no further questions : the case for Perry Mason

     Incredibly, we're creeping up on the 70th anniversary of the first season of the classic Perry Mason television series. The initial episode, 'The Case of the Restless Redhead', was broadcast on Sept 21, 1957, though astute Perryphiles will note that this wasn't the first filmed episode. That honor traditionally is given to 'The Moth Eaten Mink', which was filmed in October 1956, nearly a year before the series premiered.* Speaking of dates, an admission: your humble servant is of sufficient certain years to actually have watched some episodes when they originally appeared (though if memory serves me, I didn't, at least I don't recall if I did). The fondness for the Perry show came many years, even decades, later. In any event the use of the word incredibly above refers to the program's timelessly modern look and feel nearly seven decades on, along with its exploring issues that still resonate today. Thus, some reflections on, and much appreciation of, the show may be in order. 

      * The 'Moth Eaten Mink' episode was broadcast on December 14, 1957.

     Being a product of the baby boom generation you could say I’m a child of the television era. Some of my earliest and most indelible memories are of watching TV with my two brothers and parents in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Which probably explains my preference for black and white TV programs, movies too. By the way, I watch old movies and classic television almost exclusively at night, for whatever reason. It must have something to do with the magic and other-ness (creepiness too) of black & white, which just doesn’t work as well in the daytime. The commentary tracks on classic film DVDs are another matter. I prefer watching them in the daytime.

     Whatever the case, my favorites were and still are the crime, mystery and cop shows from that era, which might also be deemed the golden age of the private eye television series. My other happy memories were of watching sports on TV. One of my first recollections was watching ‘the greatest (football) game ever played’ at my grandparents’ house. My grandfather wanted the Giants to win (he pronounced them the ‘gEYEnts,’ one syllable). As for me I exulted in the Colts’ victory. Other sports I enjoyed watching were basketball, baseball, boxing, the Olympic games, and even, I’m ashamed to say, professional wrestling, the latter two not so much these days, though, in my defense, I’m told the wrestling matches in them days weren’t choreographed quite so much as they are today, and certainly weren’t as wildly theatrical, the spectacle of which would make the sleaziest Roman emperor blush. Thus the power of television certainly influenced my early life and probably still does in some mysterious, subterranean way in the catacombs of my creative imagination.

     Progressing forward in time, the Seventies, Eighties and Nineties are a bit of a blur as to my television preferences, as are many details of life in general per those decades. But I never lost my taste for crime, melodrama and mystery. Today I’ve developed a fondness for what’s dubbed true crime, the TV version. These programs portray law enforcement as benevolent, competent and well-intended, with only an occasional token bad apple or bungled investigation thrown in for contrast. Many would agree with this portrayal, but then again many would not.

     Whatever the reality, I delude myself that watching such fare is ‘research’, but the truth is that true crime, at least as purveyed by the medium of television, has little, if anything in the way of influence on my creative literary endeavors. Maybe I’m being snobbish, but the television version of ‘true crime’ is really pop crime at its best (or worst, depending upon one’s point of view), a reductive, if admittedly entertaining, exemplar of pop culture’s lowest common denominator principle, buttressed by a large helping of psychology delivered by talking heads, packaged and designed to appeal to an unsophisticated mass audience – how’s that for elitist? One thing I will say for pop crime, as well as crime dramas, is that the stories move along, in contrast to real life. The snail’s paced real-life trials depicted on TV in particular seem to me more about minutiae and ritual than actually dispensing justice.
    
      In any case, as hinted at elsewhere in these pages, the genuine influences on my writing are: the British cozy mystery; Raymond Chandler; film noir; and the pre-Code movies of the early Thirties, the latter of which I took to in a big way, so much so that in my stories I try to imitate the cadence, pacing and attitude that appears in these early classics, not totally inappropriate, especially in the case of my sleuth heroine Kay Francis, a quintessential pre-Code actress though largely forgotten today.
On the subject of influence and imitation, perhaps it's instructive to recall some thoughts penned by the irrepressible Oscar Wilde: “Of course I plagiarize. It is the privilege of the appreciative man.” Then there's: "It is only the unimaginative who ever invents. The true artist is known by the use he makes of what he annexes, and he annexes everything." And: "There is an element of imitation in all the arts ... the danger of valuing it too little is almost as great as the danger of setting too high a value on it."

     Getting back to television, and specifically Perry Mason, my all time favorite shows, not counting things like documentaries, sports, etc., seem to be the Perry show and The Twilight Zone. Both are from the same era, the same network, and have stylistic, and even thematic, similarities. Moreover, actors crisscross from one to the other seamlessly. Other favorites along the way have been The Fugitive, Law & Order, Columbo, The Americans, Dexter, Counterpart, Maison Close, Killing Eve, Luna & Sophie, Borgen, Astrid, and Poirot. And it doesn’t escape me that most of the above deal with crime and criminals. Curiously, having lived in Albuquerque for the better part of three decades, I never warmed to Breaking Bad or Better Call Saul. Go figure.

     I’ve read comments online and elsewhere that Perry Mason has lots of film noirish elements, and to some extent I agree: same era (at least in part); crime and mystery content; murder; (mostly) urban setting; femmes fatales; and most of all, the black & white look. There’s also a certain congruence in that the traditional film noir bookend year was 1958, or thereabouts, just as television was hitting its stride and appropriating the noir ethos for the small screen, especially in shows like Perry, Route 66, the various jazz detectives, and police dramas like Naked City. Elements of noir also appeared in other genres like straight drama, westerns, and even sci fi/paranormal (Twilight Zone, One Step Beyond and Outer Limits being the best examples).

     As for the character of Perry Mason, he has delighted fans and devotees in several mediums for nearly a century: movies, novels, magazines, board games, theater, comic books, TV, and radio have surged forth. Probably graphic novels too, but I’m not familiar with any. A recent, and to me, successful take on the old formula has been the two seasons of the HBO cable series Perry Mason (2020-2023), which offers its own, decidedly peculiar and frequently surprising, variations on the old themes. By the way, for clarification, unless otherwise noted, when I talk about Perry Mason and use terms like Perry-verse, Perry canon, Perry universe, Perry oeuvre and the like, I’m referring to the classic CBS series that ran from 1957 to 1966.

     But was Perry truly a noir? While I’ll grant there are some similarities, at heart I see Perry Mason as closer in spirit, and content, to the classic British cozy mystery. Perry takes the role of the eccentric sleuth (ably assisted by Paul Drake), Della is an American version of Miss Lemmon, there’s a murder, almost always committed off-screen (thus little visible violence), several equally suspicious suspects, and a final reckoning, in this case the gathering of suspects in the courtroom. And crucially, it’s the little details that catch the bad guy, and often the murderer is the least likely suspect. Despite the brutal acts that get the ball rolling, the tone is generally polite and civil (Perry’s back and forths with Hamilton Burger notwithstanding), and when the dust settles order is restored and all is well with the world.

     More to the point, why is Perry Mason so popular? All nine seasons have been released on DVD, and it seems to have been in syndication forever. In our neck of the woods I can catch it – and often do – weekdays twice a day, different episodes, on MeTV, at 8:00 a.m. and then at 10:30 p.m. Alas the morning version runs an hour and as a result there are cuts to fit in the commercials. As far as I can tell the late night entry, at sixty-five minutes, broadcasts the full episode.

     But as for Perry’s popularity, the most facile explanation is that in the Perry universe truth, right, and justice, buttressed by indisputable evidence, and delivered in quintessentially American style, always win out – frequently they do not in real life – and this illusory take on reality is reassuring in our not so reassuring times. But the explanation for the show’s popularity, at least for me, may be more subtle, even mysterious (sometimes not so mysterious), and decidedly personal. Something has to do with the black and white look, which I find very comforting (color images, be they television, cinematic, or on a computer screen, are like a window to reality, which we certainly get enough of in, well, real life). Perhaps the formula. It’s satisfying to watch how it plays out and the way they tinker with the template a bit.1

     But before getting to the additional, more obvious, joys of the Perry show, we might be allowed a sociological detour. To be precise, some Perryphiles have commented that the show has a leftist vibe, and while I appreciate this point of view I think the truth is a bit more complicated. If we do a broad brushstroke interpretation, Perry actually endorses the American legal, and by implication, political, system, with its true-justice-triumphs-in-the-end and the American-system-is-fair-after-all message. Of course a program whose entire raison d'être is at least one murder per week, frequently accompanied by attendant, lesser crimes, can’t lay claim to depicting a perfect society. However, the Perry folks finesse this contradiction by implying that the bad things that happen are the work of depraved, misguided individuals and not the system itself, which is benevolent and just. And whatever Hamilton Burger’s faults, he’s not totally illogical or especially malevolent in his assumptions. In short, he sincerely wants to dispense justice. It’s just that ultimately Perry gets the job done a little better. Among other things, he uncovers hitherto unrevealed evidence, often discovered by ace detective Paul Drake, that vindicates the defendant (admittedly there's a touch of deus ex machina here). Other times he applies psychological pressure, usually in the form of his aggressive interrogations, that forces the real culprit to confess, or offer something akin to a confession.

     Moreover, the tone of Perry, even in the occasional oddball episodes, is strictly late Fifties civil, and thus presents American society as stable, wholesome, even bland, in other words, more or less an endorsement of capitalism, patriarchy, and heteronormality that was, and still largely is, the American model. Indeed the basic gestalt isn’t that different from Leave it to Beaver or Donna Reed. Maybe it was a CBS thing (or more likely, a censorship thing). Suffice to say, the idea of Perry as a commentary on, and reflection of, American society in the 1950s and 1960s is a fascinating, and debatable, issue that likely won’t be resolved anytime soon. And it occurs to me that such matters are prime grist for an enterprising PhD student or two, and indeed such studies have probably already been done.

     Even though CBS was the most liberal of the three networks in the 1950s and 1960s, Perry Mason’s leftist sentiments, such as they are, express themselves in quiet, under-the-radar ways. One example: while Perry’s clients come from all ranks of the socio-economic spectrum – defendants range from the destitute to the filthy rich – he often represents the little guy, pro bono no less, while the big folks, i.e. big money, usually are the guilty party in these stories.

     But it would be remiss not to mention at least one conspicuous example where Perry Mason dropped the ball, and that’s civil rights. Being as it was the dominant domestic political issue of the late 1950s and early 1960s, civil rights was the proverbial elephant in the living room, but we look in vain throughout the 270-odd episodes of Perry and find not one overt reference to the Civil Rights Movement, much less an entire story. But perhaps the Perry writers sneaked in progressive ideas, even nods to civil rights, through other means, in particular the generally sympathetic treatment of African-American, Asian, and Hispanic characters.2 One caveat: even Perry sometimes tended to have Caucasian actors portray Asians.

     While it’s hard to dispute that Perry Mason was produced by white people, for white people, and watched by white people, nonetheless there are ethnics and minorities sprinkled throughout. Over the nine seasons we had two African-American judges (a couple of women judges too), a black court clerk, a black expert witness, a black woman in an episode’s first scene (in which she’s a resident of a minimum-security prison), a black actor playing a white character, a black night watchman, black mechanic, two black policemen, black jailer, black hospital orderly, black ‘hostess,’ an Asian caretaker, Asian hero, two Asian heroines, two black bartenders, blacks and Asians in the galleries and juries, and in public places like restaurants.3 For the times such casting was fairly daring.
     In addition, there was also what we would call a Japanese episode, a Hawaiian episode, and a Chinese episode, complete with de rigueur exoticized treatment. And there are probably other examples that I don’t recall at the moment. In a strange reversal, characters who hail from Britain, Central Europe, or the Slavic countries are usually depicted as villains, or at least as shady, slippery types. Likewise for those who have an upper crust, faintly British vibe (though the actors may be American [read: Victor Buono and Jacques Abuchon]).

     Perry Mason’s progressive bent also finds expression in characters who practice otherwise unconventional lifestyles or engage in ‘inappropriate’ relationships – bohemians, eccentrics, drifters, grifters, psychics, self-styled artists, wayward nephews/nieces, recluses, hitchhikers, runaways, as well as subtle suggestions of lesbians, lavender males, and relatives who are a little too fond of each other. This is the Perry subversive strain at its best.

     This more or less gets us back to the pleasures offered by the program, and much of the credit has to go to the overall production design and high quality of delivery each week. And yes, there are a few clinkers along the way, but the highly consistent level of quality was a small miracle given the time and budget constraints, and in this context long-time executive producer Gail Patrick Jackson must be noted as a true unsung heroine of the Perry universe.4

     But in my case the appeal of Perry and -like shows from television’s Golden Age might be more personal. A recent viewing of a Twilight Zone marathon on the H&I network underscored this fact, especially so because I’m of sufficient certain years to have seen some of the TZ episodes when they were first broadcast back in the day. They say you can’t go home again, but experiencing these black and white gems allows us to re-live slivers of memorable early experiences, however different their present contexts may be. In a word, we invoke that overused term nostalgia, or put another way, the uncomplicated memory of a simpler time, and childhood recollections of baseball, visits to the lake, picnics in the park, and ice cream floats at Dairy Queen, all of which I suppose falls under the umbrella of nostalgia.

     But as the fellow said, I begin to digress. The multiple pleasures of the Perry show, yes. With no disrespect to the yeoman work done by writers, directors, composers, cameramen, and regular cast members, for me the greatest joy of watching and re-watching the Perry’s is the pleasure received from the guest casts, and in particular how well matched actor and character are in the great majority of stories.5 A special delight is that so many of the players are veterans of classic film – the Forties and Fifties especially, and in some cases even earlier – with a goodly number who were prominently featured in films noirs, and this in part reinforces the impression that the Perry show was television noir.  Much as Alfred Hitchcock famously pronounced that a thriller is only as good as its villain, we might say that a Perry episode is only as good as the guest cast, and I challenge any Perryphile to name a truly memorable episode that had a middling cast.

     By the way, I define guest casts to be those who play characters associated either directly or indirectly with the victim: spouses, relatives, significant others, business partners, witnesses, lawyers, agents, employees, clients, and of course the victim and eventual revealed culprit. To this group I would arbitrarily add the six pinch-hitting lawyers who filled in when Mason/Burr was out due to injury or illness. Excluded are anyone in official capacity: judges and medical examiners, assistant district attorneys, policemen, court clerks and guards/matrons, many of whom appear on multiple occasions and might be considered regular cast members.6

     A curious note: numerous guest performers appear more than once. Julie Adams, Virginia Field, Ruta Lee, Dabbs Greer, Whit Bissell, Richard Erdman, Mala Powers, Lisa Gaye, and Gloria Talbott are only a few examples. But what’s interesting is that no guest player ever repeats an exact character. Character types, yes, almost to the point of typecasting: Stuart Irwin and Robert Harris as sweating neurotics; Patricia Barry as duplicitous femmes fatales; Anne Barton and Bethel Leslie as long suffering wives; Bill Williams as abrasive villains; Kathryn Givney as dictatorial, eminently unpleasant, family matriarchs; Richard Erdman, William Campbell, and Harry Jackson as scheming ne'er-do-wells.

     Then there’s another group that falls somewhere in-between guest casts and regular cast members, and that’s the various extras and bit players who show up in numerous contexts – we glimpse them in restaurants, offices, night clubs, department stores, casinos, hotel lobbies, sidewalks, hallways, at the circus, racetrack, theater and other public venues – but most of all in the courtroom galleries and juries. Certain actors and actresses appear again and again, and it’s never clear whether they’re actually playing the same character each time. Some of the more visually prominent individuals include: Pencil Mustache Man, ‘Sasha Magaloff,’ Little Old Lady in a Hat, various Distinguished Ladies and Distinguished Gentlemen, Cute Brunette, Mediterranean Girl, and the Purple Woman Girl.7 There are probably others and I can’t claim to have listed them all. It’s in this group that we come to my favorite, ‘Miss Carmody.’

     By the way, just so there's no confusion, a second 'Miss Carmody' appears in Season 8 in the person of a 'Sharon Carmody' (played by Mary Ann Mobley), a one-off character who has no connection to the ubiquitous Miss Carmody that's our concern here. Our Miss Carmody is an attractive, elegantly coiffed and dressed, thirty-something blonde whom we frequently see in the gallery. The actress’s name has never been revealed in the credits, and initial research suggests she may have worked as an extra in other venues in addition to Perry, but I've yet to confirm.

     As for her Perry Mason contributions, ‘Miss Carmody’ appears in multiple guises – secretary, waitress, greeter, nurse, grocery store customer, receptionist, concession stand operator, racetrack fan, restaurant customer, and of course face in the gallery – and we’re never certain whether she’s always playing the same character or multiple ones. By the way her name derives from the identity of a character she played in the “Blushing Pearls” episode. Curious that she didn’t receive a credit for this performance, playing a crucial, if peripheral, character. Miss Carmody’s appearances run the gamut of all nine seasons and while it’s a subjective thing I think she actually became more attractive as she got older. It's always fun for me to stumble upon a Miss Carmody sighting in a Perry. I scan the galleries to see what folks are there and in particular to find out if Miss C will turn up. In any event, stay tuned for further thoughts on Perry, Miss Carmody and the rest of the Perry universe.

    1 Further reading: Heather L. Rivera and Robert Arp, Perry Mason and Philosophy: The Case of the Awesome Attorney, (Popular Culture and Philosophy), Open Court, 2020; Thomas Leitch, Perry Mason (TV Milestones), Wayne State University Press, 2005; Elayne Rapping, Law and Justice as Seen on TV, NYU Press, 2003; J. Madison Davis, "The Life and Times of Perry Mason: The Evolution of Today's Legal Thrillers," World Literature Today v86 n6 (Nov.-Dec. 2012), pp 9-11.
    2 To the Perry creators’ credit they avoided casting African-Americans in clichéd or negative roles such as drug dealers, pimps, maids, mob bosses, prostitutes, athletes, entertainers, or destitute poor. Curiously, it’s the Hispanics (Mexicans and Mexican-Americans mostly) who get the short end in the Perry universe, as they are frequently portrayed stereotypically by vocation, accent, or clothes.
      Mexicans and Mexican-Americans suffer the further indignity of frequently being portrayed by actors and actresses of non-Mexican pedigree. Over Perry's nine seasons we had, among others, a Cuban, a (non-Hispanic) American, an Egyptian, and a Russian standing in for Mexicans, all the more difficult to justify given that there must have been scores of capable Mexican-American actors and actresses available in Los Angeles in the late 1950s and early 1960s. 
      For an international context, in "The Guilty Clients" episode a [part]-Creole (Faith Domergue) played an Argentine and an American (Lisa Gaye) her well-heeled, also Argentine, cousin. Moreover, in another episode ("The Greek Goddess") the very un-Greek Miss Domergue portrays a, alas ill-fated, Greek matron. There are many other examples that might be cited that illustrate the Perry show's rather casual, mix and match approach to ethnic characters, but in fairness, probably no more so than other tv programs of the era.   
     Another group that gets the worst of it are the Native Americans. I could be wrong but I don't recall ever seeing a character played by a Native American actor, even in a bit part or cameo. Update, 24 Oct 2025 : perhaps I need to modify my comment above about Native Americans, at least somewhat. Indeed, one (part) Native American actress appeared in the guest cast in a Perry episode, "The Barefaced Witness" to be precise. Eloise Hardt was the daughter of a Cherokee mother and a German father, though to be sure, she's playing an Anglo character in the episode. So the claim that the Perry show had no Native American characters seems to stand.
    3 The Twilight Zone went Perry one better with an episode (“The Big Tall Wish”) with a near all-black cast.
    4 A fun bit of trivia: in 1932 Gail Patrick Jackson, who then went by ‘Gail Patrick’, was one of the four finalists in the national contest for the coveted role of the Panther Woman in the horror cult classic Island of Lost Souls. She lost out to Kathleen Burke but later commented that losing the Panther Woman contest was the best thing that ever happened to her. She went on to a successful career as an actress, mostly in B movies, but is best remembered today for her work with the Perry show.
     5 Alas, my enthusiasm for the guest casts is tempered by a certain sadness when I contemplate that almost all of the cast members, guest and regular, have passed on. To see them perform at their absolute peak, both physically and artistically, is always a privilege, and it serves as a sobering reminder that none of us is immortal and it's always a stacked deck when we're dealt the mortality hand.
    6 Many of the thespians of officialdom appear multiple times playing the same character, especially the judges. Exceptions: in one case a judge was also a guest cast member, and that was Lillian Bronson, who appeared as a judge three times and once as the doting housekeeper who looks after “The Sulky Girl." Other exceptions are 'Miss Carmody,' who, in addition to her many guises, had also appeared as a jail and court matron, and Don Dubbins, who was a Deputy D.A. three times and other characters in four stories.
     Paul Fix was a kind of hybrid in the guest cast/not guest cast sweepstakes. He appeared in five episodes as a District Attorney. In four of the five appearances the character's name was Hale, and in one no name was given. In each episode he was the District Attorney, but the story took place in a different city each time.
    7 For me it’s fun to speculate on these and other uncredited performers: who were these actors and actresses anyway? What happened to their careers? Could someone make a living by appearing as an extra and bit player? Did they appear in other TV series? How were they selected, and why did certain individuals like Miss Carmody become such favorites?

brief candles: Maria Callas (1923-1977)

   Maria by Callas [videorecording (DVD)]. Sony Pictures Classics release; Elephant Doc, Petit Dragon and Unbeldi Productions present; a film by Tom Volf. Originally released as a motion picture in 2017.  Wide screen (16x9, 1.78:1). Special features: Q&A with director Tom Volf; trailers. Editing, Janice Jones; archive colorization, Samuel Francois-Steiniger; reader, Joyce DiDonato.
    Summary: A portrait of one of history's most extraordinarily talented women. Told through private letters, unpublished memoirs, performances and TV interviews, the film is the first to tell the life story of the legendary Greek-American opera singer completely in her own words with never-before-seen footage.

   Hamlet told us the play’s the thing, but when we turn our attentions to classical music, the composer is king. Not a perfect analogy perhaps, but the point is thus: that musical performers, no matter how gifted, might rightly be dubbed the art form’s second-tier talents. However … there are exceptions, and a handful of strictly performing musicians are deserving of the epithet genius, and on this very short and select list certainly belongs Maria Callas.

   One of the characteristics of genius is that it breaks new ground, allowing us to see – and hear – the world in different, more exciting ways. And indeed while Callas is, deservingly so, given a large amount of credit for the revival of interest in the bel canto repertoire, her influence on opera extended in ways far outside the purely musical.

   She was a great actress in an era when acting ability wasn’t the big draw, reminding us that the singer must look, and act, the part [1]. Moreover, she always insisted on high standards of production. For Callas, an opera would only work if it was conceived and presented as a total theatrical experience. But the sword cut both ways, with ironic results. In the past half century or so, better and more innovative productions have led to the primacy of the stage director, along with the subsequent demotion of singers and conductors.

   There was also Callas the pop culture phenomenon. The always immaculately coiffed and dressed diva came to embody the cult of glamour and celebrity as it blossomed in the post World War II years, though in fairness she’s probably a reflection of this trend, rather than causal factor.

 

   In any case the documentary Maria by Callas alternates between Callas the woman and Callas the artist, and sometimes we’re not sure where one ends and the other begins. There are lots of readings from her diary and personal correspondence, as well as interviews, plus of course arias (happily, presented in their entirety). Also rare video footage, much in, albeit sometimes colorized, color. Not so surprising, we learn that Callas was a complex woman: relentlessly pursued by pesky reporters and photographers, she suffered their unwanted attentions with grace and patience, most of the time anyway. On the other hand, for such an intensely private person, she was an eminently available interview subject.

   The chronology of Maria by Callas is a little vague. It jumps around a lot, and, most regrettable, there’s very little of her early years when she essayed even Wagner, and by all accounts, very well. The heaviness of those these years didn’t confine itself to repertoire; it’s said Callas shed up to eighty pounds to attain her svelte, echt-Fifties look (some sources say it was closer to sixty pounds).

   Musically a couple of numbers stand out: a soulful, lyric “Casta Diva” from a gala Paris performance, and even more so, the “Habanera” from Carmen (not sure of the venue here), in which she’s arguably more secure technically than almost anything else on the DVD. Her performance gives us a tantalizing glimpse of how strong a singer and how electric a performer Maria Callas really was. Her mezzo-like vocal timbre and fiery temperament seemed ready made for the role. Besides, she seems to be having just a plain good time singing the part, and it’s our loss she never performed Carmen onstage.

   Callas wasn’t an intellectual, but there’s a cerebral sheen to her answers to interviewers’ questions as she walks a fine line between the candid and the guarded, brilliantly so. And then there’s the accent, mid-Atlantic and always with a touch of the exotic. There’s one incident when Callas actually loses her cool. Predictably it’s when she goes into a tirade against Metropolitan Opera general manager Rudolf Bing over what she feels are the Met’s poor productions. Here we get a glimpse of La Callas at her tempestuous best, or is it worst? In either case, it only tends to humanize her and make her all the more attractive.

   Criticisms of Maria by Callas for its rather sketchy, patchy structure and relentlessly pro-Callas tone, especially the stacked deck, first-person only narration, are well taken. Thus I’ll defer to others to opine whether this is the best Callas documentary out there. But considered on its own merits, it’s a unique historical artifact for the rare footage, musical excerpts and best of all, Maria Callas on La Callas in her own words.

   Opera fans are an opinionated lot. Passions run high, and nothing gets an enthusiast’s back up like discussions of the ‘best’ singers, and no opera diva of the Twentieth Century ever inspired passions in the same way that Maria Callas did. Criticized, even vilified during her peak years in the mid and late Fifties, nonetheless even in her own lifetime the pendulum swung back and within a few years the Callas comeback was complete, as witnessed by the ecstatic reception of her return to the Met to sing Tosca, as well as the enthusiastic crowds during her final tour with tenor Giuseppe Di Stefano.

   Her posthumous reputation only increases and her legend continues to grow: today La Callas the musician and cultural phenomenon occupies a unique niche as quasi-divinity for devotees and even casual fans (not for nothing that she’s often referred to as La Divina). The documentary Maria by Callas is a unique and fitting tribute to its eminently worthy subject, and moreover serves to remind us that indeed Maria has gotten in the last word.

  [1] Callas was such a natural as an actress that we're the poorer that she only appeared in one feature film, Medea (1970).
 

Callas as Medea

the Fifties were 'the best of everything'

The Best of Everything. Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation; screenplay by Edith Sommer and Mann Rubin; directed by Jean Negulesco. Based on the novel by Rona Jaffe. Director of photography, William C. Mellor; film editor, Robert Simpson; music, Alfred Newman. Performers: Hope Lange, Stephen Boyd, Suzy Parker, Martha Hyer, Diane Baker, Brian Aherne, Robert Evans, Louis Jourdan, Joan Crawford.
Summary: It’s 1959, a time of post-WW2 prosperity and Cold War angst. New York is the publishing and intellectual capital of America. Four typists at a publishing house fight to have their own careers and find true love in the ruthless New York business world.

style ****
substance ***1/2

The Best of Everything is often lumped together with late Fifties and early Sixties camp classics like Valley of the Dolls (recently reviewed in these pages) and Peyton Place. To be exact, Dolls appeared nearly a decade later, in 1967, and in the opinion of the writer, is a much different, and ultimately inferior, work to both aforementioned titles. But more on that later.

First, it must be admitted that said comparisons are not without merit. And inasmuch as Everything’s über Fifties gestalt might solidify its status as the original Valley of the Dolls, it also harkens back to those ‘women’s pictures’ of the early Thirties which starred the likes of Kay Francis, Ruth Chatterton, Joan Blondell and, yes, Joan Crawford, the present film’s nominal but mostly invisible star.

Indeed, there are striking similarities to Valley of the Dolls: three ingénues try their hand at the big time, and one meets with a tragic end. There’s also an intimidating, tough-as-nails old pro that the ingénues secretly aspire to. In both films this character is portrayed by a mega-star from cinema’s Golden Age. Both films are set in an artsy milieu, and both have male romantic interests that cut pretty poor figures, caddish in one film and weak and dull in the other. There is an equivocal ending in which the main ingénue literally walks out of the picture. And of course both have lushly romantic music scores with memorable title tunes.

Even with all the topical elements, Best of Everything has aged pretty well. The characters and their concerns still resonate, and moreover, the production elements are first-rate and everything works together in beautiful synergy, all contributing to a very easy-to-watch cinematic experience. An exception: the much-praised mod office interiors. Truth to tell they didn’t do that much for me. I’m more partial to the coffee shop where the principals like to hang out, or theatre auteur David Wilder Savage’s book- and African art-laden bachelor pad.

The opening pan of New York City with the lush theme music sets the tone and recalls the beginning of Love is a Many Splendored Thing (the panorama in that film was Hong Kong), with music again by Fox mainstay Alfred Newman [1]. Johnny Mathis’s silky voice croons the lilting title tune and we can be forgiven for thinking this one will be another campy soaper. But no, it’s not. And in fact it wouldn’t be too far off the mark to say the opening sequence is the best part of the entire film from a purely cinematic point of view. The street scenes of folks going to work are also reminiscent of the, more frantic, opening of North by Northwest, which came out the same year.

Best of Everything gives us a glamorous, well-scrubbed New York that was the center of the universe, populated by beautiful people and beautiful people-wannabes in which all the women wear Dior dresses and the men favor gray suits. A Weegee’s New York it's not: for all the inter-office backbiting in the story, from a purely visual standpoint there’s not a hint of the literally dark New York we see in other films of the era (TV shows, too), most blisteringly so in the sulfuric, gloves-off late noir classic Sweet Smell of Success. But I digress.

As for the principals, Best of Everything is for the most part exceptionally well cast. In what’s little more than an extended cameo, Joan Crawford is wonderful playing a very Joan Crawford-esque character to which she manages to bring some nice shadings. And for all of Joan’s (in)famous scenery chewing, this is actually a rather restrained performance. It helps that she’s ably directed by former collaborator Jean Negulesco. Usually thought of as a Forties film noir specialist, here he shows a nice touch for a Fifties aesthetic and maybe deserves the credit for reining Joan in. The three girls in the big city – Hope Lange, Suzy Parker, and Diane Baker – are well chosen and bring energy and believability to their roles. The men, both actors and characters, fare less well, though oily Louis Jordan and an Errol Flynn-esque Brian Aherne make strong impressions.

Getting back to the Valley of the Dolls comparison: The Best of Everything is more subtle, more honest, and certainly less over-the-top, and thus has few if any of the camp qualities of Dolls. It may simply be that Everything is the genuine item, i.e. a Fifties story actually shot in the Fifties, while Dolls was a Fifties idea shot in the ultimate swinging Sixties, summer-of-love year of 1967.

In any case, times and tastes have changed but people and emotions haven’t, and The Best of Everything is a nostalgic, tasty slab of angel food cake with scoop of ice cream topping served with warm milk chaser, scrumptiously delicious in its plushy, easy to digest beauty, but even a little nourishing in spite of itself, best viewed with a hanky or two nearby.

[1] Actually I prefer the dreamy, piano dominated theme associated with the Suzy Parker character to the brought-back-one-time-too-many main title tune.

Further reading:

Jacobs, Laura. “The Lipstick Jungle.” Vanity Fair, March 2004.
Negulesco, Jean. Things I Did and Things I Think I Did. New York: Linden Press/Simon & Schuster, 1984.

Bettie Page Reveals All (2012)

Bettie Page Reveals All. Single Spark Pictures. 101 minutes. [2012]. Color and b&w. Mark Mori, director; Doug Miller, writer. With: Hugh Hefner, Dita Von Teese, Rebecca Romijn, Paula Claw, Tempest Storm. Narrated by Bettie Page.
Summary: An intimate look at one of the world's most recognized sex symbols, told in her own words for the first time. From an impoverished Southern family to scandalous '50s pin-up model, to shocking retirement in 1957 at the peak of her modeling career. With an array of gorgeous photographs, unusual archival material, and movie footage.
Bonus features: Restored Irving Klaw Wiggle movies starring Bettie; The early years of Bettie Page; Deleted scenes & bonus footage; Phone call with Bettie and Paula Klaw; Bettie's funeral video; Photo gallery of never-before-seen Bettie pics.

style ***     substance ***1/2


The documentary Bettie Page Reveals All is a loving biographical tribute to one of American pop culture’s most durable and recognizable sex symbols. What’s most remarkable about Reveals All is that it’s in a sense an authorized biography as Bettie's husky-voiced narration overlays much of the film, giving us invaluable insight into the woman in all her shadings of innocence, worldliness and intense spirituality.

Bettie disappeared from public life in 1957 more or less at the height of her modeling career, and languished in obscurity, semi-poverty and mental illness for over a quarter century. She was both thrilled and mystified at her resurgence in popularity in the 1990s. As is mentioned in the film she had a sense about when not to appear; even as she was a huge star again she became camera shy and made few public appearances, preferring her fans remember her when she was young and photogenic.
It’s difficult to think of a film star or other pop culture figure who achieved a comparable legendary status based on work created in such a short period of time. Only James Dean comes to mind, and curiously his peak years in the mid-1950s almost match Bettie’s perfectly [1].

It’s a tribute to filmmaker Mori that he treats the subject matter with dignity and respect: even with all the spicy photos that pepper the presentation there’s no sense that Mori is exploiting his subject. The controversial - for its time - content is never presented in sensationalist or lurid manner. Mori is also to be commended for giving full due Bettie’s Christian faith, which she speaks of, though never heavy-handedly. Ultimately by the film’s end we like and admire Bettie even more. Indeed it’s a measure of her mainstream respectability that one of her more unlikely admirers was the Rev. Robert Schuller, who appears in a clip from the film and conducted her memorial service.

But the more basic question is: what is there about Bettie Page that gives her such wide appeal today? It’s not that there weren’t other pinup models around in the 1950s. The answer must be her wholesome glamour and naturalness, along with a total lack of pretentiousness in the photos and the woman herself.
Another key ingredient is that Bettie was from a rural background (more or less); she grew up in Nashville, Tennessee and essentially retained a down home quality and outdoorsy athleticism all her life, and somehow this comes through in the photos. Thus so many scenes of her romping on the beach, frolicking in the water, or in the forest, or surrounded by wild animals, in sharp contrast to the illicit, urban sexuality that dominated the pin-ups and girlie magazines of the era.

Yet for all her exuberant self-expression and ostensible spontaneity, Bettie played for the camera brilliantly with the instincts of a true actress [2]. It’s just that she never seems to be posing, at least not in any self-conscious sense. And not surprisingly pin-up photographers preferred her over all other models. Adding to the mix is the sense that she’s enjoying herself. Bettie seems to be telling us that physicality in general and sexuality in particular is normal, healthy, and most of all fun, and often funny.

Even in her notorious bondage flicks there’s never any sense of real danger or physical pain, but rather always a wink and a nod, letting us know it’s all in good fun. Ironically it was these films in particular that outraged the morality police in the ever-repressed 1950s and inspired the infamous raids and subsequent congressional investigations.

It’s perhaps only fitting then that Reveals All, despite its virtues, has a certain clunkiness in execution. So be it. This might even be an unintended compliment and indirect reference to Bettie and her gloriously subversive, no-frills art. Much of the charm of her oeuvre was that Bettie’s creative universe was more seat-of-the-pants than that of the era’s other sex goddesses & pin-up queens - Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, and Ava Gardner - who had the full powers (i.e. money) of the film industry behind them.

In their very primitiveness there’s something very lean & basic about the photos – what you see is what you get, and Bettie is always a revelation, an explosion of exuberance and the full joy of life, nothing phony or over refined. She was who she was, and in this she never waivered. As one of her photographers so aptly put it: "She projected. She came right out at you." That she did.

See also: Ella Taylor, A Side of Bettie you’ve (somehow) never seen; Gaby Wood, A dominatrix laid bare. Then there’s The Notorious Bettie Page (2005), the feature film biography of which Bettie famously disapproved.

[1] The brief career - and subsequent resurgence in popularity decades later - of Fifties horror hostess Vampira might rate a strong honorable mention.

[2] With no disrespect to the main feature, the real hidden gem of the Reveals All DVD is the generous helping of bonus features. Especially noteworthy are the vintage short movies Bettie made under the supervision of producer Irving Klaw. This is Bettie at her devastating mid-1950s peak, very much in her element as she gyrates, undulates and dances her way through these rough-around-the-edges shorts. Bettie obviously loved the camera and the camera loved her back: skimpily clad in her trademark black undergarments and four-inch stiletto heels, she exudes the same charisma as in her stills, and what's more proves herself to be quite the athlete, and quite a dancer (apparently she loved dancing). Some of her movements even suggest the acrobat or gymnast. In one number she brandishes dominatrix whip. 
   We can only sigh at our loss that Bettie Page never made a feature-length motion picture. How could the film industry have missed her? Beautiful and photogenic to the nth degree, and knowing all the tricks of the trade in posing and mugging for the camera, she would for all the world have been can't-miss material for the movies. Big however - would her magic have translated to the big screen? Would her Southern accent, so charming and affable as she narrates Reveals All, have been a help, or hindrance? Alas, we'll never know the answer to these questions, since at the height of her powers she disappeared from public life for a quarter century.