The Bad and the Bankable (originally published 6/93)

Between "Basic Instinct," "Body of Evidence," and "Indecent Proposal," you have to wonder what in the name of Caligula the folks in Hollywood can be thinking of. Do they think of the ticket buying public as nothing more than walking glands?

Well, maybe. But more likely they are simply following a principle that has held true from the silent cinema right down to today: shocking people's sensibilities is good for the box office. Back in the silent days, 1915 audiences were invited to cluck their tongues disapprovingly at a picture called "A Fool There Was," starring an actress named Theda Bara as the fallen woman who leads men astray. Theda Bara was carefully publicized as a mystery woman, possibly the love child of a French artist and his Egyptian mistress. Studio PR people pointed out knowingly that her name was an anagram of "Arab death." In point of fact, she was a Cincinnati tailor's daughter named Theodosia Goodman. The air of mystery and intrigue about her was just that -- air. Sort of like Madonna. But, like Madonna, she sold tickets.

Prints of "A Fool There Was" still exist, but as far as I know it isn't available on video. [2009 NOTE: This is no longer true. You can get it on DVD from Kino Video.] Not to worry, though. If you don't yet feel sufficiently debauched by the recent spate of racy movies, here are a few of the scandalous films of yesteryear that are available on home video.

"The Outlaw" (1943). Howard Hughes's notorious sexy Western is pretty tame stuff by today's standards, but in its day it caused quite a stir. It doesn't take long to realize that the camera is paying more attention to Jane Russell's anatomy than to the story line. It's just as well, really; it isn't much of a story. The film remains worthwhile mostly because its remarkably strong supporting cast included Walter Huston and Thomas Mitchell, two of the best in the business, as Doc Holliday and Pat Garrett, respectively.

"Baby Doll" (1956). Elia Kazan's adaptation of a Tennessee Williams script was guaranteed to offend almost everyone. No major studio release had ever portrayed the seduction of virginal youth with such frankness. Carroll Baker plays the child bride of a Mississippi cotton gin operator (Karl Malden). His dirty business practices catch up with him when a competitor (Eli Wallach) uses his wife to get the goods on him. "Baby Doll" was condemned by the Catholic Legion of Decency and denounced from virtually every pulpit in the country. Reviewers jumped on the bandwagon as well. Time magazine, for example, offered this encomium: "Just possibly the dirtiest American-made motion picture that has ever been legally exhibited." Money in the bank. You can't buy that kind of promotion for a million dollars. Reproduced below is the film's original promotional trailer, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.



"Last Tango in Paris" (1973). Bernardo Bertolucci, whose more recent films include "The Last Emperor" and "The Sheltering Sky," shook some people up with this occasionally brutal mixture of physical love and emotional aridity. Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider play a pair of lovers who regularly meet in an empty apartment to carry on the ultimate casual affair, not even bothering to tell each other their names.

"Carnal Knowledge" (1971). Playwright and cartoonist Jules Feiffer wrote this story of two sex-obsessed college roommates (Jack Nicholson and Art Garfunkel) who never seem to outgrow their adolescent sexual hang-ups. Although we follow them well into middle age, their attitudes about sex remain those of a couple of teenagers with raging hormones. Although the film contains very little nudity or (to borrow a euphemism from cable TV) strong sexual content, the guardians of public morality went ballistic. There were even some attempts at outright censorship, including a few obscenity arrests, none of which could ultimately stand up in court.

But the people who raised the public outcry against "Carnal Knowledge," and all the others, for that matter, were misguided. No, I don't mean that they were necessarily wrong about the objectionable nature of the films. That's obviously open to debate in each individual case. I'm saying that they were misguided in thinking that they were doing any damage to the films and their producers by protesting.

You may remember a film a few years back called "Monty Python's Life of Brian," which was perceived by some as blasphemous. When asked how he felt about those who were denouncing the film, Python member John Cleese replied that he'd like to be able to send them all a thank you note. They had, after all, made him wealthy.

Huckster Extraordinaire (originally published 2/94)

The pioneers of the American motion picture industry were, by and large, not highly educated people. In fact, most were immigrants who stumbled into the fledgling film business from other pursuits like the garment trade. They were an uncouth and unsophisticated bunch, and yet they managed in little more than a decade to build a film industry that was the envy of the world.

How did they do it? Not by hiring marketing research firms to run focus groups, I assure you. Even if such things had existed back then, these guys wouldn't have had a clue how to interpret the data. Instead, the movie pioneers relied on two important qualities that they did possess.

First, they had an instinct for what the common, everyday moviegoer wanted to see, in part because they were common, everyday folks themselves. Second, and probably most important, the ones who succeeded had a natural talent for showmanship.

Sometime during the last 20 or 30 years the movies gave up the last traces of true showmanship. Even the little touch of theaters opening a curtain to reveal the picture after the projector is started has almost entirely vanished. (Anyone remember when all theaters closed the curtain after the coming attractions trailers, then opened it again for the main feature? If so, you're no spring chicken.)

I was delighted, therefore, to read of the release of a film called "Matinee," starring John Goodman as a 1950s producer who specializes in selling his low budget movies by means of outlandish promotional gimmicks. If you've seen "Matinee," you should know that Goodman's character was not created from whole cloth, but rather was based on an actual movie producer/director. His name was William Castle and he was the last of the big time showmen in Hollywood.

For instance, when his murder mystery "Macabre" was released in 1958 Castle issued life insurance policies for the audience members, payable if the faint of heart should die of fright during the movie.

But perhaps the apex of his career was 1959's "The Tingler," for which selected theater seats were wired to deliver a mild electric shock to the occupant. Following an announcement that the tingler was loose in the theater, the patrons who had chosen the prepared seats would be jolted to their feet. Of course, only a couple of actually wired seats were needed. Thereafter, anyone who felt anything at all, down to and including a pants cuff brushing against their leg, would jump up just to be safe.

Castle's gimmick films are not widely available on video. [2009 NOTE: Happily, this is no longer the case. A recently released Castle box set largely redresses this omission. See http://tinyurl.com/wmcastle] I suppose this is understandable; after all, if you watch them in your living room you don't get the benefit of the gimmicks. Still, a couple of them are available. While they are by no means great films, they are entertaining. Castle's sense of showmanship informs the content of his films just as surely as it informed his promotions.

"House on Haunted Hill" (1958). Vincent Price stars as a wealthy eccentric who offers a group of people $50,000 each if they will spend a night in a haunted house. The gimmick here was what Castle called "Emergo." At a certain point in the film, theaters would send a skeleton clattering over the audience's heads from the front of the auditorium to the back, giving the impression (they hoped) that it had emerged from the screen.

"13 Ghosts" (1960). A kind of lighthearted forerunner to "The Amityville Horror," this film tells the story of a family that buys and moves into a house only to discover that it is haunted. In fact, it is haunted by no less than 12 ghosts, who are anxious to add another to their ranks so that they will number a good, proper, ghostly 13.

Castle's gimmick for "13 Ghosts" was called "Illusion-O." Audience members received "ghost viewers" upon entering the theater. These were color filters mounted in a small cardboard frame. Thus equipped, the audience members could either look through the viewers or not, depending on whether they wanted to see the ghosts or not. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer touting the "Illusion-O" gimmick.



As shameless as his promotions were, and despite the fact that many of them were more than a little on the dumb side, I can't help missing William Castle just a bit. When the crackerbox multiplex folks act like they are doing me a big favor just to focus the picture, I sometimes wish that Castle's ghost would come screaming out of their screen, rattling his skeleton over the audience, just to show them what real showmanship was like once upon a time.

Put Me In, Coach (originally published 6/96)

Actors, like athletes, can be divided into two categories: amateurs and pros. In each case, the transition from amateur to pro requires both natural gifts and years of training. There is, however, a striking difference. Although you will never see an amateur athlete competing alongside pros in a regular, non-exhibition game, motion picture releases starring amateur actors are not all that uncommon. When that happens, as it did in the current release “Kazaam,” starring Shaquille O’Neal, the rookie in the cast list usually turns out to be a celebrated athlete. Clearly, the producers are counting on Shaq’s popularity as a sports star to translate into bucks at the box office, thereby offsetting the liability of casting a non-actor in a starring role.

It’s not a new ploy, by any means. Moviemakers have been recruiting from the ranks of the sports community almost as long as there have been movies. In fact, there are even a few star athletes who have made the transition from sports star to movie star with impressive skill. To see some really worthwhile movie work done by ex-jocks, look for these titles on video.

Johnny Weissmuller in “Tarzan, the Ape Man” (1932). Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Tarzan provided the conduit for many an ex-athlete into the movie business. Johnny Weissmuller, a renowned Olympic swimming champion, was not the first to portray Tarzan on the screen and certainly not the last, but he managed to make the part his own in a way that no one since has even approached. With high-dollar M-G-M production values going for him, not to mention that unforgettable yell, Weissmuller parlayed this impressive debut into a successful career.

Paul Robeson in “The Emperor Jones” (1933). It seemed that Paul Robeson succeeded extravagantly at whatever he chose to turn his hand to. Not content with being a professional football star, he graduated from Columbia University’s law school while simultaneously beginning a career as a stage performer. In the film adaptation of Eugene O’Neill’s “The Emperor Jones,” Robeson plays an escaped convict who, through a preposterous sequence of events, becomes the ruler of a small Caribbean island. Robeson, as usual, is brilliant.

Esther Williams in “Neptune’s Daughter” (1949). Like Weissmuller, Esther Williams originally made her mark as a champion swimmer. She was recruited for the movies by M-G-M, where big, elaborate musicals were fast becoming the specialty of the house. They put her in a bathing suit, staged vast, surreal musical numbers around her swimming and diving talents, and brought Red Skelton in for comic support. If you’ve never seen one of these, you owe it to yourself. For a sampling, take a look at the film's trailer, reproduced below courtesy of Turner Classic Movies:



Chuck Connors in “Geronimo” (1962). After playing basketball for Seton Hall, Connors went on to play major league baseball, first for the Brooklyn Dodgers, then for the Chicago Cubs. He is probably best remembered today as the star of the television series “The Rifleman,” but having served that apprenticeship he went on to become a pretty fair journeyman movie actor. Indeed, he has a few moments of real distinction, one of which is his sympathetic portrayal of Geronimo, ruefully watching the betrayal of his people by the United States government.

Ward Bond in “Gentleman Jim” (1942). Plucked from the USC football roster by director John Ford, Ward Bond never looked back, becoming one of the movies’ most dependable supporting players. His golden moments onscreen are legion, but I’ve always had a soft spot for his great portrayal of John L. Sullivan opposite Errol Flynn as “Gentleman Jim” Corbett.

Roosevelt Grier in “The Sophisticated Gents” (1981). Grier’s film career has had its low points, but this excellent TV movie redeems them all. He plays one of nine members of a black athletics club who reunite for a 25th anniversary tribute to their old coach. Melvin Van Peebles adapted the script from the novel “The Junior Bachelor Society” by John A. Williams.

Okay, so we’ve established that ex-jocks can indeed do good work on the big screen. But can they become significant box office draws? For the answer to that one, I refer you to the career of Duke Morrison, another USC football player who was recruited by John Ford at the same time as Ward Bond. He changed his name to John Wayne, starred in “Stagecoach” (1939), and the rest is box office history.

Myth Interpretation (originally published 8/97)

If you went to see the new, animated version of “Hercules” expecting to see the deeply troubled hero of Greek mythology, I can only assume that you didn’t notice the name “Disney” on the poster. As they have since the days when Uncle Walt himself was still alive, the Disney people continue to recast classic stories in more contemporary storytelling molds. In this case, the harrowing tale of the penitential labors of Hercules has been replaced by the story of a callow youth in a god’s body gradually growing to emotional maturity. To make the story even more accessible, the original setting in ancient Greece has been retained in name only. We see instead an ancient setting overlaid with an anachronistic modern veneer of language and customs, similar to the interweaving of modern technology with the Stone Age setting of “The Flintstones.”

Not surprisingly, this cheerful irreverence toward the original myth is seen by many as an offense against our literary heritage. Well, maybe it is, but if so we shouldn’t send Disney to the pillory all alone. Plenty of other filmmakers have also played fast and loose with Greek and Roman mythology. Here are a few non-Disney titles, all available on video, in which ancient myths are revamped, updated, and generally given a narrative face lift.

“Pygmalion” (1938). The familiar story of “My Fair Lady,” in which Professor Henry Higgins transforms a cockney urchin into a respected lady by coaching her in proper speech, is in fact a modern version of the myth of Pygmalion. In the original myth, a sculptor named Pygmalion fell in love with a statue he had created. The goddess Venus, taking pity on him, endowed the statue with life so that they could be married. This early film version is based on George Bernard Shaw’s non-musical play, the inspiration for “My Fair Lady,” in which the mythological origins of the story are acknowledged in the title.

“Down to Earth” (1947). Rita Hayworth stars as Terpsichore, the Greek muse of dance. A theatrical producer, played by Larry Parks, is staging a show based on the muses, but Terpsichore doesn’t care at all for the “low and vulgar manner” in which she is being portrayed. She receives special dispensation to take on human form to try and rectify the unfortunate situation. This musical comedy was remade in 1980 as “Xanadu,” with Olivia Newton-John as the muse.

“One Touch of Venus” (1948). When a department store window dresser impulsively kisses one of his mannequins, she is magically changed into the personification of Venus, the goddess of love, for 24 hours. The role of Venus went to Ava Gardner, Hollywood’s reigning sex symbol of the period. The film was based on a play by S.J. Perelman featuring songs by Ogden Nash and Kurt Weill. Those who are familiar with the play say that the film doesn’t begin to do it justice. That’s probably true, but for those of us who don’t know what we’re missing, the film remains an entertaining diversion.

“Black Orpheus” (1959). Director Marcel Camus’s fascinating updated version of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice was the talk of the Cannes Film Festival in 1959. In the original myth, Orpheus pursues his dead wife into the underworld to try to bring her back. Camus’s version changes the setting to modern-day Rio de Janeiro during Carnival. The surreal mood created by the revelers’ outlandish costumes allows the supernatural story of the myth to blend seamlessly with the contemporary setting.

“A Dream of Passion” (1978). Melina Mercouri plays a Greek actress who is rehearsing to star in a stage production of “Medea.” As a publicity stunt, she meets with a woman, played by Ellen Burstyn, who has been convicted of murdering her own children, just as Medea did. Inevitably, the actress becomes absorbed by the story of the woman who has lived out the myth of Medea in real life. The film explores how the interaction of these two women feeds into the interpretation of Medea that emerges on the stage.

That kind of interaction with mythology is, in a sense, what all of these films represent. From Disney to Shaw, each has peered into the myth and seen themselves, then retold the myth in their own way. Whether that’s a desecration or an enhancement is, I’m afraid, too weighty a debate to resolve here.

Frances Marion (originally published 7/97)

For most of its history, the movie industry has been almost entirely male dominated. Only in recent years have women begun to move into positions of real power, and even that progress has been limited and maddeningly incremental. There was a time, however, when the influence of women in the industry was considerable. In fact, during the heyday of the silent film in the twenties, female screenwriters were so dominant in the field that their male counterparts could occasionally be heard grumbling about the inequity of it all.The big names in script writing included June Mathis, Anita Loos, Jeannie Macpherson, and Bess Meredyth, all enormously talented women reaping the fruits of their creative abilities.

At the top of the pyramid sat Frances Marion, one of early Hollywood’s most colorful, interesting, and gifted figures. The past couple of months has seen a renewed interest in Marion’s life and career, beginning with the publication of Cari Beauchamp’s biography, “Without Lying Down: Frances Marion and the Powerful Women of Early Hollywood” (Scribner, 1997). Patrons at the Museum of Modern Art have recently been treated to a Marion retrospective, entitled “Frances Marion and Her Circle,” at which thirty of her films were screened. If, however, you don’t have the luxury of flying to New York for MOMA screenings, take heart. With a little help from the corner video store, you can have your own private Marion retrospective. Look for these titles on video.

“Poor Little Rich Girl” (1917). Marion had a knack for befriending some of the most talented actresses in the business; that’s the “circle” referred to by the MOMA series title. One of her very best friends was Mary Pickford, the single biggest female star of the silent era. She became known as “America’s Sweetheart,” typically playing little girl roles until she was well into her twenties. This film, scripted by Marion, was largely responsible for the “Little Mary” image that shaped the rest of Pickford’s stellar career. Pickford plays a child of wealth and privilege who has nevertheless remained unspoiled and sweet-natured, a theme most recently reprised in “Richie Rich” (1994) with Macaulay Culkin.

“The Son of the Sheik” (1926). Rudolph Valentino’s reign as Hollywood’s greatest heartthrob of the silent era began in 1921 with “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” and was solidified later that same year with the release of “The Sheik.” The sequel to that film, adapted by Marion from Edith M. Hull’s novel, would prove to be the last screen appearance by Valentino before his untimely death. It’s a fine swan song, loaded with action and romance and leavened with a tongue-in-cheek tone that invites you to enjoy the ride without taking it too seriously.

“Min and Bill” (1930). Silent star Marie Dressler’s career had fallen on hard times. Because she had been kind to Marion at a difficult time in her life, Marion determined to help Dressler make a comeback. After securing a part for Dressler in “Anna Christie” (1930), Marion wrote “Min and Bill” for her. Playing opposite Wallace Beery as Bill, Dressler creates the role of Min Divot, a tough, grizzled waterfront innkeeper. Her performance was rewarded with an Academy Award. The film's promotional trailer is reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.



“The Big House” (1930). This dramatization of the brutishness of penitentiary life is the prototype for all subsequent prison movies, from Cagney right down to “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994). Wallace Beery stars as the tough convict who rules the roost at the big house. Marion’s screenplay earned her the first of her two Oscars.

It is utterly impossible in this short space to do justice to Marion’s remarkable career. She wrote scripts for just about every imaginable genre, boosted the careers of innumerable Hollywood stars, and was a trusted consultant to such legendary studio heads as Sam Goldwyn and Irving Thalberg. If I’ve piqued your interest, I can only recommend that you look for Beauchamp’s biography, as well as Marion’s own autobiography, “Off With Their Heads: A Serio-Comic Tale of Hollywood” (Macmillan, 1972). You’ll read about many more of the nearly 150 films she contributed to, including early film versions of “Anne of Green Gables,” “Pollyanna,” “The Scarlet Letter,” and “Camille.” And you might just find yourself wishing for the return of the good old days when women needed no passport into the upper ranks of the film industry except their native talent.

Elementary, Watson, part 2 (originally published 4/01)

As we saw last week, the Odyssey cable channel’s recent television adaptation of Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Sign of Four” is only the latest in a long, long line of Sherlock Holmes adaptations for movies and television. Matt Frewer, who plays Holmes in this newest interpretation of the immortal sleuth, follows in the footsteps of an intimidating roster of distinguished predecessors.

We saw, for example, that in the early 1930s a British actor named Arthur Wontner dethroned Ellie Norwood as the screen’s “definitive Holmes.” Wontner so closely resembled Doyle’s descriptions of Holmes that it must have seemed that every actor to follow him would necessarily be doomed to live in his shadow. And yet it was only a few years later that another actor would succeed in eclipsing even the redoubtable Wontner as the public’s favorite Holmes. For some additonal examples of how Holmes has been interpreted through the years, look for these titles on home video.

“The Hound of the Baskervilles” (1939). Twentieth Century Fox struck box office gold by casting Basil Rathbone as Holmes and Nigel Bruce as Watson in Doyle’s creepy tale of death on the moors. They played off one another brilliantly, Bruce as a slightly pompous but bumbling Watson and Rathbone as a high strung, intense Holmes. The film was successful enough to spawn a string of sequels, which finally played out seven years and a dozen films later. By the time “Dressed to Kill” (1946) brought an end to the series, Rathbone’s face, voice, and mannerisms had been burned into the minds of moviegoers as the very embodiment of Holmes.

“The Hound of the Baskervilles” (1959). After Rathbone relinquished the role, other actors were understandably wary of it. For over a decade, therefore, Holmes was uncharacteristically absent from the screen. Eventually, however, Hammer Films, a British studio, took on the challenge. Hammer had already had great success in remaking classics of the horror genre, including a Frankenstein film and a Dracula film. Emboldened by these successes, they decided to risk a new Holmes film. They cast Peter Cushing, one of the studio’s most reliable actors, in the lead. Like Wontner, Cushing bore a striking resemblance to Holmes as described by Doyle. That, along with his proven aptitude for carrying creepy thrillers, produced a performance that could stand quite well alongside Rathbone’s.

“A Study in Terror” (1965). Once the Rathbone curse was lifted from the role by Cushing’s success, filmmakers once again began to bring their own interpretations of Holmes to the screen. One notable entry was this atmospheric thriller, pitting Holmes against none other than Jack the Ripper. It was a logical premise, since the fictional Holmes and the historical Ripper were contemporaries. John Neville, a British leading man who had already played Hamlet on the screen, took on the role of Holmes.

“The Seven Percent Solution” (1976). In 1974, Nicholas Meyer hit the best seller list with a revisionist Holmes novel based on Holmes’s use of cocaine, as frankly described by Doyle, to stave off the psychological demons that plagued him when not actively involved in solving a case. Meyer postulated that Holmes’s arch-rival, Dr. Moriarty, was actually a perfectly ordinary gentleman, elevated by Holmes’s cocaine-addled mind into “the Napoleon of crime.” Dr. Watson, seeing his brilliant friend cracking up, contrives to take Holmes to Vienna to be treated by Sigmund Freud. The film version of Meyer’s book, scripted by Meyer himself, boasted a remarkable cast. Nicol Williamson stars as an unsettlingly human Holmes, ably supported by Robert Duvall as Watson and Alan Arkin as Freud.

“A Scandal in Bohemia” (1984). With the premiere of this series of Sherlockian television programs from Granada Television in England, the mantle of “definitive Holmes” at last was transferred from Basil Rathbone to a new actor. The heir apparent was Jeremy Brett. Hailed by both the general public and Holmes afficionados, Brett’s portrayal remains the current benchmark for the role. The Granada series went on to adapt all but 19 of the Doyle stories before Brett’s untimely death cut the series short.

Matt Frewer has now appeared as Holmes twice, and undoubtedly will again if “The Sign of Four” proves successful. With such a distinguished tradition of Holmes portrayals to live up to, however, you don’t need to be a super-sleuth to deduce that establishing himself in the role is going to be anything but elementary.

Elementary, Watson (originally published 3/01)

Of all the fictional detectives ever created, it seems that none has taken hold of our collective imagination as firmly as Sherlock Holmes. People who have trouble remembering their relatives’ addresses have no trouble remembering 221-B Baker Street, and occasionally some of them are moved to send a letter there to consult the master himself. Although he is a fictional character, it sometimes seems that Sherlock Holmes is more real than some of the people I encounter in real life.

Maybe it seems that way, in part, because he has been incarnated on the screen, both the movie screen and the television screen, so many times by so many actors. I haven’t done the research to back up the claim, but I would venture to guess that Holmes has been portrayed more times by more different actors than any other fictional character. Only Tarzan comes to mind as a potential rival.

The most recent actor to take on the role of Holmes is Matt Frewer, of “Max Headroom” fame, in a production of “The Sign of Four” that aired recently on the Odyssey cable network. This was Frewer’s second Holmes film, the first being last year’s remake of “The Hound of the Baskervilles.” If you’re interested in comparing Frewer’s interpretation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s most enduring creation to those of his predecessors, look for these titles on home video.

“Sherlock Holmes: The Early Years” (various dates). The earliest screen adaptations of Doyle’s stories were short silent films, made in the first decade of the existence of motion pictures. Most, naturally, no longer survive. Some of the few remaining scraps of early Holmes cinema have been collected in this videotape, which is available from Movies Unlimited (www.moviesunlimited.com). [2009 UPDATE: This is no longer true, although I did find it for sale at "Hollywood's Attic" online. If interested, you can purchase a VHS copy at http://www.hollywoodsattic.com/shopping/pricelist.asp?prid=1274 -- assuming, of course, that you still have a VHS VCR to play it on.] It includes a 1912 French short subject based on “The Copper Beeches” as well as the earliest known Holmes film, “Sherlock Holmes Baffled,” from 1900. A particular treat is the inclusion of two performances by Ellie Norwood, the first film actor to be regarded as “the definitive Holmes.” Norwood appears in “The Dying Detective” (1921) and “The Devil’s Foot” (1921).

“The Speckled Band” (1931). The earliest Holmes talkie that is available on video is a British production starring Raymond Massey. By this time, William Gillette’s famous stage portrayal had left its indelible mark on Holmes by adding the familiar deerstalker cap and curved Meerschaum pipe to Doyle’s own description of his character. Massey’s Holmes does not fit into any pre-existing mold, however, not even Doyle’s. Instead, he presides over a busy office filled with assistants and futuristic (for the time) equipment. Massey himself was not terribly happy with the result, but it remains an interesting curiosity. [2009 UPDATE: This one has made the transition to DVD. You can find it at http://www.moviesunlimited.com/musite/product.asp?sku=D95859&loc=title]

“A Study in Scarlet” (1933). Reginald Owen is, to my knowledge, the only actor ever to play both Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes on the screen. He was Watson to Clive Brook’s Holmes, then took on the lead role for this version of Doyle’s introduction of the character. To call it an adaptation would be an overstatement, however. The producer, Sam Bischoff, had acquired the rights to the title but not to Doyle’s story. Owen himself, along with Robert Florey, wrote a script based on a whole new plot. Owen was an adequate Holmes, but five years later he would leave an altogether more memorable impression in the role of another classic literary character, Ebenezer Scrooge, in the MGM production of “A Christmas Carol” (1938). [2009 UPDATE: This one has also turned up on DVD. Look for it at http://www.amazon.com/Sherlock-Holmes-Study-Scarlet/dp/B00008G8CZ]

“The Triumph of Sherlock Holmes” (1935). The second screen actor to be thought of as “the definitive Holmes” was British stage veteran Arthur Wontner. He remains a particular favorite of Holmes afficionados, who insist that of all the actors to take on the role Wontner comes closest to the character they imagine in their heads when they read the original stories. Indeed, Wontner received a letter of praise and congratulations on his portrayal from Doyle’s own wife. Of Wontner’s five Holmes films, only “The Triumph,” an adaptation of Doyle’s “The Valley of Fear,” remains available on video, although his version of “Silver Blaze” (1937) still turns up occasionally for rent. [2009 UPDATE: Good news for Wontner fans -- there is a very reasonably priced DVD boxed set called "Classic Rarities of Sherlock Holmes" that includes three Wontner/Holmes titles PLUS the above-mentioned Reginald Owen "Study in Scarlet." Look for it at http://www.moviesunlimited.com/musite/product.asp?sku=D72155&loc=title]

Next week we’ll look at more interpretations of the great Sherlock, including that of the actor who became so firmly identified with the role that no one else even bothered to try to follow in his footsteps for more than a decade after he relinquished it.