Of course the passing of Dolores Hope is a sad occasion and our condolences go out to her loved ones. But there is some peace in knowing Bob won’t be all alone anymore and that he and his bride of 69 years are side by side once again.    

Washington Post

Dolores Hope, who throughout her 69-year marriage to comedian Bob Hope oversaw their charitable giving and played a key role in establishing the Eisenhower Medical Center in Rancho Mirage, Calif., has died. She was 102.

Mrs. Hope died Sept. 19 at her home in the Toluca Lake neighborhood of Los Angeles, publicist Harlan Boll said. No cause of death was reported.

In the late 1960s, the Hopes donated 80 acres of land near their future Palm Springs estate for the medical center, which opened in 1971. They became “the driving forces behind the creation and long-term growth” of the medical facility, the center said on its Web site.

She served as chairwoman of the center’s board for years, and he raised millions of dollars for the center through the annual golf tournament that used to bear his name and is now known as the Humana Challenge.

When her husband died in 2003 — two months after turning 100 — Dolores declined to estimate how many millions they had given or raised for charity. She did say most of it involved young people.

A great deal of their fortune came from vast property holdings in the San Fernando Valley. At Bob Hope’s death, their wealth had been estimated at as much as $500 million. Their multimillion-dollar Palm Springs estate was built in 1979.

On her 100th birthday in 2009, she attended a party in the back yard of the Toluca Lake home that she and her husband bought in 1938. At the event, daughter Linda Hope theorized that laughter in the family home contributed to her parents’ long lives.

Read the full piece here.

The problems with last night’s show were legion, and much of the media agrees that what we might’ve witnessed could well rate as the worst  Oscar telecast ever.  My memory isn’t good enough to say that for sure, but that the show was dreadful isn’t in dispute and while a post-mortem isn’t what this write-up is about, I will say that James Franco’s arrogant, sleepy, cooler-than-thou attitude that forced the usually delightful Anne Hathaway to over-compensate with the cute factor, was only half the problem. The other half was in the producing (and writing). This was a horribly produced three-plus hours. But rather than complain further, I’m going to offer constructive suggestions. No one cares what I think. I get that. But I’m going to offer them anyway.

1. The Host

The host is crucial, not only to the success of the overall show but also to the ratings. The cynical grab of Franco and Hathaway in an effort to attract younger voters was beyond stupid. Neither is a standalone box office draw, neither has captured America’s imagination, and both are inter-changeable as a dozen or so other actors in that same age range. I hate to tell Hollywood this, but (and the ratings back me up) young people aren’t stupid. They really don’t want to “watch people their own age” host the Oscars. Like the rest of us, they want to watch a good show. Upon hearing Franco and Hathaway were hosting this year, even the squealiest of teenagers was likely as confused  by that choice as the rest of us.

There’s two ways to go with a host.

 You make the Oscar telecast the host’s show —  The Billy Crystal Show or the The Johnny Carson Show or The Whoever Show. Whoever the host is, the Oscars should become their program. When Johnny Carson or Crystal hosted, our affection for them was one of the main reasons we tuned in and kept watching. We couldn’t wait for them to return to the podium between awards and quip on what just happened or extend a running joke. Now it seems as though we have a host for the first half hour before the program dissolves into a structure-less hodgepodge of famous faces and various awards. It actually feels more and more out of place when the hosts appear closer to the end of the show.  

Or…

Find an Ed Sullivan to take us through the evening. Instead of a bad variety show with truly awful comedy writing and musical numbers, have a steady, warm, familiar, charismatic figure glide us through the evening. Ed Sullivan wasn’t an entertainer and yet Americans young and old tuned in because Americans young and old liked Ed. Rather than demand our host perform (and risk the ever-increasing likelihood of a flop), have him or her serve as our guide for the night, walking us through the various awards. Morgan Freeman would be perfect for this. America loves him, he’s classy,  has a wry sense of humor, a warm presence, and who wouldn’t want to spend a few hours with Morgan Freeman?

How about TCM’s Robert Osbourne? Or Ellen Degeneres?

2. Structure

A well-structured show that actually feels like it’s building towards something will solve a ton of problems. There might well be some sort of structure in place now, but we in the audience can’t sense or feel it. As it stands now, the show feels episodic, messy and plodding. There’s no rhyme or reason as to how the three-plus hours unfold: a big award! an obscure award! a song! Celine Dion sings for the dead! What the hell is that about? Structure is KEY to making a successful film or television show, to telling any kind of story, and someone needs to grab all the disparate elements involved in the yearly Oscar giveaway and turn them into a cohesive whole that gives the audience a sense of momentum.

3. Pacing

For years, and for good reason, people complained about the length of the telecast and the pacing. But from where I sit, the remedy applied to this problem has been exactly the wrong one. Speeches are truncated, songs are shortened, and the show feels hurried in too many places. Cutting and trimming is not an instant cure for pacing. “Gone With the Wind” is nearly four hours long but if you cut an hour out of it, you’ll hurt the pacing because the story is so well-told and perfectly — here comes that word again — structured.

The Academy Awards don’t lag because the show is too long, the Academy Awards lag because the show sucks. Stop worrying about time and worry more about compartmentalizing each segment of the telecast and making them better. Last night no one spoke longer than Kirk Douglas and yet no one was bored. We couldn’t get enough of him. He was charming and funny and we adore the guy. I would’ve also liked to have seen a longer and more dignified tribute to Lena Horne. With an eye towards allowing the audience to make an emotional connection to Ms. Horne, to miss her and appreciate her and feel the loss of this great talent — as opposed to rushing Halle Berry off the stage — the moment could’ve been a truly memorable one.

Shorter isn’t better. Better produced segments is better. Making each segment an individual gem is better. Lena Horne deserved a gem.  

4. Suspense

I’m not sure what the Academy can do about this but the biggest bummer, the biggest drag on the show every year, is a numbing lack of suspense. Who wins should not be a foregone conclusion, and this is a problem that only feels like it’s getting worse.  What we have now are favorites always emerging from the abundance of awards shows that come before the Oscars and an avalanche of media prognosticators in the entertainment press who know a lot of people in Hollywood and can get the lay of the land as far as who’s voting for whom.

Sitting through a poorly paced, poorly structured show awaiting the inevitable is never fun.

Maybe people just need to shut up about who they’re voting for?

5. Watch the Super Bowl

Year after year, ratings for the Super Bowl embarrass the Academy Awards. Over 100 million people tune in to watch a game involving teams other than their own. There’s a reason for this. Watch and figure out what that reason is. Structure and suspense certainly helps, but there’s more to it than that. People love football. People love the movies. The Academy Awards shouldn’t get less than half the viewership the Super Bowl does. Crack that code.

6. Create Traditions

What the Oscars need most are a few traditions, four or five can’t-miss annual events that we can count on during each and every telecast. The Super Bowl is brilliant at this, from their opening reading of the Declaration of Independence to the big deal made out of the half-time show to the awarding of the Lombardi Trophy. Create some beloved traditions and your audience will come.

Perhaps…

7. More Magic Through the Use of Nostalgia

Hollywood needs to honor its past more. Right now that happens during the program in spots, but again the structure is such a mess and the pace so hurried that these moments always feel shoehorned and  perfunctory — like the Academy can’t wait to get them out of the way. Slow down! Take us back, move us, make us cry, remind us why we fell in love with the movies in the first place. Last night, one of the most memorable moments was simply hearing the “Star Wars” theme. But again, by the time I turned my head to watch it was over.

Furthermore, and no one wants to admit this, it’s just a fact that today’s movie stars are lacking in all the qualities that made The Greats great. There’s a reason a 95 year-old Kirk Douglas can steal the show and the sight of a digital Bob Hope puts a smile on our face James Franco never could. The Academy can make up for the lack of star-power today and our lack of affection for most of today’s stars by mining the rich legacy of their past.

8. A Smart Producer

The Oscars need a producer familiar with taking nothing and creating a story or at least a crafting some sort of narrative with some kind of momentum. Reality show producer Mark Burnett would be an excellent choice. His entire career has been built around crafting narratives and a sense of momentum from practically nothing. I appreciate that you want “A SHOW!” so let Burnett be the Executive Producer who crafts the structure and let him hire the Bob Fosse needed to bring the pizazz.

9. Bring Back Billy Crystal

Just do it already.

10. Start with Class and Stop Thinking Outside the Box

Go back and watch the best reviewed and most beloved telecasts.

Rinse, wash, repeat…

The world hasn’t changed all that much. You have.

Hope and Roosevelt 

Democrat Franklin Roosevelt was the first of eleven presidents Republican Bob Hope entertained. The commander-in-chief loved the comedian on the big screen and appreciated Hope’s efforts entertaining the troops during World War II. Their paths crossed when Bob emceed a dinner in the president’s honor, a few months before Roosevelt won an unprecedented fourth term in 1944. In front of a crowd of luminaries, Hope told a story about a Marine in the South Pacific who was disappointed that he had not encountered an enemy combatant.

At the edge of a jungle, with his gun at the ready, he shouted out, “To hell with Hirohito!”

A Japanese soldier emerged from behind the trees. “To hell with Roosevelt!”

But the Marine lowered his weapon. “Darn it, I can’t shoot a fellow Republican. ”The president threw back his head and laughed so hard Bob later said he almost considered voting for him. 

Red Skelton the Loner 

Comedian Red Skelton felt very little need to socialize during the twenty-one seasons his TV show ran on the air. Like his famed clown character, Freddy the Freeloader, the Indiana-born Skelton was a natural loner. Why should he spend time with fellow comedians, who were more interested in topping his performances rather than being his friend? Let others hang around Hollywood nightclubs, and give the impression to their fans that they were out-of-control drunks. In the turbulent 1960s, the very conservative Red felt even more isolated from younger comics whose humor seemed raunchy and inappropriate. His most important relationship was with his audience. One rare night when he ate out, Red observed a comedy writer entertaining his dinner mates. Appreciative of the man’s talents, Skelton walked up to his table and stated, “I wish you worked on my show.”

The scribe was startled. “But I do.” 

The Unusual Speaking Engagement 

One day in the 1950s, George Jessel was having lunch with some fellow comedians when he was approached by a stranger who asked him to speak at his dog’s funeral. The famous toastmaster, who often got into trouble professionally because of his outspoken conservative politics and his fierce support of Israel, was insulted. Jessel’s speechmaking was reserved for political and entertainment gatherings. This fellow was humiliating him; George’s friends would probably rib him about pet eulogies for the next five years. The cash-starved womanizer began to reconsider when the man quietly promised to pay him a great deal of money. Still, George hesitated. Could he really agree to this indignity in front of his pals? His would-be benefactor then stated that he would also donate heavily to George’s pet cause, the Jewish Relief Fund. Slowly, Jessel broke into a smile and then said, “Why didn’t you tell me your dog was Jewish?” 

Dinner at the Hepburns’

Katherine Hepburn always laughed whenever Spencer Tracy told the story of his visit to her family home in Connecticut. One night at dinner, the outspoken actress got into a lively argument with her father Doc Hepburn about how to best help the less fortunate. Tired of their moralizing, Tracy went out to the porch for a smoke. After a couple of puffs, he looked up to see a very lost, very timid-looking Mexican fisherman who had somehow stumbled onto the property. Tracy yelled inside, “Hey, better get another plate ready in there, the poor are here to collect.”

Old man Hepburn came out on the porch. “Hey you, get the hell out of here! I’ll sic the dogs on you.”

After the frightened trespasser ran away, Thomas Hepburn told the startled Tracy, “Got to get the alarms fixed.” 

Then the men went back inside, and the family resumed their discussion on aiding society’s downtrodden.

—–

Red’s musical variety program enabled him to perform a wide range of lovable characters such as the “Mean Widdle Kid,” “Clem Kadiddlehopper” and “Freddie the Freeloader.” His iconic muses made audiences laugh, cry, and more often than not, think.  

Red Skelton loved America. 

In one of his most famous soliloquies, Red Skelton re-enacted a lesson about the American Flag taught to him by his childhood teacher, Mr. Laswell. [See the video above and please visit Red's website here for more.] 

Lesser known perhaps are Mr. Skelton’s 64 symphonies and 8,000 songs, including the patriotic standard “Red’s White and Blue March.” [listen below]

—–

Alas, CBS ended its association with the program in the spring of 1970. This apparently marked the beginning of one of several attempts by CBS to downplay programming whose primary appeal was to “Middle America,” an audience more rural and also somewhat older than that generally desired by network television advertisers. Marketers were moving towards a younger, “hipper,” and more urban audience. 

An ironically capitalist end to a more innocent television era consumed by the emerging radical cultural degradation. 

Red Skelton was awarded the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences Governors Award for lifetime achievement in 1986. 

In 1993 Mr. Skelton was inducted into the Comedy Hall of Fame with a wonderful tribute presented by John Ritter & Michael Richards:

—–

Truly an honorable man, and an honored American individual. 

From Bob Hope and Red Skelton, to John Wayne to Gary Sinise, and all in Hollywood who step up today, let us pay our respects to these great patriot entertainers as they themselves have paid tribute to our nation and especially to the men and women who have fought and continue to fight to secure our Life, Liberty and Pursuits of Happiness as our Founders intended. 

Let us also pray there are many more where they came from… Lord knows we’re going to need them. 

In closing, as Red Skelton would say, “Good night, and may God bless.” 

Happy Birthday America!

“[John Ford] was the only one of the Hollywood directors who fought who did not forget his men.”

– Captain Mark Armistead, USN –

Thus quotes Joseph McBride in his masterful biography Searching for John Ford, at the head of the chapter dealing with the director’s wartime activities. It is usually seen as lamentable when a genius is pulled from the practice of his art for any extended period, but here we must make a special allowance. As filmmaker Lindsay Anderson (1923-1994) explains in his essential critical volume About John Ford (which, like the McBride book, should be sitting proudly and dog-eared on the bookshelf of every conservative film fan): “War service took Ford away from the making of films for some three years when his powers were at their height. One would regret this interruption more had it not led directly to the making of a masterpiece.”

The masterpiece of which he speaks is a 1945 war film called They Were Expendable, and if you are a conservative who has never seen it, then you have denied yourself one of the most moving and achingly poetic expressions of your worldview ever put to celluloid.

They Were Expendable was made in the Fall of 1944, while most of the people portrayed in the story were still rotting in Japanese POW camps, if indeed they weren’t already dead. Just like our modern foes, the Japanese mocked the Geneva Conventions throughout World War II, and by the end some 40% of the POWs in their care had been executed, starved, or died of disease in their camps. This is compared to Europe, where only 1% of American POWs in German camps died. The events the film depicts took place in early 1942 when, in the wake of Pearl Harbor, tens of thousands of Americans found themselves trapped in the Philippines and facing a fearsome Japanese invasion. The enemy bombed them with impunity, destroying their bases and leaving them with only four planes and an assortment of tiny boats. Supplies and morale dwindled into oblivion as, rather than be evacuated, they were ordered to hold their positions as long as possible against — and eventually be killed or captured by — an overwhelming enemy who was infamous for torturing and murdering prisoners.

How these Americans (and Filipinos) comported themselves as they were gobbled up by the Japanese war machine, buying time with their lives so that General MacArthur could escape the clutches of the enemy and prepare a counter-assault, is the focus of the film. And yet it is like no other war film ever made. Its long running time (two hours, sixteen minutes) allows us to linger on scene after scene of doomed men and women slowly losing their grip on their homes, their jobs, their culture, and each other. Under Ford’s direction, the movie rises above mere plot — battles, strategies — to become something much greater: the cinematic ennobling of an entire people, their way of life, their code of honor, and their selfless sacrifice. Lindsay Anderson would later declare it his single favorite film from his single favorite director, noting the presence of “image after image of conscious dignity” depicting a “love of brotherhood, loyalty,” and “the spirit of endurance that can wring victory from defeat.”

What prompts someone to make a movie like this? To throw away all of the Hollywood clichés, to indeed ignore the enemy entirely (the Japanese are only seen from afar via their planes and ships) and instead reach for something more vital: the very bedrock of our connection with country and culture? It’s so personal a picture that any essay has to be as much about the life and times of its maker as about the film itself — the two are intertwined too deeply to ignore. We thus turn away from They Were Expendable for a spell, and drift backward in time to the life of the director many call the greatest in motion picture history.

For John Ford (1894–1973), serving with the Navy during World War II was much more than boilerplate Hollywood patriotism. He was no green recruit, hastily enlisting in the wake of Pearl Harbor to toss on a uniform for the very first time. Growing up on the coast of Maine where he met many sailors, from an early age he was entranced by the discipline, hard ways, and exaltation of duty inherent in military life. During High School he applied to the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, and was devastated when he failed the entrance exam. In 1918, as a twenty-three-year-old fledgling director in Hollywood, he again tried to serve, this time volunteering as an aerial combat photographer. Bad eyesight ensured he flunked the physical, and numerous attempts to circumvent that ruling came to naught.

Despite these failures, he never gave up, making many military films throughout the ’20s and ’30s and taking every opportunity to schmooze with the Navy brass brought on as technical advisers. Finally, as a forty-year-old in 1934, and despite bad eyes once again causing him to fail the physical, enough strings were pulled by his Navy buddies to get him into the U.S. Naval Reserve. Given the rank of Lieutenant Commander, he was charged with creating “a course in naval photography; its uses, tactical, historical, and propaganda,” studying “infra-red and other super-sensitive films and complimentary filters as to their efficacy on sea and in the air, particularly in tropical waters” and “working intensely in an effort to collect photographic and camouflage information likely to be of value to the Navy.”

He also began spying for the Navy on a semi-formal basis during frequent trips of drunken carousing down the western coast of Mexico on his yacht, the Araner. With friends like John Wayne, Henry Fonda, and Ward Bond in tow, Ford made observations of the coastline and filed detailed reports on Japanese ships and suspicious “sailors” in the area. These made their way to Navy intelligence, netting him several citations.

In 1940, with friends in the military telling him that America’s eventual entry into the war was all but assured, Ford attempted to establish an official Naval photographic unit that could not only use their skills to directly aid the front-line troops in the fight ahead (in the form of reconnaissance, mapping terrain, et cetera) but also help fight the nasty propaganda war that was already brewing between patriotic Americans and growing cells of anti-American Leftists who were becoming increasingly vocal in the media and Hollywood. The proposal he sent to his superiors reads today as if it was clipped from Big Hollywood’s own mission statement:

Radio, newspapers, motion pictures blast contrary ideas back and forth. . . A series of films which show factually the power of the American Navy is bound to give a psychological lift to the whole nation. Let them see the rigors of training; the skill of execution in maneuvers. . . our morale purpose is to show that a Democracy can and must create a greater fighting machine, in spirit and being, than a dictator power.

Unfortunately, Ford was pressing up against a lumbering, asleep-at-the-wheel Navy, the same one that would allow the Japanese to surprise its fleet at Pearl the very next year. With numerous agencies like the Signal Corps protecting their film-making/photographic turf against the interloper, Ford watched his proposals vanish into the gaping maws of military bureaucracy. The sense that namby-pamby Hollywood civilians would have little to contribute to an honest war effort might have played a part as well. As much as Ford liked being a Navy man, the endless red tape and politics were sources of constant aggravation, and he often lashed out at his superiors to a degree that would have landed anyone else in the brig. An oft-told story has it that, when asked by an officer what Hollywood landlubbers liked to do for amusement after making a movie, Ford cheerfully replied, “We all get on a bus and go down to San Diego and f*** Navy wives.”

Undeterred by being ignored, Ford decided to proceed unofficially, confident that someday soon the talent of Hollywood would be called upon, and that he would be ready. He began enlisting men from the rank-and-file of Hollywood film crews — cinematographers, grips, editors. He borrowed prop guns and uniforms from the Fox costume department, and set up impromptu military film classes on unused soundstages. There his Hollywood recruits learned from experts like the Oscar-winning cinematographer Gregg Toland (The Grapes of Wrath, Citizen Kane, et al.) about cameras they would use during a war, how to shoot in all lighting conditions, and how to develop film in the field if need be. They also were drilled in the basics of military life by Jack Pennick, a member of Ford’s regular acting troupe who happened to be an expert on military history and rules.

The rest of Tinseltown, and the skeptical Navy brass, began jokingly referring to this motley crew as “John Ford’s Navy.” And yet, by the time he was through, over a hundred of his Hollywood trainees had joined the active service or reserves, ready for a war they knew was coming.

After Pearl Harbor, with the Navy in shock and disarray, Ford finally found his long-sought benefactor. William “Wild Bill” Donovan was in the process of setting up the OSS — the Office of Strategic Services, the precursor to today’s CIA — and Ford’s moxie, skills, and penchant for skirting the bureaucracy was just what he was looking for. Soon the director had brought his Hollywood gang under the official auspices of the OSS as “The Field Photographic Branch,” and it wasn’t long before they were filming reconnaissance, troop movements, and full-on battles all over the world.

At forty-seven years of age, after three decades of trying, John Ford was finally a soldier.

Ford served without pay, traveling across the globe and dodging enemy bombers and U-Boats to fulfill his duties as head of Field Photo. Iceland… Panama… North Africa… West Africa… Cuba… Australia… Ceylon… China… India…. Burma…. Saudi Arabia… Brazil… France. Ford filmed potential base locations, assessed the security of existing sites, captured now-historic battles on film, often in color, and coordinated the movements and missions of his men, thirteen of whom were killed in action. For these efforts, he was promoted to Captain on April 3, 1944. In later years he would state that — although he was the recipient of many of the highest awards in the film industry, including several Oscars — he was most proud of having earned his Small Arms Expert’s medal in the Navy.

John Ford had a knack for showing up in interesting places. He was on the deck of the USS Hornet, deep in enemy waters, when the famous Doolittle raid lifted off for Japan, his camera recording the historic moment for posterity. He was at Normandy on June 6, 1944, capturing rare footage of D-Day as it unfolded. He first (and last!) parachute jump occurred behind enemy lines in Burma on a secret OSS mission, with Ford terrified and murmuring Hail Marys all the way down because, a mere few days before, he had filmed a cargo drop and watched as chute after chute failed to open and the boxes smashed into the unforgiving earth.

Someone else who was scared was Ford’s wife, Mary, who only saw her husband on several brief occasions during the years he was off to war. She was from a Navy family herself and understood the sacrifices involved, but that didn’t make it any easier. One extant letter has Ford gently chiding her, “Ma, you can’t call up long distance just when you’re blue and lonesome. It’s just too damned expensive. We’ve really got to adjust — not financially necessarily, but mentally.” Lonely and bored, she wrote back to her husband that she felt guilty for not doing anything herself for the war effort while he was away fighting. One stateside friend wrote to Ford that his wife was, “pretty miserable just sitting on a hilltop worrying about you and waiting for you to come home.”

Eventually, Mary found some solace in volunteering her time at the now-legendary Hollywood Canteen, the star-studded entertainment hangout for servicemen passing through Los Angeles, where GIs could be served dinner by movie stars and dance the night away with popular starlets to the tunes of world-famous big bands. Mary threw herself into kitchen work there, and quickly became Vice President of the Canteen’s board. Her letters during this time reveal that she helped stars like Bob Hope and Bette Davis fight off a coven of Hollywood Commies, who were trying to get the military MPs (charged with keeping order in the Canteen) booted out, so they could then begin using the venue for staging and promoting leftist propaganda unimpeded.

Ford’s relationship with his wife wasn’t perfect — he was a notorious alcoholic, and one who had flirted with his share of Hollywood actresses during the early years, most notably Katharine Hepburn. But his wife had closed her ears to the gossip and never wavered from his side, vowing to remain “Mrs. John Ford until I die.” They had been married almost twenty-five years, raised two kids, and had overcome problems that would have doomed a lesser marriage. “I pray to God it will soon be over,” he wrote to her in another letter, “so we can live our life together with our children and grandchildren. . . God bless and love you Mary darling — I’m tough to live with — heaven knows & Hollywood didn’t help — Irish & genius don’t mix well but you know you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

By the end of John Ford’s life, he had been married for fifty-three years.

Next Saturday in For Conservative Movie Lovers, we continue our look at John Ford’s war years, and address his Oscar-winning WWII documentary The Battle of Midway (1942).

FURTHER READING and VIEWING

Searching for John Ford: A Life by Joseph McBride: Without question the bible for John Ford fans. Ford is lucky in that most of the biographies written about him have been pretty good. But McBride’s masterwork — the culmination of three decades of intense research — towers above them all. Heavily drawn upon whenever I write or think about Ford, it is a must-read for all conservative film fans.

John Ford’s Sex Hygiene (1940): A footnote to Ford’s war career, mentioned here solely for the benefit of the morbidly curious. Only for the strong of stomach (and not safe for work). Actor Charles Trowbridge (later to play Admiral Blackwell in They Were Expendable) narrates and stars in this still-ghastly training film, which fully accomplished its goal of scaring the hell out of millions of randy enlisted men. In graphic, venereal diseased detail, young recruits are shown the perils of fooling around with ’dem dirty wemmins in their off-hours. At one point during the production of this little documentary Daryl Zanuck, the head of Twentieth-Century Fox, burst in on Ford interviewing a guy glistening with disgusting sores and declared, “He don’t scare me — send him to makeup!” When asked to comment on the film years later, Ford quipped, “I looked at it and threw up.”

Sex Hygiene Part I at YouTube | Sex Hygiene Part II at YouTube (again, it’s thoroughly gross, and there’s lots of medical full-frontal male nudity — you have been warned.)

The Hollywood Canteen is an idea that could and should be resurrected today, but do you dare take a peek at the modern incarnation of The Hollywood Canteen? One featuring not patriotic movie stars serving our troops, but pampered, puerile celebrities like Paris Hilton and Marilyn Manson being feted by armies of vapid Hollywood wannabes? Steel yourself against massive disappointment and check it out.

Psychologists say that a parent’s grief over the death of a child is “the most difficult loss to endure and surely among the most difficult to integrate into one’s life” because our children are an enormous part of our legacy, and “in their deaths, a large part of our own future dies.”  The natural order of our lives has been turned upside down, bringing on an emotional chaos.

For the parents of military men and women who have died after volunteering to serve their country and walking into the face of death in the 21^st century’s war on terror, this grief and chaos has been exponentially multiplied by liberal Hollywood.  But one has to actually walk this path to understand it.  The anti-war sentiment and films that have spewed from liberal actors, producers, and directors have burdened our hearts unspeakably as they have served only to aide the greatest enemy our country has ever faced and to deface and demoralize the greatest ambassadors our country has: the men and women who wear the uniforms of the United States military.

Two years following the death in Iraq of our son, Sergeant Patrick Tainsh, age 33, my husband’s only child and namesake, Dave and I walked through the Smithsonian’s history section.  On the walls hung reminders for the reason America fights wars.  One such display read:  “The Axis Powers”:  “Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, and Imperial Japan pursued territory and power. Underlying Axis ambition were strong beliefs in racial and ethnic superiority that were used to justify wanton slaughter.  When allies joined forces to defeat Germany, Italy, and Japan they did so with the resolve that the war could never end in a truce.  The battle required unconditional surrender and replacement of enemy governments.”

As I continued reading the history of that time, I came to the section regarding Hollywood and its great contributions to support the war effort, show American pride and a call for no less than victory.  One display read: “In early 1942, Hollywood released its first patriotism by building morale-boosting movies produced in close collaboration with the U.S. office of war information.  The films pitted heroic Americans against villainous Nazis and fanatical Japanese, depicting a home front united for victory.  Top Hollywood directors made motivational pictures for troops.”

With this reminder of all that had been great about Hollywood, tears of betrayal and anger flowed down my face.  Where was that Hollywood?  Where were the new true Hollywood heroes who could follow their great and brave predecessors like Jimmy Stewart, Lee Marvin, Tyrone Power, Steve McQueen, Hugh O’Brien, Sterling Hayden, Gene Hackman, Ed McMahon, Charles Durning, and others who served in the United States Marine Corps? Where were those heroes of support like Ronald Regan, Betty Grable, Jimmy Dorsey and the great Bob Hope?

Why does the 21^st century Hollywood not work to help our troops win our new wars on radical terrorism instead of dividing our nation divided and providing encouragement for the enemy to kill more allied troops and innocent Iraqis?  Instead, top producers and directors turn their backs on the very military men, women, and families that were and still are willing to voluntarily sacrifice to the death to defeat an enemy who would as soon set a bomb to their ostentatious homes or behead their loved ones.  Along with news media, liberal Hollywood has helped paint a false picture for America’s public who continually hears negative information instead of the positive strides that our military has made and continues to make.

While channel surfing one evening I caught a glimpse of Stephen King, whose books have become major Hollywood films. In speaking to a college student audience, King stated that, to write, one must be a voracious reader. He went on to add that he encouraged reading and education so the students wouldn’t end up in places like Iraq.

Again, I was devastated and angry.  King’s words reflected his ignorance regarding the many college diplomas and “through the roof” IQs of soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines, Special Forces, and Navy Seals who are responsible for providing him and those students the very freedoms they would never want to relinquish to radical terrorists.

Our son left behind a letter whenhe died in Iraq.  He said:

I came to help people who couldn’t help their situation.  Maybe someday they will enjoy freedom as we do.  As for me, it was an honor to experience that freedom.  It was an honor to fight and die with an American flag on my shoulder.  Honor.  That’s a big word and some people don’t know what it means.  It’s not something that happens right away, it’s something that builds up inside your soul.

What would Sergeant Patrick Tainsh now say about Hollywood?  Probably this:  “They just don’t know what true honor and freedom is.  That’s why those like me and my comrades exist, because we do know, and it’s our job to try and protect even the ignorant who just don’t ‘get it.’”

Yes, the pain experienced with the death of a child is indescribable, and to have our own country’s greatest powers aide the enemy instead of supporting our troops and families adds to the greatest burden we will ever carry. But as for my family, along with our grief, we are comforted through the memory of having a true hero come from our home to serve our great country – even with its flaws. A memory we can always live with and smile about.  But the memory and pain of the betrayal by a power such as Hollywood in the 21^st century’s fight against worldwide terror is a memory that will forever remain a dark place in our hearts and in history. And maybe this history should be written on the walls of the Smithsonian to remind all how Hollywood has changed from a power to help bring pride and victory for America to a power that is helping to aide the enemy and kill our own.

Deborah Tainsh, mother of Sergeant Patrick Tainsh, February 11, 2004 Iraq

For my actor friends, though, there was a bit more trepidation.  After all, they were the actual celebrities on this celebrity tour, the ones people would want to meet.  I doubt they are alone.  In fact, I suspect that a big reason why more actors in Hollywood don’t volunteer their time with the USO is that they simply don’t know what the experience will be like.  Sure they’ve seen video of Bob Hope out entertaining crowds of troops, but as an actor, you don’t carry your show on the road.  Will the troops even care that you are there?  What will you have to offer them?  Is it uncomfortable?  Is it political?  Fortunately for me, the actors in my party decided to give it a try in spite of these questions.  Here is what we learned.

For the actor, the USO offers an alternative to its live music and comedy shows.  It is the Hollywood Handshake Tour, and it’s just what it sounds like.  Actors meet the troops, eat with them, take pictures with them, sign autographs for them, and thank them for their service to Uncle Sam.  Oh, and they shake their hands.  If we were worried that this would seem insignificant compared to a live performance show, that worry was quickly dispelled.  The troops simply could not have been more gracious and welcoming.  None of the actors wanted to seem pretentious (they were there to show their gratitude to the troops, not to posture or promote anything), but to our surprise, the lines at each event were hundreds of people deep.  People literally gave up part of their day to wait for the chance to shake hands with the actors, and get this, to thank them for coming.  That people sacrificing so much for us would turn around and thank us for the simple “sacrifice” of getting to be in their company left us all speechless, but then, these soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines are just the finest, most decent people on earth.

As far as the comfort level, when we arrived at the airport, we were greeted by our USO tour manager, whose job was to make sure we had everything we needed and were always where we needed to be.  All of the international travel was business class on civilian planes, although some of the inner-theater travel is military.  In our case, that meant getting to fly out to sea on a COD and actually LAND ON THE DECK OF A FREAKING AIRCRAFT CARRIER!  Again, speechless…

In Bahrain, we were put up in a beautiful, high-end hotel, and in addition to our tour manager, both a local guide and a military liaison met us.  Add to that our USO supplied photographer and we were really left to want for nothing.  In Djibouti, our accommodations were less ornate, but still extremely comfortable.  Our liaison, Karen, picked us up from the airport and took us to our private lodgings on the base.  We stayed in a variant of the same CLUs (Containerized Living Units), basically large shipping containers partitioned into two-bedroom, air-conditioned apartments that the troops stay in.  The food was all great, the AC was always cold, and a man sleeps soundly knowing that the United States Army is guarding the gates.

It is also worth noting that you never feel your time is being squandered, other than perhaps when you are waiting for flights at international airports.  When we weren’t participating in the scheduled events with the troops, we were dropping in on parts of the base we weren’t scheduled to see.  A trip to the medical facility, or the base fire department, a quick tour of the flight-line and a chance to sit in a C-130…  The days are full and meaningful.  Plus, the MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation) teams always want you to experience some of the culture that the troops experience as well, which in our case meant a trip to the Grand Mosque in Bahrain, an audience with a village chief in Africa, and a brief time volunteering at an orphanage where our service members devote so much of their free time to the children that the nuns who oversee the facility literally can’t accommodate all of them.

Finally, let me address the question of politics.  Several actors may have questions like, “What if I support the troops, but not the war they are fighting?”  My answer is simple– keep your opinions to yourself.  The troops do.  In fact, not one person, from the civilian cooks, to the enlisted men and women, the officers, or even the Admiral we met made a single unsolicited political comment.  Americans in uniform serve the National Command Authority.  When they get their orders, they perform with a level of skill and professionalism that is without equal.  In short, no matter what the politics of the individual soldier, they are professionals.  You may or may not agree with their orders, they may or may not agree with them, but they aren’t there to philosophize, and we weren’t either.  One of the actors in our group recently quit his job on a hit television show to go to work for the Obama administration, and I may or may not have voted George W. Bush as a write-in candidate in the last election, but there were no heated debates, no strange agendas or conflict.  Just like the soldiers are there for one purpose, to execute the orders of the President, we were there for one purpose, to thank those troops for that service.  It couldn’t have been a more neutral, positive experience.

One request we did hear again and again from the troops was to simply tell their story, and what a story it is.  A story of bravery, hardship, camaraderie, and sacrifice… But there is something else, something I had never realized before.  Time and time again the people doing these difficult jobs told us how much they actually like it.  To a selfish man like me, that prospect had never entered my mind.  I assumed the people who join the military were taking one on the chin out of a sense of duty, and to be sure, that is part of it, but there is a beauty in what they do that isn’t a labor at all.  When a sailor on the Eisenhower wakes up every morning, he knows his place in the world.  He has a specific function, and is highly trained and very, very good at his job.  And he lives in dedicated service to no less worthy a cause than the defense of his home and his family.  There is a peace and a confidence in that sort of life that I think a lot of us would be very lucky indeed to find in our own.  These are not mindless cogs in the military machine.  These are free men and women living rich, full lives in service of a noble calling.  They deserve our support and our thanks, yes, but they may deserve something of our envy as well.

In the end, the whole experience was just spectacular.  All of the actors felt the same, and we all look forward to our next outing with this great organization.   It would be a glorious day if the USO had to turn people away because they were simply overwhelmed with volunteers wanting to thank our troops, and I think that if more entertainers knew what a fantastic experience it is, that day would be now.  I got on the plane this first time because Gary Sinise, who gives more of his time in tribute to our Armed Forces than just about anyone, speaks so highly of his travels with the USO.  I will do it again because of what a remarkable time it was, and what remarkable group of people the men and women of the United States Military actually are.   I hope others give it a try as well.

Robert Avrech’s lovely paean to the patriotism of Old Hollywood reminds me, by way of contrast, of a blink-and-you-missed-it scandal from seventeen months ago. Even in a cultural arena rife with liberal outrages against military families, it marked a new low. And although it was but one small battle in the culture war, it is worth recalling in the wake of Memorial Day as a reminder of just how far our popular media has fallen from the sterling ideals of our forefathers.

What does NBC stand for again? National Broadcasters against Conservatives? No Blessings for the Corps? On December 7, 2007, as the country solemnly remembered Pearl Harbor and the timeless sacrifices of soldiers long dead, one of our major television networks decided that running ads praising today’s modern armed forces constituted a bridge too far. The two thirty-second spots had been produced by Freedom’s Watch, a now-defunct conservative action group which aspired to be the MoveOn.org of the right, using “grassroots lobbying, education and information campaigns, and issue advocacy” to fight the good fight against the legion of hippy-dippy protesters, nihilists, and ideological bullies that perpetually rage (and increasingly reign) throughout blue-state America.

For years, organizations like Code Pink, A.N.S.W.E.R., and MEChA have inflicted lunatic be-ins on a horrified public, the collective psychedelic derangement of which makes The Rocky Horror Picture Show look like A Room With a View. But then Freedom’s Watch arrived on the scene — let’s call them Code Red, White and Blue — and they came determined to honor our troops, damn the cost. In August of ‘07, they first attempted to buy ad-time on major networks to run commercials supporting the war in Iraq. While Fox and CNN broadcast them without issue, NBC and its sister networks deemed them too controversial, which is liberal Pig Latin for too partisan, too outside the mainstream — in a word, too conservative. At the time, Freedom’s Watch president Bradley A. Blakeman wrote a polite letter to NBC, pointing out that the network has a long record of accepting ads from nakedly progressive groups without the slightest qualm.

(The Bob Hope display at the National Museum of the United States Air Force near Dayton, Ohio.)

He might also have added, “That plaintive whining sound you hear is Bob Hope spinning in his grave.” As Hollywood’s most beloved wartime icon, the British-born comedian spent a half-century enriching NBC’s coffers while praising our military at every turn. His 1970 and ‘71 Christmas Specials, filmed on the ground in Vietnam, still rank among the most-watched television shows of all-time. But save for an impressive schiltron of American flags displayed on holidays, Hope’s legacy long ago faded from 30 Rockefeller Plaza. In the end, the network’s wingtipped, Armani-clad Brahmins never deigned to answer Blakeman’s letter, quietly consigning his request for ad-time to the good ol’ circular filing cabinet, one with a metaphorical temperature edging dangerously close to Ray Bradbury’s dystopian 451 degrees.

Then in December of ‘07, Freedom’s Watch tried again with a pair of innocuous commercials that, to this viewer, soothed and fortified like exquisite mouthfuls of Mom’s home cooking. These new spots depicted people from all walks of life offering simple, heartfelt benedictions to our troops, and while their aura of optimism recalled Reagan’s “It’s Morning in America” ads, the underlying message was, by any reasonable standard, universal. Judge for yourself:

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Astoundingly, these too were rejected by a sober-faced NBC. The problem this time? Including FW’s web address on the tail-end of each ad, an act which apparently violated the network’s Standards and Practices.

Standards and Practices…boy, that’s rich. In recent years, NBC’s practices have famously included living the high life at the expense of the companies they cover, as well as manufacturing stories on everything from anti-Muslim hate crimes to exploding cars. In the process, they’ve degenerated from a once-proud news bastion into the peacock battalion of America’s fifth column, force-feeding viewers doom-and-gloom propaganda slickly masqueraded as unbiased news. Running a sincere message of hope in a time of war would indeed appear to go against everything they stand for these days, although — who knows? — it might help them reverse their agonizing slide into their lowest news ratings in over twenty years.

Freedom’s Watch president Blakeman promptly fired off a new letter of protest, but few believed he’d have better luck than last time — that is, until storm clouds started to form on the public-relations horizon. Cruising the conservative blogosphere in the days following the rejection, I could sense astonishment quickly hardening into genuine outrage. In forum after forum, the network began getting an earful from Americans with friends and family in the armed services. Soon the cacophony had grown to the point where NBC announced that it was reversing course and amending its (allow me to gird myself to say the words with a straight face) Standards and Practices.

And so, just like that, Freedom’s Watch won. Not an election or a court case, but merely the simple right to buy, at great expense, the time with which to say “thank you” to our heroic fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, friends and spouses fighting and dying in faraway lands. This confrontation proved instructive. As Robert Avrech’s Memorial Day post here at Big Hollywood showed, conservatives often pine for the olden days when America was largely united on patriotic matters. It seems possible to at least partially resurrect that (semi-mythical) time, but only if we insist on more from our shared broadcast media than the desiccated “standards and practices” of a corrupt liberal thugocracy.

During that holiday season of 2007, the NBC show with the most cultural buzz was Heroes, a sleeper hit about ordinary people mysteriously imbued with comic-book superpowers. It’s nice to know that — courtesy of Freedom’s Watch — America’s real-life heroes were honored on NBC during that Christmas as well. Granted, we only got it in precious little windows of thirty seconds each, but it was a start on the long road toward cultural recovery and renewal.

Freedom’s Watch was a victim of the collapsing economy of 2008, and there will be no new Christmas commercials from them thanking our troops. But one imagines that in December of 2007, somewhere in the heavens, Bob Hope cracked a smile at all of the people who twisted NBC’s corporate arm and said, “Thanks for the Memory.”

Those conservatives pining for a bit of that ol’ time patriotism can buy Bob Hope: The Vietnam Years (1964-1972).

Remember when Hollywood celebrities flocked across the globe to entertain and support American troops? Remember when Hollywood—as a community—denounced tyrants, Jew-haters, and mass murderers?

Joan Crawford as Miss Liberty

My father was a Rabbi, a Chaplain in the 42nd Division during World War II and the Korean War. He often told me just how much the troops loved and respected their Hollywood supporters.

Here’s just a brief sampler of what Hollywood patriotism once looked like.

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In February 1954, on her honeymoon in Japan with Joe DiMaggio, Marilyn Monroe took time off and traveled to Korea to entertain the troops. Monroe appeared on stage wearing skimpy outfits in freezing temperatures. The men adored her. She performed ten shows in four days, in front of audiences that totaled more than 100,000 soldiers and Marines.

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Marilyn performs Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.

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Dinah Shore, a hugely popular singer, traveled with USO tours throughout Europe. During one of her tours she met actor George Montgomery. They married in 1943. Soon after the wedding, Montgomery entered active service.

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In the late 1930’s Nazi agents approached Marlene Dietrich and asked her to return to Germany. She flatly turned them down. Dietrich was one of the first celebrities to raise war bonds. She entertained troops on the front lines in dozens of USO shows. Dietrich hated the Nazis and often spoke out against anti-Semitism. Here, she’s autographing the cast of Earl E. McFarland at U.S. hospital in Belgium 1944.

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Carole Landis probably logged more miles than any other actress in Hollywood during WWII entertaining American troops. She wrote a book about her experiences, Four Jills in a Jeep. Tragically, this generous but deeply unhappy young woman committed suicide in 1948 while carrying on a desperate affair with the married actor Rex Harrison—a notorious womanizer.

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Bob Hope, friend to GI’s, entertains American servicemen at the airstrip in Munda, New Georgia, an island in the central Solomons, on Oct. 31, 1944. Hope’s commitment to America’s troops brought him into four wars: World War II, the Korean War, Viet Nam and the Persian Gulf War. When on tour the great comedian usually performed in Army fatigues. A 1997 act of Congress signed by President Clinton named Bob Hope an “Honorary Veteran.”

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Carole Lombard raised millions of dollars selling war bonds. Tragically, she died in an airplane crash on January 15, 1942, after completing an eight-hour sales drive in Indiana in which she raised $2,017,513 in bonds . She was anxious to reunite with Clark Gable; they had only been married for three years. The last thing she said to him was: “You better get yourself into this man’s army.”

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Following Lombard’s death, deeply depressed and drinking too much, Gable rallied and asked MGM to release him from his contract. He joined the U.S. Army Air Forces. Most of Gable’s friends believed that Hollywood’s greatest leading man was seeking death. Far too old for active service, Gable worked hard to earn his stripes. Gable trained with and accompanied the 351st Heavy Bomb Group as head of a 6-man motion picture unit making a gunnery training film. Gable flew five combat missions in B17’s. In one mission over Germany he was almost killed when a German 20mm shell exploded through the plane’s floor and ripped the heel from one of Gable’s flight boots. Adolf Hitler offered a million dollar bounty to anyone who captured Gable and brought him back to Germany as a POW. Gable was Hitler’s favorite actor. Gable left the Army Air Forces with the rank of Major.

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Jimmy Stewart was a B-24 pilot in World War Two and flew twenty missions over Europe. Stewart ended the war as a command pilot and stayed in the Air Force Reserves until 1968, when he retired as a Brigadier General.

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The Hollywood Canteen, 1451 Cahuenga Boulevard in Hollywood, California was open from October 3, 1942 until the end of World War II. The club offered food and entertainment for American servicemen. The founders of the Canteen were Bette Davis, John Garfield and composer Jules Stein. All costs and labor for The Hollywood Canteen were donated by the various Hollywood guilds and unions.

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In the Hollywood Canteen, Bette Davis ladles out food for American servicemen. Davis devoted enormous amounts of time to the Canteen and served as its President. When funds ran low, she reached into her own pocketbook to cover expenses. Glamorous stars like Olivia De Havilland, Edward G. Robinson, Hedy Lamarr, Frank Sinatra, Dorothy Lamour, Cary Grant, Lauren Bacall, Randolph Scott and hundreds of others, volunteered to wait on tables, cook in the kitchen and clean up. Notable by their absence in the Hollywood Canteen were three great stars: Jimmy Cagney, Greta Garbo and Charlie Chaplin. In 1944, Warner Bros. produced a star-studded film—a revue really—about the Hollywood Canteen. When the Canteen closed its doors in November 1945, it had hosted almost three million servicemen.

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Never Forget

Copyright © Robert J. Avrech

I got more and I didn’t want it. 

Why don’t sequels do well? Obviously, I’m not alone in feeling the way I do about Raiders or Star Wars or Jaws or any other great character-rich, dynamically set film that pulls you in and doesn’t fully let go even after the end titles trail up and we see that film certification symbol fade out. So, why is it that more of what we love, we hate? Well, maybe not hate, but not love quite so much. What’s going on here? 

Perhaps like many of you, I get excited when I hear shooting has started on a new installment of a film series I enjoy. Back when I saw the first leaked images of Jones on horseback going up against a German tank in the employ of the Afrika Corps, I was “giddy as a schoolboy.” I couldn’t wait to for that thing to be in the can and out in the theaters. I was thrilled, anxious and ready for the journey. But then another feeling took hold. Again, like many of you, when mention of a sequel or prequel leaks out, a small fear creeps up the back of one’s neck that somehow curiosity will lead to a deep regret, rivaling that of John Hurt’s as he poked his nose over that egg in Alien. And, like John, our feelings are often very well justified. Because many times, almost always, if anyone’s counting, sequels fail to capture the magic of the first film. “You just can’t repeat it,” many repeat.  Well, I’m not so sure about that. I don’t think it’s that the filmmakers are not trying hard enough, I think it’s more that they’re trying too hard. 

People change, and so should characters, right? Well, not quite. I have been wondering for a long time now, why it is I can’t fully enjoy Return of the Jedi, Aliens,  Alien 3,  Alien Resurrection,  any Rambo emptying a SAW past First Blood, or any Rocky beyond the bell where an out-of-breath voice gasped wisely, “No rematch!” And where an equally wise one gurgled out, “Don’t want one.” Well, a little voice, similarly exhausted, tells me this could be said of Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper John, Radar, Burns and Hot Lips Houlihan. Of the cast and crew of the Minnow, and that other ship, where some rogue muttered, “Look, I’m not in this for your revolution, sister. I’m in it for the money.” 

What am I talking about here? It’s what has been defined as Character Development. Somewhere along the way character development, the arc or course a character’s actions, words, and behavior take along a story line has been replaced with something different, something not-so-natural, not-so-healthy, something very formulaic. The increase in depth of a character’s personality, is, we are told, a sure sign of good writing, good acting, and lot’s of other good stuff. It signals to us that the characters are being fleshed-out, are growing, just like us. Changing, just like us. And doing the things we normally do, like becoming superhuman, multi-dimensional, and, best of all, not at all in it for the money.

I’m here to say that it isn’t working. Not for me, anyway. Using Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces as a tuning fork, Lucas played the characters of Star Wars with perfect pitch and tone. He hit every note right. Yes, I happen to like Luke Skywalker as an innocent, awkward, and yes, sometimes dopey farm boy, a kid out of his element fighting a huge empire. I don’t know many farm boys who have much experience fighting huge empires (though that’s no reason to deny them the job). I also happen to like Han Solo looking out for number one, and of course, also watching his trusty sidekick Chewie’s back. Sure I want Han to come to the rescue every now and then, saving everybody and maybe the universe, too.  But not as a full-time job! And I want him complaining about his predicament with every discharge of his blaster all the way down the celestial pike. What I don’t want to see is his transformation into a benevolent, altruistic, selfless stick figure, volunteering for the toughest assignment without so much as a quip, an insult or at least a good joke. In Return of the Jedi, his character became flat and blocky, more inert than when he was frozen in carbonite. 

I have an idea. It might even pass for a theory. It goes something like this:

In Ridley Scott’s Alien, Ripley made a interesting heroine because we didn’t expect her to be the heroine. Let’s face it, Tom Skerritt had higher billing and thus, a greater chance of coming out of that pickle with a heck of a lot more than a highly lubricated pile driver alien jaw through his head, or worse. So did John Hurt, Yaphet Kotto, and Ian Holm. Sure, Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley, by rising to the occasion and becoming the hero achieved the unexpected, it’s true. Yet her actions were not out of character. Why not? Because we had already been shown hints of her strength. No, not in any oiled-muscle, gearing-up scene – as in Aliens,  and now almost every other film which has a David on the way to slay a Goliath – but in her behavior toward Ian Holm’s Science Officer Ash. When Ash makes the rash decision to violate quarantine protocol and let the landing party re-enter the ship and mind of Conrad’s Nostromo, she’s pissed. He blatantly disregards her authority. Soon after, she confronts him and lays down the rules. That’s all that was needed.  Hints are what we like. Not HITS, as in ‘…over the head.’

Aliens changed things. Don’t get me wrong, I loved this film, as I do many of James Cameron’s. But it’s another good example of writing going past the point of believability that is more distracting to me, and maybe others, than an audio pop, a jump cut, or violating the 180 rule. With this sequel the filmmakers decided to develop her character into a somewhat neurotic and unstable fusspot, suffering from insomnia, and having to still feed the same moody cat after 57 years. This is fine and understandable, and, very much in keeping with her character and what she’s been through, but it doesn’t really explain the superhuman strength and Delta Operator focus we see in her later on in the same film. Where did her fear go? And where did those skill sets mysteriously come from? Hicks? Spunkmeyer?  

Surrounded by goo-oozing aliens, pulsating eggs, and god knows what else, she charges back into the breech and certain death to find that darn cat again. Well, no, not really. But it might as well have been the cat. Instead, it’s the little girl, Newt, perhaps the most obvious in a long list of Cameron tributes to Gordon Douglas’ original “bug hunt” flick Them!  Ripley crawls into the growling belly of the beast with little more than a souped-up pulse rifle and spare magazines. And all through this mission, which would make John Rambo pause, she’s not even breathing heavy. While in the first movie, Alien, just one of those creatures hiding somewhere on a ship the size of Greenland made her hyperventilate into something resembling sheer panic. Justifiably so. But here, she calmly, and very professionally goes about her new task of rescuing a small girl from amongst several hundreds or maybe thousands of “Ripley’s bad guys”. Let’s not forget, this is within the dark, dank depths of a burning nuclear power plant that is about to do an impression of the Hindenburg at Lakehurst. Sure, the mother instinct is a crucial element of the theme here, mother vs. mother and all that. But, still, her behaviour takes on a super hero quality that transforms the story into more science fantasy than fiction. Where the original rules set down by the writers are being violated by who else, but the writers, in situations where anything, even the absurd is possible and to be expected. This is not to be confused with a suspension of disbelief. Rather, this is an expelling of belief that the setting and situation the writers have created for us is being transformed into a veritable Westworld run by renegade deus ex machina. 

Alien Resurrection displays more character development with our hero Ripley going gothic with touches of  arcade Street Fighter and left-over marine grunt mixed-in. Granted, to be fair she is merely a shadow of her former self, quite literally. She’s a clone. This time, an off-the-rack Ripley with a shelf life much longer apparently, than a synthetic Bishop, Ash and, while we’re at it, a Zhora, Priss or even Rachel could ever hope to get from the original manufacturer. But this unreasonable facsimile is just that, unreasonable. She’s not a whole lot of fun, either. Because we can guess rather confidently from the opening shots of her determination, that here sits our hero. This isn’t character development. This isn’t even a character. Unless you happen to be considering the cartoon variety.

Which brings me back to Luke, Leia, and Han (sorry Chewie). Principle players in the original Star Wars, they had their respective characters fleshed-out in fine form by the third act, the battle. We loved it, as did most of planet Earth. Which doesn’t really explain why the creators of the third installment, Return of the Jedi, would want to change that. Of course, we want change, but not at the expense of the things we have loved which connected us to it in the first place. I don’t want to see new facets of a character if I feel the filmmakers are showing me these new facets, these changes, these twists because they’ve exhausted all their original ideas in earlier installments and are now resorting to drastic means to keep the gravy train rolling, with add-ons that are more a product of meetings with merchandisers than anything else. If that’s the case, if in fact the characters are out of ammo, fleshed-out as far as their flesh will go – inevitable no matter how rich the character is written initially – then give us a new character or another adventure. For example, look what was done with the exceptional Leigh Brackett and Larry Kasdan penned Empire Strikes Back,  a rare winning sequel. It had taken the original idea, expanded on it and led us to places undreamed. Yet, all the while, retaining the character traits of all in attendance and firmly anchoring us to the original franchise without so much as a hiccup in believability or anything that a healthy smack on a cockpit control panel couldn’t fix.  That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is how you do it. You don’t pervert the characteristics of each member of a story, transforming them beyond believability, simply to get more mileage out of them or to justify a production, an episode or a sequel. Lovers of the original film, the fans, will rebel against that. They want to see more of what they love. They don’t want to see entirely new characters masquerading as the old ones for no other reason than to reel-in a duped loyal fan base at the box office. Not a good idea. 

Which leads us to Indiana Jones and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.  Certainly, it was no Raiders, no Last Crusade nor my and many others’ least favorite, Temple of Doom. Simply, it just didn’t measure up. But, with that said, I did enjoy it and was happy to see the settings and the characters, well, some of them, again. I missed Sallah, and Marcus. Who didn’t? I wasn’t crazy about the time period, though I’m a big fan of cold war anything. But for me, Indy belongs in a pre-atomic age, when leather satchels, whips and dusty bomber jackets were worn by men other than those without a cause to rebel against. That’s a change that didn’t need to be. “Yeah but it’s twenty years since they made Last Crusade!”, they cried. So? Harrison Ford is an actor, so are the other people in the film who call themselves actors. Hollywood makes magic, doesn’t it?  Now, more than ever, we’re constantly told. There is no reason why we couldn’t have had this fourth Indiana Jones installment, and most likely the last, set in the mid-forties. In an attempt to make the story more ‘real to life’ they made it too real, and lifeless.  Was this another mistake by Spielberg? Judging not by the reviews, which I never judge anything on anyway, but by the fans and of course, my own feelings, that humorously understated line by Last Crusade’s last Templar knight comes to mind:  “He chose poorly.”  

Before I forget, I want to mention one other thing about Kingdom of the Crystal Skull that bothered me. Something on the poster, something about Indy was missing. His smile. Indy wasn’t really smiling. They continued the poster style, keeping it consistent with the serial nature of the cliffhangers that Raiders re-pioneered, if I can say that in mixed company. And I applaud that with gusto. But they changed the illustrated Indy too much by leaving out that cockiness, even after 20 years. If he’s not going to smile, not going to be displaying that adventurous grin, not going to display that false bravado, that winning lovable mixture of Joel McCray, Bob Hope, and yes, Han Solo that made Indiana Jones come alive for us, making even the most harrowing situation and death defying stunt seem fun and something we’d like to try at home, then why bother? They missed it with the poster. So, right out of the gate, they went in the wrong direction, with the wrong approach. Sure, he’s 20 years older, so what? Ever hear of people like John Glenn, Malcolm Forbes or Michael Korda? There are plenty of examples of men and women in their middle and senior years pursuing endeavors that healthy college kids would run from. So, for a character like Indiana Jones to run out of steam, it’s disappointing to say the least, and certainly not a topic for a sequel. Frankly, I think they played on the age element far too much in order to introduce a new angle to Indy. A big mistake. They didn’t need a new angle. I think even a poor story – and this one was not up to par with the previous three by any stretch of the imagination – could have been a heck of a lot more fun and much better cinema if they retained the Indy that we knew and loved in Raiders, felt a bit distanced from in Temple of Doom and re-united with in Last Crusade.  That’s my feeling. But heck, I’m making this up as I go along.   

Here’s a plea to budding writers out there: 

If you want to write such huge character changes, don’t experiment with an existing, beloved creation, adding-on simple shock value and steroids or fatigue and a lack of collagen. You may hit on a winner, and you may not. In the meantime, though, you’ll be changing irrevocably the things from the original that we grew with and held close to our hearts. Don’t do it. 

Start with a new, original story. There, you can experiment with a clean slate and see for certain why the lines are forming, along the story arc and around the block. In the meantime you may find quite unexpectedly that the big screen isn’t the only place where your character is being developed.