52 Movies | Wednesdays in September
For the September spotlight on Studio Directors, TCM presents a look at 52 directors represented by 52 films, spanning 1926 to 1962. While there are a few relatively known names such as Michael Curtiz and Raoul Walsh in the mix, there are no John Fords or Alfred Hitchcocks here. Instead, these are the mostly unsung or even forgotten helmers—such as Edward Buzzell, Alan Crosland and S. Sylvan Simon—who deserve to be better remembered. What unites them all is that they developed their skills while working under contract during the golden studio era. Beginning at 6 a.m. every Wednesday, we salute these tireless talents.
Archie Mayo, for instance, was one of the more prolific and versatile studio directors at Warner Bros. in the 1930s, helming tough Humphrey Bogart classics such as The Petrified Forest (1936) and Black Legion (1937), as well as comedies like It’s Love I’m After (1937) and the long-lost Convention City (1933). Mayo started his career in 1916 and found success directing two-reel comedies in the silent era. A jovial, big-hearted fellow, he often addressed his casts as “you lovely people,” and he hit the sound era running, with The Doorway to Hell (1930) an early talkie gangster classic. He is represented in this spotlight by another pre-Code: The Mayor of Hell (1933), a typical Warner Bros. film of the era in the way it works social commentary into its melodrama. The story of a gangster who tries to reform a reformatory, it takes a long while even to introduce James Cagney as the gangster. Instead, it establishes the world of juvenile delinquents running a street racket who are then sent by a judge to a reform school controlled by a ruthless warden (Dudley Digges). Cagney befriends the kids’ leader, or “mayor” (Frankie Darro), and is a saint to them—while still a tough killer to his gang.
Around the same time, at RKO, Mark Sandrich was preparing to direct the first film to star Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers: The Gay Divorcee (1934). (They had previously appeared in Flying Down to Rio [1933] together, but not as the leads.) Sandrich is one of the more underrated directors of the era. Born in New York and trained as a physicist, he had cut his teeth directing more than 50 RKO shorts in the preceding decade and from 1930-1933 amassed many screenwriting credits. He had a warm personality and a methodical approach on the set. He was also an unsung innovator in musical filmmaking as evidenced by his first feature, the hit musical Melody Cruise (1933). Sandrich went on to direct four more Astaire-Rogers musicals and was a vital part of those movies’ brilliance, even if his own contributions were overshadowed in the public eye. He also directed other fine films including Holiday Inn (1942) and So Proudly We Hail! (1943). Sadly, he died of a heart attack at age 44 close to the start of production on Blue Skies (1946), on which he was replaced by Stuart Heisler.
Whistling in the Dark (1941), a blend of spooky mystery and comedy hijinks, is best remembered as the picture that established Red Skelton as a comic movie star, but less known is the man behind the scenes who was instrumental in making that happen: director S. Sylvan Simon. He had started as a talent scout and a test director for Warner Bros. and Universal before launching a feature career in 1937, soon landing at MGM. He directed over 30 films in 12 years, garnering great respect for his comedy storytelling talents, until his life, like that of Sandrich, was cut short at age 41 by a heart attack. When MGM assigned him to Whistling in the Dark, the story of a radio crime creator forced by criminals to concoct the perfect murder (and which was based on a play that had been filmed once before), Simon used the opportunity to start a fruitful collaboration with Skelton. The industry took notice. Variety declared in its review: “S. Sylvan Simon’s direction milks every laugh in a first-rate job of interpreting the equally first-rate script.” Simon himself later said, “Directing Red is like packing a trunk. You always have twice as much stuff as you have room for.” Simon and Skelton would go on to make four more films together, including two “Whistling” sequels.
Many of director William Dieterle’s films deserve to be better known, but his most famous movies of the 1930s were lavish historical biographies, several of which starred Paul Muni. Their third, The Life of Emile Zola (1937), won the Oscar for Best Picture. The story is that of the famous French writer and his defense of Alfred Dreyfus, who was wrongly accused and convicted by the French authorities of being a spy before Zola helped secure his exoneration. The film was received rapturously by critics and became a huge hit. The industry recognized Dieterle’s talents and he garnered his only Oscar nomination for Best Director. Dieterle wrote that he considered Muni to be “one of the most intelligent actors of our day. Imagine, Zola’s tremendous scene in the courtroom was the first and only take! Contrary to common opinion, I believe in first takes.”
After a filmmaking career in his native Germany, Dieterle had journeyed to Hollywood with the coming of sound to make German-language versions of popular Warner Bros. films. With his knack for fluid camera movement and expressive, graceful visuals, and an ability to work with actors that was informed by his own acting background, Dieterle quickly climbed the ranks at Warner Bros. to become one of the studio’s top house directors. His talent let him get away with some bizarre habits, such as never starting a film unless his astrologer cleared it, and always wearing white gloves on the set.
Director John Cromwell, long under-appreciated, came to Hollywood from an acting and directing career on the stage, and developed a sensitive, fluid directing style that left staginess behind. Upon signing with Paramount in 1928, he made a dozen films before moving to RKO, where he felt he would be offered better-quality material. Eventually, he went freelance and made films at various studios. By the time he started work on The Enchanted Cottage (1945), his only venture into fantasy, Cromwell was a respected director of popular, prestigious and beautifully crafted hits such as The Prisoner of Zenda (1937), Algiers (1938) and Since You Went Away (1944). He was also the president of the Screen Directors Guild, an indication of his respect and standing in Hollywood.
He later told Leonard Maltin, “I loved doing The Enchanted Cottage because it was such a challenge.” The story, updated from a 1922 Arthur Wing Pinero play (and 1924 silent movie version), is an allegorical yet delicate story of the power of love to physically transform a couple. A disfigured, disillusioned World War II veteran, played by Robert Young, ventures to a coastal New England cottage. He meets Dorothy McGuire as a plain Jane who helps run the place, and the two marry more out of convenience than love. But on their honeymoon night, they suddenly look beautiful to each other. His disfigurement vanishes, and her plainness dissolves. Overjoyed, they explain what has happened to their blind neighbor Herbert Marshall, who encourages them to believe the miracle and to treasure it. The superficial opinions of others effects their vision of one another, which tests the true power of their love.
Cromwell, who had great respect for the written word and always insisted on close collaborations with the writer, persuaded producer Harriet Parsons to bring on Herman Mankiewicz to polish the script. As Cromwell told Leonard Maltin, “Ordinarily, he’d be the last guy in the world you would put on this fantasy, but he just adored it, worked hard, and did I think a beautiful script. Those things seemed to happen at RKO all the time.” Robert Young adored the film, too, saying in 1986 that he considered it to be “the best love story that’s ever been written. [It] was one of those films I hated to see end. I wanted it to go on and on and on. It was such a joy to do.”
Roy Rowland learned his trade by directing numerous shorts for MGM in the 1930s, including several for the “Crime Does Not Pay” series, and by working as an assistant director on most of the Tarzan films. Finally, in 1943, he got his chance to direct a feature. He would go on to direct some of MGM’s biggest hits of the 1950s, such as Hit the Deck (1955) and Meet Me in Las Vegas (1956), as well as the wonderfully bizarre cult favorite The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T. (1953), written by Dr. Seuss. He also proved his mettle with The Outriders (1950), a rare Western from MGM. Joel McCrea stars as one of three Confederate soldiers who escape a prison camp in Missouri only to be found by a band of Quantrill’s raiders and forced to hijack a wagon train carrying one million dollars in gold intended for the Union. Filmed in lush Technicolor, the film drew superlative reviews with much mention of Rowland’s direction.
The prolific George Marshall, whose career lasted more than 50 years, got his first chance to direct in 1914—thanks to another director’s hangover. Both Marshall and John Ford were working as assistant directors at Universal, and one day their directors failed to show up after attending a wild party the night before. So, they each took over their respective films and never looked back. Ford, of course, became most associated with Westerns, while Marshall found his strength in comedy, with a great talent for improvisation. He directed Betty Hutton in her first starring role, helped resuscitate Marlene Dietrich’s star wattage with Destry Rides Again (1939), made the first Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis film and cast Lucille Ball opposite Bob Hope in Fancy Pants (1950), the role that revealed her great slapstick comedienne talent.
The Gazebo (1959), the sixth of Marshall’s eight collaborations with Glenn Ford, was one of five in a row made in the late 1950s. These films were so successful that in 1958 Ford was named the top moneymaking star in Hollywood, in an annual exhibitor’s poll. The Gazebo is a black comedy with Ford as a TV writer being blackmailed over some racy photos of his Broadway-actress wife, played by Debbie Reynolds. Ford decides the only way out is to murder the blackmailer, prompting a slew of comic developments and the plot inclusion of a scene-stealing pigeon. Variety deemed the result “an old-fashioned film farce of amusing and often spirited proportions. Director Marshall, achieving a frisky blend of suspense and tomfoolery, put it all together with a bright, well-timed hand.”
For a full rundown of the films and their directors, view the TCM schedule or the Monthly Highlights page.
