Eat my dust

He passed away on September 28, 2007 of this year, but my Bombast Comcast.net home page is just now getting the news that Charles B. Griffith, a writer-director-producer…and even sometime actor, has gone on to his rich reward.  He was 77.

Griffith will remain best-known for his authorship on the screenplay for Roger Corman’s The Little Shop of Horrors (1960), a.k.a. The Film Shot in Two Days (though this isn’t technically true); a cult favorite about a nebbish (Jonathan Haze) who makes good in the floral business after finding a plant that begins to demonstrate none-too-attractive cannibalistic qualities.  (Horrors was later brought to the stage in musical form, and that in turn saw a cinematic version directed by Frank Oz in 1986.)  In addition to the screenplay, Griffith served as second unit director (uncredited) and actor (he plays three roles—one of which is the voice of Audrey, Jr.) on the project.

Personally, I’m not a fan of either version of Horrors—the 1960 version doesn’t have the budget it needs to get the picture’s admittedly novel concept across, and the 1986 film has a sugary-sweet happy ending tacked on.  I prefer Griffith’s treatment for A Bucket of Blood (1959), a mordant black comedy about a nebbish (Dick Miller) who becomes the toast of the art world by murdering people and encasing them in clay.  Among the other memorable Corman films he wrote are It Conquered the World (1956), Not of This Earth (1957), Rock All Night (1957), The Undead (1957) and The Wild Angels (1966).

Naturally, when working for Roger Corman, you’re going to wind up directing at one time or another—just ask Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola, Jack Nicholson, Peter Bogdanovich, Jonathan Demme, etc., etc., etc.  Griffith got the opportunity to sit in the director’s chair on a few occasions, notably the Ron Howard car crash delight Eat My Dust (1976) and Dr. Heckyl and Mr. Hype (1980), an interesting (if unsuccessful) take on the Dr. Jekyll tale starring Oliver Reed.

Regular readers know that I’m quite enamored of Mr. Corman—the King of the B’s—so when I hear of the passing of one of his loyal minions, I can’t help but be more than a little depressed.  R.I.P., Charles—you will be missed.

Farewell, George

From my Bombast Comcast.net webpage comes some truly devastating news.  Actor George Grizzard has gone on to his rich reward at the age of 79.

His obituary covers in nice detail his incredible acting range, particularly in the area of live theater.  I wasn’t at all aware of Grizzard’s stage accomplishments—he won a Tony Award for his performance in 1996’s Edward Albee’s A Delicate Balance, and nominations for his work in The Disenchanged (1959) and Big Fish, Little Fish (1961).  His stage debut was opposite Paul Newman, playing his brother in 1955’s The Desperate Hours, which was later brought to the silver screen with Humphrey Bogart in the starring role.  Other highlights include Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (the original 1962 production), California Suite (1976) and Judgment at Nuremberg (2001).

Grizzard also did a goodly amount of television work, including the prestigious dramatic anthology Playhouse 90.  Among the series he appeared on: Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Twilight Zone, Rawhide, Ben Casey, Medical Center, Hawaii Five-O and Law & Order, on which he had a recurring role as Arthur Gold.  He also copped a Best Supporting Actor Emmy in 1980 playing opposite Henry Fonda in the TV-movie The Oldest Living Graduate.

But I’ll personally remember Grizzard best for performances in films like Advise & Consent (1962, as Senator Ackerman), Warning Shot (1967, as the flaky pilot-playboy who befriends David Janssen’s cop) and Bachelor Party (1984) because—and I mean absolutely no malice in this—no one could play a better asshole than George.  Any individual who has the cojones to play truly unlikable people time and time again is aces in my book.

R.I.P., Mr. Grizzard.  You will be missed. 

Requiem for a heavyweight producer

My Bombast Comcast.net home page reports the passing of television producer Martin Manulis, who has shuffled off this mortal coil at the age of 92.

This will demonstrate how much of a lowbrow I am, by the way.  I saw Manulis’ name and immediately recognized him as the executive producer of TDOY sitcom fave The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis—not stopping to realize, of course, that he was also the creator of television’s Playhouse 90, one of the most prestigious dramatic anthology series in the history of the TV airwaves, with productions like Requiem for a Heavyweight and Days of Wine and Roses to his credit.

Manulis was also the producer of the movie adaptation of Wine and Roses, which starred Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick., and he dabbled in film production through the 1960s with films like Dear Heart (1964) and Luv (1967) among his credits.  But it was on the small screen that he achieved his greatest fame, producing various programs from the likes of Suspense to Studio One to Adventures in Paradise to James at 15.

R.I.P., Mr. Manulis—you will be missed.

Jan Sterling, dead at 82

Man...I just learned via an Old-Time Radio Digest post from Kermyt Anderson that one of my favorite actresses, Jan Sterling, has passed on. (By the way, there's an excellent website dedicated to her and maintained by her son Adams Douglas, whose father was Paul Douglas, actor and one-time OTR announcer.)

Where to start? She made appearances in some of my favorite noirs: Caged (1950, as "Smoochie"), Union Station (1950), Appointment With Danger (1951) and Slaughter on Tenth Avenue (1957). She was great alongside Kirk Douglas in the classic Billy Wilder film Ace in the Hole (1951) (why, oh why won't someone release this to DVD?) and she gives a very nicely understated performance as Humphrey Bogart's wife in Bogey's last hurrah, The Harder They Fall (1956).

She was also in a few of what I like to call my guilty pleasures: Split Second (1953, a great Dick Powell-directed B-pic about a group of people trapped in a ghost town that's due to be destroyed by a nuclear bomb test), Women's Prison (1955)--with a cast that includes Ida Lupino (as a waaaaay over-the-top prison warden), Cleo Moore, Audrey Totter, Phyllis Thaxter and Ida's hubby Howard Duff, and of course, High School Confidential (1958).

The last movie I saw her in was the 1981 comedy First Monday in October (1981), which wasn't all that great, but it did have Walter Matthau in it, and if memory serves me correct, she played his wife. Again, another quiet but effective performance.

R.I.P, Jan -- you will be so missed.

Mercedes McCambridge dies at age 85

'Tis a sad thing to hear that one of my favorite actresses has passed on from natural causes on March 2. Mercedes had an astounding and lengthy career in old-time radio, appearing on programs like I Love a Mystery, Abie's Irish Rose, Big Sister, and Lights Out. She relates a funny anecdote in Chuck Schaden's Speaking of Radio about her work with Himan Brown, creator of radio's Inner Sanctum Mysteries: 

One day I called my exchange for my call on Inner Sanctum and the lady of the exchange said, "You didn't get a call." I was ready to fire the exchange for their inadequacies, but she said, "The calls are out but there's no call for you." So I called Hi Brown and said, "What is this about no call this week?" and he said, "No, I'm sorry, there aren't any women." And I said, "That's no excuse. I've got to pay my rent! Where's the call?" And he said, "Can you play an elevator man?" "Sure, you bet!" And I did and paid my rent.

 

McCambridge also appeared in many of my favorite movies: All the King's Men (1949) (her film debut, for which she copped a richly deserved Best Supporting Actress Oscar), Johnny Guitar (1954) (I would kill to be able to own this on DVD), and Touch of Evil, the 1958 film noir masterpiece directed by Orson Welles. One of her most memorable movie performances is in fact, performed offscreen: that of the voice of the demon in the 1973 horror classic The Exorcist.

RIP, Mercedes. (Thanks to Charlie Summers for the heads-up on this.)

Farewell, Mr. Bartell

Charlie Summers sent the subscribers of The Old-Time Radio Digest a short message this a.m., one of those e-mails you never, ever like receiving.

Veteran radio character actor Harry Bartell passed away February 26, 2004—he was ninety years old.

I never got to meet Harry in person, one of my favorite radio actors and one of the most distinctive voices of that long-ago Golden Age. But every now and then I would get an opportunity to chat with him on mIRC’s #oldradio on Thursday nights. I will never forget the time that Charlie im’d me and asked me if I knew who “Harverly” (his screen name) was—when I told him I didn’t have a clue, he announced proudly that it was Harry. I nearly fell out of my chair, I was in such awe.

Every time Harry dropped in for a chat session, I found it difficult not to gush—and it seemed like every time he participated, I had just heard him on something either that day or the day before. I once told him that his performance on the classic Escape episode “A Shipment of Mute Fate” (3/28/48) was my absolute favorite of all the times it had been broadcast, and he thanked me profusely, declaring it one of his favorite shows as well.

What I loved and admired best about Harry’s work is that it was so effectively understated—case in point, a Gunsmoke episode called “Doc Holliday” (7/19/52), which I had only recently heard after purchasing a CD set of that show. Harry plays the title character, and delivers the goods with a wry, laid-back take on the famed gunslinger, completely blowing away the likes of Victor Mature, Val Kilmer, and anyone else I may have left out. Everything he did, from Dragnet to Escape to Fort Laramie, was performed in a quietly effective manner—you never once got the impression when listening to him of someone saying “Hey, look at me—I’m acting!”

I’m not a religious man by any means—I approach any concept of organized religion with a cynical squint and a healthy skepticism. But I’d like to think that somewhere out in the great beyond, Harry’s been reunited with the likes of Bill Conrad, Parley Baer, Howard McNear, John Dehner, and all the other departed Gunsmoke radio players and that that group are enjoying themselves in endless “Dirty Saturdays” for eternity. That he’s met up with Jack Webb and Ben Alexander to outline a story that is true, but that the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Maybe even Raymond Burr and the gang from Fort Laramie will hook up with Harry, too.

R.I.P., Mr. Bartell – you will be missed. 

Actress Jan Miner dies

I just saw on my homepage where actress Jan Miner passed away Sunday age at the age of 86. I was, of course, exposed to Ms. Miner in my formative years from her appearances in television's Palmolive commercials where she played Madge the manicurist ("You're soaking in it!").

But this is sort of doing her a small disservice. Miner was an accomplished stage actress, and more importantly enjoyed a long career on radio, with featured roles in Boston Blackie, Radio City Playhouse, and Casey, Crime Photographer (she played the part of reporter of Ann Williams in a live television version of this radio chestnut on CBS-TV in 1951-52). She was also part of the fine group of New York radio actors who often worked shows like The Mysterious Traveler and Dimension X, and—I guess this is only natural—had featured roles in daytime dramas like Hilltop House, Lora Lawton, Perry Mason, and The Second Mrs. Burton. Her movie roles include bit parts in films like The Swimmer (1968; one of my very favorites), Lenny (1974), and Mermaids (1990).

R.I.P., Jan. You will be missed.

"I kid you not."

When Jack Paar was in his television prime with The Tonight Show (1957-62), I had not yet arrived on the scene. Even when his prime-time series, The Jack Paar Show, left the airwaves in 1965, I was barely two years old--and I wasn't allowed to stay up past 10 o'clock until I was five or so. (Rimshot!)

So my familiarity with the man comes from mostly archival sources, clips from the 1957-62 series. I watched him on an NBC special that was a tribute to his program, and an American Masters from PBS, "Jack Paar--As I Was Saying..." I saw him on Letterman one night and was impressed in that he seemed to be one of the few guests Dave was in complete awe of. I even caught him on a Password repeat on the Game Show Network one time, which I thought was bizarre. (Though not nearly as bizarre as seeing G. Gordon Liddy on the 1980s revival of that game show--that was truly my Tom Lehrer "satire-died-when-they-gave-Kissinger-the-Nobel-Peace-Prize" moment.)

I guess the closest I've come to experiencing the talent that was Paar was listening to a couple broadcasts of his radio show, which was a situation comedy that replaced The Jack Benny Program during the summer of 1947 on NBC. Benny had "discovered" Paar while entertaining troops at Guadalcanal in 1945, and took such an interest in Paar's career that he even produced Paar's show, enlisting his own writers to assist with the show's scripts. On Benny's last broadcast of the 1946-47 season, he had Paar on as a special guest to give him the proper send-off, and according to Milt Josefsberg's book The Jack Benny Show, Jack asked his other guest, Fred Allen, to take it easy on the young newcomer, particularly when it came to some of Allen's patented barbed ad-libs. (Allen acquiesced, cracking "With you around, Jack, whom else do I need to poke fun at?")

Paar's radio show was the feel-good hit of the summer, and returned in the fall on a new network, ABC. By that time, Paar had developed the famous temperament for which he would become later associated with on The Tonight Show. He fired many of his writers (one of them was M*A*S*H's Larry Gelbart) and gave an unfortunate interview to Time magazine, remarking that he wanted to get away from the "old-hat" comedy practiced by Benny and Allen. (Fred sent Jack a copy of the Time article with a note that read: "Dear Jack—I'm so happy that you told me not to make any ad-libs at the expense of this nice kid.")

In the early 1960s, Paar was engaged in a heated, well-publicized feud with Ed Sullivan, ostensibly over the amount of money that each man was paying for talent to appear on their shows. Benny, making an appearance on Paar's program, chided his host for squabbling with Sullivan, pointing out—in a twisted bit of logic—that had it not been for Sullivan, who gave Benny his break on radio on his interview program in 1931, Benny would not have been able to treat Paar in the same fashion. Both Paar and Sullivan later kissed and made up.

Yesterday, Jack Paar gave his final curtain call and passed away at the age of 85, leaving behind a show business legacy to which I only wish I could have had more exposure. R.I.P, Jack. You will be missed.

A few odds and ends

Jack French reports on The Old-Time Radio Digest that the hunt for the Missing Massachusetts Man is still going on. I have this feeling that Jack will end up confronting this guy on top of a water tower at an abandoned amusement park, but sometimes those are the lengths one must go to in order to keep OTR alive. He commented that actress Shirley Eggleston described the individual she gave the airchecks to as "a heavy set guy," prompting him to crack "that description would fit 40% of the attendees to any FOTR (Friends of Old-Time Radio) convention."

Barbara J. Watkins also mentioned that Sidney Miller (who has appeared in a few of these Suspense programs I've been reviewing) passed away and that the obituary was in the January 13 edition of the Los Angeles Times. R.I.P, Sidney. (Apparently the L.A. Times does not have a link online.)

BearManor Media will be publishing a sequel to its entertaining It's That Time Again! The New Stories of Old Time Radio, titled (what else?) It's That Time Again, Volume 2. I guess the best way to describe these two books is that they consist of fan fiction (or fanfics) written about various shows from Radio's Golden Age. Volume 2 is edited by the one-and-only Jim Harmon, who's contributed two stories based on Sherlock Holmes and The Avenger, but there are also new stories about Vic and Sade, The Whistler, Nightbeat, My Friend Irma and many, many more. I bought the first book last year and enjoyed it tremendously, so when I found out about the sequel I rushed right over to the website and pre-ordered a copy.

Another book I pre-ordered is from "Missing Massachusetts Man" chaser Jack French, whose book on female detectives of OTR, Private Eyelashes, will be due out February 14--you can order this as well at BearManor Media. From the advance publicity, it sounds like a must-have for any OTR fan's library, detailing the history of many shows that have not been fortunate to survive the ravages of time for us to enjoy today. 

R.I.P, Les Tremayne

Barbara J. Watkins reported on The Old-Time Radio Digest that we lost radio actor Les Tremayne yesterday, who passed away at the age of 90.

Tremayne was one of old-time radio's busiest actors--perhaps best remembered for playing the male lead on The First Nighter Program from 1936-43. But his versatility was amazing: he did crime dramas (The Falcon, The Thin Man), soap operas (The Romance of Helen Trent, Wendy Warren and the News), dramatic anthologies (Author's Playhouse, Grand Hotel)--he even played straight man to The Great One himself, Jackie Gleason, on a 1944 summer program called Double Feature! He was also one of the many old pros who participated in the all-too-brief attempt to revive old-time radio in the 1970s, The CBS Radio Mystery Theater.

Tremayne also did some outstanding film work, including roles in The Racket (1951), The War of the Worlds (1953), Forbidden Planet (as the film's narrator) (1956), and a great bit as the auctioneer in one of my favorite movies, North By Northwest (1959). It's funny, though--before I got into OTR, as a kid, I was most familiar with Tremayne as "Mentor" on the CBS Saturday morning kids' show Shazam! (1974-77).

Recently, Tremayne wrote the foreword for Chuck Schaden's wonderful book Speaking of Radio, in addition to being one of the interviewees. RIP, Mr. Tremayne. You'll always be a "Mentor" to me.

Penny Singleton is dead at 95

LOS ANGELES - Penny Singleton, who brought the comic strip character Blondie to life in a popular series of films and was the voice of the mother on The Jetsons has died. She was 95.

Singleton died Wednesday at Sherman Oaks Hospital, two weeks after suffering a stroke, said longtime friend Dick Sheehan.

The Blondie series, which had 28 films from 1938 to 1950, was based on the cartoon strip about the misadventures of a small town family created by Chic Young in 1930. Arthur Lake played Blondie's husband, the bumbling Dagwood Bumstead.

Among the films: Blondie Meets the Boss (1939), Blondie Plays Cupid (1940), and Blondie Knows Best (1946).

"I'm proud and grateful I was Blondie," Singleton said in a 1973 book on film serials, Saturday Afternoon at the Bijou.

"She was dumb and shrewish sometimes," she said. "But she was real and sympathetic and warm, a real woman, a human being. And that's how I tried to play her."

In his "Movie and Video Guide," critic Leonard Maltin wrote that the early entries in the series were "fresh and original — with many clever touches belying the fact that they were low-budget films." "Halliwell's Film Guide" calls Singleton and Lake "perfect screen incarnations."

No one else ever played Blondie and Dagwood on the big screen. Two later Blondie TV series were short-lived.

After her stint as Blondie, Singleton was the voice of Jane Jetson in The Jetsons, Hanna-Barbera's 21st century counterpart to their highly successful Flintstones cartoon family. The show ran in prime time for just one season, 1962-63, but has been widely seen in reruns.

Singleton also appeared in the 1964 film The Best Man but spent most of her time touring in nightclubs and roadshows of plays and musicals such as Call Me Madam.

She became active in the American Guild of Variety Artists, the union representing touring performers, chorus girls and other entertainers. As union vice president in the 1960s, she helped lead a strike by the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes.

Singleton was born in 1908 — some references say 1909 — daughter of a Philadelphia newspaperman. She got her start in show business by winning an amateur contest and was touring in vaudeville by her early teens.

After debuting on Broadway in the late '20s, she began appearing in films, at first under her real name, Dorothy McNulty. She took the name Singleton after marrying dentist Lawrence Singleton in 1937.

In the mid-'30s, she played several roles as shady characters, and got worried she would be typecast.

"I just didn't want to be typed," she once said. "It goes to show you how you can eat your words. I became probably the most typed actress in the world. But, at least (Blondie) had some dignity."

Singleton is survived by two daughters, two grandchildren and a great-grandson.

A friend of mine e-mailed the above to me, but didn't send me a link--so I went ahead and posted the whole thing. Bill Hillman, who has a Penny Singleton website, reports that his hit count has been going through the roof since her passing on Wednesday.

I have a copy of that Saturday Afternoon at the Bijou mentioned in the article, by the way. I bought it online from a used book website, so it's one you have to search for--but if you like old B-pictures and the series films (Charlie Chan, Sherlock Holmes, Andy Hardy, etc.) it's well worth the hunt.

Of course, the article leaves out that the Blondie series also had a successful stint on radio beginning July 3, 1939 and running on all three networks (CBS/NBC/ABC) until July 6, 1950. Singleton (who had left the series by that time) also starred in her own self-titled show over NBC from May 30 to September 26, 1950 as a summer replacement for Fibber McGee & Molly.

R.I.P, Penny.

UPDATE: I have seen practically next to nothing mentioned on any of the news sites of Singleton's passing—leave it to London's The Independent to give this wonderful actress a proper send-off.

Art Carney is dead at 85

Into every person's life a little rain must fall--fresh off my joy that was my recent eBay purchase, a friend e-mails me to let me know that Art Carney has passed away. What a sad, sad thing to have to hear.

What galls me is in his obituary, they give his radio career incredibly short shrift. This is, of course, something OTR fans have come to expect, but to dismiss him as a "second banana on comedy shows" is pretty lame. Actor Richard Widmark once remarked that he was completely unaware of Carney's comedic talents when both actors worked on Gangbusters week after week.

"The first time I saw the guy act," Jackie Gleason once said, "I knew I would have to work twice as hard for my laughs. He was funny as hell." To me, that quote speaks volumes about a great actor like Carney. R.I.P, Art.