Battle Cry (1955)

 

Only the final hour of Battle Cry is about the involvement in combat of a battalion of U.S. Marines during World War II. The rest is, in part, about how they became Marines, but the film is primarily about the personal lives of half a dozen characters. It features some well-worn archetypes: the promising athlete who leaves behind his high school sweetheart, the womanizer with a girl in every city he visits, the bookish Marine who would rather read by himself that drink and party like his fellow battalion members…you get the picture. Danny Forrester (Tab Hunter, stunningly beautiful, especially when he takes his shirt off) leaves his girl behind when he joins the war effort, but he also falls for a married woman who takes him home after he gets too drunk one night in San Diego where he and the rest are undergoing their training. Andy Hookans (Aldo Ray) is a lumberjack who is quite a player, but he meets his true love in New Zealand, a war widow played by Nancy Olson (best known for Sunset Boulevard). They struggle to be together as the film keeps putting obstacles between them. John Lupton plays Marion Hotchkiss, who wants to be a writer and avoids the carousing enjoyed by many of fellow Marines. Marion is actually rather badly treated by the movie. He gets his heart broken by a woman he meets on a ferry to Coronado, a party girl named Rae (Anne Francis, who embodies the role of a B-girl before she even speaks a word in the film). He’s also ridiculed for his bookishness, getting the homophobic nickname of “Sister Mary.” The film also features a couple of Navajo “code talkers” who are often reduced to stereotypes, as is “Spanish” Joe Gomez, a troublemaker with a propensity for stealing and cheating. The ostensible leads of the film are Van Heflin, whose Major Huxley is a tough, demanding commanding officer nicknamed “High Pockets” (no, I don’t recall why), and James Whitmore, whose Sgt. Mac tries to balance the hard work of becoming and being a Marine with some sympathy for what the young men are going through. (Whitmore’s character is particularly intriguing; he’s the most sentimental of the Marines, and he’s frequently touching the other men to comfort or console them. Not the typical depiction of a tough Marine.) When the battalion actually gets involved in the war, they are initially subjected to “mopping up” after the battles at Guadalcanal and Tarawa, looking for remaining Japanese soldiers after much of the battle has ended. They are finally called into combat on Red Beach at Saipan, one of the most dangerous of locations. The battle sequences are vivid and energetic, and the entire film is beautifully shot. There is quite a contrast between the more domestic, quieter scenes and the battle scenes, but the film does a good job of building tension toward the inevitable scenes of war. The payoff is what you might expect in a Hollywood film about wartime in terms of what happens to the primary characters. Some die, some are injured, and others likely continue their service until the end of the war. What’s intriguing about the film nowadays is its consistent attention to questions of masculinity during the 1950s. Look at how Spanish Joe torments Marion, who is actually able to knock Joe down pretty easily in a fight. Whitmore and Heflin’s characters are constantly talking about what the men need and/or want, and there’s lots of conversations about relationships. Huxley even calls the troops “boys” when he’s explaining to the general that they have to prove themselves in battle; in other words, they have to show they are “men.” By the way, his troops are nicknamed “Huxley’s Harlots.” Make of that what you will.

Oscar Nomination: Best Scoring of a Dramatic or Comedy Picture

Picnic (1955)

The real star of Picnic, one of the nominees for Best Picture of 1955, is William Holden's chest. From its first appearance on screen, during the opening credit sequence when Holden's character bathes in a waterfall, his chest demands attention. Almost everyone in the movie seems fascinated by it, and to be fair, it is a handsome piece of work, nicely muscled but not overly so, a bit smoother than I prefer but still worthy of the looks that it receives. In scene after scene, director Joshua Logan keeps finding ways to get Holden out of his shirt, and by the end of Picnic, we're as familiar with this piece of his anatomy as we are any other part of the plot.

Holden plays Hal Carter, a drifter who comes to a small Kansas town looking for an old college buddy of his, Alan Benson (a very young Cliff Robertson). Out of cash but desperate to try to look like a success, Hal first approaches an older woman, Mrs. Potts (Verna Felton), who not only feeds him breakfast and allows him to clean himself up before doing some chores in repayment for her kindness, she also encourages him to work without his shirt on. As she puts it, "You're a man. What's the difference?" Of course, next door to Mrs. Potts is the home of Flo Owens (Betty Field), and it's a house filled with women. There's Flo and her two daughters, Millie and Madge, and Flo's boarder, Rosemary Sidney (Rosalind Russell), a self-professed "old maid schoolteacher." It's actually Rosemary who first comments on Holden's chest although what she says could be construed as negative if it weren't for the way she strains to get a good look at him. Neither she nor anyone else in town has to strain for too long, though.

In one of those "only in fiction" coincidences, Madge (Kim Novak) is also Alan's girlfriend, and it isn't long before Hal has reunited with his friend, gotten the promise of a job at the Benson family grain elevator company, and been invited to attend the Labor Day picnic with everyone else. He takes as his "date" the younger Owens daughter, Millie (Susan Strasberg), and everyone has a lot of fun participating in the activities of the town picnic. A montage of contests includes a variety of images meant to evoke the small town life of middle American during the 1950s. There's a pie eating contest, a talent competition, a three-legged race, even a girl-carrying contest, all staged to full sentimental effect here.

Despite his masculine charms--or perhaps because of him--Hal causes everyone to react to him. Part of this would, of course, be due to his being new in town. However, the amount of attention lavished on him is quite remarkable. Even Alan's father comments on how broad-shouldered Hal is; Mr. Benson was a fan of Hal's during his glory days as a college football player. And Hal himself takes almost every opportunity, it seems, to talk about how physically fit he is and how demanding physically his life has been. He even points out how Alan's borrowed jacket doesn't fit him right because he really needs all of his suits to be custom tailored in order to meet the demands of his body.

Given all of this, is it any wonder that Madge finds Hal attractive? She herself has been the focus of a great deal of attention due to her physical appearance as well. She's supposed to be the prettiest girl in town, a natural choice to be the Queen of Neewollah (that's Halloween spelled backwards), but she's starting to resent being known only for her beauty. She and her sister constantly fight because Madge is supposed to be the pretty one and Millie the smart one, each one resenting the confining nature of that overarching characterization. However, in a small town like the one portrayed here, those roles are assigned early in life and seemingly never vary.

Near the end of the Labor Day picnic, after Madge has indeed been crowned queen and while the band is playing the romantic "Moonglow," Hal and Madge dance together and realize their attraction for each other. By this time, Rosemary has been drinking a little too much, thanks to her long-time boyfriend Howard Bevans (Arthur O'Connell) and wants to see Hal's legs. I suppose she's grown tired of just looking at his chest. Unfortunately--well, perhaps not that unfortunately--she accidentally tears Hal's shirt (another article of clothing borrowed from Alan), exposing his chest yet again. Embarrassed, Rosemary leaves with Howard, leaving Madge and Hal to drive off together in a car borrowed from Alan's family.

I hope you've been keeping track of all of the things that Hal has taken from Alan because he's not quite done yet. You know, don't you, that Hal and Madge are meant to be together, right? He's the epitome of masculinity, and she's the very model of femininity. She even has a crown and a sash to prove it. I've never been quite clear on what William Inge, the playwright who created Picnic, is trying to say with this pairing. Is there some lesson here about the right people, i.e., the perfect physical specimens, needing to be united and needing to escape a town that would force them into unhappy marriages (Madge's impending betrothal to Alan) or unfulfilling jobs (Hal's prospective job at the grain elevators)? Neither seems to be happy with being known simply for their physical attractiveness, yet both are stuck with being thought of in only that one way. Regardless of what Inge might have intended, it's clear almost from the first time they meet that Hal and Madge will wind up together.

By the way, if I haven't yet convinced you of the lavish attention given to Holden's chest in this movie, let me point out that also there's a swimming sequence somewhat early in the film whose main goal seems to be the inclusion of a scene where Hal and Alan are standing side-by-side changing out of their swimsuits. If you're unable to tell the difference between Holden's more masculine, well-defined and tanned chest compared to Robertson's pale, underdeveloped chest, well, you'll probably wind up very happy in a small and small-minded town like the one this movie portrays.


I have seen Picnic performed as a stage play several times in my life. Each time I see it on the stage or in this movie version, I pay particular attention to one scene. After returning to the Owens family house, Rosemary and Howard have a discussion about their future. Rosemary, perhaps acknowledging for the first time that she is getting older, begs Howard to marry her. Perhaps seeing the young couple of Hal and Madge, she realizes that too much of her life has already passed her by and Howard represents her last chance at happiness. It's a heartbreaking scene, and it takes a skilled actress to pull it off properly. Russell, who had already been acting in movies for more than twenty years by the time of Picnic, is just astonishing here. She was shamefully overlooked when the nominees for Best Supporting Actress were chosen, but her co-star, O'Connell, did make the cut for Best Supporting Actor.

Neither Russell nor O'Connell were Method actors, and Holden was himself a much more naturalistic performer. However, Picnic boasts performances by two women who had devoted a great deal of time to learning Method acting. It's interesting to watch Novak, in particular, during her scenes with Holden. She seems so very distant emotionally from him, and it's somewhat jarring when they must share an emotional moment such as when he confesses his attraction for her. Strasberg, whose father Lee was the most renowned acting teacher favoring the Method, similarly stands out from the rest of the cast. She uses props like a cigarette or a copy of The Ballad of the Sad Cafe as a part of her performance, yet overall, it just doesn't ring as true to me as the performances by long-time pros like Russell, O'Connell, and Holden. Novak's performance style would work to her advantage much better in later films like Vertigo and Bell, Book, and Candle, but she and Strasberg can stand here as early examples of a style of acting that would come to predominate film in the next decade.

Mister Roberts (1955)

At the center of Mister Roberts, nominated for Best Picture of 1955, is a palm tree. It is carefully watered and tended by the captain of the U.S.S. Reluctant because it was given to him in honor of the hard work that he and the ship's crew provide to the rest of the Navy. Capt. Morton (James Cagney, using to full effect the lifetime of tough guy roles he'd perfected) wants a tight ship even if it is only a cargo ship that brings supplies to the warships actually doing battle in the Pacific Ocean during the waning years of World War II. Unfortunately, the men on the Reluctant, particularly the title character of Lt. JG Doug Roberts (Henry Fonda), have been trapped on board without liberty for too long. They need a break from all the work they've been doing, but Morton is adamantly opposed, wanting the men to concentrate solely on their duties.

Every infraction gets attention from the captain. If someone puts out a cigar butt in his beloved palm tree, the movie for the evening is cancelled. No one is allowed to be on deck without a shirt on. The rules are seemingly endless and frequently pointless, and Fonda's Roberts is tired of loading and unloading cargo; he wants to see some of the action on a destroyer. He longs to make what he considers to be a real contribution to the war effort. Each week he submits a request to transfer, and each week the captain forwards it without his approval, dooming it to failure. Roberts, frustrated in his efforts, has the support of the crew, though. They all want him to be happy because he has frequently demonstrated--and publicly, I would add--that he does not approve of the captain's bullying tactics or methods for keeping order.

Roberts makes a deal with Morton. In exchange for liberty for the men on board, he will stop writing his weekly letter and will follow whatever command Morton gives him without question or contradiction. It doesn't take long before Roberts becomes the face of the enemy to the crew, and they begin to shun him the way that they have tried to avoid the captain. Eventually, Roberts breaks and throws overboard the palm which Morton has so deeply prized. What follows is the revelation of the deal Morton and Roberts struck, and the men on board devise a way to get Roberts transferred to another ship so that he can actually serve in battle.

Made ten years after the end of World War II, Mister Roberts is not exactly a war movie. It's more of a gentle comedy about the rigidity of military command and about the lengths to which we will go in order to find some measure of happiness and peace of mind. There are, of course, serious moments here, particularly when the men are under the impression that Roberts is following Morton's orders in order to be promoted, but much of the film is rather good-natured fun.

Fonda is perfectly cast here. He was so talented at playing men who face those decisive moments in life, those moments when must confront life's divisive issues. He's forced here to choose the kind of man he is going to be: someone who follows the chain of command regardless of what those in command do or say or someone who's going to do what is the right thing regardless of what those in command think or believe. No one was better at serving as a moral compass than Fonda.

As I already mentioned, Cagney plays to his type here. He was perhaps always best as a tough guy, someone with ambition who knew what it would take to make it to the top. The scene where he takes out an admiral's cap and explains to Fonda's Roberts why the lieutenant must follow orders is an actor's exercise in restraint. Also along to play to his strengths is William Powell as the ship's doctor. Powell had a light comedic touch, and he was a master of timing and phrasing, both of them put to good use here. As Roberts' confidante, Powell shines in what was to be his final performance on film.

And then there's Jack Lemmon. Lemmon plays Ensign Pulver, an opportunist who takes advantage of every chance he gets to bypass his duties as laundry and morale officer (an odd combination, to say the least). Pulver has big plans to upset the captain, but he never quite sees any of this plans through to fruition. His plan to collect marbles and put them above the captain's bed so they disturb his sleep yields only five marbles. A huge firecracker needs to be tested first and destroys the laundry room. Pulver, of course, has no material to make another one. He even tries to smuggle a nurse from a neighboring island on board, only to see his plans fall apart when all of the nurses show up and expect a tour. Lemmon was playing his first major role on the movie screen and was chosen Best Supporting Actor for 1955. I would argue that he wins the award just for the closing line of the film. For how many great closing moments in film is Jack Lemmon responsible: Mister Roberts, Some Like It Hot, The Apartment...?

The film version of Mister Roberts was based upon the play in which Fonda had been starring for several years. It's still somewhat stage-bound, restricted as it is to the cargo ship for almost all of the action that takes place. Even the night the crew receives liberty, nothing is shown of what they do to the island. We hear that there is a lot of drinking and fighting and destruction of property and even the theft of a goat, but we are told all of this, not shown it, just the way it would have been handled on stage. Nevertheless, the film still stands on its own as solid entertainment. The stellar cast alone is worth watching, and the emotional impact of the final sequence, where Lemmon reads a series of letters to the other men on board, is powerful indeed.

Marty (1955)

Marty, the story of a single butcher in New York City, won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1955. It's a very heartwarming movie, particularly if you have reached a point in your life when you too, like the title character of this film, have almost given up on the possibility of happiness and love. This is a simple movie about very simple, realistic people. I found it to be charming and quite touching.

Ernest Borgnine plays Marty, who is under constant pressure to get married like his siblings have done. However, Marty sees himself as an unattractive (perhaps even ugly) man, someone who is not appealing to women. He spends most of his time hanging out with his friends, particularly Angie. (They are the originators of the "What do you want to do?" "I don't know. What do you want to do?" style of dialogue that has been in hundreds of movies.) He's dated some women, but Marty has yet to fall in love. One night, at the goading of his mother, with whom he still lives, he goes to the Stardust Ballroom and meets Clara (played by Betsy Blair). They start talking and soon fall in love with each other.

His friends don't find Clara appealing; they keep referring to her as a "dog," a term Marty also uses to describe himself. His mother doesn't like her either; she thinks Marty should keep looking for another girl. Marty initially bows to pressure from his family and friends and, of course, is miserable because he wants to be with Clara. If the plot sounds astonishingly simple, that's part of its magic. The filmmakers of Marty have chosen instead to depict what life would be like for people in this situation. And it still has the same power today as it did in 1955. There are moments, for example, when you will feel the sense of rejection that Marty and Clara feel, especially in one scene where Clara is waiting for the phone to ring so that she can go out to the movies with Marty. It's heartbreaking to watch some of this film, but the payoff at the end is certainly worth it all.

Borgnine is very good in the part, the best work he ever did. Blair is very delicate, almost fragile. She never had a huge Hollywood career, thanks in part to the blacklisting of the 1940s and 1950s. However, she's remarkable here, perfectly suited to the role. Most of the rest of the cast play Marty's family and friends, and they all bring a nice light comedic touch to the movie. This is a well done character study, a small film about "real" people.

Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing (1955)

Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing, nominated for Best Picture of 1955, is really a rather silly movie. It's a sentimental romance about two very unlikely lovers in Hong Kong. Now, I have nothing against sentiment or romance. Likewise, I'm not opposed to intercultural relationships in film; such pairings often make for very exciting movies. However, in this example, there seems to be so little point in having the characters be from different backgrounds. In fact, much of this film seems to be pointless.

The woman in this couple is played by Jennifer Jones. She's a widowed doctor working at a hospital in Hong Kong. She's incredibly talented and popular as a doctor, apparently, and rather ambitious. After the loss of her husband, she's decided to forgo romance and concentrate instead upon her profession. The man is played by William Holden. He's a married newspaper correspondent who keeps getting sent to exotic locations throughout Asia. He wants to divorce his wife, but she is unwilling to set him free.

You may be asking yourself at this point how these two very American performers somehow represent a cross-cultural romance. Here's the kicker: Jones is playing a Eurasian woman. Tough to believe, I know; even tougher to accept. The supporting cast of fellow doctors in the hospital and friends in Hong Kong and even family members in China is full of Asian or Asian American actors, yet Jones is meant to somehow represent the blending of two cultures, the Chinese and the English. I only point this out because it's supposed to be a significant plot point, their cultural differences. However, I just don't sense this is a point of tension between them. If Holden's character could just get a divorce from his wife, then he and Jones' doctor could be wed. What does being Eurasian or not Eurasian have to do with that? A few characters mention from time to time how much difficulty these two might face as a couple, but really, the main issue keeping them apart is not their different cultures, despite what any of the characters say.

The film was shot on location in Hong Kong, and the photography is really stunning. This is a gorgeous film, and you can't help but be dazzled at times by the scenery. However, you will have to endure the rather intrusive theme song, which pops up with alarming frequency when Jones and Holden are on screen together. It's almost as if the purpose of the movie is to get that song stuck in your head; maybe it was an early marketing gimmick, one of the first examples of synergy. I have to say that I'm not overly fond of the song myself, but I suppose it is at times used to good effect.

I wouldn't want to suggest that this film isn't enjoyable. As a rather traditional romance set in a beautiful location, Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing has its creaky, old-fashioned charms. The leads are certainly appealing enough together even if Jones is miscast in her role here. I just can't see this film as being one of the best of 1955 or any other year. Undoubtedly, this is an example of the Academy saving a spot on its list for a huge moneymaker of a film. It doesn't stand out to me as particularly memorable or deserving of recognition for its overall quality.