On the same day that we lost Jean Simmons, another screen performer died, someone who was much less of a household name than Simmons.  James Mitchell passed away at 89, and his name might not be familiar even to those who watched him for decades on the daytime serial ALL MY CHILDREN.  To soap fans, he was simply Palmer Cortlandt, beginning in 1979.  But Mitchell was a “name” to those of us who follow dance and Broadway and the movies.  He had danced with American Ballet Theatre and was the first Harry Beaton in the original Broadway production of BRIGADOON in 1947.  

Mitchell was in Hollywood for the tail-end of the movie musical’s golden age and he did manage to appear in two films that most musical lovers have seen countless times.  In the fabulous Fred Astaire classic THE BAND WAGON (1953), Mitchell plays a snooty choreographer, the mentor to ballerina Cyd Charisse.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t really get to dance here, merely rehearse with the two stars.  In OKLAHOMA!, Mitchell is Dream Curly, dancing Agnes DeMille’s iconic choreography in her beautiful dream ballet.  But Mitchell’s finest musical moment on film comes in DEEP IN MY HEART (1954), actually one of the worst of the MGM musicals, a biopic about Sigmund Romberg with a horrifying performance by Jose Ferrer (as Romberg).  But the movie features a dance duet performed by Mitchell and Cyd Charisse, to the tune “One Alone” from THE DESERT SONG.  It is probably Charisse’s best romantic dance (aside from her work with Astaire and Gene Kelly), a sexy, hypnotic, and physically demanding number, and a real showcase for Mitchell’s talent, presence, and dark handsomesness.  The sequence should be a classic (and probably would be if not marooned in that awful movie).

When I finished my book SCREEN SAVERS, which covers 40 underrated movies of the 20th century, I noticed that Mitchell just happened to be in three of the films, not one of them a musical.  Odder still was the fact that he didn’t make many non-musical pictures.  Mitchell plays disparate supporting roles in this trio, all from MGM.  In BORDER INCIDENT (1949), Anthony Mann’s terrific docudrama noir, Mitchell is a Mexican farm worker (with a good Mexican accent), sharing a strong rapport with Ricardo Montalban, the film’s star, who plays a Mexican undercover agent.  Even better is Mann’s western DEVIL’S DOORWAY (1950), a deeply moving film containing the best performance Robert Taylor ever gave.  Taylor plays an Indian, as does Mitchell, in a no-win situation with westward-moving homesteaders and anti-Indian land laws.  The movie packs quite a punch and will someday, finally, be recognized as a classic. 

The third Mitchell movie in SCREEN SAVERS is Jacques Tourneur’s beautiful STARS IN MY CROWN (1950), an honest heartwarmer about small-town American life in the latter part of the 19th century.  The star is wonderful Joel McCrea at his best, simple and effortless and unerringly believable.  He plays the plain-speaking parson, and Mitchell, in his best role, is the new doctor in town (son of the old doctor, who is soon to be deceased).  For a while, Mitchell’s character, a citified gentleman, doesn’t want to be stuck in this nowhere burg.  Good things happen (he finds love with schoolteacher Amanda Blake) and bad things happen (an outbreak of typhoid fever).  At odds with McCrea’s character for much of the film, Mitchell gives a remarkably fine performance.  His conversion from stuck-up outsider to committed community member is vividly drawn and plausibly timed. 

So, if you think of Mitchell only as that fellow lifting Dream Laurey, or sharing the small screen with Susan Lucci, then it’s time to check out his black-and-white trio of outstanding dramas and give him his due as a solid big-screen actor.

On Friday, we lost Jean Simmons, one of the more gifted and beautiful of screen actresses.  She died at 80, just a week before her 81st birthday.  Simmons is one of those stars who, no matter how famous or popular she became, always seemed underappreciated.  She never won an Oscar, nominated for the award only twice, once at the very beginning of her movie career and once after her stardom was just about over.  Where was the Academy when Simmons was delivering some of the best work in Hollywood, in the years between 1952 and 1960?  With her impressive body of work, she would have been an ideal choice for an honorary Oscar.  But Oscar isn’t known for his long-term memory. 

In her years in the British film industry, beginning as a teenager, Simmons made several notable films, including GREAT EXPECTATIONS (1946), BLACK NARCISSUS (1947), and HAMLET (1948).  Though she made a lovely and fragile Ophelia opposite Laurence Olivier, and received her first Oscar nomination (as supporting actress) for this Best Picture winner, it was in the Dickens piece, David Lean’s masterful adaptation, where she shined brightest.  Her radiant, self-possessed Estella makes such a strong impression that the film never quite recovers once Valerie Hobson assumes the role in adulthood.  Another treasure of Simmons’ British period is the sleeper SO LONG AT THE FAIR (1950), a terrific period thriller anchored by her relentless fortitude in solving the mystery of her brother’s disappearance.  With her raven hair and prominent eyes, Simmons often evoked Vivien Leigh, and she would have been eminently believable if she had ever been cast as Leigh’s kid sister.

In Hollywood, Simmons starred opposite Robert Mitchum in ANGEL FACE (1952), a knockout film noir from director Otto Preminger, a film in which she staked her claim as one of the essential femmes fatale of the genre.  She is cool and complicated, emotionally disturbed in a frighteningly plausible way.  It was THE ROBE (1953), Fox’s CinemaScope sensation, that made her a box-office name.  Despite the film’s popularity, it is by no measure a good movie, though Simmons gives the film its only genuine emotion, in a role subservient to Richard Burton.  As Elizabeth I in YOUNG BESS (1953), alongside real-life husband Stewart Granger, Simmons is a commanding presence, as well as a bewitching redhead.  In THE ACTRESS (1953), George Cukor’s film of Ruth Gordon’s early stagestruck days, Simmons is positively incandescent, consumed with her dream of going on the stage.  She also gets to act with the great Spencer Tracy, and their father-daughter bond is a joy to behold.

Her two films with Marlon Brando, DESIREE (1954) and GUYS AND DOLLS (1955), were both enormous financial successes, if not first-rate movies.  DESIREE is nothing more than a soapy costume picture, even relegating Brando’s Napoleon to the sidelines, but GUYS AND DOLLS, though nowhere near as good as it could have been, showcased Simmons as a fearless musical-comedy actress, charmingly delivering “If I Were a Bell” with an infectious glee.  THE BIG COUNTRY (1958), from director William Wyler, combined box-office muscle with all-around excellence, and Simmons, opposite Gregory Peck, continued to display effortless versatility.  After all, here was this English rose perfectly at ease in a mega-western, as if she truly belonged there.

But the peak performance from Jean Simmons came in ELMER GANTRY (1960), from writer-director Richard Brooks, the man who became Simmons’ second husband.  This Sinclair Lewis tale of religion, sex, and hucksterism won considerable praise (and Oscars) for Burt Lancaster (deservedly) and Shirley Jones (undeservedly), but Simmons is its magic ingredient.  As a true-believing revival-meeting evangelist, she is full of surprises.  She is a natural preacher, all aglow and truly inspired, but never holier-than-thou.  Ambitious but worn out, strong but moody, she is also surprisingly sexual, not to mention honest and smart.  In short, she is a real person, a multi-dimensional and genuinely soulful creation.  Whereas Shirley Jones’ laughably bad performance as a hooker is faux-sexy, Simmons wipes her off the screen with a palpable eroticism.  The Academy’s failure to nominate Simmons for ELMER GANTRY goes down as one that organization’s supreme embarrassments, especially unforgivable in the year that Elizabeth Taylor was named Best Actress for BUTTERFIELD 8.

Simmons never again got an opportunity as good as ELMER GANTRY.  THE GRASS IS GREENER (1961) is a disappointingly slight and unmemorable comedy, but it is worth mentioning because in this film Simmons manages to steal the show from the likes of Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr, and Robert Mitchum, with her witty high-style performance.  She got that second Oscar nomination for another film with husband Brooks, THE HAPPY ENDING (1969), a shallow drama unworthy of Simmons’ depths.

If she was somehow always in the shadow of other actresses, not just Vivien Leigh but also Deborah Kerr and Audrey Hepburn, may we now please give her her due.  If you aren’t already a Simmons admirer, then a triple bill of ANGEL FACE, THE ACTRESS, and ELMER GANTRY ought to do the trick.

Believe me, I hate to complain about the new gay-themed movie A SINGLE MAN, but I can’t help it:  I think I’m done with the sad-gay-man genre.  I am more than ready for something ELSE.  I’m also tired of big gay-themed films that are period pieces.  I want to see prominent film actors as gay characters in contemporary stories, and I wouldn’t mind the occasional happy ending.  I would at the very least like to see gay characters alive at the end of their movies.  Is this really too much to ask in 2010?

The extraordinary BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN will, for many years to come, be the last word in the sad-gay-man genre, and nothing about A SINGLE MAN comes close to its impact.  BROKEBACK is not only a great “gay” movie, but it gave the community a classic Hollywood love story to call its own, one to stand alongside the likes of CASABLANCA or THE WAY WE WERE.  In the years since BROKEBACK, the biggest gay movie has been MILK, which did offer a strong and inspiring gay protagonist, but one who is martyred, in a film set in the 70s.  It is important to have our stories told, our history acknowledged, and our heroes celebrated, but movies like MILK simply aren’t enough anymore.  

The recent gay films have contained some phenomenal performances, with Heath Ledger’s Ennis Del Mar and Sean Penn’s Harvey Milk two of the finest of the just-ended decade.  Both can hold their place beside Peter Finch in the British SUNDAY, BLOODY SUNDAY (1971), the first truly great performance in the sad-gay-man genre.  Finch plays a successful doctor in the film, which still gets bonus points for being a contemporary drama about a gay life.  One of the reasons so many gay men (including myself) love the little English film BEAUTIFUL THING (1996), which I write about in my book SCREEN SAVERS, is that it turns the usual coming-out yarn into an exhilarating first-love story, leaving you on an emotional high, as well as a feeling of empowerment.  

Set in 1962 Los Angeles and featuring a British main character played by Colin Firth, A SINGLE MAN is awfully reminiscent of GODS AND MONSTERS (1998), in which Ian McKellen plays aging gay film director James Whale.  A SINGLE MAN is set five years after GODS, but they end up in roughly the same place, with the older gay Brit finding himself in his home with a hot young male in nothing but a towel.  McKellen and Firth are also both on the verge of suicide.  In other words, I’ve seen A SINGLE MAN before, on many levels, another movie about a sad and gentle gay man suffering in silence.  The 1964 Christopher Isherwood novel on which it is based was a groundbreaker in its matter-of-fact treatment of a gay life, but we’re not in 1964 anymore.

A SINGLE MAN is actually not helped by Firth’s fine performance.  Firth has long been a master of minimalism and understatement, but this role plays too much to his strengths, actually depriving the performance of any surprises.  If someone like Hugh Grant had played this character, a college professor, the film might have had more of a charge of the unexpected, rather than being merely another chance to admire Firth’s clenched emotions and impeccable repression.  His casting is simply too ideal.  And I don’t feel that director Tom Ford has added anything to the piece by injecting a NIGHT MOTHER device of Firth’s planned suicide, adding more melodrama than depth.  I would much rather see the character continue to deal with his grief over the death of his longtime partner (Matthew Goode) than choose to opt out. 

Am I too jaded to be wondering why Firth doesn’t have sex with the gorgeous, intelligent, and sensitive Spanish hustler that he has already given money to?  If you are planning to kill yourself later that evening, why not go out with a literal bang?  Would that have made us take less seriously Firth’s honorable angst?  We know he still feels lust because of his earlier gaze on those shirtless athletes, so, again, why not?  Equally confusing is the moment when Firth’s best friend (Julianne Moore) refers to his great love as a “substitution,” angering him only briefly.  I’m sorry, but that comment–your best friend calling your 16-year gay relationship a substitution for a “normal” relationship–justifies grabbing one’s coat and slamming the door.  Again, his manners trump logic.  

A SINGLE MAN has touching moments and is made with obvious care, and Firth’s admirable performance will get him an Oscar nomination.  But I imagined Firth’s entire performance before I saw the movie, and I was dead-on.  What I am ready for is the movie in which Firth and Hugh Grant get married, or the one in which George Clooney and Brad Pitt adopt kids, or the drama about Sean Penn and Johnny Depp getting involved in the battle for marriage equality, or the triangular romantic comedy starring Ryan Reynolds, Ryan Gosling, and Jake Gyllenhaal.  Please let’s broaden the spectrum of what constitutes a gay-themed movie.  Who will have the guts to take the next step?

I love Rob Marshall’s film of CHICAGO (2002), but everything that went right with CHICAGO has gone sadly wrong with NINE, his film of the 1982 Broadway musical based on Fellini’s screen masterpiece 8 1/2 (1963).  CHICAGO was a triumph in concept, with all its musical numbers presented as expressions of Roxie Hart’s imagination, and it was also a case of dream casting, with three stars (not known for their singing and dancing) doing a bang-up job in roles perfectly suited to their personalities.  NINE is a movie in search of a concept; Marshall and his team never figured out how to make a movie of NINE.  Almost all the numbers are done on the same half-dressed soundstage, a visual that gets old very fast and offers little illumination.  And it doesn’t even make sense, since not all the songs are coming from the perspective of Daniel Day-Lewis’ Guido Contini, film director.  

The original Broadway production soared on Tommy Tune’s breathtaking stage pictures and ceaseless cleverness, and the recent inferior revival was salvaged by the considerable magnetism of Antonio Banderas.  Which brings me to another reason why NINE fails:  Daniel Day-Lewis.  Even the critics who have hated this movie have been kind to its star.  Day-Lewis is too highly regarded to get picked on, but it’s only fair to report when he is bad, and he’s bad in NINE.  He may be a great actor, but he lacks what a movie musical needs, a star personality.  It’s not that Guido is supposed to be a stud, but he does require the charisma to have so many women whirling through his life.  Early reports that Javier Bardem was going to star as Guido were encouraging because Bardem has exactly what NINE needs.  Without a star of that kind of vitality, a modern-day Marcello Mastroianni, the film has no center.  Day-Lewis is a charmless shell here, and with a bad Italian accent.     

Now to the bevy of women:  Kate Hudson, as a reporter, is stuck with a new awful song (“Cinema Italiano”) and the tackiest production number;  Sophia Loren, as Guido’s mama, wafts through like a legend, but it was hardly worth her trouble;  Nicole Kidman is statuesque and toneless in her solo;  Judi Dench at least has a dry humor as Guido’s costume designer;  Penelope Cruz can do no wrong lately, and she comes off as both delicious and touching as Guido’s mistress.  My favorite performance here is Marion Cotillard’s as Guido’s wife.  Her ballad, “My Husband Makes Movies,” is the only musical scene that offers anything personal or affecting.  Amid much frenzy, Cotillard takes her time and delivers a lovely, intimate performance.  For the most part, though, Marshall strands his illustrious band of talented ladies.   

CHICAGO clicked with the public partially because it was so thematically fresh, expressing the lust for fame familiar to audiences in a world of reality-TV and a 24-hour news cycle.  NINE comes off as nothing more than the whinings of a self-absorbed artist.  Though I had been moved by the show in 1982 (I even saw it twice), and adore Fellini’s film, this NINE seems so unnecessary, so useless and meandering.  It may be relatively short but feels interminably long.  And has Italy ever been photographed this way, as if the sun never comes out?

I thought Rob Marshall was the guy we had been waiting for, someone to make a string of classy and dazzling movie musicals, but NINE makes it look as though he has already run out of inspiration.

Before 2009 ends, I want to acknowledge the passing of Jennifer Jones at the age of 90 on December 17th.  She was never one of my favorite screen actresses, mostly because I usually feel that she is holding back, rarely free or spontaneous enough to give a truly great performance.  She frequently lacks the depth that would have allowed her to forge greater emotional connections to her characters.  She was, however, a major female star between 1943 and 1957, combining acclaim (one Oscar, five nominations) and popularity (starring in mega-hits like DUEL IN THE SUN and LOVE IS A MANY-SPLENDORED THING).  My favorite Jennifer Jones pictures are PORTRAIT OF JENNIE (1948), in which she is perfectly cast and positively incandescent, and CARRIE (1952), though my affection for this William Wyler production has more to do with Laurence Olivier’s astonishing performance than it does with Jones’ presence.  

Producer David O. Selznick (her second husband) was as committed to Jones’ stardom as William Randolph Hearst had been to Marion Davies’ career, or as Irving Thalberg had been the force behind Norma Shearer’s first-lady-of-MGM status.  If GONE WITH THE WIND had come down the pike just five years later, there is no question that Selznick would have cast Jones as Scarlett O’Hara.  (Though beautiful, sexy, and bewitching, Jones was no Vivien Leigh in the acting or personality departments.)  She won her Oscar for her first major film, THE SONG OF BERNADETTE (1943), which holds up surprisingly well, thanks to its superb production values and impressive black-and-white photography, as well as Henry King’s mostly restrained direction and an outstanding supporting cast led by the great Gladys Cooper (just as mean to Jones as she had been to Bette Davis in NOW, VOYAGER).  Despite too many holy choruses, the film is absorbing, even moving, and more complicated than expected, considering it’s about the making of a saint.  Yet Jones’ acting is hardly award-worthy.  She is well cast and properly subdued, transmitting an innocent radiance and a plausibly limited intelligence.  However, it’s a long movie and Jones is fairly one-note, tedious in her childlike sweetness and unspoiled nature.  Of course, there’s only so far you can go when playing a saint. 

BERNADETTE was the start of her string of successes, followed by the WWII homefront saga SINCE YOU WENT AWAY (1944), the amnesia romance LOVE LETTERS (1945), the charming comedy CLUNY BROWN (1946), and the torrid western DUEL IN THE SUN (1946).  But PORTRAIT OF JENNIE, a major failure at the box office, is the one that stays with me, and the picture that shows Jones off best.  Never before had she glowed with such magnetic star power or acted with such affecting sensitivity.  JENNIE is one of the 40 films I write about in my book SCREEN SAVERS, and it remains one of my favorite love stories and fantasy films.  Assisted by an expert Joseph Cotten, as the artist who paints her portrait, Jones ages beautifully, from youngster to teen to smoldering young woman.  Hers is a mesmerizing transition from girlishness to sensuality.  Cotten is the film’s anchor and its central character, but Jones provides the magic, endowing the film with its considerable power to haunt.  This exquisite time-travel movie offers no explanations, just the wonder of two fated souls colliding blissfully.  JENNIE was the fourth and final teaming of Jones and Cotten, after SINCE YOU WENT AWAY, LOVE LETTERS, and DUEL IN THE SUN, making them one of the more significant teams of the 1940s.