It’s mid-April: the weather is less depressing, you’ve filed your taxes (if that’s your thing), and the Library of Congress has inducted 25 new recordings into the National Recording Registry! Here is the Class of 2024 in chronological order:
“Clarinet Marmalade” – Lt. James Reese Europe’s 369th U.S. Infantry Band (1919)
“Kauhavan Polkka” – Viola Turpeinen and John Rosendahl (1928)
Wisconsin Folksong Collection (1937-1946)
“Rose Room” – Benny Goodman Sextet with Charlie Christian (1939)
“Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” – Gene Autry (1949)
“Tennessee Waltz” – Patti Page (1950)
“Rocket ‘88’” – Jackie Brenston and His Delta Cats (1951)
“Catch a Falling Star” / ”Magic Moments” – Perry Como (1957)
“Chances Are” – Johnny Mathis (1957)
“The Sidewinder” – Lee Morgan (1964)
“Surrealistic Pillow” – Jefferson Airplane (1967)
“Ain’t No Sunshine” – Bill Withers (1971)
“This is a Recording” – Lily Tomlin (1971)
“J.D. Crowe & the New South” – J.D. Crowe & the New South (1975)
“Arrival” – ABBA (1976)
“El Cantante” – Héctor Lavoe (1978)
“The Cars” – The Cars (1978)
“Parallel Lines” – Blondie (1978)
“La-Di-Da-Di” – Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick (MC Ricky D) (1985)
As is typical with each year’s NRR inductees, I recognize about half of the recordings and artists on this list, and I will take the NRR’s word that the other half is also historically significant. These 25 are a good eclectic mix and bring the NRR’s total to a respectable 650. If I had focused my blog on this Registry rather than the other one, I’d be done by now.
To the best of my knowledge, 24 of the 25 recordings are musical in nature. With get the comedy album “This Is a Recording”, but no radio programs or news coverage. Better luck next year, National Public Radio.
Shoutouts to Jefferson Airplane and Gene Autrey, both making their NRR debuts after I have writtenposts pointing out their conspicuous absences. Bonus shoutout to Jefferson Airplane, whose song “Somebody to Love” I recently mentioned in my “Apollo 13” post. Along with the induction of CCR’s “Fortune Son” in 2013, the NRR now has two songs that serve as movie shorthand for “turbulent ’60s”. All they need is Jimi Hendrix’s cover of “All Along the Watchtower” for the hat trick.
Thanks to this list, my current earworm is Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine”, but just the part where he sings “I know I know I know I know I know” about 187 times.
I really should listen to Lily Tomlin’s comedy albums one of these days. Speaking of, along with Debbie Harry, Benny Goodman, and the aforementioned Gene Autrey and Jefferson Airplane, Lily Tomlin is part of a growing group of artists whose work has been inducted to both of the Library of Congress’ national registries.
Interesting that The Chicks are credited here by their current name, even though in 1998 they were known as The Dixie Chicks. The NRR write-up mentions the name change in 2020 because…well it was 2020 and that’s what we were doing. Between this, tearing down racist statues, and closing Splash Mountain, we kept ourselves busy during lockdown.
Did you know that The Notorious B.I.G.’s real name was Christopher Wallace? I definitely did not.
Pop sensation ABBA is this year’s reminder that the NRR is more open to international recordings that have become part of American pop culture than their counterparts at the NFR. I am genuinely curious if the NFR will ever consider adding international films, and the massive floodgate that will open if they do.
And finally, you can nominate recordings for the National Recording Registry’s Class of 2025 right now! According to the NRR, a record-breaking 2899 recordings were nominated that year, so let your voice be heard. Nominations can be submitted at the Registry’s website, with a deadline this year of October 1st, 2024. They also have a list of artists not yet on the Registry. It needs an updating, but it’s a good starting point.
Happy Listening, stay safe, and…Oh for the love of – Who put Green Day on the list?
Note: For this post, I watched the 1942 “revival” of “The Gold Rush”, the version most readily available when the film made the NFR. This is also a revised and expanded version of my original “Gold Rush” post, which you can read here.
The Plot: Charlie Chaplin reprises his popular role of the Tramp, who this time is The Lone Prospector traveling through the Yukon during the Klondike Gold Rush of the late 1890s. When a blizzard hits, the Tramp ends up trapped in a cabin with wanted criminal Black Larsen (Tom Murray), as well as Big Jim (Mack Swain), another prospector whose gold parcel has been buried by the blizzard. The three wait out the storm for several days, reaching a point of starvation and near-cannibalism. After the storm subsides, the Tramp journeys to a nearby boom town, falling for local dance hall girl Georgia (Georgia Hale). But as with so much of Chaplin’s work, all of this is just backdrop for his trademark mix of inventive comedy and heartfelt drama.
But Does It Really?: I’ve watched “The Gold Rush” several times over the years, and as much as I enjoy it, it’s a movie that I admire more than I love. In only his fourth feature, Chaplin raises the stakes with massive sets and special effects, but still manages to keep the film character driven and packed with some decent laughs. “Gold Rush” is the first essential in Chaplin’s filmography, but his best work as an artist was still ahead of him. Still, you can’t have a list of iconic American movies without Chaplin eating his shoe and dancing with bread rolls, so “Gold Rush” is an absolute must for the Registry.
Everybody Gets One: Georgia Hale was cast in “The Gold Rush” after Chaplin saw her performance in Josef von Sternberg’s “The Salvation Hunters” and needed to re-cast his leading lady (more on that later). Chaplin would go on to hire Hale as a replacement for Virginia Cherrill as the Blind Girl in “City Lights” but ended up re-hiring Cherrill and discarding Hale’s footage (though some of it survives and has been released as supplemental material). Hale’s filmography spanned only seven years and 16 films, a majority of which are now lost.
Seriously, Oscars?: Well, here’s an interesting one: Originally released in 1925, “The Gold Rush” was obviously ineligible for the Academy’s first ceremony four years later, but the film’s 1942 re-release with a brand new soundtrack was nominated in two categories: Sound Recording, and Scoring of a Dramatic or Comedy Picture. Continuing Chaplin’s complicated relationship with the Oscars, “Gold Rush” lost in both categories to, respectively, “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and “Now, Voyager“.
Other notes
In 1923, Chaplin’s first and only attempt at a straight-forward drama – “A Woman of Paris” – was not well received by his audience. Chaplin decided his next movie would be another comedy starring The Tramp, and inspiration for “The Gold Rush” came while he was reading about The Donner Party, the famous group of pioneers who got trapped in the Sierra Nevada and resorted to cannibalism for their survival. Not exactly “ha-ha” funny, but if anyone could successfully mine a dramatic scenario for humor, it was Chaplin.
Production on “The Gold Rush” began in February 1924 in Truckee, California. Although initially planning to film entirely on location, two weeks into shooting Chaplin moved the entire production to his studios in Hollywood, building a massive recreation of the Klondike (the opening establishing shot of the miners heading into the mountains is the sole on-location shot in the final film). That September, production was halted when Chaplin learned that Lita Grey (his on-screen leading lady and real-life lover) was pregnant. When filming resumed in December, Grey had been replaced by Georgia Hale, who Chaplin would also have an affair with during production. Filming was completed in April 1925, with the film being released that summer.
The 1942 version is dedicated to Alexander Woolcott “in appreciation of his praise of this picture.” I couldn’t find Woolcott’s specific review of “The Gold Rush”, but the New Yorker film critic and Algonquin Round Table mainstay was a big fan of Chaplin’s, calling his Tramp character “the finest gentleman of our time.” Woolcott died less than a year after “The Gold Rush” was re-released and dedicated to him.
While I have admitted previously that I prefer Buster Keaton over Chaplin, that doesn’t make Charlie any slouch by comparison. While Keaton always had funnier gags, Chaplin made the better, more nuanced movies. Chaplin was such a talented filmmaker it’s easy to overlook the skill and discipline on display in his movies. His timing both on-camera and behind-the-scenes is flawless, and always imbued with character. There’s a point where superlatives don’t do him justice and you just sit back and admire the work.
I get that this narration was recorded 17 years later, but Chaplin always sounds different that I think he will. So much more authoritative, so much more…British. I guess I’m thinking of what his Tramp persona sounds like in my head. Speaking of, I do love how Narrator Chaplin always refers to the Tramp as “the little fellow”. Very endearing.
In addition to a few edits made by Chaplin, the 1942 re-release runs roughly 50% faster than the original 1925 version. That’s because film stock used during the silent era was projected at 16 frames per second (fps), while sound film has a projection rate of 24 fps. A silent film run through a sound projector is therefore going to have that sped-up quality we associate with the silent era.
Iconic Moment 1 of 2: The shoe eating scene. Before the Donner party resorted to eating each other, they ate their own shoes to survive, and Chaplin took this detail and turned it into a meal (if you will). I love the detail of treating the laces like they’re strands of spaghetti. As best I can tell the shoe Chaplin eats was made of licorice.
At one point Big Jim, out of starvation, starts to envision the Tramp as a giant chicken. Is this where we get the “hungry person sees someone as food” trope?
I always forget how many live animals are in this: dogs, cats, a mule, a bear. Although once the bear enters the cabin it quickly switches from a real bear to a guy in a bear suit, which is still funny, and infinitely safer for everyone on set (except for maybe the guy sweating it out inside the bear suit).
At a budget of $923,000 (roughly $16 million today), “Gold Rush” was one of the most expensive silent films ever made, and you can see that money on the screen. In addition to the Klondike set reconstructions and all those animals, “Gold Rush” has some genuinely impressive special effects, particularly the process shots and model work being done during the avalanche sequence.
Georgia is…also a character in this movie. She doesn’t have much to do, but when the director has a crush on you, you’re going to look great. Fun Fact: The other actress considered to replace Lita Grey was a young unknown named Carole Lombard. She would have been great, but she also would have been 16, so 24-year-old Georgia Hale is a good call for everybody.
The moments that made me laugh the hardest this viewing were any time sincere underscoring played during one of the Tramp’s pratfalls (getting knocked to the ground, getting pelted with a snowball, etc.) As always, ridiculous comedy is always funnier when played straight, and that goes for the music too.
Iconic Moment 2 of 2: When the Tramp fantasizes about hosting Georgia and her friends for New Year’s Eve, he entertains them with the Oceana Roll dance, utilizing two bread rolls with forks stuck in them as his dancing legs. It’s a bit Chaplin used to do at parties that made its way into “The Gold Rush”/film immortality. The story goes that at the film’s Berlin premiere, this scene was so well received by the audience, the projectionist immediately replayed it for an encore. And who says Germans don’t have a sense of humor?
While not as iconic as this movie’s other two big scenes, the cabin teetering over a cliff is another highlight. We get a surprisingly intense mixture of Chaplin’s flawless timing with more of those great special effects. The cherry on top for me is the Tramp thinking that the rocking cabin is just a side effect of his hangover, or in this movie’s parlance his “liver attack”.
Wait, that’s it? The original version ended with the Tramp and Georgia sharing a romantic kiss, but by 1942 Chaplin’s affair with Georgia Hale was long over and he had the kiss removed, cutting abruptly from a shot of them walking away together to the end titles. Chaplin tries to smooth over the cut with narration, but it’s still a bit awkward.
Legacy
Upon its release, “The Gold Rush” exceeded Chaplin’s expectations by being a critical and financial hit, ultimately becoming one of the highest-grossing silent movies of all time. Chaplin himself would often cite “Gold Rush” as the film he wanted to be best remembered for.
Chaplin’s next film was 1928’s “The Circus”, which he made while simultaneously dealing with a divorce, the death of his mother, and trouble with the IRS. While not one of Chaplin’s more famous movies, “The Circus” earned him one of the first honorary Oscars at the inaugural Academy Awards.
In 1942, Chaplin re-released “The Gold Rush” with a new soundtrack, new narration in lieu of title cards, and a few editing tweaks to tighten the pacing. This was the most readily available version of “The Gold Rush” until the early 1990s, when the 1925 version was restored. I’ve seen both and trust me, stick with the 1942 cut. The original is good, but longer and paced for a much more patient audience than me.
In 1953, Chaplin did not renew the copyright on “The Gold Rush” (he was -ahem- out of town) and the film fell into public domain, leading to, as with so many other movies on this list, its frequent showings on TV and subsequent rediscovery by a new generation of film lovers.
At the 1958 Brussels World Fair, “Gold Rush” was named the 2nd greatest movie ever made by a poll of over 100 film critics, falling just five votes behind Eisenstein’s “Battleship Potemkin”. Since then, “Gold Rush” routinely appears on various greatest films lists, including both AFI Top 100 lists.
But of course, the film’s main legacy are the two iconic scenes mentioned above: the shoe-eating scene and the roll dance. The latter gets spoofed quite a bit, although at least one lawyer representing the estate of Charles Chaplin is quick to stop any “unauthorized imitation”.
Further Viewing: In 1979, Werner Herzog told aspiring filmmaker Errol Morris that if Morris ever finished making “Gates of Heaven”, he’d eat his shoe. Morris did, and Herzog’s end of the deal was documented in Les Blank’s aptly titled “Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe”. As expected, clips of Chaplin in “The Gold Rush” are featured.
Written by Michael Maltese. Songs by Maltese and Richard Wagner.
Class of 1992
This is the revised and expanded version of my original “What’s Opera, Doc?” post, which you can read here.
The Plot: After 17 years of their cat-and-mouse game (so to speak), Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd’s feud climaxes in a grand operatic fashion. Taking a cue from the operas of Richard Wagner, Fudd (voiced by Arthur Q. Bryan) is the Germanic legend Siegfried, who must “kill the wabbit” with his spear and magic helmet. Bugs (voiced by Mel Blanc) outwits Siegfried by dressing as the Valkyrie Brünnhilde and seducing him. In seven minutes, Chuck Jones distills Wagner’s epic Ring cycle for a mass audience, and in the process creates one of the most celebrated animated shorts of all time.
Why It Matters: The NFR calls it an “animation classic” that is “often considered to be [director Chuck] Jones’ cinematic masterpiece.” An essay by Chuck Jones’ grandson Craig Kausen is a tribute to the man as well as his three NFR inductedshorts.
But Does It Really?: Oh sure. As someone who grew up watching a lot of Looney Tunes on TV, “What’s Opera, Doc?” is one of their more iconic offerings. Watching it again, the short is still a visually stunning work that never forgets to be entertaining or funny. You get the sense that Chuck Jones and his team are doing this for themselves as artists rather than just cranking out another “product” to hit a studio mandated quota. “What’s Opera, Doc?” is one of the most revered and influential pieces of classic animation, so it’s no surprise that it made the Registry so early. That being said, I still think there is room for a more conventional Bugs vs. Fudd cartoon on the list, and for more Looney Tunes in general. How about those “Duck Season! Rabbit Season!” shorts? Those were great.
Shout Outs: One of the major influences on this cartoony stab at classical music was “Fantasia“, particularly the “Dance of the Hours” segment, which also played opera tropes for laughs.
Title Track: The title is of course a play on Bugs’ famous catchphrase “What’s up, doc?” which he does say (or more accurately sing) at the beginning of this short.
Seriously, Oscars?: Although “What’s Opera, Doc?” was on the Academy’s shortlist of potential nominees for Best Short Subject – Cartoons, it failed to receive a nomination. Warner Bros.’ nominees that year were the Speedy Gonzales short “Tobasco Road”, that year’s winner, the Sylvester & Tweety short “Birds Anonymous”. Chuck Jones would eventually win an Oscar for his 1965 short “The Dot and the Line”, as well as an honorary Oscar 30 years later for lifetime achievement.
Other notes
In the original version of this post, I wondered aloud what the difference was between Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies, but never looked into it. After a deep research dive, the short answer is “Not much.” Initially created for Warner Bros. by independent studio Harming-Ising Productions (which later evolved into Leon Schlesinger Productions), Looney Tunes began in 1930 as a direct copy of Walt Disney’s Silly Symphonies, with each Looney Tunes centering around a pre-existing song from the Warner Bros. catalog. Following the success of Looney Tunes, Warner Bros. commissioned a second unit of animated musical shorts called Merrie Melodies. Initially, Looney Tunes focused on recurring characters, while Merrie Melodies featured more stand-alone stories (Merrie Melodies‘ switch to color in 1934 also helped differentiate the two). The two series started to meld together in the early 1940s when Leon Schlesinger sold his production company to Warner Bros., and all their cartoons were produced exclusively in color. By decade’s end, Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies were so interchangeable even the animators didn’t know which title their shorts would be released under.
Early versions of Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd had been appearing in various Warner Bros. shorts since the late 1930s, back when Bugs was an unnamed white rabbit and Elmer was an off-shoot of the character Egghead. The characters weren’t paired together until 1940’s “Elmer’s Candid Camera”, and another pairing three months later – “A Wild Hare” – marked the official debut of Bugs Bunny and is considered the first true Bugs/Elmer cartoon. Over the next two decades, Bugs and Elmer would go head-to-head in over 35 shorts. “What’s Opera, Doc?” would be one of their final confrontations during the initial Looney Tunes run, and the last to be directed by Chuck Jones.
Although Mel Blanc is the only credited voice actor in “What’s Opera, Doc?”, Elmer’s voice was provided by radio actor Arthur Q. Bryan. Bryan voiced the hunter starting in the late ’30s up until his death in 1959. Side note: Mel Blanc would occasionally supply the voice of Fudd over the years, typically a single line or vocal effect when Bryan was unavailable. Blanc can be heard as Fudd in “What’s Opera, Doc?” for exactly one word: “SMOG!”
I don’t have a lot to say about the short itself, hence the abundance of contextualizing in this post. This is another one of those NFR entries where my opinion of the actual film is “It’s good. It’s very good.” I will take a moment, however, to point out how much I love Elmer Fudd’s singing voice. I think it’s a combination of Arthur Q. Bryan’s very sincere performance and Fudd’s famous abundance of W’s in his speech that makes me laugh every time.
Dressed as Brünnhilde, Bugs Bunny continues his running gag of dressing in drag to confuse his antagonists, a trait of his even before he was officially Bugs Bunny. As with so many of Bugs’ shorts, “What’s Opera, Doc?” obeys the comedy rule of cartoon drag: No one notices it’s a disguise until the wig falls off. It’s also worth noting that Michael Maltese had previously dressed Bugs as a Valkyrie in the 1945 short “Herr Meets Hare”.
In a twist from the usual Bugs/Fudd cartoon (and from Wagner’s opera), Elmer actually defeats Bugs. This is one of only three shorts in which Elmer is victorious, though this is the only one where he feels remorse for his actions. But all is fine when Bugs addresses the audience with the great curtain line: “Well, what did you expect in an opera? A happy ending?”
Legacy
“What’s Opera, Doc?” was released in July 1957, and thanks to its frequent airings on television quickly became one of the best known of the Looney Tunes/Merrie Melodies. Reflecting years later in his autobiography, Chuck Jones called the short “probably our most elaborate and satisfying production.”
You’ll read in a lot of places (including the official NFR write-up) that “What’s Opera, Doc?” was the first animated short inducted into the National Film Registry. That’s all well and good, but are we not counting “Gertie the Dinosaur“, inducted the year before? I guess we can technically consider “What’s Opera, Doc?” the first fully animated short in the Registry, but let’s give Winsor McCay his due.
In 1994, animation historian Jerry Beck published “The 50 Greatest Cartoons: As Selected by 1,000 Animation Professionals”, now considered the animation equivalent of the American Film Institute’s Top 100 Movies list. “What’s Opera, Doc?” was voted the number one greatest cartoon in the book and is one of thirteen shorts on the list that have been inducted into the National Film Registry so far.
Surprisingly, several accomplished opera singers (including Elizabeth Bishop and Jamie Barton) have cited “What’s Opera, Doc?” as their introduction to the artform and their inspiration to make it their career.
But of course, this short’s biggest legacy was and is Elmer Fudd’s iconic new lyrics to “Ride of the Valkyries”: “Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit”. You cannot hear that music without hearing Elmer Fudd singing his heart out. Heck, I rank it above that one scene in “Apocalypse Now” as the definite use of that music in a movie.
Written by Millard Kaufman. Adaptation by Don McGuire. Based on the short story “Bad Time at Honda” by Howard Breslin.
Class of 2018
The Plot: There’s a strange occurrence in the small town of Black Rock, California one day in 1945: the train stops there for the first time in four years. Off the train comes John J. Macreedy (Spencer Tracy), a one-armed man looking for someone in the town named Komoko. The townspeople do not take kindly to Macreedy, preventing him at every step from learning anything about Komoko’s whereabouts. Reno Smith (Robert Ryan), who seems to have an unspoken grip on the other townspeople, informs Macreedy that Komoko was sent to a Japanese internment camp during the war, but Macreedy suspects there is more to the story. In a span of roughly 24 hours, secrets will be revealed, prejudices will be confronted, and we find out what exactly makes this such a bad day at Black Rock.
Why It Matters: The NFR states that despite its short runtime, the film “packs a punch”, praising its “standout” cast, as well as its cinematography.
But Does It Really?: “Bad Day at Black Rock” has a lot going for it, but I kept wondering “How did this make the NFR?”, especially in recent years with the NFR making a conscious effort to include movies by more diverse filmmakers, and not just classic studio pictures by White guys. My best guess is that whoever made the argument for this film’s inclusion emphasized its condemnation of anti-Asian and anti-Asian American hate crimes (still depressingly relevant, by the way). I’ll be nice and give “Bad Day” the “minor classic” designation: While nowhere near as iconic a movie as its contemporaries on the list, “Bad Day” is still an engaging movie that delivers its message uniquely and devoid of preachiness. Plus, it’s 81 minutes. You know how much I love a movie that doesn’t waste anybody’s time.
Everybody Gets One: Don McGuire was primarily an actor, but by the early ’50s he was also dabbling in producing and screenwriting. McGuire paid $15,000 (over $170,000 today) to adapt “Bad Time at Honda” into a screenplay, and successfully pitched the idea to producer Dore Schary of MGM. While Schary liked the story (his movies tended to tackle social issues of the day), he had writer Millard Kaufman do another pass at the screenplay. Ultimately, Kaufman got the final screenplay credit for the movie, with McGuire getting an “Adaptation by” credit. Side note: Technically, this is Millard Kaufman’s only NFR movie. He is credited as the screenwriter for “Gun Crazy” but was merely acting as a front for the recently blacklisted Dalton Trumbo.
Title Track: As noted above, the short story the film is based on was called “Bad Time at Honda”. MGM requested a title change to avoid confusion with the recent John Wayne movie “Hondo”. Millard Kaufman suggested the name Black Rock after a real town in Arizona (although the fictional Black Rock of this film is in California).
Seriously, Oscars?: A hit upon release, “Bad Day” received three Oscar nominations: Director, Screenplay, and Lead Actor for Spencer Tracy. Unfortunately, it was a bad night for “Bad Day”, losing all three awards to “Marty” (With the extra irony of Ernest Borgnine beating out his own “Bad Day” co-star for Best Actor).
Other notes
I’m intrigued by the tagline on the film’s poster: “Just the Way It Happened!” To the best of my knowledge, this movie and its source material are not based on a real-world event.
“Bad Day at Black Rock” was filmed in the then-new Cinemascope widescreen format. At first glance it feels like an odd match, the film’s subdued, intimate setting vs. Cinemascope’s inherent grandness, but it ultimately works in the movie’s favor. The widescreen helps highlight the expansive nothingness beyond the city limits, showing how isolated Black Rock is from the rest of the world, making it a perfect spot for a racist like Reno to reign supreme. There’s also plenty of low angle shots, making everyone in this town loom seemingly as large as the nearby mountain ranges. It should be noted, however, that cinematographer William C. Mellor was not nominated for an Oscar for his impressive work here. And they had two cinematography categories back then! Seriously, Oscars?
MGM built the entire town of Black Rock on location in Lone Pine, a census-designated place in Inyo County, California, wedged between the Sierra Nevada and Death Valley. Coincidentally, Lone Pine is not too far away from Manzanar, site of a Japanese internment camp that is the subject of another NFR film.
The opening credits sequence of the train speeding across the landscape was added late in post-production after test audiences felt the film began too abruptly. John Sturges was unavailable, so associate producer Herman Hoffman filmed the sequence, including the helicopter shot of the train heading right towards the camera, with the camera flying out of the way at the last second. Sturges allegedly said of the opening years later, “It’s a helluva shot, but I didn’t make it.”
Spencer Tracy is one of my favorite actors, so of course I got nothing but praise for him in this movie. Tracy was always the right balance of old-school Hollywood acting and modern Method acting: Natural without calling attention to it. As Macreedy, Tracy is giving a nuanced, disciplined performance; somehow always in control while simultaneously looking like he wandered onto the wrong movie set. Not bad for someone who tried on multiple occasions to back out of making this movie. Side note: Tracy is dressed almost identically to how he’ll be dressed in one of my favorite movies: “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World”, making “Bad Day” look like it could be a prequel.
And yes, Macreedy is a one-armed man, which Tracy plays by stiffening up his left arm and keeping his hand in his pocket for the whole movie. [Insert Your Own “The Fugitive” One-Armed Man Joke Here. Janssen, Ford, Daly: Dealer’s choice.]
I was not familiar with the works of Robert Ryan before watching this movie, though he shows up in two NFR westerns I will be covering eventually (“The Naked Spur” and “The Wild Bunch”). As Reno Smith, Ryan is cast as the type of bigoted heavy he always seemed to play in the movies. Rare is the actor who seems like a genuine threat to Spencer Tracy, but Ryan gives Smith the right amount of menace; one of those guys that doesn’t need to do the dirty work himself but can and will if the situation calls for it. I look forward to seeing Ryan’s other NFR performances.
In addition to Spencer Tracy and Robert Ryan, you get great supporting turns by Walter Brennan as the town doctor and Dean Jagger as the ineffective sheriff, plus early-career Ernest Borgnine and Lee Marvin as two of Smith’s thugs. Marvin in particular gets some good moments as the first townsperson to openly threaten Macreedy. Going toe to toe with Spencer Tracy this early in your career is a gutsy move. In fact, between this and Marvin’s latter intimidating of Jimmy Stewart and John Wayne in “Liberty Valance“, his early acting strategy is the equivalent of shivving the biggest guy in the prison yard.
Anne Francis doesn’t get a lot to do as the only woman in this movie, but she shares her scenes with Spencer Tracy admirably. Oh well, at least we all have her work in “Forbidden Planet” to look forward to.
[Semi-spoiler] Funny how the movie has been highlighted for its progressive tolerance of Japanese Americans, and yet the only Japanese people mentioned (Komoko and his son) are never actually seen on screen. Seems a bit backwards, but this is 1955: the mere mention of any non-White characters (and acknowledgement of the bigotry directed at them) is a step forward…I guess.
In another universe Spencer Tracy would have been a great Lou Grant. I know that has nothing to do with anything, but if “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” was somehow a ’50s workplace comedy, Tracy would have nailed it. I can just hear him saying “You’ve got spunk; I hate spunk.”
The one downside to all the natural performances in this movie: Mumbling. So much mumbling. Everybody is mumbling. It really says something when the most coherent actor in your movie is Walter Brennan. On a positive note, it’s a testament to everyone’s performances that I was still able to follow what was going on at any given time without resorting to subtitles.
Spencer Tracy was never really an action star, so it’s fun watching him (or a convincing stunt double) give Ernest Borgnine a near fatal karate chop to the throat. It’s one of the first genuinely surprising moments in the movie for me. Speaking of…
[Spoilers] That climax really takes things up a notch, with Spencer Tracy MacGyvering a Molotov cocktail and setting Robert Ryan on fire! Didn’t see any of that coming.
Legacy
Although he had already been directing film for a decade at this point, John Sturges hit his filmmaking stride starting with “Bad Day”. In the ensuing years he would make “Gunfight at the O.K. Corral”, “The Old Man and the Sea” (reuniting with Spencer Tracy), “The Magnificent Seven” (which is on the NFR), and “The Great Escape” (which isn’t). Despite his later achievements, Sturges named “Bad Day at Black Rock” his favorite of his own films.
“Bad Day at Black Rock” marked Spencer Tracy’s final film as a contract player with MGM after 20 years, opting to spend the rest of his career as a freelance agent. Tracy would, however, briefly return to MGM in 1962 to narrate “How the West Was Won“.
“Bad Day at Black Rock” still gets referenced every so often in pop culture, though mostly just the title (including by me in a real stretch of a subtitle for my “Pillow Talk” post). There have also been episodes of such TV shows as “Kojak”, “Remington Steele”, and “The X-Files” that take the film’s basic premise of a stranger in a small town with a secret. Ever the movie buff, Remington Steele even calls out the connection in his episode (though he calls it “A Bad Day at Black Rock” and gets the year wrong. But hey, there was no internet back then.)
And finally, although Don McGuire lost out on a screenplay credit for “Bad Day”, he would go on to write the play “Would I Lie to You?” and successfully got a story credit (and Oscar nomination) on its eventual film version: “Tootsie“.
Written by Howard Koch. Based on the novella by Stefan Zweig.
Class of 1992
A modern trailer
The Plot: In turn-of-the-century Vienna, former piano prodigy Stefan Brand (Louis Jourdan) is planning to skip town rather than participate in a duel with an unknown challenger. Before leaving, his butler John (Art Smith) hands him a recently delivered letter that opens with “By the time you read this letter, I may be dead.” From reading the letter, Stefan learns of its author Lisa (Joan Fontaine) who, as a teenage girl, first met and immediately fell in love with Stefan. Growing up, Lisa rejects all other romantic advances and marriage proposals, clinging to the fantasy of one day being with Stefan, who has barely taken notice of her. In her adult years, Lisa finally has an extended encounter with Stefan, culminating in a romantic evening together. Although Stefan promises to return to Lisa after a two-week concert engagement in Milan, he never returns. There’s plenty more heartbreak where that came from courtesy of one of Europe’s greatest directors on a brief detour to Hollywood.
Why It Matters: The NFR gives a little background on Ophüls, praising his “stylish trademarks” such as “fluid long takes, elaborate camera movements, opulent detail, and visual repetition”.
But Does It Really?: I suspect this is one of those NFR movies that serves as a loophole to get an acclaimed international director on the list. We’ve covered NFR movies from the likes of Fritz Lang and Sergio Leone that, while not their definitive work, are worthy enough to be included due to the filmmakers’ overall contributions to world cinema. This might be the case with Max Ophüls, with “Letter from an Unknown Woman” being a respected entry in his filmography, albeit in the shadow of his European films. While we’ve had a few entries like this over the years, it’s interesting that the NFR chose to induct “Letter” so early (it’s among the Registry’s first 100 movies). “Letter from an Unknown Woman” is largely forgotten but, if you’re willing to go along with it, is an enjoyable classic Hollywood melodrama and a fine representation of Max Ophüls.
Everybody Gets One: Max Ophüls started off as a theater actor and director in his native Germany, and by the early 1930s was making his first short films. Following the rise of the Nazi party in 1933, Ophüls moved across Europe continuing to make movies, arriving in America in 1941 and staying for the remainder of the decade. In his brief time in Hollywood, Ophüls made five films and directed such stars as Douglas Fairbanks Jr., James Mason, Joan Bennett, Barbara Bel Geddes, and of course Joan Fontaine. Fun Fact: Max was born Max Oppenheimer but changed his last name to Ophüls (after a prominent family in German aristocracy) so that his family name wouldn’t be tainted if he failed as an artist. Turns out that’s not something he had to worry about.
Seriously, Oscars?: No Oscar nominations for “Letter”, a semi-independent entry during the studio system’s dominance over the awards. Ophüls would eventually receive two Oscar nominations in his career: a Screenplay nod for “La Ronde” and Art Direction for “Le Plaisir”.
Other notes
Up until this viewing, I always got this movie mixed up with “A Letter to Three Wives“. Same era of movies, same basic framing device; can you blame me?
“Letter from an Unknown Woman” was one of a handful of movies made by Rampart Productions, an independent company formed by Joan Fontaine and her husband William Dozier, who served as this film’s executive producer. Neither their production company nor their marriage lasted too much longer after this film’s release.
Shoutout to “Letter” producer John Houseman: former Orson Welles associate, one-time Joan Fontaine paramour, and future Oscar-winning “Paper Chase” actor. Funnily enough, Houseman is only on the Registry as a producer (this and “The Bad and the Beautiful“). Side note: Every time John Houseman is mentioned I just hear Jerry Seinfeld’s impression of him; “Alec Beeeerg. Miss-tah Beeeerg.”
In the original novella, both Lisa and Stefan are unnamed (because, you know, the title). For those of you keeping score, that would have been two NFR entries in which Joan Fontaine plays an unnamed woman. We were so close to me reprising my Mulva runner from the “Rebecca” post. Hey, that’s two “Seinfeld” references in one post! Not bad for a 75-year-old movie.
I appreciate that the letter Lisa writes – which serves as the narration for the entire movie – is multiple pages front and back. All I could think of was the massive carpal tunnel she must have had while writing it.
This movie’s flashbacks begin with Lisa as a teenager, still played by Joan Fontaine. It’s a little weird, especially in Joan’s scenes with an actual teenage girl playing her friend, but I give her credit for this performance. You can see Joan really focus on the specific physicality of an awkward teenager, a chance for a movie star to show off their skills as an actor with range. Lisa’s character arc works because of Joan, but the teenager stuff is a bumpy start.
Stefon’s mute butler John is played by Art Smith, one of the many character actors in this movie who have been quietly popping up in multiple NFR movies without me noticing, aside from the occasional “Who’s that guy? He looks familiar.” And for you MST3K fans out there: Art Smith played Pile-On Pete!
While we’re talking about the butler, making him mute is unique to the movie, and I assume is there mainly as a plot device. I don’t know; I feel like at any moment John could have written to Stefon, “That’s the same woman, you moron!” But of course, there would be no movie if that happened, so back to the sidelines with you, Pile-On.
Stefon is a real bastard, but Louis Jourdan is very charming in the part. Even when you know Stefon is not going to reciprocate Lisa’s feelings, you’re still drawn to the guy. And I liked him a lot better in this than in “Gigi“, but that’s a low bar.
The cinematography by longtime Ophüls collaborate Franz Planer, as expected, is wonderful. It’s all very much the kind of stylish gliding associated with Ophuls, but never distracting or in disservice to the story. I particularly love the shot of Lisa and Stefon in their private booth at the restaurant. The camera zooms in on a part between the curtains, as if we are spying on their secret romance.
Another little detail I enjoyed: the occasional side commentary from different workers on Lisa and Stefon’s date, like the ride operators at the amusement park, or the women in the band. It’s all some much appreciated comic relief a la the animal appliances on “The Flintstones” (“It’s a living”). In fact, one of the bandmembers’ lines made me laugh-out-loud: “I like to play for married people. They’ve got homes.”
It’s not a melodrama until we get a “teary farewell at the train station” scene, which of course always makes me think of the parody version in “Airplane!” Speaking of, to my great disappointment, the Howard Koch that wrote the screenplay to “Letter from an Unknown Woman” is not the same Howard Koch that produced “Airplane!” That would have been too incredible for me to handle.
[Spoilers] Whoa, did not realize that Lisa has Stefan’s baby! That’s pre-marital sex and a child out of wedlock in one movie! But of course, this was approved by the Production Code, which we all know means that this won’t end well for anyone.
Shoutout to Marcel Journet as Lisa’s husband Johann, the rare “other man” in a Hollywood romance movie. He’s got the right mix where we understand his actions without hoping he succeeds instead of our protagonists.
Wait, there’s two train scenes? It’s an embarrassment of riches! Of course, this one is Lisa saying goodbye to her son and setting up the plot convenience that makes sure their Code-era sins are atoned for.
It’s hard to watch a melodrama like this without applying my 2024 sensibilities like, “Where the hell was Stefan?” and “Why does Lisa still love him?” It’s always a good reminder to try and meet these movies where they’re at. This movie doesn’t care about my logic-poking, it just wants you to get swept away in the romance of it all.
[Spoilers] The ending is quite effective, with Stefon having his Keyser Söze moment where he pieces together his memories of Lisa and realizes it was her all along, including seeing a ghostly apparition of her teenage self at the same spot where they met. It’s all very beautiful, and almost distracts you from the fact that he is still a real S.O.B. Also, the reveal that Johann is the man who challenged Stefon to a duel is an inevitable Code-enforced workaround, but it does the job.
Legacy
Following his work in America, Max Ophüls returned to Europe and made what are widely considered his best films, including “La Ronde”, “Le Plasir”, and “The Earrings of Madame de…”. Ophüls died in 1957 while working on “Les Amants de Montparnasse 19”, a film that would ultimately be completed by his friend Jacques Becker.
Max Ophüls’ filmography made a big impression on the French New Wave that was just getting started when he passed, which has led to new generations of film lovers discovering his work. “Letter from an Unknown Woman” got swept up in the reappraisal and is generally considered his best American film.
Following its box office failure and the subsequent dissolvement of Rampart Productions, “Letter from an Unknown Woman” was sold to Mundus Television in 1954 and started making the late show movie rounds. At some point the film lapsed into public domain and is currently available on several internet video sites and streaming services for free.
The original novella of “Letter from an Unknown Woman” has been adapted into other movies many times over the years, as well as a Russian opera in the ’70s.
Joan Fontaine’s film career stayed steady through the 1950s, and while some of them were popular with audiences, none have retained any significant legacy. Outside a few TV movies in her later years, Ms. Fontaine’s last movie was 1966’s “The Witches” for Hammer Films. Joan Fontaine died in 2013 at age 96.
And finally, because of course it’s worth mentioning: Executive producer William Dozier would pivot to television later in his career, most notably as the producer and narrator of the Adam West “Batman” TV show. “What’s this!? Lonely Lisa’s letter of lost love left lingering by loathsome lothario!?”
Further Viewing: Any of Max Ophüls’ later filmography mentioned above. I haven’t seen any of them, but I’m adding them to my ever-expanding list of international movies to get around to once I’ve finally caught up with all these American movies.
The Horse's Head 