I Think I'm Ready for a Walker

I keep trying to remember the first time I noticed Clint Walker. His career was, for all intents and purposes, over before I began seeing very many movies. His hit television show Cheyenne (1955-1962) went many years without being rerun and was only recently unearthed by The Starz Westerns Channel. Perhaps it was during a viewing of his 1966 family film Night of the Grizzly, in which he went shirtless in order to chop some wood.

In any case, at some point in the early 2000s, I began to obsess over Mr. Walker to the point of hysteria. An online friend who I had met through imdb.com sent me copies of two of his old Warner Brothers western films – Gold of the Seven Saints and Fort Dobbs – and the 1969 comedy, The Great Bank Robbery. That was it. From then on, I had to see EVERYTHING that Clint Walker ever did.

The epitome of a “strong but silent” type, 6 foot, 6 inch Clint Walker was a giant with a broad, strong chest, but possessing a dulcet voice which could melt a person’s ears off. His ice blue eyes were offset by silken dark hair and a suntan. He had a gentle, polite manner, but was incredibly heroic and tough when it was needed. In short, if I could be a Dr. Frankenstein and make the perfect man, Walker would be it! To give you an idea of his shape, at his peak, he had a 48" chest, but only a 32" waist.

Frequently derided as a wooden actor, he was actually a very understated, but highly committed, performer who brought nuance to the standard, cardboard roles that were always handed to him. He was brought to the attention of Cecil B. DeMille for a role in The Ten Commandments, but C.B. took one look at him and told him he would dwarf the stars, Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner, so he appeared as a guard instead. (Look for him in the palace scenes with a horned helmet on his head!) He then landed his signature role of Cheyenne Bodie on the Warner Brothers series and performed in occasional film roles during his off time. Many episodes featured his character stripped to the waist either to wash up or to perform manual labor. It was an unpleasant experience for him for a variety of reasons including typecasting and restrictions in his ability to do more and better film work.

Once free from the series, he tried to break the mold, to a degree, with a comedic role as Doris Day’s hunky former sweetheart in Send Me No Flowers, but generally Clint wound up in more westerns or war movies, including The Dirty Dozen. He also found work in several family-oriented films where his best assets often went wasted (except for that wood-chopping scene in Grizzly, which is legendary among his admirers.) In a nod to his work in war films, he voiced the role of Nick Nitro in the animated film Small Soldiers, his last role to date.

In 1973, Clint was involved in a bizarre skiing accident in which the tip of his ski pole penetrated his chest and nicked his heart! Though he made an admirably speedy recovery from the incident, that was the last anyone ever saw of his amazing chest on the screen. Apart from this, he was in his mid-forties and likely had tired of the beefcake scenes by then anyway. He has admitted in interviews that he shied away from many film offers that came his way from the 1960s on because he didn’t wish to use foul language or appear in things that contained, in his view, inappropriate material. Now in his early 80s, for the last several years he has lived a quiet life with his wife, occasionally venturing to a western convention here and there.

A warning to those who have yet to experience Clint Walker: Tread carefully or you will become as addicted to his face, figure and soothing voice as some people are to crack!

Unparalleled Parker

In an earlier post, I mentioned how my feelings towards The Sound of Music’s Baroness Elsa Schraeder changed over time. As a child, I loathed her for her attempts to thwart the love between Captain Von Trapp and Maria. Once I grew up, though, and began to appreciate the art of cattiness and bitchery, she swiftly became my favorite character and now I treasure every frame of hers in the film! Incidentally, when the film was broadcast on TV for all those years, the pan and scan framing frequently cut her out of the picture, most especially during the introductory car ride, but thanks to letterboxing, we can now see her throughout as intended.

There’s a longstanding debate among fans of SOM regarding the fact that Max and Elsa’s songs from the stage production were cut from the film. Though I like their songs (and having portrayed both The Captain and Uncle Max onstage, have sung them myself), I actually appreciate that they were removed. Having Elsa unable to partake in the tuneful goings on at the estate actually causes her to feel more ostracized and gives her even more motivation for sending Maria packing. (Truth be told, in the stage version, Maria left because of something Brigitta said. The magnificent scene in the bedroom between Elsa and Maria was entirely new, courtesy of the masterful screenwriter Ernest Lehman.)


One thing I love about the Elsa of the film, aside from her stunning sense of style, her regal posture and her snarky running commentary, is the fact that she knows when she’s been beaten and gives up without any fuss, even handing the handsome Captain over to the little would-be nun. Eleanor Parker misses no nuance in her playing of the pivotal balcony break up scene (nor does she in any scene throughout!) She struggles gallantly to hold on to Georg, but, once licked, playfully points out to him that his future is before him, wandering through the moonlit grounds.

Miss Parker had been a very successful, highly versatile leading lady in films. She began film work in the early 1940s and stayed busy until the late 60s. She not only worked with some of Hollywood’s top actors along the way, but also snagged three Best Actress Oscar nominations! She could play practically anything from a demure girl in The Woman in White to an unbalanced shut-in in The Man with the Golden Arm to a woman suffering from multiple personalities in Lizzie to an opera star in Interrupted Melody. She played everyday types, such as in A Hole in the Head, but particularly excelled in roles that required a degree of sophistication and haughtiness. Frequently, this haughtiness would be melted by the final reel of the film, however.


She held her own against some of Hollywood’s most arrogant-flavored screen personalities such as Kirk Douglas, Charlton Heston and Robert Mitchum. She was placed in The Sound of Music as “insurance” because Christopher Plummer was not yet an established leading man in films and Julie Andrews had yet to be seen in a movie when she was cast as Maria.

It was Eleanor Parker who kicked off my interest in classic films. One day, I saw that “The Baroness” was in a different movie that was going to be on TV that night, The Naked Jungle. After watching and enjoying that, and marveling at her good looks and excellent performing skills, I started catching other films of hers. Eventually, I wanted to see films that starred some of her costars in these movies and before long, I was hooked on classic movies in general. There’s a decided difference between yesterday’s movies and today’s and it is an acquired taste for most of us. Thanks to Miss Parker, I was introduced to a world of cinema that has given me incredible rewards over the last several decades.

Since retiring for good in the early 90s, Parker has shunned the limelight and given no interviews. Despite a strong career peppered with many fascinating roles and costars, she is uninterested in regurgitating any of it. Her input for a network like TCM or even in commentaries or featurettes on DVDs would be invaluable, but it seems unlikely to happen. Sadly, few people apart from her fans probably even realize that she's still alive, but for whatever reason she seems to prefer it that way. At any rate, she remains my second-favorite pre-1970 actress.

There's Just One Hitch...

Had I been born in 1980, when Alfred Hitchcock passed away, instead of 1967, I’d swear I was a reincarnation of the man. (Not looks-wise, mind you!) As it stands, perhaps he did in some way enter my body shortly after his death because it was in 1983 that I discovered his movies for the first time and I immediately felt the need to see all of them that I could.

In 1983, a few of his films (including Vertigo, The Man Who Knew Too Much and Rear Window) were re-released following a long period in which they had been tied up in legalities. A pay cable channel was advertising this fact and some of the imagery caught my eye, so I tuned in and was hooked from then on.

What got my attention in this batch of movies – the clean colors, the wondrous music, the suspenseful stories, the cool blonde leading ladies – led me to seek out his earlier work. Each time I saw another one, I enjoyed it (with a couple of exceptions along the way.)


As I began to investigate the man’s work and the man himself, I soon discovered that we had many similar fetishes, phobias and fascinations. For example, he had a fear of authority figures stemming from a childhood incident in which his father had him placed in a jail cell briefly to prove a point. I am also wary of the police and other uniformed officials. He also loved women who present an icy, secure, confident front, but who may have simmering passions under that surface. Likewise, he seemed to enjoy gussying his leading ladies up only to systematically tear them down. (This ties into my disaster movie fixation, which often features glamorous people and settings being put through a battery of elements. In fact, Hitch occasionally included disaster-style sequences such as in Foreign Correspondent, in which a planeload of people crashes into the water.)

My favorite Hitchcock movie is Vertigo, which was also his most personal film. Everything about it from the obsessive nature of James Stewart to the gauzy beauty of Kim Novak to the swirling music to the unforgettable Edith Head clothing captivates me thoroughly. It’s definitely a film that provokes either praise or derision depending on one’s outlook. However, there are so many other gems including Psycho, The Birds, Notorious, The Man Who Knew Too Much (I’m one of those who prefers his remake), Strangers on a Train and, of course, his Oscar-winning Best Picture Rebecca.

Even in those of his films that aren’t complete successes, I usually find something I love – a set piece, a performer, a stylistic choice, the music. Torn Curtain may not be a terrific movie, but it has hunky Paul Newman in his prime and in gorgeous color. Likewise, Marnie features a young Sean Connery and the elegant Tippi Hedren along with the wondrously cranky work of Louise Latham. I Confess features stunning black and white photography. To Takes a Thief features one of my all time favorite dresses, a blue chiffon Grecian number that stands out vividly against Grace Kelly’s tan. There is only one Alfred Hitchcock sound film that I have not seen. I just cannot seem to get through it or to even make myself do so and that is Jamaica Inn. I adore Maureen O’Hara and have enjoyed Charles Laughton in things, but this one eludes me. Maybe someday…

Where'd He Get That Name?!

So, dear reader, if you've been perusing this blog since the beginning, you know that I started off those early posts in a sort of auto-biographical manner, relaying some of my earliest movie memories in order of their occurrence. Today I will reflect a little bit on the movie that had the GREATEST overall impact on me as a child and which gave me my online moniker and, thus, the name of this site.

Having seen The Towering Inferno in the theater, I was zooming back and forth on my backyard aluminum whirley-gig (I have no idea what it's called - a rowing and spinning device from the 70s which has probably since been deemed unsafe!), talking about the movie with a slightly older neighbor kid named Eddie. He brought up The Poseidon Adventure and described it's plot line to me. I remember him telling me about the upside down toilets, for one thing, and how funny it was when Robin Shelby went to the men's room and saw them there. I couldn't believe that such a film existed and, of course, at that time, I had no access to it.

Cut to a year or so later when our house was robbed on Christmas Eve. The burglars took our color TV set, but left an old (and very heavy) black and white set in my bedroom. Until we could replace the color set, my mom would lie on my twin bed at night to watch TV and I would crouch on the floor in front of her if something was on that I liked. One night, they broadcast The Poseidon Adventure and we tuned in. It would be a life-changing occurrence. (And just as information, the airing of this film on TV was a ratings triumph. This was long before home video was widespread. Practically everyone was watching!

I guess I was a pretty sensitive child and, to that point, I don't think I had ever quite grasped the concept that sometimes the good guys don't win. To make it brief, my illusions were shattered. It was inconceivable to my 8 year-old mind that innocent vacationers on a boat could be celebrating New Years Eve one minute and, after having been capsized, dead the next or that people valiantly fighting to survive could work for the safety of others and then not make it out themselves. It was a realization that overwhelmed me.

I had a memory of my mother saying to one of her friends once that she "couldn't stand to see a grown man cry." It stuck with me and on the night of the Poseidon viewing, when the most stunning and sad point for me arrived, I wanted to cry desperately, but didn't, even though I wasn't a "grown man." I held it in. Stifled it. For many years afterward, whenever I would catch the film on TV (and, trust me, I sought it out, stayed up late, GOT up late if it was on overnight...) I would be wrecked emotionally by the end.

Thankfully, I've since worked through that aspect of the film and now enjoy it in a whole new way, though if it catches me in a certain frame of mind, I sometimes still get choked up when Miss Shelley Winters takes her big dive. In fact, I have become so comfortable in my attitude towards the film that I can simultaneously laugh at it, be moved by it and become excited by it all at once and even attended a recent stage musical parody of it during which I was one of the people laughing the hardest. (I was concerned about a show that mocked a film that has always been a favorite of mine.) I had also been skittish about the two recent remakes, wondering if they would somehow soil the memory of the original. I needn't have worried. Both productions were so pedestrian and utterly forgettable that in time people are unlikely to recall that they were even made.


In later posts, I will mention some of the aspects of The Poseidon Adventure that have enthralled me, amused me and inspired me. I would single myself out as a complete nut (before you get the chance to!), but I'm aware, as a matter of fact, that there's an entire cult culture built around this film with people dressing up, making dolls of the cast, redesigning rooms of their house in an upside down fashion, holding parties, making video tributes that star themselves and their friends and on and on. There's a fan club that holds an annual screening aboard the Queen Mary to which surviving cast members are invited and occasionally attend. Clearly, Irwin Allen and Ronald Neame fashioned something that made a tremendous impact on its viewing audience and that's something that only one in a hundred films can engender.

I have never been on a cruise, though I want to go sometime. I always feel like I'd come away disappointed if the ship stayed right side up the entire time. Maybe the promise of endless food and frolicsome on board activities, along with interesting shore leaves, would make up for it.

I watch the movie every New Years Day and try not to see it in between if I can help it so that it retains some small level of freshness for me.

Kneel Before O'Neil

Some actors do a lifetime of work on the stage or screen and yet are solely remembered for one thing. While today's star may not fit that description entirely, it is probable that most people who know of her at all only know of her because of the role she played in one of the most successful films of all time.

A Student of The Yale School of Drama, Barbara O'Neil joined University Players and rubbed elbows with fellow students (and future stars) Jimmy Stewart, Henry Fonda and Margaret Sullavan, among others. It was here that she met her husband (for a short while) Joshua Logan, who was a noted director, eventually enjoying much success on Broadway.

Fans of the old Barbara Stanwyck weepie Stella Dallas will recall O'Neil as the kindly stepmother of Stanwyck's daughter Anne Shirley (you know, the girl who marries a nice young boy as her real mother stands watching from the outside?) This first foray into films (in 1937) was representative of the types of roles Ms. O'Neil would portray most frequently. She was often either the other woman (nice or mean, depending on what was called for) or some sort of motherly figure.




Just two years later, O'Neil would enact the role of Ellen Robillard O'Hara in Gone with the Wind, a film of such magnitude that, even now, 70 years later, it captivates droves of viewers and stands as one of Hollywood's all time classics. Here, she portrayed the soft-spoken, quietly powerful and much-beloved mother of Scarlett O'Hara. Though the role in the film is rather slender, the character in the source novel is a major fixture, her persona looming large throughout, and O'Neil perfectly fit the character (as practically every actor in GWTW did thanks to the exacting obsessiveness of producer David O' Selznick.) One bit of surprising trivia: She was, in real life, only three years older than Vivien Leigh, who played Scarlett. Unlike many other instances of this sort of thing, on this occasion, it works perfectly. O'Neil's work here is interesting because it's very understated, something that would contrast dramatically with her other most notable career role.


A year after GWTW, O'Neil took on the role of The Duchesse de Praslin in All This, and Heaven Too, a romantic drama that starred Bette Davis and Charles Boyer. Here, she was the vividly neurotic and endlessly trouble-causing wife of Boyer who frets and lashes out constantly at both him and the (for once) demure Davis. Once seen, she cannot be forgotten as she flails about in a variety of ornate period ensembles, sporting anachronistic false eyelashes that seem to project 3-D-style from the screen. For her efforts, she received a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination. Though there is precious little in her fire-breathing performance that is realistic or (much less) subtle, she is thoroughly captivating and the film can't help but suffer a bit when she makes her exit.

Despite this accomplishment and the forward momentum that these two films should have offered, Barbara O'Neil made sporadic film appearances after this (including Otto Preminger's Whirlpool and Angel Face - and not everyone could work with him twice!), concentrating more on Broadway where she performed in no less than seven plays from 1942 on. She also made a few 1950s TV appearances, usually on anthology shows which were very popular at the time.

Some might be surprised to know that she lived until 1980, but she was only 70, having portrayed Mrs. O'Hara when in her late 20s. Though the occasional bit of acting may show up in which she doesn't make a massive impression, there's no denying the versatility she brought to the roles she did when looked at as a collection, even when they were pigeonholed within a certain range by the scripts and casting directors.

Table of the Round Knight

Those younger viewers amongst us who only know Miss Shirley Knight for her bubbly supporting work in films of varying quality (such as As Good as it Gets, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Grandma's Boy and Paul Blart: Mall Cop) may find it surprising that she was once a) a lovely and trim ingenue, b) the co-star of many notable leading men and c) an actress who fearlessly took on roles that pushed the envelope of the standards of the time.

I first came upon Miss Knight in a 1974 quasi-disaster film called Juggernaut. It's really more of a suspense film concerning bombs placed on a dreary cruise liner and her role is negligible. Later, I found her in Beyond the Poseidon Adventure, the utterly ridiculous and tacky 1979 sequel to the original film. Somehow, against all odds, she retains a quiet dignity throughout, perhaps because she is surrounded by a gallery of highly annoying personalities. The recently released DVD sadly neglects to restore several of her scenes which were seen in the expanded TV version, so her role remains rather slight (she might be grateful for this as it is hardly a prestigious addition to her resume!)

She plays the serene, supportive wife of blind novelist Jack Warden and she has several howlingly entertaining moments along the way. Her entrance in the film is classic. A band of survivors is frantically trying to clear a blocked passageway when she reaches, seemingly out of nowhere, to touch one on the shoulder as one might approach a stranger to ask in which direction a certain street lies! Later, she suffers a dislocated shoulder and stretches her acting muscles, allowing her simultaneously stiff and limp appendage to hover to the side like a broken wing. Though no one escaped this film entirely free of career stain, she is far from the most embarrassing member of the cast and comes off as rather elegant, believe it or not.

We know her now as that alternately bubbly or dour, overweight character actress who seems to get nominated for an Emmy or a Golden Globe every time she appears on TV and, had she been given another decent scene or two, she might have copped a Supporting Actress Oscar nomination for As Good as it Gets. (Incidentally, she won that role after Betty White turned it down due to implied cruelty towards the scene-stealing little fur ball who finds itself in Jack Nicholson's care.) Shirl deserves credit anyway for convincing audiences that she could possibly have given birth to someone like Helen Hunt!

However, Shirley already had two Oscar noms under her belt for supporting work she did in her early films The Dark at the Top of the Stairs and Sweet Bird of Youth (opposite the delectable Paul Newman.) Oddly, she wasn't nominated again once she segued into leading roles, even though she took on some meaty ones and handled them deftly. She appeared, to non-flashy but solid effect, in the female ensemble of The Group, the racially charged Dutchman, the 60s classic Petulia and The Rain People, a film before its time in which she has several luminous moments. She also played Brooke Shields' hippie-ish mother in Endless Love. A Broadway veteran, she can also count The Tony Award as one of her many accolades.

It's telling of my almost complete lack of taste that one of my favorite appearances of hers is in the tawdry, campy mess Color of Night. She has a cameo (two small bits, actually) as Edith Niedelmeyer, the agitated and neurotic wife of a suspicious doctor. Her scene with Bruce Willis in which she wallows all over her living room, reacting to a threat that is never present, should be run on a continuous loop in the Camp Hall of Fame! It's astonishing!

There was no room in Wolfgang Peterson's "who cares" 2006 Poseidon remake for any female larger than a size 2 or perhaps Miss Knight could have played a contemporary version of Belle Rosen, adding a dollop of heart to a film which basically had none. As it is, it's nice to see her continually getting work, though a touch more discretion in projects wouldn't be unappreciated. If that were the case, however, I wouldn't have Edith Niedelmeyer to worship unendingly!

Lex is More

The local UHF channel frequently played old Tarzan movies on the weekend, usually starring Johnny Weismuller. One day I happened upon one of the old flicks and the vine-swinger was suddenly different. He was a little younger and tan and BLONDE! Though most purists prefer Johnny, I can't say I minded the switch because, to me, Lex Barker was as close to physical perfection as my poor little 8 year-old mind knew. I still think the man was gorgeous.

Hailing from a rather well-to-do family, Lex had to practically say goodbye forever to all of them when he chose to pursue acting as a career over a more prestigious occupation because they heartily disapproved. He worked in a steel mill and served (with success) in the army until he could make his acting dream a reality. He toiled away in smallish roles before landing in the loincloth for a series of jungle epics. He was also married during this time to Miss Lana Turner, who knew a hot man when she saw one, even if he was trouble. (Turner's daughter accidentally killed one of mom's lovers during a heated incident and Lex, himself, was accused by the same daughter of sexual abuse, though these allegations came to light long after his death.) In one of those almost incestuous quadrangles that can only happen in Hollywood, Lex was married to Arlene Dahl at the same time Lana was carrying on a torrid romance with Fernando Lamas. Lex divorced Arlene and married Lana and before long Arlene married Fernando! (This resulted in Lorenzo Lamas, which is a good or bad thing depending on one's point of view.)

Anyway, Lex possessed stunning features and a beautiful physique, but was unable to get past any of that and be taken seriously as an actor. In time, he migrated to Germany and appeared in many, many films there, becoming one of that country's favorite stars! He made quite a few westerns based on the books of Karl May including the campy, but very beautiful and highly entertaining The Treasure of Silver Lake. A lavishly illustrated biography of him and his career is a big seller in Germany, but hasn't been translated into English for the rest of us to enjoy.

Never one to stay unmarried for long, he was on his way to meet the woman who was to be wife number six when he was stricken with a heart attack at the reasonably young age of 54. It's hard to know exactly what went on with this man in his private life, but it's equally hard to ignore the visual benefits he brought to many films (and, later, acting prowess.) A series of comic books based on his tenure as Tarzan feature covers that are alternately amusing, beautiful, revealing and downright corny (sometimes he'd be forced to pose with a chimp and/or a banana and have animals superimposed behind him.)