked Fuller the question that eluded to creative freedom: “What story do you want to make next?”

After THE STEEL HELMET, Samuel Fuller continued to make unconventional and controversial films. And with several of the films, he looked back to his war days, even with his later films in the 1980s.

It was a landmark film of the silent era. Using German Expressionist style and filming scenes on location, director King Vidor tells the story of everyday life in the film THE CROWD (’28). A pinnacle of filmmaking today, at the time it was viewed as an experimental and artistic film. “The average fellow walks through life, and sees quite a lot of drama around him. Objectively, life is like a battle,” Vidor told Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer producer Irving Thalberg, according to the book The Big Screen: The Story of Movies by David Thomson.

Mark A. Vieira’s Irving Thalberg: Boy Wonder to Producer Prince recounts that Thalberg green-lit the film, saying he could afford to make a few “experimental pictures.” The idea of the film was to show that no matter what you do in life, you are always part of the crowd. Vidor co-wrote the screenplay with John V.A. Weaver. To exhibit swarms of people in daily life, Vidor filmed on location in New York City. He hid cameras around the city and in the backs of trucks to film crowds candidly and have them look authentic.

Vidor wanted an unknown, fresh-faced actor to play the lead role of John Sims, the man who is followed from birth to adulthood in the story. An established star would tarnish the “every man” aspect of the story. Vidor walked by extra James Murray, who he tracked down to test for the role, and Murray won the part. For the role of Sims’s wife, Mary, Vidor cast his own wife, actress Eleanor Boardman. As John and Mary meet, marry, honeymoon, experience marital issues, give birth and face tragedy, they are always just part of the crowd.

“The protagonist does nothing unusual, nothing that everyone can’t understand. Birth, youth, school, love, business struggles, married life, always the background of the crowd,” said Vidor.

Crowds are a part of the story telling. They gather at the bottom of the stairs as John learns his father has died. John works in a crowded office. A crowd gathers after tragedy strikes with one of John’s children. And in the end, John and his family are part of the crowd, laughing at a vaudeville show. To exhibit the dwarfing effect of being one of many people, Vidor was inspired by the expressionism of German cinema, which he incorporated into his cinematography. Without the camera technology of zoom lenses and booms that came later, Vidor had to be creative. He described his techniques in the PBS documentary series on directors The Men Who Made the Movies (’73).

One of the most striking camera shots is as 12-year-old John Sims, played by Johnny Downs, walks up a seemingly endless flight of stairs to learn that his father has died. He walks for an eternity as the only light comes from outside the open door with a crowd of neighbors watching below. In this shot, Vidor and his crew found an extremely long stairway and put it against the stage door of the stage. Another signature shot is when the camera zooms up 22 stories of a New York City skyscraper and then sweeps inside a window, showing 200 men working at 200 desks.

To achieve this effect, the crew constructed the building lying down on the stage with a bridge work above it, so the camera could zoom up the building. Cables then dropped the camera into a window, which had a photo of the interior shot behind the window. For the shot above the desks, an overhead track platform moved the camera forward, and then cables dropped the camera to zoom in on James Murray’s character of adult John Sims working at his desk — one of the crowd. In his Feb. 20, 1928, review, New York Times film critic Mordaunt Hall calls this skyscraper sequence the “finest photographic feat in this film.”

Upon its release, THE CROWD was neither a blockbuster nor a failure, though it met critical success. “It is, on the whole, a powerful analysis of a young couple’s struggle for existence in this city,” Hall wrote in his New York Times review. However, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studio head Louis B. Mayer hated the film. He especially hated that Vidor showed a toilet as the couple argues that nothing is working in their apartment (including their marriage), according to Scott Eyman’s book, Lion of Hollywood: The Life and Legend of Louis B. Mayer. When the film was nominated in the first Academy Award ceremony, Mayer refused to vote for it. According to Eyman, Mayer hated the film for the rest of his life and would bring up THE CROWD when admonishing the “artistic picture.”

And unfortunately, Vidor’s new star James Murray did not skyrocket to fame. After THE CROWD, Murray acted in 30 more films, but often in a small or uncredited role. His last film was SAN FRANCISCO (’36), where he is credited as “earthquake survivor.” Murray died in 1936 at age 35, after drowning in the Hudson River in New York City. Some accounts say that he jumped in the water as part of a gag, others suggest suicide.

Like John Sims, James Murray was lost in the crowd.