Freeman, Mona

Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis Collection - Vol. 1 (The Caddy / Jumping Jacks / My Friend Irma / My Friend Irma Goes West / Sailor Beware / Scared Stiff / That's My Boy)

Includes: My Friend Irma My Friend Irma Goes WestThat's My BoySailor BewareJumping JacksThe StoogeScared StiffThe Caddy System Requirements:Run Time: 794 minsFormat: DVD MOVIE Genre: COMEDY Rating: NR UPC: 097360413748 Manufacturer No: 041374

A nightclub act with a handsome singer and an anarchic monkey-boy became a potent box-office force in the early 1950s. Although their wild live antics never translated intact to the screen, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were an instant movie hit; they had two films in the box-office top ten of 1951, and another two in the top ten of 1952. Paramount repays this effort with its Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis Collection, Volume One, which gathers most of their early efforts at the studio.

Martin and Lewis were introduced in 1949's My Friend Irma, a big-screen version of a popular radio show. The boys are in support, but their high jinks were the hit of the movie, and their portion of screen time ballooned in My Friend Irma Goes West, which they basically take over. Both movies are enjoyable comedies, and especially in the sequel Lewis's lunatic style of mugging, vocal calisthenics, and physical shtick makes him look like an animal uncaged.

Not included in this set is their first starring vehicle, At War with the Army. The next six consecutive films are here, beginning with one of their best, 1951's That's My Boy. Jerry plays the athletically hopeless son of a famous football hero (Eddie Mayehoff, a funny man). It's a measure of how much Lewis had grabbed the public's imagination that Dino doesn't show up until the film is 20 minutes old. (Lewis later wrote that he arranged for "That's Amore" to be included in The Caddy to bolster Martin's popularity.) Also from 1951, Sailor Beware is a service comedy with some hilarious sequences--Lewis conducting a male chorus, for instance, or undergoing a slightly surreal medical exam--and the team still has a freshness despite the movie formula. Their timing together in the punchdrunk-boxer routine shows some of the chemistry they must have had onstage.

Jumping Jacks (1952) is the least of Martin & Lewis's service comedies, with Lewis as a showbiz performer who pretends to be in the military as a favor to Dean. The Stooge, same year, is one of their best teamings, this time with a touch of pathos along with the laughs: Martin is a self-centered singer who can't acknowledge that his hired stooge is the reason his act is boffo. Along with the backstage stuff, the movie demonstrates how skilled Lewis's singing was, even in a comic purpose.

1953's Scared Stiff is a warmed-over remake of the Bob Hope comedy The Ghost Breakers, and shows that the boys were overworked; the story is lame and the clowning feels more desperate (although Lewis has a few moments imitating co-star Carmen Miranda). In The Caddy, from the same year, Martin indulges his real-life passion for golf, and Lewis plays the neglected caddy. It's a return to form, borrowing a Stooge vibe, and boasts an odd framing story with the boys playing a nightclub act very much like Martin & Lewis.

Unless you're already a fan, your enthusiasm for this set will depend on your tolerance for Jerry Lewis and his manic, childlike dementia. Either you'll laugh, resist, or become fascinated at the naked, look-at-me neediness of his act. Dean Martin can be appreciated for the difficult job of playing straight man to this craziness (notice, too, how his singing voice comes into its own, from imitation Bing Crosby in the first couple of pictures to the familiar, relaxed style of vintage Dino). The DVD set provides no supporting features, but this is the first chapter of a hugely profitable and popular showbiz phenomenon. Just one more thing: "Who's your little whoozis? Who's your toitle dove?" --Robert Horton

Battle Cry

Van Heflin Aldo Ray and Tab Hunter in Raoul Walsh's hard-hitting-action epic of Marine Corps heroism in the WWII Pacific based on Leon Uris' gritty best-seller. Year: 1955Running Time: 149 min.Format: DVD MOVIE Genre: DRAMA UPC: 085392432820 Manufacturer No: 24328

The most interesting--and entertaining--aspect of this long, episodic World War II drama is that it marked the debut of one Justus E. McQueen, who subsequently took the name of the good ol' Arkansas boy he played in the movie: L.Q. Jones. He's only one of eight or nine Marine recruits who divide the screen time with commanding officer Van Heflin and James Whitmore as a lifer sergeant named Mac, "just Mac," who ramrods their squad and also delivers the movie's overbearing narration. Unfortunately, the narration is necessary to maintain continuity as the CinemaScope production galumphs its way from rounding up the melting-pot cast, to seeing them through basic training and sundry, mostly amatory misadventures in San Diego, to further training in New Zealand, and finally to baptism of fire on Guadalcanal.

Trouble is, among the recruits only McQueen/Jones (whose job is mostly comic relief) and Aldo Ray (as a brawling lumberjack who's never known family life) have any charisma or acting chops--and that's not forgetting Tab Hunter, whose matinee-idol status at the time does not speak well for the '50s. Battle Cry is also a cardinal example of Hollywood's penchant for buying big, lusty, profane bestsellers (by Leon Uris, in this case) and then euphemizing all the lustiness and profanity to appease the censors. Raoul Walsh, the poet laureate of lowdown gusto, does what he can in the circumstances, and as one of the first guys ever to direct a widescreen movie (1930's The Big Trail), he makes the battle scenes roar. --Richard T. Jameson

Angel Face

Otto Preminger who showed how to mix a beautiful woman with murder in the landmark Laura directs this tale of a passion gone haywire. Frank's a regular guy with a steady girl and a dream of owning his own garage when he crosses paths with Diane. She wants him. Or does she want a fall guy to blame when Diane's stepmother plunges off a high cliff and leaves her fortune to Diane? Alibis betrayals courtroom thrills and the fire of a woman too dangerous to trust and too alluring to resist make Angel Face a film-noir classic.Running Time: 91 min.System Requirements:Run Time: 91 minsFormat: DVD MOVIE Genre: TELEVISION/CLASSIC UPC: 053939778120 Manufacturer No: T7781

Robert Mitchum was already a dab hand at film noir when he stepped into the delicious trap of Angel Face, Otto Preminger's 1952 addition to the genre. Here Mitchum plays an amazingly seducible guy who falls under the spell of spoiled rich girl Jean Simmons; a former race-car driver, he'd like to open his own sports-car garage, and her money would come in awfully handy. But she's got a few quirks to work out first, including her hostility for her stepmother, who doesn't stand a chance against this poker-faced vixen. True to its title, the film has an absolutely deadpan approach to this material, as Preminger's calm style recalls more the clinical courtroom proceedings of Anatomy of a Murder than the perverse lushness of Laura. Mitchum's in absolutely top form, and Jean Simmons has just right amount of intensity behind her porcelain beauty. The supporting cast is led by Herbert Marshall, as Simmons' father, a writer who's been sponging off his wife for years, and Leon Ames does a skillful turn as a crafty lawyer. The ending is as pre-ordained as can be, and the film moves toward its sinister conclusion without turning its head to explore other options. But that's why we love film noir. --Robert Horton

Copper Canyon

Copper Canyon is a quirky little Western with nothing distinctive to accomplish and more stylish talent on hand than it needs to get the job done. Director John Farrow, writer Jonathan Latimer, and star Ray Milland had recently collaborated on a pair of suave Paramount thrillers (The Big Clock and Alias Nick Beal). Here Milland plays a trick-shooting frontier vaudevillian who, under another name, may have been a Confederate war hero--and a bit of a rascal. He isn't admitting anything. But he does pitch in to help some ex-Rebels, now copper miners, who are getting shafted by a sanctimonious Yankee smelter operator, a lady gambler (Hedy Lamarr in her next-to-last Hollywood film), and a murderous deputy sheriff (Macdonald Carey). The action comes in fits and starts, but Milland's out-of-place urbanity, Charles Lang's Technicolor camerawork, and those great red-rock formations around Sedona, Arizona, make 84 minutes pass agreeably. --Richard T. Jameson

Branded

They don't make 'em like Branded anymore. Actually, they hardly make 'em at all. Westerns, that is, with their big skies and scenic technicolor vistas, rousing musical scores, cattle and cowpokes, bad guys and prairie damsels, horses and wagons and dust. Branded has all of that, and a good story, decent acting, and superior writing to go with it. Alan Ladd plays Choya, a morally ambiguous loner (asked if he has any friends or kinfolk, he submits "my guns" and "my horse") and falsely-accused bandit who gets pulled into a "foolproof" million dollar scam that involves impersonating the long-lost son of a rich Texas cattle rancher. Needless to say, complications ensue. The villain (Robert Keith) starts getting antsy; the rancher, Lavery (Charles Bickford), and his wife turn out to be kind, decent folks; Choya takes an interest in his "sister" (Mona Freeman) that goes well beyond fraternal devotion; and his conscience kicks in, too. His ruse revealed, feeling guilt-ridden and seeking redemption, Choya spends the second half of the film on a quest to find the real missing Lavery heir (no easy task, as "Tonio" has been raised by a notorious Mexican outlaw)… and, in the end, to discover that what he really wants and needs is the family he's just betrayed. We all know how it will turn out, of course, but Branded is a good, wholesome family fare, and a lot of fun to boot. This DVD release contains no bonus features. --Sam Graham

In BRANDED, Ladd plays Choya, a bandit who poses as the long-lost son of a wealthy Texas rancher. Shamed by the kindness of his new family and attracted to his lovely "sister," Choya vows to right the wrong he's done them. He rides out in search of the real missing heir...and into adventure as big as the western sky.

Cecil B. DeMille's The Greatest Show on Earth

That Brennan Girl (1946)

Angel Face [Region 2]

Robert Mitchum was already a dab hand at film noir when he stepped into the delicious trap of Angel Face, Otto Preminger's 1952 addition to the genre. Here Mitchum plays an amazingly seducible guy who falls under the spell of spoiled rich girl Jean Simmons; a former race-car driver, he'd like to open his own sports-car garage, and her money would come in awfully handy. But she's got a few quirks to work out first, including her hostility for her stepmother, who doesn't stand a chance against this poker-faced vixen. True to its title, the film has an absolutely deadpan approach to this material, as Preminger's calm style recalls more the clinical courtroom proceedings of Anatomy of a Murder than the perverse lushness of Laura. Mitchum's in absolutely top form, and Jean Simmons has just right amount of intensity behind her porcelain beauty. The supporting cast is led by Herbert Marshall, as Simmons' father, a writer who's been sponging off his wife for years, and Leon Ames does a skillful turn as a crafty lawyer. The ending is as pre-ordained as can be, and the film moves toward its sinister conclusion without turning its head to explore other options. But that's why we love film noir. --Robert Horton

Battle Cry [Region 2]

The most interesting--and entertaining--aspect of this long, episodic World War II drama is that it marked the debut of one Justus E. McQueen, who subsequently took the name of the good ol' Arkansas boy he played in the movie: L.Q. Jones. He's only one of eight or nine Marine recruits who divide the screen time with commanding officer Van Heflin and James Whitmore as a lifer sergeant named Mac, "just Mac," who ramrods their squad and also delivers the movie's overbearing narration. Unfortunately, the narration is necessary to maintain continuity as the CinemaScope production galumphs its way from rounding up the melting-pot cast, to seeing them through basic training and sundry, mostly amatory misadventures in San Diego, to further training in New Zealand, and finally to baptism of fire on Guadalcanal.

Trouble is, among the recruits only McQueen/Jones (whose job is mostly comic relief) and Aldo Ray (as a brawling lumberjack who's never known family life) have any charisma or acting chops--and that's not forgetting Tab Hunter, whose matinee-idol status at the time does not speak well for the '50s. Battle Cry is also a cardinal example of Hollywood's penchant for buying big, lusty, profane bestsellers (by Leon Uris, in this case) and then euphemizing all the lustiness and profanity to appease the censors. Raoul Walsh, the poet laureate of lowdown gusto, does what he can in the circumstances, and as one of the first guys ever to direct a widescreen movie (1930's The Big Trail), he makes the battle scenes roar. --Richard T. Jameson