Back in 1927, “Wings” delivered spectacular aerial photography that must have blown the customers out of their seats. But in 2012, thanks to over a decade of Hollywood’s over-produced CGI, you’re still going to be blown out of your seat. To experience, in high-definition, no less, the spectacular in-camera flight and battle scenes, is a wonder to behold. The aerial shots are nothing short of spectacular, as are the expertly choreographed sequences involving armies and explosions. If “Wings” were produced today in the exact same fashion, people would marvel at the achievement.

“It Girl” Clara Bow, a star so popular in the mid-to-late twenties there’s no actor working today who compares (think Marilyn Monroe in 1959), is listed as the film’s star, but she’s really a supporting player — a crucially important one, though. For she symbolizes all that is pure and decent and why our young, brave men fought and died in World War I.

All Jack Powell (Charles Rogers)  has ever wanted was to fly, and all Mary Preston (Bow) has ever wanted was Jack. In their small, very American town, Jack and Mary live next door to one another, but Jack only sees Mary as a friend, a pal. You see, Jack’s in love with the more sophisticated Sylvia (Jobyna Ralston), but unfortunately for him, she’s in love with David (Richard Arlen). It’s a complicated love rectangle, further complicated by class distinctions. Jack is working class, Davis is wealthy, and it will take the outbreak of a long and heartbreaking war to sort it all out.

Though rivals for the same girl, Jack and David both want to be combat pilots and end up in the same squad together. Soon they become friends, the very best of friends in the knowledge (brought to them by a shockingly young and undeniably charismatic Gary Cooper) that the very real prospect of death is a constant companion.

Not for a moment does Wellman allow “Wings” to shy away from the horrors of war. The price these young men pay to do their duty hangs over every frame of film and plants a sense of dread deep in your gut. At the same time, Wellman also doesn’t shy away from that which terrifies Hollywood today, the reasons why America is worth fighting and dying for.  This isn’t done through speechifying for the preach, it’s expertly done through story and subtext and humor.

Some of the film’s most memorably funny moments come from a character who can hardly speak English, which means his patriotism is constantly called into question. That is, until he proudly reveals the stars and stripes tattooed on his bicep. Moreover, the class difference between our two protagonists dissolves completely, for Wellman’s message is simple and poignant and American: e pluribus unum — out of many, one.

In other words, Obama would hate “Wings,” Because Obama hates anything that might remind Americans that our differences pale in comparison to all that we share in common. And if that’s not reason enough to buy it…

Though advertised as a silent  feature, this gorgeous transfer does include two music scores (your choice) and a number of sound effects, especially during the battle scenes. This has all been expertly engineered and result enhances the viewing experience tremendously.

Admittedly, I’m not a big fan of silent pictures. For the most part, I find them lovely to look at but pretty dull (there are notable exceptions). “Wings” isn’t a gripping story; there are more than a few lulls, but it’s an interesting one that catches you by surprise, especially in the third act, which is undeniably moving.

Before I close, I do want to reinforce the point the point about CGI. It is extraordinary to realize that a mere 15 years short of a century ago, infant Hollywood had the skills to make exciting, tense, realistic battle scenes that should embarrass anyone responsible for the phony, poorly choreographed, shaky-cammed, hyper-edited junk that dominates about 90% of what’s being produced today.

My god, what’s happened to the movie industry?

“Wings” is available at Amazon.

—–

Forced to choose a single moment from a single film that best exemplifies the extraordinary spirit America’s fighting men and women show day in and day out in their sacred duty to protect this country, it would be this one. Here’s a chunk of what I wrote about this scene back in February of 2009 when actor James Whitmore died:

Whitmore plays Sgt. Kinnie, the battle hardened leader of a small group of soldiers lost and confused in the midst of the Battle of the Bulge. Because of frostbite, Kinnie limps through most of the film as he leads the men through increasingly difficult times right up to that dreaded moment where bayonets are necessary because the ammunition’s run out.

Whitmore’s superb in the role, was nominated for an Oscar as a supporting actor (he won the Golden Globe), and launched a sixty year career that would include memorable turns in “The Asphalt Jungle” (1950), “Kiss Me Kate” (1953), “Them!” (1954), “Planet of the Apes” (1968), “Tora! Tora! Tora!” (1970), “Chato’s Land” (1972), “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994), numerous television appearances and two successful one man stage shows as Will Rogers and Harry Truman.

But the closing scene of “Battleground” is how I’ll always remember him

After endless days of hell, Kinnie and the other survivors are finally out of danger and set to be relieved by fresh troops. Hungry, exhausted, and shaken to the core, they’re a ragtag bunch dreaming only of a hot meal and clean sheets. Kinnie understands, though, that his men have one more mission: to put on a brave face and show their replacements a fighting spirit.

Directed by The Mighty William Wellman (his finest hour — and I don’t say that lightly), “Battleground” is not only one of the finest war films ever produced, but also an unqualified masterpiece not enough people know about. If you haven’t seen it, do. If you have, spread the word.

And don’t forget to thank a Veteran … for everything. Because without them we’d have nothing.

And if you think about it, say a prayer for my grandson Mikey, who’s currently in basic training with the National Guard. I’m so proud of him I could bust, and so worried I’ve been a little sick to my stomach since he left.

And yes, I have a grandson old enough to enlist. Long story.

What’s your favorite cinematic salute to our troops? Not just a particular film, but a specific scene or moment?

Most actors are remembered for their unique personae. Clark Gable was a man’s man. The humorous gleam in his eye sent daggers to the knees of women everywhere. Bette Davis practically cornered the market on the deeply neurotic woman clawing at the boundaries of love with Baroque fury. Gary Cooper was the classic taciturn American, a solid, self-confident Yankee who spoke eloquently through his silences. Marilyn Monroe is still the paradigm of the woman as vulnerable child waiting to be rescued by a knight in shining armor.

Of course Fay Wray, who played in over eighty motion pictures, is only remembered for her role in King Kong. Thus she is, for better or for worse, the shrieking woman, for all time.

Less common is the actor who is identified and remembered for a single brief scene.

No doubt, Mae Clarke, (1910-1992) real name Violet Mary Klotz, a superb actress who unfailingly revealed complex layers of character in her naturalistic performances, would prefer to be remembered for her finely tuned portrayal of the doomed Myra Deauville, the sweet chorus girl turned desperate prostitute, in the 1931 pre-Code, Waterloo Bridge. But the 1940 version with Vivien Leigh and Robert Taylor made Clarke’s film all but invisible. This is a shame for Clarke’s version, directed by James Whale, is excellent, combining gritty realism with lyrical impressionism.

Mae Clarke, a vaudeville headliner in New York, arrived in California in 1929 under a short term contract to Fox studios. She planned to make a few movies, pick up the easy money Hollywood offered, and then return to the stage, her first love.

Clarke ended up staying for sixty-three years.

During that time Clarke appeared in, among other films, Waterloo Bridge, Frankenstein, The Public Enemy, Lady Killer, and Pat and Mike. She worked with such eminent talents as Lewis Milestone, Tod Browning, William Wellman, William K. Howard, Dorothy Arzner and Ernest B. Schoedsack.

Never a stunning beauty, but rather a compelling and distinctive actress of great depth, Clarke’s career was hampered by three failed marriages and an almost disfiguring auto accident. Bouts of mental illness led to cruel treatment in snake pit institutions where she was doped up, restrained and subjected to electric shock therapy.

King Vidor, the great American director, when musing on the mystery of great actors stated:

[Spencer] Tracy as a man had many personal and emotional problems but that is not what came through on the screen. This is a paradox I won’t attempt to explain here. Perhaps the answer is one of successful compensation. I do know that actors who have some sort of emotional problem going on underneath seem to give a more interesting performance on top.

Sadly, Vidor’s theory seems borne out in the life and career of Mae Clarke. For most of her young adulthood, Clarke was financially responsible for her father, mother and younger brother. It was a heavy burden for such a fragile creature.

By 1937, after appearing in over forty movies, Clarke was exhausted in body and mind. She retired from the screen and married Capt. Stevens Bancroft, settling in Rio de Janeiro with her handsome, aviator husband. Clarke looked forward to having children and living a solid middle-class life. Tragically, emotional instability, alcohol, and her husband’s serial infidelity conspired to destroy the marriage and the dream.

Mae Clarke returned to Hollywood after just three years. She had no agent, little money, and was all but forgotten. But like the old vaudeville trooper she was, Clarke picked herself up and made the rounds taking whatever parts were offered.

Today, Mae Clarke is remembered—most don’t even know her name for she was uncredited—for having half a grapefruit shoved in her face in the 1931 classic The Public Enemy.

This is probably one of the most famous scenes in movie history and when clips of great Hollywood films are compiled, the grapefruit scene is almost always included.

Having just played the role of the doomed streetwalker, Molly Malloy, in The Front Page 1931, Clarke was making a name for herself in Hollywood. Her Molly Malloy is unforgettable, a tortured soul who desperately wants to mend, in Clarke’s words, “another bleeding soul.”

Soon after shooting wrapped on The Front Page, Clarke’s agent called and told her he had another Molly Malloy role for her, “another whore.” Clarke, a faithful Catholic, was wary, but when told that she would be playing opposite the rising young star Jimmy Cagney, and William Wellman was directing, Mae wisely accepted the offer to play the role of Kitty in The Public Enemy.

In the film, vicious but charismatic gangster Tom Powers, an electric Jimmy Cagney, and his sidekick Matt Doyle, the dreary Edward Woods, pick up good time girls Mae Clarke and Joan Blondell in a swanky night club.

When next we see Cagney and Clarke they are shacking up in a hotel room. Cagney has already built up huge reservoirs of contempt for Clarke’s Kitty and is picking a fight, looking for any excuse to sabotage the relationship. It is in this hotel room, during breakfast, that Cagney smashes the grapefruit in Clarke’s face.

Cagney then moves on to the brassy, sharp tongued tootsie, Jean Harlow, and Mae Clarke, after just two sequences—two days of work—disappears from the storyline.

How did the grapefruit scene come about?

It was not in the original novel or screenplay.

Mae Clarke spent two years being interviewed by James Curtis. The transcript was published as Featured Player, An Oral Autobiography of Mae Clarke, an invaluable and endlessly fascinating glimpse into the actresses life and career, and the Darwinian politics of the studio system.

Here’s Mae Clarke on the grapefruit scene:

We shot the scene! That’s all there was to it. He [director William Wellman] said, “All right, that’s a wrap.” It ended just short of the grapefruit where he [Cagney] says, “Oh, I wish you was a wishing well.” That was enough. That showed his hatred of me. That was all there was to do, so I went to my dressing room on the set and got ready to tie things up, when Jimmy [Cagney] appeared at the door.

“Can I come in a minute?”

“Yes, come on.”

He came in and he said, “Bill [Wellman] and I have been talking this thing over and we thought of a heck of an idea. We’d like you to do it again to give the guys a kick. This is really something you won’t forget.”

And he told me.

I couldn’t believe my ears. I said, “You’re kidding!”

He said, “No, come on back, we’ll do the scene again, just like we forgot something and we want to improve on it. The guys’ll come back. They haven’t broken the set yet. The lights are still there. And then I’ll pick up this grapefruit and push it in your face and the guys will go crazy.”

I didn’t want to do that, but all I had done to meet the new man and be at the new studio and work with Wellman was all out the window if I said no. I’d be a lemon. So I knew I had to do it. The only thing I could have done is get my agent on the phone and let him be the one to say no. But I couldn’t get to a phone. Jimmy was sitting right there being very persuasive.

I said, “Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll do it—once. I’ll trust you not to hurt me, and that’s all. Just for the guys, okay?” So that’s what we did, and we did it just once. Didn’t hurt me.”

So: Cagney presented the addition of the grapefruit as a gag to amuse the movie crew.

I have my doubts. “Wild Bill Wellman” was a demanding director, a man who walked heavily and carried a big stick. In fact, James Woods was originally cast in the Tom Powers role, but after watching dailies Wellman realized that Cagney was lightning in a bottle and handed Cagney the leading role, relegating Edward Woods to the lesser side kick.

Thus, Cagney carried the weight of the starring role and he must have been acutely anxious to do everything possible to ensure the film’s success.

After twenty years writing and producing film and TV in Hollywood, I have seen every sly, sneaky and underhanded manipulation by directors, and, ahem, writers, in order to elicit superior performances from, often, frightened, temperamental and brittle performers.

To me, it’s obvious that Wellman and Cagney always intended to use the grapefruit scene in the finished film. But sensing that Mae Clarke, a vulnerable day-player, might not cooperate, they cooked up the gag story in order to gain Clarke’s cooperation. Obviously, once the film was exposed, there was no recourse for Clarke, a powerless bit player.

Cagney was the messenger because, as Clarke explains, Wellman paid her no attention whatsoever. He never gave her a word of direction, just blocked the young actress, leaving her to her own instincts. Though never close, Clarke and Cagney, did have, at least, a cordial and respectful professional relationship.

Clarke concludes:

I thought that was the end of it, except they said, “We’re going to show it in the projection room tomorrow.” That was supposed to be the end of it. They had no right to put it in the picture without my permission. I gave no permission. I signed no release. I could have sued and won.

It’s highly doubtful if Clarke could have sued and won. After all, when you’re an actor in a movie it is understood that whatever is shot can be used in the film. This was especially true under the old studio system where actors were, in essence, highly paid indentured servants. Here, I think Mae is being a bit fanciful. And in truth, Cagney and Wellman’s dramatic instincts were on target. Ending the scene with Cagney’s dialog would have been soft. The cut to the next scene, flabby. The unexpected grinding of the grapefruit in Clarke’s face is shocking and cruel, yet it provides the perfect, if horrifying, exclamation point to the scene.

Clarke’s stunned reaction to Cagney’s display of violence is as authentic a display of humiliation as any committed to celluloid. Certainly, Clarke knew the grapefruit was coming, but the impact—physical and psychic—is simply overwhelming. Clarke, dissolving in tears, burying her face in her hands, appears naked, terribly vulnerable. Every time I view the scene I feel a wave of sadness, revulsion and shame.

The entire scene is just 41 seconds long. But it lingers in the memory for all time.

It’s a testament to the unearthly power of the movies.

The Public Enemy was a huge hit and when it was first released ran twenty-four hours a day at a theater in Times Square. Clarke’s ex husband, Lewis Brice, entered the theater just to watch the grapefruit scene. Brice delighted in his ex-wife’s public mortification.

Like all good actors, Mae Clarke constructed an elaborate and thoughtful inner life for the character of Kitty. All good actors become proprietary about the roles they play, falling, to some extent, in love with their fictional selves. It’s the only way an actor can successfully inhabit another skin. Mae Clarke, in a deeply moving passage, ponders the inner life of the young woman who had a grapefruit shoved into her face:

…That girl was pretty shocked and hurt. She hadn’t done anything that bad to him. She’d stayed to keep him warm. She gave. What did she get? She didn’t show any money. She didn’t show a new dress or anything—nothing, just bad treatment. And she stayed. But, of course, there again, why did she take that? It didn’t show her with an extreme love for him, either. She was just a I-hope-this-turns-out-all right-dumbell. And yet I didn’t play her quite like a dumbell. She was weak-willed—there wasn’t much justification for what she did. But it wasn’t so malicious that she needed to be treated like that.

Clarke should have had a brilliant movie career. Alas, talent alone is no ticket to success in the movie business. Toughness, resilience—the ability to accept endless rejections and not take them personally—and personal relationships are crucial to survival in Hollywood.

A generous interpretation of her characters and an instinctive understanding of the craft of movie acting characterize Clarke’s performances. Sadly, at a time when her career should have been flourishing, Mae Clarke was pretty much finished as a leading lady. Through the mid-sixties, she was reduced to bit parts in movies and television, almost always uncredited.

Mae Clarke died at age 81 in the Motion Picture Home, Woodland Hills, Ca.

Mae Clarke and Kent Douglass in Waterloo Bridge, 1931.

In Doug TenNapel’s look at how politics undermine the enjoyment of modern day films, he writes:

…when a new trailer is released that takes place during the Iraq War[,] I turn to my wife and whisper, “Don’t tell me; it’s about a gung-ho soldier who wants to fight for the good cause of America then sees enough friendly fire and slaughtered children to gain a conscience that the whole war is a lie for oil.”

Don’t we all.

It wasn’t always like this. In fact, it was just the opposite. When we meet Humphrey Bogart’s Rick Blaine he’s selfishly all about Rick and using a shattered heart as an excuse to stay cynically neutral in a war against evil.

Then Ingrid Bergman walks in.

But the love story in “Casablanca” is a head feint. At heart, Julius and Philip Epstein’s masterful script isn’t about Rick and Ilsa, it’s about a man getting over himself and realizing there’s something happening in the world more important than him – more important than “the problems of three little people.” Before the fade, Rick loses his cynicism and gives up the thing he loves most to re-join the fight.

In our current war against evil, Big Hollywood has embraced the Reverse-Rick-Arc which strives for an effect much more insidious than just a tired, lazy cliché that gives away most of the plot before it begins. Over the last few years, in most every film involving sand and a firearm, the goal has been to put the audience on the side of the protagonist and as his or her belief in country and the war is undermined so too (Big Hollywood hopes) is ours. The end result has been at least a dozen embarrassingly bad films with a 100% flop rate.

William Wellman’s timeless “Battleground” (1949) is another example of how Classic Hollywood handled themes of country and self-sacrifice in both a much more complicated and creatively interesting way (not to mention, morally defensible).

Set during WWII’s Battle of Bugle, “Battleground” follows a small patrol of soldiers lost in the literal and figurative fog of war. As conditions worsen, food runs out, and the enemy closes in, the men become increasingly bitter and disillusioned. They start to question what it’s all about and accuse the military of abandoning them.

Big Hollywood would close on this note, leaving our heroes angry at their country and cannon fodder for a worthless fight for an America no better than the enemy. Just before the climax, however, “Battleground” handles its characters growing (and realistic) cynicism with this:

Hollywood used to be great.

6:45pm PST – A Star Is Born (1937)  – A fading matinee idol marries the young beginner he’s shepherded to stardom. Cast: Janet Gaynor, Fredric March, Adolphe Menjou, May Robson Dir: William A. Wellman C-111 mins, TV-G

While few films top the marvelous Judy Garland musical update of this classic, cautionary Hollywood tale, this version (itself a sort-of remake of George Cukor’s1932 “What Price Hollywood?” – Cukor would direct the Garland version, as well) offers up a memorable, heartbreaking performance from Fredric March as the sad and sodden Norman Maine, a has-been movie star living in the shadow of his famous wife. Lionel Stander also blazes through his scenes as a ruthless studio press-hack who inadvertently brings ruin to those around him all in the name of doing his job of creating movie stars and keeping them movie stars.

Hollywood has always been interested in films about itself, but unlike many (not all) of the self-referential films released today, ”A Star Is Born” doesn’t romanticize or glorify those tragic and self-destructive elements that have been around since the idea of celebrity was born. That doesn’t mean the glamorous aspects of the film industry are repressed, but that there’s a realistic balance provided mainly through Adolph Menjou’s interesting and complicated character.

Produced by David O. Selznick, directed by William Wellman, scored by Max Steiner, shot in Technicolor and all wrapped in a screenplay touched by the likes of Budd Schulberg, Ben Hecht, and Ring Lardner Jr., this was quite the event film of its day and seventy years on holds up perfectly. Compelling from start to finish.

Thankfully, TCM has a pretty good print of “A Star Is Born,” much better than the public domain DVDs that have been floating around in various forms for a decade.