O. Henry's Full House

O. Henry's Full House (Henry Hathaway, Howard Hawks, Henry King, Henry Koster, Jean Negulesco, 1952) One of those rare American experiments with an anthology movie, in the fashion of European films of the type, this one featuring five separate segments (each with its own writer-director team) fashioning films based on the work of one author, in this case, America's master of irony, O. Henry (and I suppose it's merely coincidence that three of the directors are named Henry), the psuedonym of William Sidney Porter, bank embezzler, writer of amusing stories dripping with irony and creator of "The Cisco Kid."

Because of the styles of the five directors, the episodes couldn't be more different from each other, veering from light comedy, farce, drama, and tragedy. Each director has a specific way of telling their tales, but the collection is introduced by John Steinbeck, the same year that he was to have published his "magnum opus," "East of Eden." Steinbeck's presence isn't really needed (and he confessed to being uncomfortable in front of the camera), but it does provide some bridging for the stories to come: 

The Cop and the Anthem (Henry Koster): it is the Holiday season and a vagrant named Soapy (Charles Laughton) has a scheme that he pulls off every Holiday: he will get himself arrested, and as a judge is unavailable to try him, he will take advantage of the hospitality of the local jail, where he will get three square meals a day for three months and even a Christmas dinner. His pal Horace (David Wayne) tries to convince him to use the Salvation Army, but Soapy refuses, but finds his efforts to get arrested thwarted. The segment also includes an early appearance by Marilyn Monroe, playing the most cinema-scrubbed of prostitutes.

The Clarion Call (Henry Hathaway): A thief, Johnny Kernan (Richard Widmark, in full, effusive tough-guy stance) kills during the robbery of a prominent man. An investigator of the scene, Barney Wood (Dale Robertson), finds a clue on the scene that he thinks belongs to his childhood friend Kernan, and he confronts Johnny, who tells him that he can't arrest him, as Wood still owes him $1000 from a card game. Wood can't possibly arrest him when he's in his debt. 

The Last Leaf (Jean Negulesco): Joanne Goodwin (Anne Baxter) has been dumped by her lover and, in her grief, she has walked a long evening in the snow, making her susceptible to pnuemonia. Her sister (Jean Peters) thinks that she has lost the will to live—her sister notices her staring out the window, at the tree outside of it. In her delirium, Joanne says she will die when the last leaf falls from the tree.he entreats a struggling artist (Gregory Ratoff) living upstairs to help by selling his paintings.

The Ransom of Red Chief (Howard Hawks): Two ne'er-do-well con-men (Oscar Levant and Fred Allen) kidnap the child (Lee Aaker) of a prominent man, only to find that the kid is more than they bargained for.

The Gift of the Magi (Henry King): O Henry's most popular—and most copied—short story. As Christmas approaches, a newly married, but poor, couple (Jeanne Crain and Farley Granger) struggle to come up with presents for each other.

It's interesting—the best director (Hawks) has the worst results. Possibly because Levant and Allen aren't the most compatible of comedy duo's, both men's personas is a bit more snide than the two hapless kidnappers are meant to be, so it feels like they're slightly hampered by the material required of them, and any sympathy one might feel for them feels wasted. Negulesco's is the most artful, but also the slightest. Laughton's segment is the most amusing, and the Widmark segment is charged by his over-the-top performance, not unlike his debut performance, the psychopathic killer Tommy Udo in Kiss of Death.

Like most anthologies, O Henry's Full House is a mixed bag, but interesting to see so many prominent actors and directors doing something a bit out of their usual realm.

A Letter to Three Wives

A Letter to Three Wives (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1949) One of the better movies of Mankiewicz's career of well-made films. This one was nominated for Best Picture, Best Director and Best Screenplay (Mankiewicz was directly responsible for the latter two, and indeed, for the first, although the producer team usually gets the laurels). None of the actors were nominated, although there are many very subtle and intricate performances throughout, with little touches of brilliance that go beyond the dialogue (which, in itself, is subtle and brilliant).

Based on a Cosmopolitan story, the film owes its roots to The Women, but tops it in terms of psychology and structure, while still maintaining that film's level of cattiness.

That is provided by the opening narration by one Addie Ross (voiced by Celeste Holm in a creepy "know-it-all" tone that reminded me of the disembodied voice-overs of "Desperate Housewives"). She sets the scene—and the motion picture—by moving away from the New York suburb from her "friends" Deborah Bishop (Jeanne Crain), Rita Phipps (Ann Southern), and Lora Mae Hollingsway (Linda Darnell), and leaving them all a "good-bye" note, the dear thing, on the very day all three women are out of town helping underprivileged children at a day-camp.

Thoughtful, but not in a good way. Scheming, more like it. The letter from Addie (known for always doing "the right thing at the right time") has a zinger of a farewell—informing the three that she has taken one of their husbands with her.  And to rub salt in the wound, she doesn't even tell them which one.

Bitch.

All three husbands (Jeffrey Lynn, Kirk Douglas and Paul Douglas, respectively) had been acting a little reserved and distant that morning, off to their little pursuits, knowing full well the wives are doing some community service that they're committed to. They'll be gone all day, leaving the men to whatever rendezvous awaits them. They hadn't given it a second thought before. Now, it's all they can think about. 

Darnell, Southern and Crain look at the last telephone they'll see all day.

As the women move forward to that day-camp across the lake, all they can do is move backwards and reminisce about their marriages, what's right and what's wrong (and one of the things that's wrong they all share—their husbands think the world of Addie Ross). All afternoon, when they should be thinking of others, they are at their most self-absorbed. There's not even a pay-phone (pay-phone? Yes, kids, there was such a thing) out at that camp for them to ring home in the hope someone answers.

They all have their issues: Deborah met husband Brad during the war and had no ties to his small-town roots. She was an outsider who inherited the Phipp's, the Hollingsway's...and Addie. They were all chummy and comfortable and Deborah is anything but...wanting to make a good impression, but knowing she has a lot of time and history to make up. Her first "coming-out" get-together with the couples at "the club" does not go well—her dress is none-too-stylish (although Rita does some alterations that are altogether flimsy) and to loosen up, she gets a little tipsy. Then, that galoot of a husband, Brad, decides to whirl her around the dance floor, creating one of Mankiewicz's few attempts at enhanced POV.

Deborah on the dance floor...

Darnell, Ford, Southern and Douglas in an alcoholic haze.

With such an inferiority complex, she's sure Brad's the straying husband. But Rita has her doubts and self-doubts, as well. She's a writer of soapy radio dramas while husband George is an English teacher, who makes no secret of his contempt for the "low-writing" that suffices as entertainment these days. Mankiewicz throws in some sharp barbs about pablum and sponsored writing, but of the three, the only thing she's concerned about is her time spent away from George doing constant re-writes at the behest of the soap-peddlers. She doesn't consider the time that he spends away grading papers.

Then there's Lora Mae—gorgeous, smart, calculating. She remembers her days playing the field with all the good prospects in town. And those aren't shoulder-pads in the get-ups she wears on her many dates so much as chips on her shoulders. Lora Mae grew up on the wrong side of the tracks...and very close to them, as they trains rumble by, threatening the plates several times a night. There, she squabbles with her Irish mother (Connie Gilchrist) and her best friend Sadie (Thelma Ritter, her third movie but still uncredited)—who also happens to be the Phipps' maid. She plays the field, but it appears to be narrowing to her divorced, rough-hewn, older boss Porter Hollingsway (Paul Douglas, his first big role after being a Broadway success in "Born Yesterday"). He's bitter, she's passive-aggressive and their conversations are like verbal boxing matches.

Sisterly conflict (with Thelma Ritter sparring)

Southern and Douglas don't have much chemistry and clashing acting styles—they barely seem like a couple. Crain and Lynn don't register much together—he's barely around (dramatic music here) and is such a non-entity he's not missed. But sparks fly between Douglas and Darnell, despite the fact that they're so mis-matched; he's older and charmless and she's fiery and gorgeous, they both gotten what they want out of the marriage, but neither one of them is satisfied or happy and the two actors make the most of their interplay—they crackle and spit and even with their mouths shut and the focus on others, their eyes throw daggers at each other. It was Douglas' film debut...and maybe he overplays it a bit...but the scenes between him and Darnell make you sit up and take notice.

So who's the philandering husband? Not saying. From the writer-director perspective synching with the wives', it could be any of them, and Mankiewicz (the writer) has fun dropping clues and suggestions. It will keep you guessing...except that Mankiewicz crafted a clever soap-opera. The next year, he would oversee his masterpiece—All About Eve.