Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, and Laurence Olivier in "The Devil's Disciple" (1959)

I watched The Devil’s Disciple this week, a movie from 1959 starring Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, and Laurence Olivier. It’s based on the play of the same name by George Bernard Shaw. The play is from 1897, and is set in New England in 1777, during the American Revolution. Olivier plays British General John Burgoyne, also known as “Gentleman Johnny,” a real-life figure who was also a playwright. Douglas plays Dick Dudgeon, the title character, who is a hedonistic ne’er-do-well. (He’s not actually evil, he’s just sort of an outsider who plays by his own rules and mocks the piety of his fellow townspeople.) Lancaster plays Reverend Anthony Anderson, a rather colorless minister.

The plot concerns the British occupation of the town. Dudgeon’s father is hung by the British as a traitor, and Dudgeon breaks the law by cutting his body down and burying it in Anderson’s churchyard. Anderson invites Dudgeon to his house for dinner, as he thinks he can help redeem Dudgeon. Anderson’s wife Judith is appalled at this idea, as she sees Dudgeon as a hopelessly wicked man who is beyond saving. Despite this, she is attracted to the dashing Dudgeon. When Dudgeon is over for dinner, Anderson is called away. British soldiers then knock on the door wanting to arrest Anderson, whom they believe stole Dudgeon’s father’s body. (Dudgeon is also wanted by the British, which is part of the reason that Anderson is being so nice to him.) When the British mistakenly believe that Dudgeon is Anderson, Dudgeon plays along so as to spare the minister. Anderson is sentenced to hang, and during his brief trial, Dudgeon continues impersonating Anderson until Judith breaks down and reveals Dudgeon’s true identity. However, because Dudgeon has said terrible things about King George during the trial, he is still sentenced to die for being a traitor. Meanwhile, the real Reverend Anderson has learned of Dudgeon’s bravery. Anderson rides off to find Hawkins, a lawyer who he thinks can help. Hawkins is actually the leader of the rebels, and while engaged in a skirmish with the British, Anderson finds his fighting spirit and blows up a British ammunition site. Just as Dudgeon is about to be hanged, Anderson rides into the village and presents General Burgoyne with orders that Dudgeon be freed. Anderson announces that the rebels have just beaten the British at the battle of Saratoga. Burgoyne reluctantly frees Dudgeon. Anderson then tells Judith he has joined the rebels. He tells her she is free to go with Dudgeon if she wants to, and he will not stand in her way. She chooses Anderson over Dudgeon, despite her realization that Dudgeon is good at heart as well.

Despite the terrific pedigree of the three main actors, The Devil’s Disciple falls flat as a movie. Laurence Olivier was underused, as he basically plays little more than a cameo role. It wasn’t necessary to cast as big a star as Olivier in that part. Douglas gives a terrifically extroverted performance, and is a lot of fun to watch, but Lancaster was miscast. There needed to be a bigger contrast between the two actors playing those parts. Because Douglas and Lancaster were so similar as leading men, we’re not surprised when Reverend Anderson suddenly becomes a man of action. Also, it’s not that surprising when Anderson’s wife is attracted to Dudgeon. If you’re married to Burt Lancaster, it’s not a stretch to believe you’ll probably be attracted to Kirk Douglas. Lancaster playing Anderson is a case of a star’s prior reputation and prior performances making it almost impossible to believe him in this part. If you’ve ever seen Burt Lancaster in a movie before, you know he’s a big strong guy who can kick some ass when needed. But in the movie, we’re supposed to be surprised when Reverend Anderson suddenly transforms from a milquetoast minister into a fighter. The surprise doesn’t work with an action star like Lancaster in that role. Someone like Montgomery Clift, who wasn’t an action star, would have been more believable. (Clift was Lancaster’s first choice to play Anderson.) Janette Scott gives a very good performance as Judith Anderson, despite the fact that she was only 19 years old when the movie was filmed, and thus was way too young for either Burt or Kirk, who were both in their mid-40’s. (Or were Burt and Kirk too old for their parts?)

Douglas is all grins and charm as Dudgeon, in a performance that’s reminiscent of some other parts that Lancaster had played. The first time we see Kirk, his hair is all over the place, in contrast to the rest of the film, when it’s neatly slicked back. Perhaps Douglas’s unkempt look in the first scene was a visual reference to Lancaster’s “bird’s nest” of hair? (One movie critic once wrote that they could tell what kind of performance Lancaster would give based on his haircut. If it was wild and disheveled, you could count on an outgoing, swashbuckling performance. If his hair was cut shorter, be prepared for a serious drama.) Lancaster, in contrast, is given a thankless part with not much to do. Reverend Anderson is just kind of a dull guy. Even the scenes where he finally becomes a man of action aren’t that interesting, and are not enough to lift the film. Behind the scenes, supposedly Laurence Olivier kept getting Douglas and Lancaster confused, and would call them both by the wrong name. (Which I would suspect annoyed both men.)

The Devil’s Disciple had a rather troubled production history. Lancaster produced the movie through his company Hecht-Hill-Lancaster, and when Kirk Douglas came on board, he co-produced it through his Bryna Productions company. Lancaster had purchased the film rights several years before from George Bernard Shaw’s widow, playing $600,000, a huge sum in the 1950’s. Lancaster originally wanted to play the Dick Dudgeon role, and wanted his From Here to Eternity co-star Montgomery Clift for the Anthony Anderson part. This would have been much better casting, and it’s definitely understandable why Lancaster would want to play Dudgeon. But because of Clift’s 1956 car accident while filming Raintree County, he was uninsurable, according to Lancaster. However, Clift did make two movies in 1958, and one in 1959, so he wasn’t uninsurable for long. In early 1958, Douglas came aboard, wanting to play the Dick Dudgeon role, which left Lancaster playing Anderson. Because Hecht-Hill-Lancaster was not doing very well financially, the budget for The Devil’s Disciple was cut in half. Lancaster said, “We had at first planned to make it a $3 million dollar color film. Now it was going to be a black and white movie that cost a million and a half, a very limited budget.” (The Cinema History of Burt Lancaster, by David Fury, p. 130) Director Alexander Mackendrick, who had previously directed Lancaster in the amazing Sweet Smell of Success, was replaced by Guy Hamilton after only about a week of filming. (Hamilton would go on to direct the James Bond movies Goldfinger, Diamonds are Forever, Live and Let Die, and The Man with the Golden Gun.) Mackendrick was deemed too “meticulous” to be able to finish the picture on the very limited 48-day shooting schedule. Lancaster later said, “It’s ironic that his two days on the film are the best in the picture.” (Fury, p. 130) Which begs the question, which two days did Mackendrick shoot? To clarify the timing, Lancaster said that after a week of filming, Mackendrick had only gotten through the shooting schedule for the first two days. So Lancaster wasn’t able to get the movie cast the way he originally wanted to, he had to play the role that wasn’t his first choice, he had to cut the film’s budget in half, and he had to fire his first choice for director! No wonder the finished movie is a bit of a mess. The trimming of the budget may have resulted in also trimming the running time, as the film only runs 82 minutes. The movie probably would have worked better in color, as I had trouble telling the rebels from the British. I wonder if the odd paper-mache animations illustrating the battles between the rebels and the British were due to the lack of a budget?

Both Mackendrick and Guy Hamilton were frustrated by the casting. Mackendrick explained that the main thrust of the story is that the two main characters are miscast. Dudgeon is really a born preacher, and Anderson is a man of action. “So when they change over, you get this great burst of energy. But Kirk Douglas, he’s another Burt, so you lost the temperamental thing.” (Against Type by Gary Fishgall, p. 177) In directing Lancaster, Mackendrick tried to “inhibit him in every way possible from being the Burt Lancaster that we know…to make him play somebody who’s gauche, clumsy, shy, and lacking in force.” (Fishgall p. 177)

When Guy Hamilton took over the direction, he was instantly faced with a problem, as Douglas wanted to make his part even flashier, against the objections of Lancaster. Hamilton knew that whoever’s side he didn’t take would hate him from then on. Hamilton answered that if he had his way, Douglas and Lancaster would switch parts. That settled the argument, and neither star bothered him from then on. (Story from Fishgall, p. 178)

In summary, The Devil’s Disciple is an odd misfire. It’s the kind of movie you hear about and think, “Why have I never heard of this movie before?” Well, because it’s not that good. The budget and the running time make it almost seem like a B movie, despite the fact that it has two giant movie stars at the pinnacle of their careers, and a man often called the greatest actor ever.

Concert Review: Herbie Hancock Solo at Orchestra Hall

On Friday night, I saw Herbie Hancock perform solo at Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis. It was pretty incredible. I’ve been a fan of Herbie’s music for the last twelve years or so, since the end of high school, and as far as I know, this was the first time he’s been to the Twin Cities since I’ve known who he was, so I jumped at the chance to go see him. Especially since this was Herbie performing solo, which I thought would be fascinating. It was.

Herbie took the stage attired in a red and black shirt and black pants, looking very fit and much younger than his 71 years. He started telling us a story about performing at the Guthrie Theater in 1973 with his Headhunters band. Partway through the concert, a fan jumped down from the rafters and landed on Herbie, knocking him to the floor. (To illustrate this, Herbie laid down on the floor of the stage as he told this part of the story.) Lying on the floor, he reached up for his keyboard and kept playing! Herbie is a natural storyteller, and he radiated a warm and open personality as he talked to us several times in between songs. On stage Herbie had a grand piano and an electric keyboard, with a couple of computer monitors set up as well. He opened with a version of Wayne Shorter’s “Footprints,” on acoustic piano. Herbie and Wayne played together on the original version of “Footprints,” recorded in 1966 when they were both part of Miles Davis’s “Second Classic Quintet.” The song is on the “Miles Smiles” LP, which I would highly recommend to any fan of Davis, Shorter, or Hancock. The way Herbie played “Footprints” I certainly didn’t recognize it. He played it with a lot of stops and starts, and there wasn’t much of a jazz groove to it. As Herbie said in his intro to the song, “This isn’t your garden variety footprints.” Next he played a solo version of his 1965 classic “Dolphin Dance.” Again, it was very different from the original version. While these first two songs weren’t my favorite performances of the night, it was still fascinating to watch Herbie improvise. When you’re performing solo, you’re really working without a net. My thought going into the concert was that I would definitely be satisfied in seeing the process even if I didn’t care for the results that much. Obviously, I wanted to hear great music, and I did. Seeing a genius like Herbie Hancock creating music all by himself on stage was reward enough, even when I wasn’t really following where Herbie was going. It was still interesting to hear, and never dull. Herbie’s next song was “Sonrisa,” which he wrote for his 1997 album “1+1,” an album of duets with Wayne Shorter. Like the first two songs, “Sonrisa” was pretty long, probably about 10-15 minutes.

After the more far-out explorations of the first three songs, Herbie returned to more familiar territory with a lovely version of George and Ira Gershwin’s “Embraceable You,” which was beautiful. Hancock has certainly not lost any of his touch on the keys. “Embraceable You” settled into a jazzier groove than the previous songs, and I definitely enjoyed it more than the other songs. Herbie then played one of his most famous and grooviest songs, “Cantaloupe Island,” from 1964. Herbie used some samples to help with the beat, and he moved to the keyboard after starting the song at the piano. About halfway through the song, he switched to keytar, and energetically moved around the front of the stage-he was obviously having fun playing the keytar! “Cantaloupe Island” had more of the funky, soulful feel that Herbie is most well-known for, and he was really digging into his solos on it. It was definitely my favorite song of the night, and it's one of my all-time favorite Herbie Hancock songs. Herbie then played “Chameleon” for the encore, again with a lot of awesome keytar soloing. All told, Herbie played for an hour and a half. Hancock clearly seems to still enjoy performing and is still creating something new every night he performs. He still loves performing, and I think that always makes for a great show. Friday night was an amazing chance to see a jazz legend perform solo.

Belated Concert Review: Ben Folds with the Minnesota Orchestra

I saw Ben Folds in September with the Minnesota Orchestra. It was a terrific show, as Ben performed his perfect punchy piano pop with the Minnesota Orchestra. His songs are very well-suited to be played with an orchestra, and the arrangements of his songs were very well thought out. Of course, Folds has performed with orchestras for a couple of years now, so it’s not like this was the first time he’s done this. I have to confess, I don’t know a lot about Ben Folds’s career, and I’m just starting to get more familiar with his songs. (My wife and my best friend have both introduced me to Ben’s music.) I like his intelligent, witty lyrics and his catchy melodies. (“Steven’s Last Night in Town” has been stuck in my head for the last two days.) Folds puts on a great show, he really seems to love performing, and he seemed to get such a kick out of the orchestra playing his songs. He performed a lot of his best-known songs like “Steven’s Last Night in Town,” “Brick,” “Zak and Sara,” and “Army.” The highlight of the show may have been Ben performing “Annie Waits” as the orchestra left the stage. Ben then proceeded to make up a song about the Minnesota Orchestra, and how they have to quit playing because they have strict union rules. He then ran around the stage and played any instrument he could find on stage. It was awesome, a fun way to end the show, and it showed how much enthusiasm Folds has for performing.

Clark Gable and Burt Lancaster in "Run Silent, Run Deep" (1958)

Burt Lancaster was the producer and star of the 1958 World War II submarine thriller, Run Silent, Run Deep. He co-starred with Clark Gable, in what turned out to be one of Gable’s last movies. (Gable died of a heart attack in November, 1960.) Run Silent, Run Deep is a very good submarine movie, with a lot of suspense, and a battle between commander Gable and officer Lancaster. (I think every submarine movie features tension between the captain and the crew.) Submarines are a great subject for movies because they’re really creepy and terrifying for anyone who likes the open air. The enclosed setting and the constant sense of danger is a great recipe for drama. Lancaster gives a good performance, similar to his character in From Here to Eternity, the tough but fair military officer. Gable is also very good as the driven Commander Richardson.

As the film opens, Commander Richardson has his submarine sunk by the Japanese in the Bungo Straits, off the coast of Japan. He is then relegated to desk duty, even though he longs for another chance to command a sub and sink the Japanese ship that torpedoed him. Every day he “sinks” the Japanese boat on his desk, as his adjutant officer, played by a ridiculously young-looking Jack Warden, recreates the circumstances under which Richardson lost his sub. Lancaster plays Lieutenant Bledsoe, who is looking forward to command a sub of his own. Bledsoe is expecting to get command of his own submarine, but he gets the news that he will be serving under Richardson. Bledsoe quickly figures out that Richardson used Bledsoe’s good record to argue that he should be given command of a sub again, with Bledsoe on board as a “back-up.” Bledsoe resents this, and tells Richardson this before the sub leaves port. The crew of the submarine, featuring a very young Don Rickles, has worked with Bledsoe before, and they begin to resent Richardson’s constant drilling. It turns out that Richardson is planning a very risky maneuver to sink Japanese boats, which has everyone nervous. Richardson is also taking the submarine to the Bungo Straits, which is not part of their mission. During an attack on the sub, Richardson falls and sustains a skull fracture, and Bledsoe takes command of the sub.

Gable is very good in a role that isn’t very sympathetic. His Captain Richardson is reminiscent of Captain Ahab, given his monomaniacal obsession with the Japanese boat that sank his sub. Richardson is willing to put his crews’ lives in danger just so he can settle a score. Lancaster is excellent as Bledsoe, and he exudes confidence and competence when he takes over the sub. There was tension between Gable and Lancaster off the screen, as well. No doubt some of this was due to their different career trajectories. Gable, known as the “King of Hollywood,” hadn’t had a hit movie in a long time, and had left MGM, his longtime studio, in 1953. Gable was also aging, and had put on weight. In contrast, Lancaster was at or near the peak of his popularity and good looks. And even though Gable had top billing, Lancaster’s company was producing the movie, meaning Burt was calling the shots. When the time came to shoot the scenes where Lancaster would take over command of the submarine, Gable said, “I’m not going to do it. He’s not going to take over the boat.” Because the rest of the movie depended upon this plot twist, there was no way that Gable could keep commanding the sub for the rest of the movie. Gable walked off the movie, and shooting was suspended for two days. Scriptwriter John Gay and producer Jim Hill finally worked out a solution where Gable’s character would be injured, and thus could no longer command the sub. Satisfied, Gable went back to work. (Quote and story from Against Type: The Biography of Burt Lancaster, by Gary Fishgall. Pg. 166-7.) One can only wonder what Lancaster thought about Gable’s behavior! Gable must have seen Lancaster’s taking over the submarine as a threat to Gable’s own masculine screen persona. Lancaster could also be difficult to deal with at times, and I wonder how he was able to control his temper after Gable’s outburst.

Lancaster, and director Robert Wise, strove for authenticity with all of the submarine sequences. All of the underwater shots of the sub were shot in a water tank with models, which was as realistic as special effects could get in 1957. Don Rickles said of Lancaster’s drive for realism, “He always wanted to know what the depth was and what this gear meant…He’d say ‘Don, do you know what you’re looking at?’ I had no idea what I was looking at, but to humor him, I’d always say, ‘Yes, I do, I do.’” (Fishgall, pg. 169) Typically for one of Lancaster’s movies, there were also clashes with director Robert Wise, and when Lancaster and Hill edited the picture themselves, Wise quit. (Burt Lancaster: An American Life, by Kate Buford, pg. 185.) He was certainly not the only director to be infuriated with how a Hecht-Hill-Lancaster production was run.

After the commercial failure of the amazing Sweet Smell of Success, starring Burt and Tony Curtis, Hecht-Hill-Lancaster needed a hit. They figured Run Silent, Run Deep would be a big commercial success. It was not. Although the movie was not a flop, it was not the smash that Lancaster needed at the time. Run Silent, Run Deep is still a good war movie, and I would definitely recommend it.

Nemesis, by Philip Roth

I just finished reading Philip Roth’s 2010 novel Nemesis. It’s an excellent book. It’s a short novel, but one that packs a powerful punch. It tells the story of Eugene “Bucky” Cantor, a 23-year-old playground director in Newark, New Jersey, during a polio epidemic in 1944. Bucky, who is a star athlete despite his short stature, is classified 4-F and thus ineligible for the draft because of his bad eyesight. He is sitting on the sidelines while his college buddies are off fighting, and this greatly distresses Bucky. He takes some refuge in the fact that he is running the playground the best way he knows how to, and he is trying to keep the kids happy and healthy while the stifling summer heat and polio take their toll on the Jewish neighborhood of Weequahic. Some of the kids who come to the playground every day are stricken with polio, and one boy dies. This seemingly random tragedy leads Bucky to question his faith in God.

“…he himself hadn’t dared to turn against God for taking his grandfather when the old man reached a timely age to die. But for killing Alan with polio at twelve? For the very existence of polio? How could there be forgiveness-let alone hallelujahs-in the face of such lunatic cruelty?” (p.75)

The city panics as the polio epidemic gets worse. Bucky gets an offer to join his girlfriend, Marcia Steinberg, at a summer camp in the Poconos as a swimming director. He goes back and forth about taking the job, worried that he is abandoning his kids at the playground. He visits Marcia’s father, a doctor, who tells him that he has been doing everything he can for the kids at the playground. Feeling better, Bucky spontaneously asks Dr. Steinberg for Marcia’s hand in marriage. Dr. Steinberg says that he would be thrilled to have Bucky join the family. Bucky decides to leave Newark and take the job in the Poconos. Camp Indian Hill is idyllic, an escape from both the oppressive heat and also the constant threat of polio. Bucky quickly strikes up a rapport with Donald Kaplow, a seventeen-year-old counselor at the camp. Bucky helps Donald with his diving skills. Bucky also has late-night trysts with Marcia, as they paddle out to an island in the middle of the lake and make love. Things couldn’t be better.

Which is, of course, when things start going to hell. Bucky is wracked with guilt over his decision to abandon the playground in Newark. He learns that just a few days after he left the city closed all of the playgrounds. However, this does nothing to assuage his feelings of guilt at having left Newark.

“If only he’d stayed, he would never have had to walk out on his kids and look back for a lifetime at his inexcusable act.” (p.194)

Bucky gets snappish with Marcia when she tells him that she prayed he would be safe from polio. He turns her simple statement into a theological argument, asking her:

“Why didn’t God answer the prayers of Alan Michaels’s parents? They must have prayed. Herbie Steinmark’s parents must have prayed. They’re good people. They’re good Jews. Why didn’t God intervene for them? Why didn’t He save their boys?” (p.170)

Polio finally enters Camp Indian Hill as well, as Donald Kaplow is stricken with it. Bucky is convinced that he is the one who brought polio to Indian Hill, even though there’s absolutely no evidence to support that. The camp doctor tells Bucky he can have a spinal tap performed to see if he has polio, as changes to spinal fluid are indicative of polio. The test comes back positive. Bucky has polio. The novel then fast-forwards a bit, as we learn that Bucky spends more than a year in the hospital, slowly and painfully recovering from his crippling illness, which leaves him with weakened legs.

Nemesis, though it is told from Bucky’s point of view, is actually narrated by Arnie Mesnikoff, who was a child at the playground that Bucky was the director of. Arnie contracted polio in the summer of 1944, and was confined to a wheelchair for a year as he learned how to walk again, with the help of crutches and braces. In 1971 Arnie runs into Bucky in Newark, and they start eating lunch together once a week as Bucky tells him the story of the summer of 1944. Bucky has become a bitter shell of a man, blaming God for his misfortunes. He let Marcia slip away by refusing to let her see him when he was in the hospital. And the one time she did come to see him, he quarreled with her. He says,

“’I didn’t want to ruin her life. She hadn’t fallen in love with a cripple, and she shouldn’t be stuck with one.’” (p.254-55)

Marcia fires back at Bucky,

“’You’re always holding yourself accountable when you’re not. Either it’s terrible God who is accountable, or it’s terrible Bucky Cantor who is accountable, when in fact, accountability belongs to neither. Your attitude toward God-it’s juvenile, it’s just plain silly.” (p.260)

Marcia is exactly right. Bucky presumes that God is responsible for everything bad that happens in the world. But whether or not there is a God does not change the fact that suffering exists. Blaming all of your suffering on God, as Bucky does, does not do anything to change the situation. Whether you think it’s the work of God or simply terrible luck, it’s something that is out of your control. Pain and suffering and unfairness all exist in the world regardless of whether or not there is a God. You have to accept the fact that suffering and misery exist, and Bucky seems unable or unwilling to do this. He is in denial. He’s essentially asking, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” There is no rhyme or reason for why bad things happen to good people. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that terrible things will happen to very good, totally undeserving people.

As Arnie says,

“Sometimes you’re lucky and sometimes you’re not. Any biography is chance, and, beginning at conception, chance-the tyranny of contingency-is everything. Chance is what I believed Mr. Cantor meant when he was decrying what he called God.” (p.243)

Bucky gets a job at the Post Office and settles into a solitary life, bereft of companionship. Arnie was able to overcome his polio in a way that Bucky wasn’t.

“I learned that back there in Weequahic in 1944 I’d lived through a summerlong social tragedy that didn’t have to be a lifelong personal tragedy too.” (p.269)

This is the difference between Bucky and Arnie. Bucky has allowed himself to be destroyed by tragedy, whereas Arnie has moved on with his life. Which begs the question, why do some people survive tragedy and others do not? Life can do terrible things to people. It can deal you a rotten hand from the beginning, or it can buffer you with blows that few people can withstand. And yet there are some people who survive, who keep going in the face of terrible tragedy. It’s probably personality that accounts for why some people can survive tragedy and some people cannot. Surviving tragedy certainly isn’t easy to do, and Arnie admits that it took him some difficult years to arrive at the point we find him in 1971. But if you stay stuck in the past as Bucky does, you run the risk of letting that tragedy define your life. Arnie contrasts Bucky with the most famous victim of polio, the President of the United States in 1944, FDR. Bucky remained mired in the past, obsessing over what he could have done differently. FDR, after contracting polio at age 39 in 1921, became the Governor of New York and the country’s only four-term President. FDR never walked again. He never regained the full use of his legs. But did he consider himself a failure? I don’t think so. He was a man full of optimism, and for him, every day was probably a small victory against a disease that had left him disabled.

Roth’s writing throughout Nemesis is sharp and vivid as he brings Newark in 1944 to life. Roth has an eye for details, and his sentences are very well-crafted, which is why I have used so many quotations from the book. Because Roth lived through the years of polio epidemics, and was about the same age as the kids on the playground in 1944, this subject must have struck a chord with him. Polio is a word from the distant past for someone of my generation, but it must have been a truly frightening childhood fear back in the 1940’s. The only other Philip Roth book I’ve read is the short novel Goodbye, Columbus, which won him the National Book Award in 1960. It’s been more than 10 years since I read Goodbye, Columbus, which means I should probably re-read it. Nemesis is a great book, and I’m looking forward to reading more of Philip Roth.