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True Noir in Session, an Antiques Indie, and M.A.C. on Film

Tuesday, June 25th, 2024

True Noir has a major recording session scheduled this week, and I hope to attend by Zoom. Participants are in California, New York and…? It’s a big, terrific name cast, bringing True Detective to life as an immersive audio drama from my recently completed ten-part script, and if you are a fan of the Nate Heller books, you’re going to be thrilled.

Our gifted director Robert Meyer Burnett is viewing the project as a movie – there’s even been discussion about animating it – and that brings me to a favorite topic around here: movies – and an announcement.

In what may be my swan song as a low-budget indie filmmaker, I will be directing (in tandem with my wife Barb) from a script we wrote together based on a novella we wrote (got all that?) the first ever movie based on the Antiques/“Trash ‘n’ Treasures” mysteries. The interest our forthcoming Christmas movie, Blue Christmas, has generated was encouragement enough to do another Yuletide mystery, Death by Fruitcake, based on the novella “Antiques Fruitcake” in the collection Antiques Ho Ho Homicides.

And the inability over the last ten years or so of two separate wonderful female showrunners to sell Antiques to TV prompted us to put the thing on its feet ourselves. As a little indie movie.

We have Brandy and Mother cast, with our first choices, whose identity won’t be announced for a while. For now, just know that many of our talented cast members from Mickey Spillane’s Encore for Murder and Blue Christmas will be back on board, including the latter’s star, Rob Merritt.

Pre-production is seriously underway, with producer/cinematographer Chad T. Bishop putting a crew together and meeting regularly with me for planning sessions. Barb has been gathering props and working with department heads on wardrobe and other areas of the filmmaking process. The script is finished, or anyway as finished as any movie script is until the cameras roll.

Why, particularly at this late date, am I wading back into indie filmmaking? A bunch of reasons.

Some of my markets for publishing fiction have dried up. I’m a white guy closer to eighty than seventy, and that makes me about as much in demand as a stale loaf of Wonder Bread. This lack of foresight on the part of a generation or two who have never heard of me will not stop me from creating. And I do love movies.

That was my mother’s fault, largely, as she took me to at least one movie every weekend, and often two; and the Uptown Theater had Saturday matinees, too. Plus, TV was full of old movies. I was part of the first generation born to TV-watching. I saw George Reeves play Superman, first run. I saw Martin and Lewis movies in the theater – never missed a one. And, after that, Jerry’s solo efforts, although it started getting challenging around Three On a Couch (1966).

Speaking of Jerry Lewis, I am proud to say that my regular Saturday afternoon movie-watching with my eight-year-old grandson Sam continues with his enthusiasm for Ray Harryhausen stop-motion Sinbad movies now equaled by his giddy joy at encountering both Martin and Lewis and Jerry Lewis himself. That I have made my grandson a Jerry Lewis fan is one of my proudest achievements. First up was Artists and Models, and lately it was The Disorderly Orderly. Plus You Tube gems like the following excerpt from Cracking Up.

Please don’t write me and tell me what a horrible person Lewis really was. How he left his kids out of his will and hit on female co-stars and supposedly did this and that reprehensible thing. I have wrestled with the difference between the public and private artist (and he was an artist) and have come to decide that all we’re owed as fans is the work. The rest is largely irrelevant and/or past understanding. Why were two of the most sensitive singers of the Great American Songbook – Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby – such heels in certain private aspects of their lives? Don’t know. Don’t care.

They give us the gift of their talents, and they don’t owe us anything past that. That said, I don’t find O.J. Simpson that funny in the Naked Gun movies – of course, he always was the least funny things in those movies – and I haven’t been able to stomach Robert Blake post-his wife’s murder. Consistency isn’t my strongest trait.

Take Roman Polanski and the sexual misconduct that makes him a fugitive in the United States even today. Does that make Chinatown a bad movie? Unwatchable because the director may have more to do with Noah Cross than Jake Gittes? Not to me it doesn’t – not any more than I can comprehend what it would be like to have your beautiful pregnant wife butchered by Charles Manson’s minions.

Which brings us to Chinatown. Let’s get this out of the way: the current 4K Blu-ray release of that great film is a stunner. It looks wonderful, better than I’ve seen it since seeing it (multiple times) in the theater on its initial release. I never tire of it and always see new things in it. Or should I not like it because Faye Dunaway is supposedly unpleasant on set? Gonna give her a pass on that.

Gonna give a movie a pass on everything but the movie itself, which in the case of Chinatown seems to be more screenwriter Robert Towne’s doing than Polanski’s, although arguably Polanski’s Sharon Tate-inspired ending is what elevates it to its deserved stratospheric reputation. Polanski reportedly cast John Huston as Noah Cross, a decision that also elevated Chinatown and not just because Huston directed the other truly great private eye film, The Maltese Falcon (well, Kiss Me Deadly isn’t bad either).

What struck me about Chinatown this time around is something I would guess others have already noticed; but this was the first time I did. I knew it had the same kind of emotional impact as Hitchcock’s Vertigo (my favorite film); but I hadn’t realized that Chinatown and Vertigo are essentially the same movie. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that.

Both stories revolve around the following: a detective who well-meaningly caused a death in the past, while on the police, and is haunted by it; a client who presents the detective with a false narrative; a scenario that plays with and against the viewer’s boredom while following the detective shadowing a major figure in that false narrative; a female lead who pretends to be one thing and is something else; a detective who exudes confidence, but ultimately is taken down all the way to a tragedy of his own making, unintentionally destroying the woman he has come to love.

I could write a book about it.

And yet this film is one I’ve seen perhaps twenty times and none of this occurred to me before. Either I am very stupid or these movies resonate with me at least in part because of their structural and thematic sameness.

While I am on the subject of movies, let’s tip our hat in farewell to one of the screen’s most interesting actors, Donald Sutherland. Sutherland had a distinctive, quirky presence that should not have lent itself to a multiplicity of roles. And yet there was seemingly nothing he could not play. He put this down to not painting a character good or bad, benign or evil, but instead just trying “to act the fella.” To be the character. He understood that a villain never knows he is the bad guy. He knew that the line between comedy and drama was not just a fine one, but not a line at all.

As coincidence will have it, Barb and I watched one of our favorite films, Start the Revolution Without Me (1970), the evening before we learned of Sutherland’s passing. We revisited that film – which is not perfect, and in fact is rather ragged along the edges – because we’d watched the excellent documentary, Remembering Gene Wilder (2024), the evening before. The night before that we re-watched The Producers (1967), which we’d seen on its first release in a theater in Bettendorf, Iowa. To celebrate Wilder, who we have loved ever since that first Producers viewing. We loved him when he was not really famous yet, in the likes of Start the Revolution Without Me and Quackser Fortune Has a Cousin in the Bronx (1970). He wasn’t quite Willy Wonka yet.

Anyway, we were both struck by how perfect and perfectly funny Wilder and Sutherland were as separated twin brothers, one pair a poor peasant one, the other a rich unpleasant one, both hilarious. Wilder and Sutherland would have made a fantastic comic team had they embarked on a joint career. How funny? Abbott and Costello funny. And, yes, Dean and Jerry funny.

And on some level, this is what I love about the movies. I never met Gene Wilder. Or Donald Sutherland. Or Jerry Lewis (probably a good thing). But they fill some of my most priceless, precious memories. I remember, for example, how hard Barb and I worked to find theaters where we could see Start the Revolution Without Me multiple times. I remember, for example, how initially offended Barb was by the idea of Zero Mostel diddling little old ladies out of money for his latest flop play in The Producers…until she came to find it hilarious. I remember how it felt, as a ten year-old child, to see Vertigo for the first time and be as fooled by the plot as James Stewart. I remember seeing Chinatown for the first time and realizing there was potential in the private eye story to be something more than a mere genre piece.

These actors and directors are friends we encounter, and if in real life they are assholes, find someone else to care because I don’t. These are memories I cherish, as much or nearly so as actual experiences.

And I wonder, as we go to the movies less and less – and when we encounter more and more unspeakable behavior in the seats around us – if watching even the best binge TV available (Mad Men, Sopranos, Breaking Bad) can ever have the impact of that church of popular culture where the wine is Coca Cola and the Sacramental Bread is popcorn?

M.A.C.

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True Noir, Piracy & The Passing of Bandmates

Tuesday, June 18th, 2024

Breaking news: This Friday’s Crusin’ performance at Ardon Creek Vineyard & Winery has been canceled due to the heat wave. –Nate

* * *

My CSI collaborator, Matt Clemens and I, have a story in the current issue of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. It’s a pirate yarn. Check out this excerpt (and more info) here.

* * *

Last time I announced my impending retirement – after a few gigs this year – from rock ‘n’ roll. A sad reminder of the passage of time had one of our most valued members passing away. Jim Van Winkle was with Crusin’ for almost ten years and was a cheerful on- (and off-) stage presence as well as one of the best lead guitarists in the history of the band.


M.A.C., the late Chuck Bunn, Steve Kundel, the late Jim Van Winkle.

We lost Jim’s brother Brian three years ago. He came aboard when our longtime bassist Chuck Bunn (who went back to the original Daybreakers) passed away in 2011. Brian was an excellent musician, very dedicated, and one of the sunniest, funniest members of our band ever.

The musical contribution of the Van Winkle brothers to Crusin’ in recent years is enormous.

When you run any organization for fifty years – and you can add another five for the 1966 – 1971 run of the Daybreakers – it’s a study in great friendships and a certain amount of inevitable losses. Our Daybreakers bassist and singer Terry Becky was murdered in a motel room. Our legendary guitarist Bruce Peters died far too young possibly due to over-medication for his mental illness. My great friend and musical collaborator Paul Thomas passed of sleep apnea at the tragically young age of 52. Chuck Bunn, when he returned to Crusin’ after a long absence after the Daybreakers were inducted in 2008 into the rock ‘n’ roll Hall of Fame, was battling cancer during his entire last run as the bass player whose veteran pop combo experience had put us on the local map. Co-founder of the Daybreakers, Jim Hoffmann, is gone too, and so is that handsome, drolly funny Lenny Sloat – the original Crusin’ guitarist.

Not all is grim. When the Daybreakers performed at the Iowa Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, the entire original line-up was there – Chuck included (and drummer Buddy Busch and guitarists Dennis Maxwell and Mike Bridges). Denny Maxwell, also a Crusin’ veteran, joined with me, drummer Steve Kundel, bassist Brian Van Winkle and guitarist Bill Anson for the Iowa Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame induction concert when we were honored in 2018. (Bill’s son Scott is our bassist now and he’s first-rate, the talent apple not falling far from the tree.) The funny, gifted Andy Landers – singer and rhythm guitarist – continues to play music very successfully in Washington State. Last I heard from Crusin’ guitarist Rob Gal he was still a successful record producer in Atlanta. And both father and son drummers, Dewayne and Jamie Hopkins – were our drummers back in the ‘80s, and are alive and well.

Here are the lyrics of my song “The Party,” written in memory of Bruce Peters and other fallen band members; it was featured in my movie Mommy and on the Crusin’/Daybreakers CD, Thirty Year Plan.

THE PARTY
Life is like a party
A party without end
So it seems when you are younger
Until you’ve lost a friend

Some friends leave the party
Leavin’ us behind
Now the room seems empty
It all seems so unkind

bridge: Friends gone on before us
Leave us in their debt
Too painful to remember
Too precious to forget

Some lights burn so brightly
They make the darkness day
Then go out in an instant
That’s the price they pay

bridge: Laughter we are given
By people we have known
Gifts that keep on givin’
Even after years have flown

REPEAT first verse.

* * *

The Depression era styles (and guns) of the film version of Road to Perdition are looked at in depth in this wonderful article.

At the great DVD Beaver (not a porn site!) is a terrific write up of the film version of Mickey Spillane’s The Long Wait with quite a bit about my commentary track thereof. Well worth checking out.

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True Noir Begins as Another Chapter Ends

Tuesday, June 11th, 2024

This lovely True Noir image I just had to share with all of you.

True Noir promo poster

On Monday June 10 a recording sessions involving six actors (most, if not all, of whom would be familiar to you, but I have to withhold their names for now) will get my audio adaptation of True Detective truly underway, guided by the fine hand of Robert Meyer Burnett (Free Enterprise).

* * *

I began playing rock ‘n’ roll in 1965.

I’d been Henry Higgins in our high school’s production of My Fair Lady, and it was the height of my years in chorus. The rest of the school year would be occasional concerts, very much a winding down after my quartet (Kathy Bender, Joyce Courtois and Mike Lange) had won State three years running. I’d snagged three Number Ones at State myself. No where left to go.

At that time, thanks to John/Paul/Ringo/and George, local pop combos (as we put it then) were springing up like mushrooms with the haircut to match. Some friends of mine from Chorus and I got into this craze a tad late, forming a group called the Barons. It should have been spelled Barrens, without the “s.”

My uncle Mahlon was a district sales manager for Chicago Musical Instruments, home of Gibson guitars. I had figured to have my uncle get me a bass guitar at cost. It looked like the easiest instrument to pick up quickly. He reminded me that I had taken three years of piano lessons. I reminded him that I fucking hated piano lessons and the most notable thing about the experience was that I rarely practiced.

He pointed out to me that combo organs were the coming thing, thanks largely to Paul Revere and the Raiders, and that even if I’d been a miserable piano student, I still knew more about playing keys than I did the bass. He suggested he get me a Farfisa.

I picked up enough rudimentary knowledge (basically how to play chords) to fill that role in the Barons. We played our first gig ($25, and were overpaid at that) two weeks later. The Barons dissolved quicker than Alka Selzter in a glass and, with my friend Jim Hoffman and some junior high kids who’d been recommended to me, formed the Daybreakers.

We became one of the upper tier local bands – I believe Muscatine, Iowa, at the zenith of this phenomenon, had 26 “local pop combos.” Initially I used sheet music till my cousin Kris, visiting (and a veteran combo player) asked me what the hell I was doing with sheet music to the likes of “Louie Louie” and “Hang On Sloopy.”

“Hasn’t anybody told you about C-F-G?” he said, through cruel laughter. “Almost all rock and roll songs are C-F-G!” That was an over-simplification, of course, but not much of one.

The Daybreakers by 1967 were in Nashville, thanks to Jack Barlow, a country artist (who had been a high school student in the music class that my father taught at Muscatine High School) who recorded for a famous record producer named Buddy Killen. We went down to Nashville with half a dozen songs, five originals and a version of Gershwin’s “Summertime,” and lucked into a record contract. Killen had on his roster, in addition to Barlow and several other country artists, a very successful soul artist, Joe Tex, and Atlantic Records was after Killen to find a rock act. And we walked in the door.

The record was “Psychedelic Siren,” a regional hit that was a claim of a sort of fame for the Daybreakers. It came out in early 1968 and was too much in the vein of Paul Revere and the Raiders to compete with the explosion of hipper music that happened immediately after our record session – we heard “Light My Fire” and “Purple Haze” on the radio, driving home from Nashville, and knew we were screwed.

Nonetheless, the band lasted five years (for a time called “Rox”) and we played in concert with the Rascals, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, and the Buckinghams. And nobody could take away from us that we’d had a national record distributed by Atlantic on their Killen label, Dial.

You can read about all this, and get the names of my fellow bandmates – we were inducted into the Iowa Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame in 2008 – on my website (click on MUSIC).

Shortly after playing the induction concert, we appeared for the Muscatine, Iowa, Class Reunion (three of the original members – Buddy Busch, Mike Bridges and Denny Maxwell – were Muscatine High School Grads in ‘70.)

The Daybreakers is where my experience in rock ‘n’ roll starts (we’ll just shrug off the Barons) and I figured it was the beginning and the end. But in 1974 my longtime musical collaborator, (the late) Paul Thomas, suggested we start up again. I wanted to, but was reluctant – we didn’t care much for what was playing on the radio at the time.

A short sidebar: in those days, the pop combo days, all of us were “cover bands” (a term that wasn’t used then). The idea was to do a few originals, so if you got a chance to record you had something to offer, but mostly to give the kids music they were familiar with.

Anyway, the idea behind what quickly became Crusin’ was to dust off the old Daybreakers list and call it nostalgia. We did something at least a little historic, because Crusin’ the first ‘60s band in the Midwest and maybe almost anywhere (we were only five years past the ‘60s, after all). Unexpectedly, we got surprisingly popular locally and even regionally, and I wound up quitting my community college teaching job to play music with Paul – we even imported Bruce Peters, the best showman I ever performed with (and I performed with some great ones), from California where he’d gone to “make it.” We convinced him to come back to Muscatine and make it.

When the writing gig on Dick Tracy came along for me, I stayed with the band for a while – was sort of in and out and in again – and had a few reunions before Paul and I decided to re-group. While we never reached the level of popularity locally we’d had in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, the reputation of the original Crusin’ kept us as busy as we wanted to be. We made several records (notably the CD “Bullets!”), opened for the likes of the Turtles, Grass Roots and Peter Noone, and contributed to a national CD release of bands doing their versions of Monkees song (we did “Little Bit Me, Little Bit You”).

And in 2018 we were again inducted into the Iowa Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, this time as Crusin’.

Here’s Crusin’ in 2008 at the Riverside Casino; this version features our original Daybreakers bass player, the late Chuck Bunn, and our longtime terrific guitar player, Jim Van Winkle, whose brother (the late Brian Van Winkle) replaced Chuck.

I also had the great fun of playing with the late Miguel Ferrer, Bill Mumy, Steve Leialoha and Chris Christensen in the “comic book” band, Seduction of the Innocent, appearing chiefly at the San Diego Comic Con. We released a couple of CD’s as well, “The Golden Age” (beautifully produced by Bill) and a live album.

In recent years, Crusin’ has played only in the summer, just a handful of gigs. For a while – since my open heart surgery in 2016 – I have suggested each year is the last.

This time I mean it.

This is the 50th anniversary of Crusin’ and our three performances will be our last.

This is a hard page to turn, a tough chapter to complete. But it’s time. I will be content that, as my late friend Paul Thomas said at the close of a successful gig, “Rock ‘n’ roll happened.” Miguel knew I was partial to that phrase, and the last time Seduction played, at the close he put a hand on my shoulder and quoted Paul Thomas: “Rock ‘n’ roll happened.”

Yes it did.

The last three Crusin’ dates, all in Muscatine, Iowa (or nearby), are June 21 at Ardon Creek Vineyard & Winery, 6:00 P.M. to 8:00 p.m., Independence Ave., Letts, IA 52754; June 30, Muscatine Art Center’s Ice Cream Social, 1:00 pm – 4:00 pm; and 1314 Mulberry Ave, Muscatine, IA 52761; and Sunday August 11, Second Sunday Concert Series, 6:00 pm to 8:00 p.m. at the Musser Public Library and HNI Community Center located at 408 E 2nd Street, Muscatine, IA. These are all outdoor events and subject to rain.

There is a chance we may do one last gig after that, but it’s not firmed up (it would likely be in September).

Nothing lasts forever. Here is the state of Muscatine High School as of today.

Muscatine High School mid-demolishing.
* * *

I am pleased to see myself listed as a “genre giant” here.

On the other hand, I never forget what Noah Cross said to Jake Gittes in Chinatown: “Politicians, ugly buildings, and whores all get respectable if they last long enough.”

M.A.C.

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Kindle Deals, a Spillane Nom, A Beck & Woods Blurb, New Reviews of Old Movies, and More!

Tuesday, June 4th, 2024
Supreme Justice cover
What Doesn't Kill Her

Supreme Justice will be promoted via Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle book deals in the US marketplace, starting 6/1/2024 and running through 6/30/2024. The book (topical as hell right now!) will be offered at 2.99 USD during the promotion period.

What Doesn’t Kill Her will be promoted via Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle book deals in the US marketplace, starting 6/1/2024 and running through 6/30/2024. The novel will be offered at 1.99 USD during the promotion period.

Both are written by Matt Clemens and me.

* * *
Spillane: King of Pulp Fiction cover

Spillane: King of Pulp Fiction by James L. Traylor and me has been nominated for the Macavity Award in the
Best Mystery-related Nonfiction/Critical category.

The Macavity Award is named for the “mystery cat” of T.S. Eliot (Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats). Each year the members of Mystery Readers International nominate and vote for their favorite mysteries in five categories.

I am not sure when or where the winners are announced. We were up for the Edgar, and lost, as you might recall; and are up for the Anthony, which will be announced at this year’s Bouchercon (which we will not be attending, as I will be shooting an indie movie then). If you are an eligible voter in the Macavity Awards or the Anthony Awards, please keep us in mind.

Our dashed hopes of winning the Edgar (I never really thought that was a possibility, frankly) have been soothed by the knowledge that we are a thrice-nominated book in our category. If we can just win one, Spillane will be an award-winning book; but even short of that, these multiple nominations are a nice validation of the decades of work by Jim and me that went into a book for which I feel a good deal of pride and accomplishment.

One of my missions in life has been to get Mickey Spillane some of the recognition denied him by the mystery community over these many decades, despite the boost he gave to the genre as a whole. The number of careers in mystery fiction that Mickey made possible with his success is difficult to overstate – the entire genre got a shot in the arm (and elsewhere).

* * *

Barb and I celebrated our 56th wedding anniversary on June 1. We had a nice overnight getaway at Galena, Illinois, a favorite haunt of ours. Here’s Barb and me (with one of us looking radiant and young) (hint: not me) at a restaurant we adore, Vinny Vanucchi’s.

Max Allan and Barbara Collins at Vinny Vanucchi's

Even an overnight trip, however, can be a little daunting these days. We feel much more comfortable at home, the familiar surroundings encouraging both work and play. I have sleep issues that staying in a hotel acerbate. This is why you don’t see us doing book signings, attending conventions, and doing other public appearances very often. As much as we like interacting with readers/fans/friends, it’s a dicey proposition, leaving our little cave.

We are extremely lucky to have our son Nate and his family (wife Abby and grandkids Sam and Lucy) just up the street from us, making the households mutual support systems. As you know, if you follow these updates at all, I even managed to write and direct a movie not long ago – Blue Christmas – which will be distributed on home video by VCI and MVD, who will also be marketing it to streaming services.

We have even received a lovely blurb from Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, the talented creators of A Quiet Place: “Collins is a master of noir and activates a deep reservoir of affection for the genre in his latest noir chamber piece.” This is incredibly generous of Beck and Woods, who have been kind enough to single out my frequent cinematic collaborator Phil Dingeldein and me, as mentors.

Exciting (at least exciting to me) news about another indie feature film project will be announced here soon.

Also, the Nathan Heller audio production, True Noir (based on the novel True Detective) written by me and directed by my pal Robert Meyer Burnett, continues apace. I have completed and delivered the ten-episode script of the production to Rob, and the reviews from him and our distinguished cast members (we’ll be revealing more of them soon) have been wonderful. Unfortunately, our announced star Todd Stashwick had to step down, and we are in the process of recasting now.

* * *
Strawberry Blonde poster

It’s no secret that I am as much a film buff as I am a bibliophile. And I have viewed a ridiculously large number of films in my time on Planet Earth, from the worst to the best. But a few classic films have, for no good reason, remained unwatched by me. I caught up with two recently: Strawberry Blonde with James Cagney, Olivia de Havilland and Rita Hayworth, directed by Raoul Walsh, written by the Epsteins of Casablanca fame; and Meet John Doe with Gary Cooper and Barbara Stanwyck directed by Frank Capra and written by Robert Riskins.

Where to start? Both are 1941 films – in that sweet spot that began around 1939 and continued till World War Two kicked in, where Hollywood seemed to be at its creative zenith. The number of great character actors assembled for these two films is staggering: Jack Carson, Alan Hale and George Tobias, with future Superman George Reeves thrown in for good measure, in Strawberry Blonde; and Edward Arnold, James Gleason, Walter Brennan, Spring Byington, and Gene Lockhart in Meet John Doe. And a lot of others in both.

Let me interrupt myself to say that Barb and I, staying overnight in Galena at the Irish Cottage hotel, tried to watch a pay-for-view movie on the evening of May 31. The film we chose was Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire. How might I best describe this movie? Childish nonsense, poorly acted, although Rebecca Hall is actually pretty good, whereas Dan Stevens embarrasses himself and Bryan Tyree Henry is, as an African-American, saddled with a stereotypical role that Mantan Moreland would have rejected as beneath his dignity. We bailed half an hour into this CGI fest in which the best that could be said for the monsters is that they come off as more human than the humans.

Meanwhile, back in 1941, Warner’s is giving us Jimmy Cagney in a charming role that because of his artistry overcomes the character’s boorishness, with Oliva De Havilland etching a modern young woman (at the turn of the Twentieth Century) with humor and deftness, and the comic figures (Alan Hale, George Tobias, Jack Carson) all show considerable humanity and growth. I think I’d avoided this film because of its reputation as an Americana valentine to the “Band Played On” early 1900s; but there’s a lot of skill and surprising depth to what at first seems a nostalgia trifle. What comes across as wistful seemed to me, at a distance, as something saccharine. I was wrong. Warner Arcives has a Blu-ray out of this right now.

Meet John Doe poster

As for Meet John Doe, I had expected to encounter Frank Capra at his most populist excessive, and while I wasn’t entirely wrong, I also encountered a skewering of corporate America and a cynical MAGA-style movement taking advantage of its members shamelessly. The dark side of Meet John Doe is plenty dark, and the artistry of a great cast is plenty great. James Gleason (the unforgettable Corkle of Here Comes Mr. Jordan) does a drunk scene in medium close-up, seen past a mostly silent Gary Cooper, that may be the best single piece of screen acting I’ve ever witnessed. After a few comic moments – not overplayed, but broad as drunk scenes often were in those days – Gleason talks about enlisting to serve in the Great War and how his father enlisted, too. The emotions that play over his face are sublimely, subtlely rendered; and this comes from a character who has, till now, been perhaps the most cynical in the piece.

And Cooper’s character is at times the “yup”/”nope” creature he’s known for, but other times is talkative and even spechifying without betraying the simple roots of his character. He’s remarkable as is Barbara Stanwyck, who – like Gleason – travels from cynicism and self-interest to a realization of how she’s betrayed her journalistic goals, feeling her guilt in what was a terrible, hurtful hoax at heart.

Meet John Doe – which has just become available from Classic Flix on Blu-ray (the people who brought you I, the Jury and The Long Wait on Blu-ray!) in a beautifully restored edition – is a kind of pre-war rough draft of It’s a Wonderful Life, which is definitely a post-war take on the same (or similar) material. People don’t think of Meet John Doe as a Christmas movie, in the manner of It’s a Wonderful Life, but both films use Christmas as a powerful climax to stories that otherwise are not holiday-themed.

For a film buff, seeing a James Cagney picture by a great director with a fabulous supporting cast, or a Frank Capra movie starting Gary Cooper and other legendary supporting players, as if they are brand-new items, is frankly thrilling.

Also depressing, in the wake of such travesties as the Godzilla/King Kong rematch. Stick with the Japanese alternative.

By the way, Furiosa is excellent. And yet it’s the poster child for Hollywood’s inability to get in step with itself.

Get Meet John Doe here.

Get Strawberry Blonde here.

* * *

The Big Bundle, a Nathan Heller novel, is out in trade paperback now. Here’s a nice review.

M.A.C.

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