Being overweight is a traumatic experience both physically and emotionally. There’s depression, lack of self-worth, loneliness and the fear that no one will love you because of your size. Even if you lose weight, it’s still hard to believe in yourself due to past limiting beliefs. Over the years, filmmakers have explored this sensitive subject, including John Waters (Hairspray, 2007), Jane Campion (Sweetie, 1989) and P.J. Hogan (Muriel’s Wedding, 1994).

Oscar-winning actress Anne Bancroft came up with the idea forFATSO (1980), her only feature film as a director, at AFI’s Directing Workshop for Women in the mid-1970s, where it was developed as a short film. The first film produced by her husband Mel Brooks’ Brooksfilm, FATSO is a comedy about Dominick DiNapoli (Dom DeLuise), an overweight New York shopkeeper whose late mother always fed him as a child whenever he was upset. Now, his eating is out of control. He still lives at home, and his nagging sister (Bancroft) and her family reside downstairs in a two-family brownstone, while Dominick and his brother, exasperated Frank Jr. (Ron Carey), live upstairs. When their 39-year-old extremely overweight cousin Sal suddenly dies, Bancroft’s Antoinette harps and nags her brother to see a diet doctor. When the diet doesn’t work, she enrolls him in a “Chubby Checkers” support group.  It’s only when he meets Lydia (Candice Azzara), a neighboring shopkeeper, that he tries to turn his life around.

Critics basically trounced FATSO when it was released 41 years ago. Roger Ebert actually gave it a one-star rating. Gene Siskel declared it “an emaciated script idea. Two basic dramatic approaches to fatness are to regard it as comic, or tragic. Anne Bancroft has somehow avoided both approaches in FATSO, a movie with the unique distinction of creating in its audiences an almost constant suspense about how they are supposed to be react.”

However, the film has grown in reputation over the years and was even included in a retrospective on liberating Hollywood women directors in the 1970s at the UCLA Film & Television Archive in 2019, describing the film as a “hilarious, heartwarming comedy.” That’s a bit of hyperbole. DeLuise, who rarely got a chance to really show his comic brilliance in film and television, is the best thing about FATSO. He’s funny and poignant and has chemistry to spare with Azzara.

And Bancroft does show just how hard it is to lose weight. In one sequence, Dominick convinces his brother to padlock the fridge and the pantry only to threaten him with a knife in the middle of the night to unlock them. Depressed at his behavior, he calls the Chubby Checkers (Richard Karron and Paul Zegler) for help. But when they start talking about food, the trio goes crazy in the kitchen and eats everything in sight.

When he decides to propose to Lydia only to discover she’s not home, Dominick goes crazy and eats $40 worth of Chinese take-out. Just as Siskel noted, Bancroft tries to make these scenes funny but, in fact, they are incredibly sad. Though Bancroft excelled at comedy as an actress and was married to a comic genius, she had problems writing and directing comedy. Though he’s considered fat in the film, DeLuise is just pleasingly plump. He’s nowhere near the 325 pounds he was later in his life. FATSO did change the lives of the two Chubby Checkers played by Karron and Zegler. They both lost a substantial amount of weight over the years.

Just like Bancroft, the shockingly riveting thriller THE HONEYMOON KILLERS (1970) was the sole film written and directed by composer Leonard Kastle. He actually wasn’t the first director on the film; however, Martin Scorsese was given the pink slip after the first week because he was taking too long. Noted as Francois Truffaut’s favorite American film, THE HONEYMOON KILLERS vividly depicts the self-esteem issues many have when being overweight.

A grim nurse, Martha (Shirley Stoler, the Nazi guard in Seven Beauties, 1975), lives at home with her nagging friend Bunny (Doris Roberts) who keeps telling her to lose weight. The more stressed Martha gets, the more she eats. In fact, eating has almost become sex to her whether she’s devouring chocolates, cookies or even a pretzel. But she desperately wants to fall in love but fears her weight will prevent her from finding a man.

Unbeknown to Martha, Bunny has submitted her name to a “lonely hearts” club and soon she gets a letter from Ray Fernandez (Tony Lo Bianco) from New York City. He soon visits Martha in Alabama where he seduces her and convinces her to give him a loan. After he leaves, Ray writes her a Dear Jane letter. Threatening to commit suicide, Ray allows her to visit him in New York where he reveals he’s a gigolo/con man who seduces and swindles lonely women. Because she is so lovesick and doesn’t want to lose him, she accompanies him on his jobs posing as his “sister.”

THE HONEYMOON KILLERS was inspired by the true story of Raymond Fernandez and Martha Beck, the legendary “lonely hearts killers” of the 1940s, who were executed at Sing Sing in 1951. Even 51 years after its release, THE HONEYMOON KILLERS is very disturbing. Not only are the murders gruesome, but Martha’s mistreatment as a “fat girl” has turned her into a psychopath. She will do anything and everything to keep her man even attempting to drown herself when she hears Ray trying to seduce one of his conquests at the riverbank. In an interview, producer Warren Steibel stated “we wanted to do an honest movie about murders. These are not charming people. They are sleazy people-but fascinating. You won’t come out of the theatre feeling sorry for the killers like in some movies. It is not romanticized.”

While these films aren’t necessarily positive portrayals of body weight, and it should be noted that each were made by directors who themselves were not overweight, both are iconic in their focus on fatness and its perception during the time in which these films were made.

New York Times’ film critic Mordaunt Hall was beyond effusive in his review of Ernst Lubitsch’s 1926 comedy souffle SO THIS IS PARIS (’26) describing it as a “gay picture” which “hails from the workshop of that master director Ernst Lubitsch” and is doing its share to “uphold the screen art…’” He added that the “farce comedy is titivated with satire. It is a farcical yarn that keeps one amused from the start. The publication named the romantic roundelay starring Monte Blue, Patsy Ruth Miller, Lilyan Tashman and Andre Beranger, as one of the top ten films of the year.

Though several of Lubitsch’s silent Hollywood films have been released on DVD or aired on TCM, that hasn’t been the case with SO THIS IS PARIS, because the comedy didn’t have a score until now. The virtual TCM Classic Film Festival has the “Lubitsch Touch” Sunday evening with the world premiere of the new restoration of SO THIS IS PARIS, presented in a 2K scan off the Warner Bros. nitrate complete with a lively original organ score by and performed by Ben Model.

Over the years, TCM had licensed Model’s scores for silent films in the public domain he had initially done for home video including Baby Peggy’s THE FAMILY SECRET (‘24) and Marion Davies’ WHEN KNIGHTHOOD WAS IN FLOWER (‘22). One of the top accompanists and composers of silent film scores, Model had long wanted to work with TCM to commission new scores for their scoreless silent films in their library. After discussions with Charles Tabesh, TCM’s SVP for programming and content strategy, Model was able to score SO THIS IS PARIS.

“I knew SO THIS IS PARIS had been shown at the TCM Film Festival a few years prior,” said Model. “I knew this is a film that Warners’ controls. It’s a film I don’t have to convince anybody about… It’s already on everyone’s radar. I also knew that the Library of Congress had material on it.” And, it turned out TCM had scanned its print of the film. “They sent me a file and I scored the film.”

Surprisingly, Model doesn’t compose or play on an actual mighty Wurlitzer, he utilizes a virtual one using a computer program that “behaves like an actual organ console would.” Model watched the film once and took a lot of notes for himself: “story notes where I’m writing down what happens in the scene, what mood I think it would be. Sometimes I’ll write down this should be a minor waltz or something like that. I will also notate for myself in boldface visual cues. Not in a Mickey Mouse coconut sounds when somebody gets hit on the head kind of thing, but just so I can see it at a dramatic moment. “

There’s a scene in the beginning of the film where the one couple is rehearsing this Arabian dance and there is a man playing the piano. “We get a glimpse of the sheet music,” Model noted. “I thought just in case there are any musicians who are reading [the sheet music], I actually transcribed the first eight or nine ears of the ‘Dance of the Despair’ and it kind of works. “

He doesn’t write all the music out when he’s composing. “I improvise, although when I’m recording, it’s more like I improvise until it’s right. It’s a form of composition where I’m not physically writing notes on a piece of paper. But I still think of it as composition and not just making music until the scene is over. Improvisation was a technique that organists knew.”

He learned as a young man from the legendary silent film accompanist Lee Erwin that silent film music “should be interesting enough to hold you, but not pretty enough to distract you. The idea is because silent film is its own universe. I think the idea it to support the film and help the audience. Boost then up into the world and keep them in that world.” The biggest challenge scoring the film is the three minutes and 13 second Charleston party sequence “where nothing happens,” noted Model. “The film is forward motion and dramatic action then the movie stops. It’s just shots of a lot of people dancing. I didn’t just want to play until the scene was over. I wanted to try and map something out.”

So, Model watched the sequence, took down the timing and even created a spreadsheet “so I could figure out not only how many seconds each the segments are. I was able to break it down and discover the internal logical of the editing. I came up with a tempo which is a Charleston tempo or a tempo that the Charleston would be played it.” He chose not to include the famous Charleston music in the sequence because he thought it would be a distraction. “I chose to play music that was at the Charleston tempo so you could concentrate on what was being done on screen.”

Does winning an acting Oscar change the career of the recipient? The answer is yes and also no. Take Brad Pitt, who won Best Supporting Actor last year for ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD (2019). He’s a veteran superstar with over three decades in Hollywood. So, the award is more icing on the cake for his career. But that wasn’t the case when he earned his first nomination for Terry Gilliam’s 12 MONKEYS (‘95). Pitt was on a hot streak since gaining attention for his roles in THELMA & LOUISE (‘91), A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT (‘92), INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (‘94) and LEGENDS OF THE FALL (‘94), and his first Oscar nominations gave his career an even bigger boost.

Similar to Pitt, many young actors discovered their stock in Hollywood with Oscar gold, but nominations and wins have effected various stars’ careers in different ways. Here’s a look at various Oscar winners and how the award affected their careers.

Martin Landau

The Oscar has changed the career trajectory of many veteran actors. Martin Landau was making such TV movies The Harlem Globetrotters on Gilligan’s Island (’81) that just squandered his talents. But that all changed when he earned his first Oscar nomination for Francis Ford Coppola’s TUCKER: THE MAN AND HIS DREAM (’88), followed by a second for Woody Allen’s CRIMES & MISDEMEANORS (’89), eventually winning for his poignant performance as Bela Lugosi in Tim Burton’s ED WOOD (’94).

Ironically, Landau told me in a 2010 L.A. Times interview he didn’t think he could play the Dracula star. “It’s a Hungarian morphine addict, alcoholic who has mood swings,” he remembered telling Burton. “That would be hard enough, but it has to be Bela Lugosi! I said I don’t know if I can do this, but let’s do some tests.”

Makeup artist Rick Baker transformed Landau into the elderly frail actor. Burton, he recalled, looked at the tests and thought he was 50% Lugosi. Landau believed he captured the icon in fleeting moments. “I said if I can do it 10% of the time, I can do it 100% of the time. They have to accept me as Lugosi in the first five minutes or we don’t have a film. It was not an impersonation for me. He had to be a human being.”

Melvyn Douglas

Similarly, Melvyn Douglas, who was best known for his comedic roles in the 1930s and ‘40s in such films as NINOTCHKA (’39), had seen his career slow in the 1950s because of his liberal political leanings. But he came back to the forefront in 1960 after winning a Tony Award for Gore Vidal’s THE BEST MAN, and then receiving his first of two supporting actor Oscars for his turn as Paul Newman’s hard-working Texas rancher father in Martin Ritt’s HUD(’63). Seven years later, he received a Best Actor nomination as Gene Hackman’s father in I NEVER SANG FOR MY FATHER (’70), ultimately winning his second Oscar as the president of the United States in Hal Ashby’s BEING THERE (’79).

Luise Rainer

The German stage actress was signed to an MGM contract in the mid-30s. But the free-spirited Rainer, who considered herself an actress and not a movie star, was always at logger heads with studio head Louis B. Mayer. She told me in a 2011 L.A. Times interview, Mayer “couldn’t make me out. You know it was a little bit difficult for him. I wasn’t the type that he was used to. So, the poor man didn’t know what to do with me. For my first film, ESCAPADE [‘35], William Powell said [to him] you got to star that girl…My first film made me a star.”

Rainer won Best Actress as famed performer Anna Held in THE GREAT ZIEGFELD (’36) and as a Chinese peasant in THE GOOD EARTH (’37). All but one of her subsequent films didn’t do well at the box office and she left Hollywood. She made one film, HOSTAGES (’43), guest starred on some TV series including a voyage on The Love Boat and had a small part in indie film THEGAMBLER (’97).

Art Carney  

One of the greatest comedic actors, Carney came to fame in the Honeymooners sketches on The Jackie Gleason Show and The Honeymooners series as Ralph Kramden’s (Gleason) best pal, the clueless sewer worker Ed Norton. He won five Emmys for his work with Gleason. Carney also originated the role of neatnik Felix Ungar opposite Walter Matthau’s Oscar Madison in the 1965 Broadway production of Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple.

Well-known that he had a drinking problem, Carney wasn’t working that much in film or TV in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In fact, he tried to convince Paul Mazursky he wasn’t right for the filmmaker’s heartfelt dramedy HARRY & TONTO (’74) about a curmudgeonly old New Yorker who travels with his cat across country after he loses his apartment. Mazursky told me in a 2011 L.A. Times interview that no one wanted the part. James Cagney, Laurence Olivier, Cary Grant and even Danny Kaye were among those who turned him down. 

He had seen Carney on Broadway in 1957 in a dramatic role in The Rope Dancers.  “Of course, I had seen him in The Honeymooners. He didn’t want to do it,” noted Mazursky. “He said ‘I’m 59 years old and you want this guy to be in his 70s.’ I said, ‘Art, this is the first time I met you and you look like you are in your 70s – you’re balding, you wear a hearing aid and you have a bum leg.’ He told me, ‘You don’t want me, I’m an alcoholic.’ He had one bad night then nothing else. He had been out on a binge and he showed up on location in Chicago in a taxi in the morning loaded. I took him up to his room, put him in the shower and made him a pot of coffee. He was easy to direct.”

Carney won both the Golden Globe and the Academy Award for his turn, beating out the likes of Jack Nicholson for CHINATOWN and Al Pacino for THE GODFATHER PART II. And he did some of his best work post-Harry including as an aging Los Angeles private detective in the charming THE LATE SHOW (’77) and as a senior who teams up with his buddies (George Burns and Lee Strasberg) to rob a bank in GOING IN STYLE (’79). He earned his sixth Emmy for the TV movie Terrible Joe Moran (’84), which was James Cagney’s last film.  Carney’s final film was the 1993 Arnold Schwarzenegger disaster LAST ACTION HERO. “I’m outta here” was the last line Carney ever uttered on film.

We all have our favorite Oscar winners that we love to watch over and over again. But there are numerous Oscar winners and nominees that have gained new life thanks to TCM, HBO Max and DVD that are definitely worth revisiting. Here are some of my favorites:

RANDOM HARVEST

I interviewed the legendary funny man Carl Reiner a few months before his death and the conversation drifted to RANDOM HARVEST (’42) and how much he loved the romance. Robert Redford is also a fan. In the 1990s, he was planning on doing a remake, and in 2014, it was announced that Julian Fellowes (Downton Abbey) was hired to pen a remake. The handsome MGM production based on James Hilton’s bestseller starring Ronald Colman and Greer Garson was a huge hit that year and was nominated for seven Oscars including Best Film, Actor for Colman, Actress in a Supporting Role for Susan Peters and Director Mervyn LeRoy. 

Both Colman and Garson had great success in other Hilton adaptations – Colman starred in LOST HORIZON (’37) and Garson made her U.S. film debut and earned her first Best Actress Oscar nomination in GOODBYE, MR. CHIPS (’39). RANDOM HARVEST is often overlooked by the other big MGM film released in 1942, William Wyler’s MRS. MINIVER. Not only was the stirring drama about a British family attempting to survive the years of World War II a blockbuster at the box office, but it also won a striking eight Oscars.

But I think RANDOM HARVEST is the more engaging film. It’s hard not to fall in love with this romantic tale with Colman at his most dreamy as a shell-shocked amnesiac veteran of World War I (Colman was wounded in the global conflict) named Smith who falls in love and marries a loving young entertainer (Garson). But Smithy, as Garson’s Paula calls him, is hit by a car on his way to a job interview and wakes up with no memory of the past three years but does remember who he really is – an aristocrat by the name of Charles Rainier.

Will true love reunite these two? The sigh level is very high with RANDOM HARVEST and this love story has a very strong place in my heart.

NONE BUT THE LONELY HEART

I’ve had more than a few people ask me why I like NONE BUT THE LONELY HEART (’44) so much. It’s depressing, they say. It’s downbeat, they say. But I think it’s a chance to see Cary Grant in a rare break out of his “Cary Grant” suave, sophisticated image. Adapted and directed by Clifford Odets from the novel by Richard Llewellyn (How Green Was My Valley), NONE BUT THE LONELY HEART casts Grant as Ernie Mott, a Cockney drifter who returns home to his Ma (Ethel Barrymore).  When he learns that she’s dying of cancer, Ernie stays to help run her second-hand shop. But Ernie can’t stay out of trouble, joining forces with a gangster stealing cars and pursuing the mobster’s wife (June Duprez). 

Meanwhile, his neighbor Aggie (Jane Wyatt) is madly in love with him and tries to save Ernie from a life of crime. The film was generally warmly received, earning four Oscar nominations and winning supporting actress for Barrymore. She shot her scenes during her two-week vacation from her Broadway triumph The Corn Is Green, and the Academy Award transformed the Broadway star into a much-in-demand film actress. She would go on to earn three more Oscar nominations.

Grant, who had earned his first Oscar nomination three years earlier for PENNY SERENADE (‘41), didn’t attend the Academy Awards where Bing Crosby won best actor for GOING MY WAY. Grant never earned another Oscar nomination, but received an Oscar honorary in 1970.

NIGHT MUST FALL

Handsome and charismatic Robert Montgomery was one of MGM’s top leading men in the 1930s, best known for his work in comedies including PRIVATE LIVES (’31) and FORSAKING ALL OTHERS (’34). Though he did an occasional dramatic part, nothing really stretched him as an actor until NIGHT MUST FALL (’37). Montgomery had long been bugging MGM head Louis B. Mayer for better roles. He supposedly allowed Montgomery to do NIGHT MUST FALL because the studio head thought the actor would be embarrassed when the movie failed. Montgomery later said, “they okayed me playing in it because they thought the fan reaction in such a role would humiliate me.” He went so far as to help subsidize the film’s production budget.

Based on the play by Emlyn Williams which ran on Broadway in 1936, NIGHT MUST FALL finds Montgomery playing Danny, a serial killer who just happens to have a trophy from his latest victim—her head—in a hatbox. Danny charms his way into the heart and home of a wealthy elderly woman (Dame May Whitty, reprising her London stage role). Rosalind Russell, who made five films with Montgomery, plays the elderly woman’s niece who has her suspicions about Danny but can’t convince her aunt that she’s in danger. Both Montgomery and Whitty earned Oscar nominations.

Though Montgomery returned to the comedy genre after NIGHT MUST FALL, he began directing films such as LADY IN THE LAKE (’46) and found great success in TV in the 1950s with the anthology series Robert Montgomery Presents, which often featured his daughter Elizabeth.

THE NAKED SPUR

Jimmy Stewart’s image took a 180 degree turn in the 1950s thanks to Alfred Hitchcock with REAR WINDOW (’54) and VERTIGO (’58), but most notably in the five Westerns he made with Anthony Mann. Far from the boy-next-door character he played pre-World War II, Stewart was transformed into conflicted, troubled men – anti-heroes who often could be as villainous as the bad guys who peppered these sagebrush sagas. (Mann also directed Stewart in three non-Westerns).

THE NAKED SPUR (’53), which earned a screenplay Oscar nomination for Sam Rolfe and Harold Jack Bloom, is my favorite of their collaborations. Stewart really digs deep into the character of Civil War veteran turned bounty hunter, Howard Kemp. He’s angry and bitter having lost his land during his conflict. Kemp hopes he can get his land back by working as a bounty hunter. And he’s doggedly determined to get outlaw Ben Vandergroat (a fabulously vile Robert Ryan). Along the way, he encounters two men (Millard Mitchell and Ralph Meeker) who join him on his journey. And when he finds Vandergroat, he also discovers he has a young woman (Janet Leigh) with him. Intelligent, often disturbing and brilliantly acted, THE NAKED SPUR is an exceptional exploration of the dark side of humanity.

Julian Duvivier’s PÉPÉ LE MOKO is one of the most influential films of the 20th century. Not only is the 1937 French romantic crime drama starring the legendary Jean Gabin, a precursor of the Hollywood film noir, the classic inspired such filmmakers as Michael Curtiz (Casablanca, ‘42), Carol Reed (The Third Man, ‘49) and even Jean-Pierre Melville (Bob le Flambeur, ‘56). PÉPÉ was such an international hit, producer Walter Wanger quickly released a near shot-by-shot remake in 1938, Algiers, directed by John Cromwell and starring Charles Boyer as Pepe and Hedy Lamarr in her first American role. That film earned four Oscar nominations, including Best Actor for Boyer and Best Supporting Actor for Gene Lockhart.

And lest we forget, the original and the remake also influenced animator Chuck Jones’ now pariah of a character, Pepe Le Pew, and a dreadful musical version Casbah (’48) with Tony Martin and Yvonne De Carlo.

PÉPÉ is also a prime example of the poetic realism style of French filmmaking popular in the late 1930s. Besides Duvivier, other directors known for this lyrical style include Jean Vigo, Marcel Carne and Jean Renoir. The male anti-hero characters who populated these films were doomed from the outset; they lived on the outskirts of society, as in Renoir’s The Lower Depths (’36); were members of the working class; or were criminals, as in the case of Pepe. These characters tragically think when they fall in love, they will break out of their cursed existence.  But women cause their emotional downfall, and romance usually ends in the death of the character.

Pépé is a powerful, charismatic master thief who is respected and feared in the Algerian district known as the Casbah. He rules over the crooked, mazelike area where he plans his latest heists. But he is also trapped there. He dreams of returning to Paris but knows that will never happen. The police are in wait at the edge of the city if he dares try to escape. Also lurking around him is the sleazy and manipulative Inspector Slimane (Lucas Gridoux). As soon as he meets a beautiful Parisienne woman Gaby (Mireille Balin), the mistress of a much older wealthy Frenchman, you know Pépé is doomed.

PÉPÉ LE MOKO wouldn’t have been the enduring masterpiece it is without Gabin, the Everyman superstar of French cinema. Film noir superstars from Humphrey Bogart to Dana Andrews to Robert Ryan owe a lot of their anti-hero personae to Gabin. The legendary film critic Andre Bazin once described him as “the tragic hero of contemporary cinema.”

He was also one of the best dressed – no rumbled fedoras or ill-fitting suits. Just check out those well-tailored suits, snappy shoes and ties Pépé wears. In his 2002 New York Times critical essay on the film, critic Elvis Mitchell wrote Gabin’s “expressive and sorrowful pudding of a face immediately gave a picture a soul. Gabin was the tropical opposite to the waxy screen idols whose sleek good looks often suggested the hood ornament of a Hispano-Suiza.” And in the case of PÉPÉ, “Gabin’s wary cool is the heart of this movie.”

Because Wanger didn’t want any competition with his remake, PÉPÉ LE MOKO wasn’t shown in the U.S until 1941. The New York Times’ Bosley Crowther described the film as an “incomparable advantage over the Hollywood-made imitation: it is raw edged, realistic and utterly frank exposition of a basically evil story …” Adding that Gabin’s “tough, unsentimental performance of the title role is much more credible and revealing than Charles Boyer’s sad-eyed mooning as Pepe in Algiers.”

Gabin, who was a song and dance man before he made films, was probably the biggest star in France when he made PÉPÉ LE MOKO and Renoir’s Grand Illusion, which was also released in 1937. He was sexy, tough and tender. He didn’t need dialogue to express his emotions, he literally wore his heart on his face. There’s an incredible scene near the end of PÉPÉ where he is determined to stop Gaby from leaving on a ship. He’s like a madman making his wave through the maze of the Casbah, and Duvivier’s herky-jerky back projection of the streets reflects his tormented emotional state.

“Director Jean Renoir used to say that the range of feelings Jean Gabin can show and express are limitless,” said Charles Zigman, author of the Gabin biography, Coolest Movie Star, in a 2008 L.A. Times interview. “The difference with other actors is he feels the feelings of his character. … He is the consummate Everyman. When you start watching his movies what you notice immediately is that he’s likeable. You feel like you have known him for a long time. He’s very real. He’s not putting on airs.”

Wanger initially wanted Gabin to reprise his Pépé for Algiers, but the notoriously difficult actor turned him down. Gabin did come to Hollywood in the early 1940s, making two disappointing films, Moontide (1942) and The Imposter (1944), and more headlines for his high-profile romance with Marlene Dietrich. He returned to France and joined Charles De Gaulle’s Free French Forces as a tank commander, winning medals for his bravery in Europe and North Africa.

But his absence from the screen didn’t make the moviegoers hearts grow fonder for Gabin. In fact, when he returned to acting grayer and more corpulent, he discovered he had been forgotten. He made several expensive films, including the dreadful Martin Roumagnac (‘46) with Dietrich and the Oscar-winning The Walls of Malapaga (’49), but even the latter film didn’t get him out of his slump.

But luck changed when he turned 50, starring as an aging gangster in Jacques Becker’s terrific noir, Touchez pas au grisbi (’54), for which he won the Volpi Cup at the Venice Film Festival. And the following year, he reunited with Renoir for the delightful Technicolor hit French Cancan. And he never stopped working. In fact, his last film, Holy Year (‘76), was released the year he died. Beloved by his legions of fans, Gabin had a true hero’s funeral with full military honors. And his ashes were scattered into the sea from a naval ship.

All month long in March, TCM will be taking a look at a number of beloved classic films that have stood the test of time, but when viewed by contemporary standards, certain aspects of these films are troubling and problematic. During TCM’s Reframed: Classics in the Rearview Mirror programming, all five TCM hosts will appear on the network to discuss these issues, their historical and cultural context and how we can keep the legacy of great films alive for future generations.

Also joining in on this conversation are four TCM writers who were open enough to share their thoughts on their love of classic movies and watching troubling images of the past. Special thanks to Theresa Brown, Constance Cherise, Susan King and Kim Luperi for taking part in this conversation. Continue the conversation over on TCM’s Twitter.

What do you say to people who don’t like classics because they’re racist and sexist? 

KL: There are positive representations in classic Hollywood that I think would blow some peoples’ minds. I always love introducing people to new titles that challenge expectations. 

That said, anyone who broadly slaps a sexist or racist label on a large part of the medium’s history does a disservice to cinema and themselves. That mindset keeps them ignorant not only of some excellent movies and groundbreaking innovation but history itself. 

I think people need to remember that movies are a product of their time and they can reflect the society they were made into a variety of degrees - good, bad, politically, culturally, socially. That’s not to excuse racism or sexism; it needs to be recognized and called out as such for us to contend with it today. But it’s important for people who say they don’t like classics for those reasons to understand the historical context. In particular, we need to acknowledge that society has evolved - and what was deemed socially acceptable at times has, too, even if sexism and racism are always wrong - and we are applying a modern lens to these films that come with the benefit of decades worth of activism, growth and education.

SK: I totally agree K.L. For years I have been encouraging people to watch vintage movies who keep proclaiming they don’t like black-and-white films or silent films. For every Birth of a Nation (1915) there are beautiful dramas, wonderful comedies and delicious mysteries and film noirs. 

 These films that have racist and sexist elements shouldn’t be collectively swept under the rug, because as K.L. stated they shine a light on what society was like – both good and bad. 

CC: First off, fellow writers may I say, I think your work is amazing. I’m continually learning from the talent that is here, and I am humbled to be a part of this particular company. Similar to the prior answers, for every racist/sexist film the opposite exists. Personally, classic musicals attracted me due to their visual assault, creativity and their unmistakable triple-threat performances. While we cannot ignore racist stereotypes and sexism, there are films that simply are “fantasies of art.” There is also a review of evolution. In 20 years, what we now deem as acceptable behavior/conversation will be thought of as outdated and will also require being put into “historical context."  What we collectively said/thought/did 20 years ago, we are currently either re-adjusting or reckoning with now, and that is a truth of life that will never change. We will always evolve.

TB: I would say to them they should consider the times the movie was made in. It was a whole different mindset back then. 

Are there movies that you love but are hesitant to recommend to others because of problematic elements in them? If so, which movies? 

TB: Yes, there are movies I’m hesitant to recommend. The big one, off the top of my head, would be Gone With the Wind (1939). The whole slavery thing is a bit of a sticky wicket for people, especially Black folks. Me, I love the movie. It is truly a monumental feat of filmmaking for 1939. I’m not saying I’m happy with the depiction of African Americans in that film. I recognize the issues. But when I look at a classic film, I suppose I find I have to compartmentalize things. I tend to gravitate on the humanity of a character I can relate to. 

KL: Synthetic Sin (1929), a long thought lost film, was found in the 2010s, and I saw it at Cinecon a few years ago. As a Colleen Moore fan, I thoroughly enjoyed most of it, but it contains a scene of her performing in blackface that doesn’t add anything to the plot. That decision brings the movie down in my memory, which is why I have trouble recommending it.

Also Smarty (1934), starring Warren William and Joan Blondell, is another movie I don’t recommend because it’s basically about spousal abuse played for comedy, and it did not age well for that reason.

SK: Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961): Audrey Hepburn is my favorite actress and I love her Oscar-nominated performance as Holly. I adore Orangy as Cat, as well as George Peppard and Buddy Ebsen, who is wonderfully endearing. And of course, “Moon River” makes me cry whenever I hear it. But then I cringe and am practically nauseous every time Mickey Rooney pops up on screen with his disgusting stereotypical performance as Holly’s Japanese landlord Mr. Yunioshi. What was director Blake Edwards thinking casting him in this part? Perhaps because he’s such a caricature no Japanese actor wanted to play him, so he cast Rooney with whom he had worked within the 1950s. 

CC: I cannot necessarily state that I am in "love,” but, a film that comes to mind would be Anna and the King of Siam (1946). It is an absolutely beautiful visual film. However, Rex Harrison as King Mongkut requires some explanation. 

Holiday Inn (1942), and the Abraham number…why??? Might I also add, there were many jaw-dropping, racist cartoons.

How did you learn to deal with the negative images of the past? 

KL: I often look at it as a learning experience. Negative images can provoke much-needed conversation (internally or with others) and for me, they often prompt my education in an area that I wasn’t well versed in. For instance, blackface is featured in some classic films, and its history is something I never knew much about. That said, seeing its use in movies prompted me to do some research, which led me first to TCM’s short documentary about blackface and Hollywood. I love how TCM strives to provide context and seeks to educate viewers on uncomfortable, contentious subjects so we can appreciate classic films while still acknowledging and understanding the history and the harmful stereotypes some perpetuated.

SK: It’s also been a learning experience for me. Though I started watching movies as a little girl in the late 1950s, thanks to TCM and Warner Archive I realized that a lot of films were taken out of circulation because of racist elements. TCM has not only screened a lot of these films but they have accompanied the movies with conversations exploring the stereotypes in the films.  

CC: As a Black woman, negative images of the past continue to be a lesson on how Blacks, as well as other minorities, were seen (and in some cases still are seen) through an accepted mainstream American lens. On one hand, it’s true, during the depiction of these films the majority of Black Americans were truly relegated to servant roles, so it stands to reason that depictions of Black America would be within the same vein. What is triggering to me, are demeaning roles, and the constant exaggeration of the slow-minded stereotype, blackface. When you look at the glass ceiling that minority performers faced from those in power, the need for suppression and domination is transparent because art can be a powerful agent of change. I dealt with the negative images of the past by knowing and understanding that the depiction being given to me was someone else’s narrative, of who they thought I was, not who I actually am.

TB: I’m not sure HOW I learned to deal with negative images. Again, I think it might go back to me compartmentalizing.

I don’t know if this is right or wrong…but I’ve always found myself identifying with the leads and their struggles. As a human being, I can certainly identify with losing a romantic partner, money troubles, losing a job…no matter the ethnicity.

In what ways have we evolved from the movies of the classic era?

KL: I think we are more socially and culturally conscious now when it comes to stories, diversity and representation on screen and behind the scenes, which is a step forward. That said, while there’s been growth, there’s still much work to be done.

SK: I think this year’s crop of awards contenders show how things have evolved with Da 5 Bloods, Soul, One Night in Miami, Minari, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, The United States Vs. Billie Holiday, Judas and the Black Messiah and MLK/FBI. 

But we still have a long way to go. I’d love to see more Native American representation in feature films; more Asian-American and Latino stories. 

CC: There are minority artists, writers, producers, directors, actors with the increasing capacity to create through their own authentic voice, thereby affecting the world, and a measurable amount of them are women! Generally speaking, filmmakers (usually male) have held the voice of the minority narrative as well as the female narrative. I agree with both writers above in the thought that it is progress, and I also agree, more stories of diversified races are needed. 

TB: One important way we’ve evolved from the movies made in the classic era by being more inclusive in casting. 

Are there any deal-breakers for you when watching a movie, regardless of the era, that make it hard to watch? 

KL: Physical violence in romantic relationships that’s played as comedy is pretty much a dealbreaker for me. I mentioned above that I don’t recommend Smarty (1934) to people, because when I finally watched it recently, it. was. tough. The way their abuse was painted as part of their relationship just didn’t sit well with me.

SK: Extreme racist elements and just as KL states physical violence. 

Regarding extreme racist elements, D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation (1915) is just too horrific to watch. I was sickened when I saw it when I was in grad school at USC 44 years ago and it’s only gotten worse. And then there’s also Wonder Bar (1934), the pre-code Al Jolson movie that features the Busby Berkeley black minstrel number “Goin’ to Heaven on a Mule.” Disgusting.

I also agree with KL about physical violence in comedies and even dramas. I recently revisited Private Lives (1931) with Norma Shearer and Robert Montgomery based on Noel Coward’s hit play. I have fond memories of seeing Maggie Smith in person in the play when I was 20 in the play and less than fond memories of watching Joan Collins destroying Coward’s bon mots.  

But watching the movie again, you realized just how physically violent Amanda and Elyot’s relationship is-they are always talking about committing physical violence-”we were like two violent acids bubbling about in a nasty little matrimonial battle”; “certain women should be struck regularly, like gongs”-or constantly screaming and throwing things.  

There is nothing funny or romantic about this.

KL: I try to put Birth of a Nation out of my mind, but S.K. did remind me of it again, and movies featuring extreme racism at their core like that are also dealbreakers; I totally agree with her assessment. I understand the technological achievements, but I think in the long run, especially in how it helped revive the KKK, the social harm that film brought about outdoes its cinematic innovations.

CC: Like S.K., Wonder Bar immediately came to mind. Excessive acts of violence, such as in the film Natural Born Killers (1994). I walked out of the theatre while the film was still playing. I expected violence, but the gratuitousness was just too much for me. I also have an issue with physical abuse, towards women and children. This is not to say I would not feel the same way about a man. However, when males are involved, it tends to be a fight, an exchange of physical energy, generally speaking, when we see physical abuse it is perpetuated towards women and children.

TB: I have a couple of moments that pinch my heart when I watch a movie. It doesn’t mean I won’t watch the movie. It just means I roll my eyes…verrrrry hard.

-Blackface…that’s a little rough; especially when the time period OF the movie is the ‘30s or ‘40s film.

-Not giving the Black actors a real name to be called by in the film (Snowflake…Belvedere…Lightnin’). I mean, can’t they have a regular name like Debbie or Bob?

-When the actor can’t do the simplest of tasks, i.e. Butterfly McQueen answering the phone in Mildred Pierce (1945) and not knowing which end to speak into. What up with that?

Are there elements they got right that we still haven’t caught up to? 

KL: I don’t know if the pre-Code era got sex right (and sensationalism was definitely something studios were going for) but in some ways, I feel that subject was treated as somewhat more accepted and natural back then. Of course, what was shown onscreen in the classic era was nowhere near the extent it is today, but the way the Production Code put a lid on sex (in addition to many other factors) once again made it into more of a taboo topic than it is or should be.

One thing I particularly hate in modern movies is gratuitous violence, and it perplexes and angers me how America weighs violence vs. sex in general through the modern ratings system: films are more likely to get a pass with violence, mostly landing in PG-13 territory and thus making them more socially acceptable, while sex, something natural, is shunned with strictly R ratings. Obviously, there are limits for both, but I think the general thinking there is backwards today.

CC: The elegance, the sophistication, the precision, the dialogue, the intelligence, the wit. The fashion! The layering of craftsmanship. We aren’t fans of these films for fleeting reasons, we are fans because of their timeless qualities.

I’m going to sound like a sentimental sap here, ladies get ready. I think they got the institution of family right. Yes, I do lean towards MGM films, so I am coloring my opinion from that perspective. Even if a person hasn’t experienced what would have been considered a “traditional family” there is something to be said about witnessing that example. Perhaps not so much of a father and a mother, but to witness a balanced, functioning, loving relationship. What it “looks like” when a father/mother/brother/sister etc. genuinely loves another family member.

I was part of the latch-key generation, and although my parents remained together, many of my friends’ parents were divorced. Most won’t admit it, but by the reaction to the documentary [Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, 2018], the bulk of them went home, sat in front of the TV and watched Mr. Rogers tell them how special they were because their parents certainly were not. We don’t know what can “be” unless we see it.

Oscar Levant once quipped: “I knew Doris Day before she was a virgin.”

The actor-composer-pianist-writer starred with Day in her first film, ROMANCE ON THE HIGH SEAS (‘48), in which she played a bubbly singer. And it is true that she played 30-something-year-old virgins beginning with PILLOW TALK (‘59), the first film she made with Rock Hudson. But Levant’s comment diminishes the former band singer’s accomplishments as an actress and ignores the fact that her characters were quite modern and progressive. In fact, you could call her an early feminist.

During her “Golden Age,” which I define as between LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME (‘55) and SEND ME NO FLOWERS (‘64), she played successful career women at a time when there weren’t that many being portrayed on screen. In the George Abbott-Stanley Donen cotton candy-colored musical THE PAJAMA GAME (‘57), she’s a worker in a pajama factory, a member of the union leadership who doesn’t take any guff from her bosses. In the delightful romantic comedy TEACHER’S PET (‘58), she’s a successful journalist and college professor; in PILLOW TALK, a flourishing interior decorator; and two years later in LOVER COME BACK (‘61), she goes toe to toe with Hudson as a rival Madison Avenue ad executive. And, in the often-neglected comedy IT HAPPENED TO JANE (‘59), she’s a widowed mother of two who takes on the meaner-than-mean head of a railroad (Ernie Kovacs) when the company causes the death of 300 lobsters she was shipping.

Day’s characters were also incredibly feisty. In PILLOW TALK, the only film for which she received a Best Actress Oscar nomination, she learns that the man she’s fallen for, the shy handsome Texas Rex Stetson, is actually the womanizing composer she shares her party phone line with, so she redesigns his apartment into a gaudy mess reflecting his lothario ways. Speaking of lothario, Day’s leading men often played long-term bachelors-serial daters, like Clark Gable in TEACHER’S PET and Cary Grant in THAT TOUCH OF MINK (‘62). Her characters fall in love with them but won’t become their latest conquests. It’s actually the men who succumb to her charms and give up their womanizing ways when they fall in love with her.

Still, the virgin quote harmed her legacy. “People don’t take her seriously,” said former L.A. Times film critic Kenneth Turan in 2012. “It was a lifetime battle for Marilyn Monroe to be taken seriously; that was a battle she won. Audrey Hepburn was taken seriously. People are reluctant to take Doris Day seriously. It’s too bad.” Cari Beauchamp, a film historian and writer who specializes in the history of women in film, told me in 2012 that when she talks to people about Day “they tend to say she played the girl next door. And you look at her movies, particularly at the time of those films and she wasn’t the girl next door. She always had a backbone.”

Day was a popular singer with Les Brown and His Band of Renown, scoring her first No. 1 in 1945 with “Sentimental Journey.” Hollywood soon came knocking on her door, and she answered in the Warner Bros.’ Technicolor musical ROMANCE ON THE HIGH SEAS, directed by Michael Curtiz, in which she introduced the Best Song Oscar nominee “It’s Magic.” Not only was she adorable and a breath of fresh air, Day seemed totally at ease in her big screen bow.

“I wanted to be in films,” she told me in 2012. “I wasn’t nervous. I just felt ‘I’m here. I am supposed to be doing this.’ I was so lucky to have such terrific actors and directors. Everything was different and everything to me was great.”

Her films at Warner Brothers were a mixed bag. She got to demonstrate her dramatic chops reuniting with Curtiz for YOUNG MAN WITH A HORN (‘50), starring Lauren Bacall and Kirk Douglas. And I also loved the Booth Tarkington-inspired musical comedies ON MOONLIGHT BAY (‘51) and BY THE LIGHT OF THE SILVERY MOON (‘53). Turan loves her musical-comedy CALAMITY JANE (‘53), in which she has a field day as the famed Wild West heroine, because “her energy is kind of irrepressible.” Day also introduced the Oscar-winning song, “Secret Love” in the freewheeling classic.

But she really came into her own when she went to MGM to do the musical drama LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME, in which she gave a tour de force performance as torch singer Ruth Etting, who has a particularly volatile marriage to a gangster (James Cagney). But she was totally ignored by the Academy and the Golden Globes. The film was nominated for six Oscars, winning for Best Motion Picture Story, with only Cagney, brilliant as Marty “the Gimp” Snyder, getting nominated for his performance.

Turan described LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME as a “provocative film. It almost defines a kind of thing that you would say: Doris Day would never do something like that. But when we say that we are thinking of the cliché Doris Day, not thinking of the actual actress who made interesting choices and interesting films.” Day also counted the hit, directed by Charles Vidor, as a career highlight. “I really loved working with Jim,” she said of Cagney, who had previously appeared with her in the disappointing THE WEST POINT STORY (‘50). “The wonderful thing is that when you have someone like him to play opposite, it’s very exciting. You just feel so much from a man like that.”

She didn’t do research into Etting’s life but went by the script and “just how I felt and what I listened to. You react. It was so well-written. It just comes out of you. I don’t know how to explain it.” But it probably wasn’t hard. Like Etting, who endured abuse at the hands of her husband, the four-time married Day was mercilessly beaten by her one husband, musician Al Jordan, the father of her only child, Terry Melcher.

Mastering drama and musicals, Day was also a fabulous comedian. Just look at her expression when Gable, as a seasoned newspaper editor, kisses her for the first time in TEACHER’S PET. She crosses her eyes and is literally weak in the knees. Or when she realizes in THAT TOUCH OF MINK that Grant wants her to share his bed when they go to a resort. It’s brilliant. And of course, she and Hudson had a chemistry few actors get to share on screen. Ironically, Day admitted she didn’t know who Hudson was when they were cast together in PILLOW TALK, even though he had been a major star for most of that decade and earned an Oscar nomination for GIANT (‘56). “Isn’t that amazing?,” she said laughing. “I thought he was just starting out. I didn’t know about the films he had made. I just loved working with him. We laughed and laughed.”

The quality of her films declined after SEND ME NO FLOWERS. Her third husband and manager, Marty Melcher, put her in poorly received comedies such as DO NOT DISTURB (‘65) and CAPRICE (‘67). He squandered her money and signed her up to do the CBS sitcom The Doris Day Show without her knowledge before his death in 1968. The series ran from 1968 to 1973.

After the series, Day went to Carmel, co-owned a pet friendly hotel there and concentrated on animal welfare. In 1985-86, she did the pet-forward TV talk show Doris Day and Friends, best remembered for guest Rock Hudson, who was suffering from AIDS. She admitted Hollywood never lured her out of retirement. “No one really said that – ‘Oh, come back.’ I was just here.’”

Clarence Muse and Rex Ingram by Susan King Thirty years ago, the legendary Oscar-winning actor Sidney Poitier reflected on the Black performers who paved the way for him in the Los Angeles Times: “The guys who were forerunners to me, like Canada Lee, Rex Ingram, Clarence Muse and women like Hattie McDaniel, Louise Beavers and Juanita Moore, they were terribly boxed in. They were maids and stable people and butlers, principally. But they, in some way, prepared the ground for me.”

Poitier prepared the ground for such contemporary Black actors and directors currently in competition during the 2021 awards season such as Regina King and Leslie Odom Jr. (One Night in Miami), Delroy Lindo (Da 5 Bloods), the late Chadwick Boseman and Viola Davis (Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom), Andra Day (The United States vs. Billie Holiday) and Daniel Kaluuya (Judas and the Black Messiah).

But it is imperative to remember the veterans from the 1930s-1960s who tried to break out of stereotypes and maintain dignity at a time when Hollywood wanted to “box” them in.

Clarence Muse 

Muse appeared in countless Hollywood films often uncredited. And as Donald Bogle points out in his book Hollywood Black, Muse spoke his mind to directors if he felt he was being pushed around or when his characters were stereotypes. Bogle stated, “At another time when Muse questioned the actions of his character in director King Vidor’s 1935 Old South feature SO RED THE ROSE, Vidor recalled that Muse was quite vocal in expressing his concerns. A change was made. Vidor could not recall exactly what the issue was, but he never forgot Muse’s objection.”

The 1932 pre-Code crime drama Night World screened at the 2019 TCM Classic Film Festival to a standing-room only crowd. The film stars Lew Ayres, Boris Karloff and Muse as the doorman at a club owned by Karloff. The audience was surprised that such a stereotypical role was anything but thanks to Muse’s poignant performance. Instead of being forced to be the comic relief, Muse’s Washington is a man worried about his wife’s surgery at a local hospital. Though his boss doesn’t treat him as an equal—after all it is 1932—Karloff’s Happy shows general concern toward Washington.

Muse, said Bogle, “also worked in race movies, where he realized there was still a real chance for significant roles and narratives.” One such was BROKEN STRINGS (’40), which he also co-wrote. It’s certainly not a great film, but Muse gives a solid turn as a famed Black violinist who wants his young son to follow in his footsteps. But the son wants to play swing with his violin.

Muse, who was a graduate of Dickinson College in Pennsylvania, also co-wrote the Louis Armstrong standard “Sleepy Time Down South.” In the 1920s, he worked at two Harlem theater companies, Lincoln Players and Lafayette Players, and 23 years later he became the first African American Broadway director with Run Little Chillun. He continued to act, appearing in Poitier’s directorial debut BUCK AND THE PREACHER (’72), CAR WASH (’76) and THE BLACK STALLION (’79) and was elected to the Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame in 1973. He died one day before his 90th birthday in 1979.

Rex Ingram 

Tall and imposing, Ingram had a great presence on the big screen and a rich melliferous voice. No wonder his best-known role was as the gigantic Genie in the bottle in Alexander Korda’s lavish production of THE THIEF OF BAGDAD (’40). Born in 1895, he began his film career in movies such as Cecil B. DeMille’s THE TEN COMMANDMENTS (’23). Ingram also has the distinction of playing God in THE GREEN PASTURES (’36) and Lucifer Jr. both on Broadway in 1940 and in the 1943 film adaptation of the musical CABIN IN THE SKY.

Ingram also brought a real humanity to his role as the slave Jim in MGM’s disappointing THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN (’39), starring a miscast Mickey Rooney, who was way too old at 19 to play the part. Ingram, though, breaks your heart when he talks to Huck about how his dream is to earn enough money to buy his freedom so he could join his wife and child living in a free state. And when he runs away, Ingram explains to Huck why he had to flee the widow Douglas: “If one of them slave traders got me, I never would get to that free state. I would never see my wife, or little Joey.”

He also is superb in Frank Borzage’s noir MOONRISE (’48) as Mose Johnson, the friend of the murderer’s son Danny (Dane Clark), who lives in a shack in the wilderness with his coonhounds. Noble and thoughtful, Mose is the film’s conscience and helps guide Danny to do the right thing after he kills a bully (Lloyd Bridges) in self-defense.

Ingram was one of the busiest Black actors at the time and at one point even served on the Board of the Screen Actors Guild. But the same year MOONRISE was released, he was arrested and pleaded guilty for transporting an underage girl from Kansas to New York. He served a prison sentence and for a long time his career was derailed. He even lost his home. Though his film career was never the same upon his release, he worked in TV and on the Broadway stage, appearing in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, and died in 1969 at 73 shortly after doing a guest shot on NBC’s The Bill Cosby Show.

Ernest Anderson 

Anderson never achieved the notoriety of Muse and Ingram, but the actor gave an extraordinary performance in the Bette Davis-Olivia de Havilland melodrama IN THIS OUR LIFE (’42) directed by John Huston. Born in 1915, Anderson earned his BA at Northwestern University in drama and speech. He was recommended for his role in the movie by Davis, who saw the young man working at the commissary on the Warner Bros.’ lot.

Anderson plays Parry, the son of the Davis-de Havilland family’s maid who aspires to be a lawyer. Davis’ spoiled rotten Stanley Timberlake gets drunk, and while driving she kills someone in a hit-and-run accident. Stanley throws Parry under the bus telling authorities he was the one driving the car.

Initially, the script depicted Parry in much more stereotypical terms, but Anderson went to Huston and discussed why he wanted to play the character with dignity and intelligence. Huston agreed. And for 1942, it’s rather shocking to see a studio film look at racism as in the scene where Parry tells de Havilland’s Roy why he wants to be an attorney:

“Well, you see, it’s like this, Miss Roy: a white boy, he can take most any kind of job and improve himself. Well, like in this store! Maybe he can get to be a clerk or a manager. But a colored boy, he can’t do that. He can keep a job, or he can lose a job. But he can’t get any higher up. So, he’s got a figure out something he can do that no one can take away. And that’s why I want to be a lawyer.”

Needless to say, such monologues were cut when the movie was shown in the South. Despite strong reviews for his performance, Anderson never got another role with so much substance. But he continued working through the 1970s and died in 2011 at the age of 95.

Stanley Kowalski in Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire was Marlon Brando’s signature role. It made the then 23-year-old Brando an overnight Broadway sensation in 1947, and he electrified movie audiences and earned his first Oscar nomination for the classic 1951 film version. But he wasn’t the first choice to play Blanche’s earthy brother-in-law. Producer Irene Selznick had her eyes on Hollywood star John Garfield, who frequently took time out from movies to return to the Great White Way for limited runs.

In fact, writer John Lahr reported in 2014 that on July 19, 1947, Selznick drew up a contract for the 34-year-old actor, “one of the few sexy Hollywood stars with a proletarian pedigree. The Selznick office leaked the big news to the press. The contract was never signed. On August 18 the deal with Garfield collapsed.”

One of the reasons bandied about was that Garfield turned down the role because the contract would have kept him away from Hollywood for too long. Though Brando is considered the performer who ushered in the more naturalistic style of acting (known as “the Method”) both on stage and in film, truth be told it was Garfield who was the catalyst for Brando, as well as Montgomery Clift, Paul Newman, James Dean and Steve McQueen.

Just look at Garfield’s first feature film, FOUR DAUGHTERS (’38). Directed by Michael Curtiz, the cast includes Lane sisters Lola, Rosemary and Priscilla, in addition to Gale Page as the four musically inclined daughters of a widower music professor (Claude Rains). Enter handsome boy-next-door Jeffrey Lynn as a budding composer named Felix who endears himself with all the daughters, especially peppy Ann (Priscilla Lane).

The household is put in an uproar with the arrival of Garfield’s Mickey Borden, the original rebel anti-hero. Unkempt, slovenly and possessing a massive chip on his shoulder, Mickey is an orchestrator who has arrived at the house to work with Felix. You can’t keep your eyes off him especially in this early monologue where he explains his anger to Ann:

“They’ve been at me now nearly a quarter of a century. No let-up. First, they said, ‘Let him do without parents. He’ll get along.’ Then they decided, ‘He doesn’t need education. That’s for sissies.’ Then right at the beginning, they tossed a coin, ‘Heads he’s poor, tail’s he’s rich.’ So, they tossed a coin…with two heads. Then for the finale, they got together on talent. ‘Sure, they said, let him have talent. Not enough to let him do anything on this own, anything good or great Just enough to let him help people. It’s all he deserves.’”

There was a sexuality and eroticism to Garfield’s performance that was 180 degrees different from Lynn’s durable and safe leading man. He was so natural; it was almost like someone found Garfield walking down the street in the Bronx and asked him to star in the movie. “He was the prototypical Depression rebellion youth,” actor Norman Lloyd told me about Garfield for the L.A. Times in 2003. They first met in 1937 and worked together on Garfield’s final film HE RAN ALL THE WAY (’51).

“He combined all of these elements of darkness and rebelliousness with the charm and the poignancy and he became the prototypical actor of that time. He never changed as a person. He remained just as a wonderful guy. He was a man of great charm, a good fellow, very likable.”

There was a lot of Mickey in Garfield, who was born Jacob Julius Garfinkle in 1913 on the Lower East Side of New York to poor Russian immigrants. Julie, as he was called, had a rough and tumble upbringing. His mother died when he was seven. “He hated his father,” his daughter Julie Garfield noted in 2003. “His father was awful to him. He was torn away from his brother.” In fact, Garfield once said that if he hadn’t become an actor, he would have been “Public Enemy No. 1.”

Unlike Mickey, the fates and destiny were looking after him. First, it was educator Angelo Patri, who became a surrogate dad to Julie at P.S. 45, a high school for troubled students. With Patri’s encouragement, he joined the debate team where he discovered he had a gift for acting. That was further nurtured when he received a scholarship to Maria Ouspenskaya’s acting school. He was all of 18 when he made his Broadway debut in 1932 in Lost Boy and became the youngest member of the progressive and influential Group Theatre, appearing in Clifford Odets’ early masterpieces Waiting for Lefty and Awake and Sing. 

Odets wrote the play Golden Boy for Garfield in 1937, but director Harold Clurman decided to give the lead role of boxer Joe Bonaparte to Luther Adler and cast Garfield in a minor role. His unhappiness with Clurman’s decision pushed Garfield into signing a contract with Warner Bros. And FOUR DAUGHTERS made him an overnight sensation. He earned a Supporting Actor Oscar nomination, but lost to Walter Brennan who picked up his second Academy Award in that category for Kentucky (‘38).

The following year, Garfield, Rains, the Lane siblings, Page and Curtiz reunited for DAUGHTERS COURAGEOUS, in which the actors played different characters from the prior film. It was probably the best film Garfield made that year. But Warner Brothers put him in a lot of movies that were unworthy of his talent including BLACKWELL’S ISLAND (’39) where he was typecast as a gangster. He made some good movies in 1941, including THE SEA WOLF, which also starred Edward G. Robinson and Ida Lupino and reunited him with Curtiz, and also Anatole Litvak’s atmospheric noir OUT OF THE FOG also with Lupino.

Because he suffered heart damage from scarlet fever, Garfield couldn’t serve during World War II. But he entertained the troops on USO tours and opened the famous Hollywood Canteen with Bette Davis so the troops could be entertained and be served by some of Hollywood’s biggest stars. Both Davis and Garfield appeared as themselves in the hit 1944 film HOLLYWOOD CANTEEN. Garfield also fought the global conflict on screen, giving one of his strongest and grittiest performances in PRIDE OF THE MARINES (’45), a poignant drama based on the life Al Schmid who was blinded by a grenade during the Battle of Guadalcanal. He returns home to his wife (Eleanor Powell) a bitter, doubting man who has a difficult time trying to deal with his new life.

The year 1946 saw the release of two of Garfield’s most enjoyable films HUMORESQUE and THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE. HUMORESQUE was his last film under his Warner Bros. contract. It’s a delicious melodramatic wallow with Garfield playing a poor New York kid who becomes a famous concert violinist. Joan Crawford, coming off her Oscar-winning triumph in Mildred Pierce (’45), plays a wealthy patroness who sets her sights on Garfield. Garfield went to MGM for POSTMAN, which was based on James M. Cain’s best-selling thriller. Garfield turns up the heat with Lana Turner as illicit lovers who brutally murder her husband only to turn on each other when they are caught.

The actor teamed up with Bob Roberts to form an independent production company, Enterprise Productions, and their first feature was the boxing classic BODY AND SOUL (’47), for which he earned his second Oscar nomination as Charley Davis, a boxer who loses his way when he gets involved with an unscrupulous promoter. Not only does he have a strong chemistry with leading lady Lilli Palmer, but also African American actor Canada Lee as Ben, a boxer with brain damage. And Garfield gets to utter one of his greatest lines in BODY AND SOUL: “What are you going to do? Kill me? Everybody dies.”

Though his next Enterprise production wasn’t a hit, FORCE OF EVIL (’48), co-written and directed by Abraham Polonsky, is a terrific film noir with a hard-hitting Garfield as a corrupt attorney trying to save his numbers-racket brother (Thomas Gomez) from his gangster boss. Garfield returned to Warner Bros. and Curtiz in 1950 for THE BREAKING POINT, which was based on Hemingway’s 1937 novel, To Have and Have Not. It’s an outstanding film noir with a superb performance from Garfield as well as from Black actor Juano Hernandez who plays his partner on the fishing boat.

THE BREAKING POINT was Garfield’s penultimate film and was not a hit because The Blacklist was engulfing Hollywood and the actor, despite the fact he wasn’t a Communist. His film career was over in 1951 when he refused to cooperate with HUAC at his hearing. Before his death of a heart attack in 1952 at the age of 39, Garfield did appear in a short-lived Broadway revival of Golden Boy, which also starred Lee J. Cobb, a young Jack Klugman and Joseph Wiseman.

Though she was only 6 ½ when he died, Julie Garfield recalls seeing her father on stage in Golden Boy where he introduced her during the curtain call. “When he smiled at you it was like being in the sun,” she noted. “He was funny and sometimes he would like to dance and kick up his legs. I remember him adoring me. He used to take me to the merry-go-round a lot in New York. He was so strong, so handsome and he loved to kid me. He would give me this mischievous smile. I wish I remembered more about him…”

I mourn the loss of Hollywood legends, especially those I have interviewed over the years. I broke into tears when Debbie Reynolds died four years ago, recalling our last chat together in 2016 when we did a duet of “Moses Supposes.” And I still haven’t watched TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (’62) since Gregory Peck died in 2003. I had the opportunity to interview the handsome Oscar-winner at his now torn down home in 1997 and 1999. He was everything you’d hope he would be – sweet, intelligent and funny. He also loved Bob Dylan. His last words to me as he walked me to my car were: “You are a most interesting young lady.”

In 2020 alone, I lost over 20 former interviewees including Kirk Douglas, whom I interviewed eight times between 1986-2017, and my beloved Olivia de Havilland, who I found to be delightful and a bit ribald in the two interviews I did with her. I got more than a little misty when Brian Dennehy, Fred Willard and Jerry Stiller died this year. They were supremely talented and made our lives a little brighter with their performances. And, they all were great guys and fun interviews.

Brian Dennehy

I interviewed Brian Dennehy, who died in April at the age of 81, several times in the early 1990s when I was at the L.A. Times. The former U.S. Marine and football player was intimidating at first sight. He was tall, burly and barrel-chested. He had a no-nonsense quality about him, and he spoke his mind. But he also was funny.

In 1991, discussing how hard it was for some actors to land parts after starring in a TV series, he noted “coming off a TV series is a tough deal, and you go into limbo land for a while, if not forever. Most actors go immediately to the ‘Island of Lost Actors’ and stay there. Troy Donahue is the mayor.” Dennehy never went to that island. Not with the complex and often memorable performances he gave in such films as FIRST BLOOD (’82), SILVERADO (’85), COCOON (’85), PRESUMED INNOCENT (’90) and as Big Tom in the comedy TOMMY BOY (’95).

He was nominated for five Emmys, including one for his chilling turn as serial killer John Wayne Gacy in the miniseries To Catch a Killer (’92).

I had one of the most extraordinary evenings at the theater in 2000 when Dennehy reprised his Tony Award-winning role as the tragic Willy Loman at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles in the lauded revival of Arthur Miller’s masterpiece Death of a Salesman. It was a gut-wrenching performance that left me emotionally exhausted. He earned another Tony in 2003 as James Tyrone in the revival of Eugene O’Neill’s superb Long Day’s Journey into Night. And he never stopped working.

Shortly after his death, the drama DRIVEWAYS (2020) was released on streaming platforms. And it could be Dennehy’s greatest performance. He plays Del, an elderly widower and Korean War vet who sparks a warm friendship with Cody, the young boy next door. The reviews for the film (it’s at 100% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes) and Dennehy have been glowing. The L.A. Times’ Justin Chang wrote that Dennehy’s Del is as “forceful and tender a creation as any in this great actor’s body of work.” And Jeannette Catsoulis of The New York Times stated: “What we might remember most, perhaps appropriately, are Dennehy’s warm, weary features and rich line readings. In a lovely final monologue, Del advises Cody to avoid rushing past the experiences in life that matter, as they pass so quickly on their own. Much like the careers of beloved actors.”

Fred Willard

I first encountered Fred Willard as the clueless sidekick of sleazy talk show host Barth Gimble (Martin Mull) in the late 1970s on the syndicated comedy series Fernwood Tonight and its continuation America 2-Night. I quickly became a fan, and that admiration grew when he became a member of Christopher Guest’s stock company of zanies in such comedies as WAITING FOR GUFFMAN (’96) and BEST IN SHOW (2000). In the latter, he played the equally clueless dog show announcer Buck Laughlin who quipped in his color commentary, “And to think that in some counties these dogs are eaten.”

Willard told me in a 2012 L.A. Times interview that he didn’t think he was funny until he was an adult. “I always loved comedy growing up – Bob Hope, Red Skelton and Danny Kaye,” said Willard, who died in May at the age of 86.

Willard got a serious part in Tennessee Williams’ one-act in a summer theater group when he was in his 20s. “I was getting laughs on all the lines,” he noted. “The director got upset because the audiences were always laughing. I didn’t try to do it deliberately. Then I realized I would say things around people, and they would laugh. I didn’t mean to be funny. I have always been relaxed around comedy.”

Just as Dennehy, Willard kept working. In fact, he received an Emmy nomination posthumously for his hilarious turn as Ty Burrell’s goofball dad on ABC’s Modern Family. He told me he wished he could try to do more dramatic fare like in Clint Eastwood’s World War II drama Flags of Our Fathers (2006). Willard even called his agent to see if he could get a role in the movie. “Clint Eastwood’s people called back and said, ‘We love Fred, but we are afraid if he appeared on the screen, they might start to laugh.’’’

Jerry Stiller

Jerry Stiller was a real sweetie and also very thoughtful. He sent me a lovely thank you note when I interviewed him and his wife, Anne Meara, in the early 1990s. When I talked to him for his son Ben Stiller’s remake of THE HEARTBREAK KID (2007), Stiller sent me a lovely bouquet of flowers. Ditto in 2010 when I interviewed the couple for a Yahoo! Web series Stiller & Meara: A Show About Everything. I also received Christmas cards until Meara died in 2015.

Baby boomers remember Stiller, who died at 92 in May, and Meara for their smart and sophisticated comedy act, in which the majority of the humor came from the fact that he was Jewish and she was born Irish Catholic. They recorded albums, were popular on the nightclub circuit and did The Ed Sullivan Show three dozen times. They split up their act when musical variety series went away.

Both were terrific dramatic actors. In fact, I saw Stiller in the 1984 Broadway production of Hurlyburly, David Rabe’s scathing look at Hollywood, and he did a 1997 production of Chekhov’s The Three Sisters. Of course, Stiller garnered even more success in his Emmy-nominated role as Frank Costanza, the caustic father of George (Jason Alexander) on NBC’s Seinfeld (1993-98) and was the best reason to watch CBS’ sitcom The King of Queens (1998-2007) as Kevin James’ acerbic father-in-law

But I most remember that 2010 interview where Stiller and Meara bantered back and forth much to my enjoyment. Here they talk about Ed Sullivan:

Anne: I never liked him.

Jerry: You are out of your mind. You never liked him?

Anne: He scared stuff out of me. I am talking about Mr. Sullivan himself. I wasn’t the only one. There were international favorites throwing up in the wings—singers and tenors and guys who spin plates. It was live. We were scared.

Jerry: Ed Sullivan brought us up to the level that we knew we never could get to – him standing there on the right side of the wings laughing, tears coming out of his eyes and then calling us over and saying, ‘You know, we got a lot of mail on that last show you did.’ I said, ‘From Catholic or Jewish people?’ He said, ‘The Lutherans.’”

Family dynamics change dramatically and often tragically as parents and grandparents grow older. Some children continue to love their parents in their senior years and care for them when they become infirmed. But others turn their back on their loved ones and forget to “honor thy father and thy mother.”

King Lear, one of William Shakespeare’s greatest tragedies, explores this theme. The elderly King Lear decides to divide his kingdom among his three daughters. But he makes a fatal error when he tells his daughters that they must offer florid declarations of love in order to get the land.

The vile Goneril and Regan are effusive in their love and get part of the kingdom. But his beloved Cordelia, the only one who really loves Lear, refuses to be insincere and is disinherited. Lear learns quickly just how Goneril and Regan really feel about him when they go back on their promises to support him. Lear becomes mad as he wanders the land with his faithful Fool. And though he is reunited with Cordelia, it doesn’t end well.

This subject continues to be explored in literature, theater and feature films. In fact, there are three acclaimed films released this year that are all in awards consideration.

Netflix’s DICK JOHNSON IS DEAD is the unique, funny and poignant Sundance Award-winning documentary in which Kirsten Johnson attempts to cope with her sweet widowed father’s dementia by staging increasingly absurdist ways her father could die—body doubles did the stunts—and even stages a mock funeral so he can hear just how much people love him. Anthony Hopkins gives one of his most complex performances in the haunting film THE FATHER, which will be released this December, as a man descending down the rabbit hole of Alzheimer’s when his daughter (Olivia Colman) leaves him in a nursing home in London and moves to Paris to live with her new boyfriend.

And then there’s Sophia Loren’s powerful turn in Netflix’s Italian-language drama THE LIFE AHEAD. The still stunning 86-year-old actress, who won the Best Actress Oscar of 1961 for Vittorio De Sica’s harrowing TWO WOMEN, plays Madame Rosa, a former prostitute living in Naples who is haunted by memories of the Holocaust. Madame Rosa has created her own family as a foster mother to a trio of children born of prostitutes, as well as a loyal, caring group of friends. THE LIFE AHEAD was a family affair for Loren. Her youngest son, Edoardo Ponti, directed and co-wrote this adaptation of a 1975 Romain Gary novel. He said in a recent interview that when they collaborate on a project, “We want to show the world the best of Sophia.” And he did.

There’s a good chance you haven’t heard of one of the most admired films dealing with old age, Leo McCarey’s MAKE WAY FOR TOMORROW (’37). McCarey is best known for his zany Marx Brothers comedy DUCK SOUP (’33); THE AWFUL TRUTH (‘37), the hilarious screwball comedy for which he won the directing Oscar; the sentimental GOING MY WAY (‘44), which swept the Oscars; and the four-hankie weepie romance AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER (‘57).

So, it’s hard to believe the same filmmaker made MAKE WAY FOR TOMORROW, a drama so powerful, well-acted and sad that it will stay with you forever. In fact, it may force you to look at the way you treat your ageing parents. Filmmakers such as Orson Welles once said of MAKE WAY FOR TOMORROW, “It would make a stone cry.” Jean Renoir, Ernst Lubitsch, Frank Capra, Delmer Daves and Bertrand Tavernier have championed the movie as well. And, it also inspired Yasujiro Ozu’s masterpiece TOKYO STORY (’53).

In a 2010 piece he wrote for Criterion, Tavernier recalled seeing the film for the first time. “The screening remains one of the most powerful moments of the decade for me,” he noted. “The nearly miraculous way in which McCarey manages to avoid the bathos inherent in such a subject, steering clear of sticky pity, of condescension and moralizing sermons – it all transfixed me. It was as though an arrow had struck me and stayed vibrating in my heart. I’ve experienced the same feeling every time I’ve seen the film in the 40 years since.”

Beulah Bondi and Victor Moore give the performances of their storied careers as a longtime married couple who lose their home to a bank foreclosure. Though they have five children, none of their offspring are willing to take them together. So, Bondi goes to live with her son (Thomas Mitchell) where she keeps driving her daughter-in-law (Fay Bainter) and teenage granddaughter (Barbara Read) crazy. Moore doesn’t have it any better moving in with his hard-nosed daughter and lazy son-in-law. The couple reunite for one day in New York City and those scenes are a gut-punch of emotion. And unlike most Hollywood films of the day, it doesn’t end happily for the couple.

Paramount pleaded with McCarey to change the ending to something more upbeat. He refused. Despite good reviews, the film bombed at the box office. Paramount dropped him from their roster. So, he signed with Harry Cohn at Columbia where he made THE AWFUL TRUTH, starring Cary Grant and Irene Dunne, which was nominated for six Oscars including Best Film, Best Actress and McCarey winning Best Director. But McCarey didn’t forget MAKE WAY FOR TOMORROW during his Oscar acceptance speech. He opened it by saying: “Thanks, but you gave it to me for the wrong picture.”

Kathryn Bigelow made history for being the first female filmmaker to win the Best Director Oscar for her gritty film THE HURT LOCKER (2008). But 35 years earlier, Barbra Streisand won the Golden Globe in the same category for her feature directorial debut YENTL (’83). She is still the only woman to win the Globe honor for Best Director, and she had fierce competition. Like Ingmar Bergman fierce. The influential Swedish filmmaker was up for his brilliant epic drama FANNY & ALEXANDER (’82). Streisand was also in competition with James L. Brooks for TERMS OF ENDEARMENT (’83)—he would end up winning the Oscar in the directing category—Bruce Beresford for TENDER MERCIES (’83), Mike Nichols for SILKWOOD (’83) and Peter Yates for THE DRESSER (’83).

YENTL also took home the Golden Globe for Best Comedy or Musical. Streisand was a major film star at the time. She had shared the Best Actress Oscar honors with Katharine Hepburn (THE LION IN WINTER) for her 1968 film debut in FUNNY GIRL, in which Streisand reprised her Broadway triumph as famed entertainer Fanny Brice. She earned another Oscar nomination for Best Actress in THE WAY WE WERE (’73) and shared the Best Song Oscar with Paul Williams for “Evergreen (Love Theme from A STAR IS BORN),” her hit song for the 1976 remake of the classic Hollywood tale.

Still, the multi-Grammy Award-winning, Tony and Emmy winner ran into difficulties with YENTL. I was shocked when I interviewed her about the movie in 2009 for the Los Angeles Times that she ran into gender-bias trying to get the film made. In fact, she hid the fact that she had co-written the adaptation of Isaac Bashevis Singer’s story set in 19th-century Europe about a young woman desiring to study the Torah. Because women aren’t permitted to study, Yentl disguises herself as a man named Anshel so she can become a scholar.

Streisand confessed she didn’t put her name on the script. “I was afraid if they saw my name on it, [people in Hollywood] wouldn’t have liked it.” She also decided to place the credits at the end of the film. “In those days, the credits of the film were at the beginning. And the reason I didn’t put it on in the beginning is that I didn’t want [audiences] to be prejudiced—‘Oh, she directed it’—and have them think about it. I think it was easier for women who weren’t actresses to become directors.”

Streisand actually bought the rights to Singer’s Yentl the Yeshiva Boy back in 1968. But she was told audiences didn’t want to see her as another Jewish character. But Streisand felt it was a far more universal story about “the limits that are put upon a woman just because she wanted an education. She had to dress as a male. It was a simple as that.”

She initially didn’t know if she could direct the film, which also starred Mandy Patinkin and Amy Irving, so she talked with various filmmakers including French legend Claude Berri, who had directed one of Streisand’s favorite films THE TWO OF US (’67), a lovely drama starring Michel Simon as an elderly gentile who takes care of a Jewish boy during World War II. “I was frightened to do it myself,” she explained. “But I had a vision to do it. I was looking for a sign whether or not to direct it.

She found that sign at the grave of her father, Emanuel Streisand, who died when she was just 15 months old. The name on the tombstone next to her father’s was Anshel, which is what Yentl calls herself when disguised as a man. “That was a sign,” Streisand said. “I have to direct the film.”

YENTL earned good to mixed reviews. Roger Ebert found the middle 100 minutes of the movie “charming, moving and surprisingly interesting,” while the generally hard to please Pauline Kael proclaimed “it has a distinctive and surprising spirit. It’s funny, delicate and intense-all at the same time.” There were some naysayers.

The New York Times’ Janet Maslin found the best thing about YENTL was its earnestness. “It may resemble a vanity production from afar (or at close range, too, for the matter), but even at its kitschiest it seems heartfelt. That goes a long way, though not far enough, toward saving the film from its own built-in difficulties.” Singer was a bit harsher in his assessment. He didn’t find “artistic merit” in either the adaptation or the directing.

Though Streisand was denied a Best Director Oscar nomination, YENTL was nominated for five Oscars, including Best Supporting Actress for Irving and Best Song for the haunting “Papa, Can You Hear Me?” and “The Way He Makes Me Feel” by Alan and Marilyn Bergman and Michel Legrand. The trio won the Oscar for Best Original Score.

Eight years later, Streisand directed the romantic drama THE PRINCE OF TIDES (’91), which earned seven Oscar nominations including Best Picture, Best Actor for Nick Nolte and Best Supporting Actress for Kate Nelligan. Though Streisand wasn’t nominated for her direction, she did receive nominations from the Golden Globes and Directors Guild of America for Best Director.

The last film Streisand directed, to date, was the romantic comedy-drama THE MIRROR HAS TWO FACES in 1996. Reviews for the film, also starring Jeff Bridges and Lauren Bacall, were decidedly mixed, but the film was a triumph for the veteran Bacall, who earned a Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress and her first Oscar nomination as Streisand’s caustic diva of a mother. I asked Streisand back in 2009 why she hadn’t made a movie since MIRROR. Her response? “I’m not that ambitious.”

When Shelley Winters died at 85 in 2006, much was made of the fact that the two-time Oscar-winner went from a va-va-va voom sex symbol to a matronly character actress. In fact, the Los Angeles Times obit stated she was a “blond bombshell of the 1940s who evolved into a character actress best remembered for her roles as victims, shrew and matrons.”

But truth be told, Winters was always a character actress. However, when she began in the acting in Hollywood in the 1940s, the studio system typecast actresses and actors on appearance. In fact, she once noted she often played the “the bad blonde bimbo usually going up against the sweet brunette.” In fact, before she got her big movie break as a tart waitress who is murdered by Ronald Colman in A DOUBLE LIFE (’47), she was playing the comedic character part of Ado Annie on Broadway in the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Oklahoma!.  And speaking of A DOUBLE LIFE, Winters brought a depth to the character that other ingenues of the era wouldn’t have had the ability to play.

“She was a serious actress,” said Diane Baker, who made her film debut opposite Winters in George Stevens’ acclaimed THE DIARY OF ANNE FRANK (’59) for which Winters received her first supporting actress Oscar as Mrs. Van Daan. And it was her role as the zaftig middle-age Van Daan that was her watershed film – the movie in which she segued from glam roles and moved into the forefront of the character actresses. “I believe Shelley exemplified what it was to be a Method actress,” Baker added.

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