Enter The Master Of Suspense

Maybe it’s not a big deal, but I need to know when Alfred Hitchcock became The Master Of Suspense. That was a question I’d intended to touch on briefly in a post about recently watched Suspicion, but became itself the focal point of interest as pressbooks and trades were consulted. Yes, he was a name in England and had become one over here, but what was the wide American public’s image of Hitchcock when he arrived on our shores? Ads I’ve consulted for The Lady Vanishes, The 39 Steps, and other UK thrillers found them mostly on art house screens, or "little theatres", as they were mostly known then. The first US assignment was Rebecca, and that yielded an avalanche of publicity for the English director, but there were bigger names behind the camera, first that of producer David O. Selznick, just off Gone With The Wind and hugely prominent for having shepherded that blockbuster. Then there was novelist Daphne Du Maurier, a name very much to be reckoned with for having written the enormous best seller Selznick and Hitchcock were now adapting. Rebecca’s prior exposure included hardback publication, magazine serialization, and multiple radio dramatizations (one of these presented by Orson Welles). As source material for a high-profile film, Rebecca enjoyed nearly the popularity of GWTW. Hitchcock was merely one of many elements to promote, being lauded for his eerie touch achieved through understatement, evidence of this being the British imports recognized by a critical and Hollywood establishment if not by a wider American public not so receptive to movies from offshore. Still, there were publicity mats available to remind readers of Hitchcock’s UK output (as above), along with assurance that with unmatched resources of Hollywood at his command, (Hitchcock) leaves his past history-making achievements far behind. There were references to the director’s humorous personality going hand-in-hand with his corpulence and eating habits that led to it. As uncertain indicator of labels to come, Hitchcock was called The Master Of Melodrama in articles to serve as newspaper plants for Rebecca. Ads for the film, however, put greater emphasis on the source novel, with virtually all of them featuring art of either the book’s cover or pages opened within. None was without endorsement of David O. Selznick as the producer Who Made "Gone With The Wind." These were Rebecca’s selling priorities, and Hitchcock would have to wait for his second American feature, Foreign Correspondent, to put a brighter light upon his directorial contribution.

Foreign Correspondent was where bricks began laying, where Hitchcock was anointed Master Of Suspense in America. There was less for him to compete with in that film's campaign. Producer Walter Wanger was an important name, but not half so as Selznick, and certainly there was no Gone With The Wind on Wanger’s resume. Now it was Hitchcock who’d be linked to a just recent US hit: The Man Who Directed "Rebecca." For the first time, he had a possessory credit, Alfred Hitchcock’s Masterful Production of "Foreign Correspondent," which placed AH first and foremost among names to sell the 1940 release. It helped having a cast that wouldn’t overshadow him. Joel McCrea and Laraine Day were stars of a second-tier and not foremost in ads and poster art. Topicality was what United Artists pushed. This was a story ripped from wire services, and Hitchcock with credits now on both sides of the Atlantic was an ideal interpreter of tumultuous international events. He’d introduce a greater sophistication to upend hackneyed technique of melodramatists gone before. But Hitchcock wouldn’t be stuffy about it. He was called the customer’s director, one who shared a patron’s disdain for cliches we’d all grown tired of. AH would demolish these and replace them with action lots more fun and surprising. Foreign Correspondent’s spectacular plane crash at sea was proof of that, being another of those Hitchcock Moments unique to his sensibility and excitingly fresh to ours. Ads for the first time included the director’s image over a caption reading The Master Of Suspense (as here). Standees were available with Hitchcock’s name and the same legend displayed prominently. As of this second only film he made in the United States, AH would become a filmmaker celebrity of the first rank.

The next of Hitchcock’s thrillers, Suspicion, consolidated his position. Now he was sufficiently well known as to be recognized in caricature. National magazine coverage had seen to that. Hitch was colorful and made good copy. Readers found his look arresting and manner even more so. Comments he’d made led columns across America. AH said actors were cattle, or should be treated like cattle … whatever … it was enough to put him on entertainment pages nationwide. Star Carole Lombard brought livestock onto the set of Mr. and Mrs. Smith to pay off the gag everyone was talking about, and Hitchcock was showman enough to laugh with an increasingly adoring public. By the time Suspicion rolled in for Thanksgiving 1941 release, he was as familiar as any movie star and likely more welcome than most. RKO’s trade ads got it said with Cary Grant, Joan Fontaine, and a cartoon Hitchcock pointing authoritatively with cigar in hand. Two Great Stars and A Great Director conferred equal standing to this trio of hit-makers. Even smaller Suspicion ads found placement for Hitchcock’s caricature. The Screen’s Master Of Suspenseful Romance was among several variations on the director’s brand. Suspicion used this and The Master Of Insidious Surprise to describe him. Hitchcock’s image and the direction he’d follow had grown clearer with each project. It was an imprint fully formed to last for a career of thirty-five plus years to come and posterity beyond.

The Hammer World I Live In

To watch Hammer’s 1959 Hound Of The Baskervilles twice within days made me ponder reasons for going back when so many interesting things remain unwatched. I think it’s mostly the welcoming house and grounds at Bray, which is odd for the fact they’re 4000 miles off and I’ve never once visited except in US theatres and more lately DVD. Still, there’s familiarity in those environs that’s just like coming home. Bray was the place where Hammer operated, shot their movies, and served meals. Every room, corner, and shed turned up eventually as background or was dressed for a set. I like going on Hammer holidays, exploring upstairs and down in castles (really just one) that designer Bernard Robinson modified time and again to suit purposes of whatever monster claimed residence. Every crypt and fireplace is like the handshake of an old friend. Those who wonder at the allure of Hammer just haven’t seen enough of it. Their films have a better sense of community than output from any other company. Personnel who spent careers there have confirmed as much. A comforting and familial place it was. Where else do horror films give off such a warm glow? There’s toasty rooms where you can sit before a crackling hearth like Jonathon Harker to enjoy your host’s wine and a baked loaf, then retire upstairs where bed chambers maintain crispness of Autumn air. We see their breath when John Van Eyssen and Christopher Lee speak in Horror Of Dracula, a reality of chilly Bray stages I’d not trade for anything. The Little Shoppe Of Horrors is a terrific magazine devoted to Hammer Films. They’ve published photos of Bray both inside and out that show just how economical those settings were. How they managed to make them look so majestic in finished product is tribute to genius and ingenuity of artists on staff. Surely Bray was a magical place when Hammer thrived there, for seeing films they made, especially when properly presented, is like bed and breakfast at --- take your pick --- Castle Dracula, Frankenstein’s chateau, or Baskerville Hall. No wonder I keep going back.

MGM’s High-Definition network has been running Hound Of The Baskervilles. I wonder if they realize what joy they’ve given fans who’ve waited years to see it so gloriously rendered. The DVD was a bust for being non-anamorphic. Prior to that was television’s ritual abuse. Hound was not the world-beater Hammer and United Artists counted on when released in Summer 1959. There was $450,000 in domestic rentals, a figure cleaved by half of what Universal-International realized off the previous year’s school vacation release of Horror Of Dracula. The novelty of Hammer was wearing off even as quality maintained. Hound had to compete with another from the company that Paramount was handling, The Man Who Could Cheat Death, which drew a punier $238,000 in domestic rentals. Hound did much better in foreign markets, with rentals from those territories coming to an impressive $1.4 million, so it was by no means a failure overall. Chinks in armor of its US campaign might be spotted in awkward effort to sell Hound as a blood-dripping horror fest along lines of prior hits Curse Of Frankenstein and Horror Of Dracula. Totally ignored in all ads was the fact that this was a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Of what commercial value was Conan Doyle’s character in an exploitation-driven late-50’s market? Holmes hadn’t been around since infrequently revived Basil Rathbone thrillers, which by the mid-fifties were being shown on television. The big push for 1959’s Hound revolved around the title beast, made to look so ferocious as to imply a werewolf’s not-so-distant cousin. What Hammer put on the screen was a distinct letdown from that, and I wonder if disappointed word-of-mouth among kid patrons did damage to second/third days and subsequent runs (anyone recall their initial impression?). Something about a Bone Chilling Howl made ad copy for most engagements, perhaps not enough to close sufficient sales.

Still, there were showmen who persevered. One was Dan Austell of Winston-Salem’s Carolina Theatre. He utilized the deathless wheeze of inducing a local woman to sit alone in his auditorium for a midnight showing of Hound, a fresh ten-dollar bill her reward for making it through the show (WANTED! --- The Bravest Woman In Winston). WTOB was King of the Hill among local AM Top 40 stations and often tied in with theatres for stunts like this. The Carolina shared first-run product with the Winston, located just down a block. Neither gravitated to horror films as a rule, and runs were brief when they did (I remember Masque Of The Red Death being in and out of the Carolina after two days, contrary to their usual three-or-more policy for new pics). United Artists must have sent up a crack salesman to get a mid-week booking and such aggressive campaigning on Hound’s behalf. The Thalhimers referred to in the ad was Winston-Salem’s ritziest department store, located across the street and more or less between the Carolina and the Winston. I was bored silly the few times my mother took me in there. They did indeed have a beauty salon on the third floor. The women wore uniforms just like Mrs. Maxine (Bare) Morrison’s here and looked like nurses. It’s sobering to think that this young woman in her undoubted twenties is now at least to mid-seventies. I wish I could talk with Mrs. Morrison, for I’ll bet if she’s still among us, she’d well remember that midnight show of Hound Of The Baskervilles at the Carolina (well, wouldn’t you?).

Many of the Hammer films owned or partly so by Seven Arts were kept off television until the seventies and thus enjoyed extended lives on theatre screens, while others, like Hound Of The Baskervilles, shuttled off to the tube much earlier. Hound’s syndicated availability was announced in July 1962 as part of a thirty-one title package including UA features just off ABC network runs. Being the lone horror film in the group (other than sci-fi chiller, Invisible Invaders), Hound would share late-night berths with highly regarded Witness For The Prosecution, Sweet Smell Of Success, and others. The following 1963-64 season saw Hound joining a group of sixty UA/RKO/pre-48 horrors in a syndicated package that was probably the best one available outside of Screen Gems’ two Universal "Shock" groups, as it boasted Doctor X, the Val Lewtons, King Kong, and many more favorites.

There’d been talk of Hammer launching a series of Sherlock Holmes thrillers beginning with Hound Of The Baskervilles. UK audiences might well have embraced it (note the above British quad’s reference to S.H.), but United Artists’ domestic sales force had no such confidence in the Holmes name as potential draw. The film itself juiced up creepy elements not to be found in Doyle’s source novel. Hammer had its own brand name and reputation to uphold. There’s flamboyance here to erase memories of staid sleuthing done by previous Holmes enactors. Peter Cushing’s exuberance freshens up plot machinations less energetic during a long middle section when he’s offscreen, and Christopher Lee enjoys the sort of dashingly romantic part I wish he’d played more often. As with so many Hammers, color is a Godsend. Theirs had a look peculiar to British Technicolor processing that upped tension levels in ways almost subliminal. Ones I saw theatrically are memory stored yet as unique encountering with reds, greens, and blues rendered like nowhere in US chillers, which beside Hammer output, always seemed more conventional. Martin Scorsese once recalled that Hammer films were events growing up, chillers he and friends knew as something special. The best of Hammer made Anglophiles of a generation of American youth, well before James Bond and the Beatles took credit for leading Britian’s cultural invasion.

RKO's Sleeper Hunt

The Hitch-Hiker is among stripped-down noirs so modest as to invite comparison with backyard movies friends of mine used to make and I sometimes acted in. Ida Lupino and an ex-husband did it for kernels and everything about the finished product suggests they seldom broke for lunch. Independent producing then was shorthand for hanging by your thumbs. Those that prospered at it were in a distinct minority. From what I’ve read, Ida’s team lost games even when they slid into home, thanks to distributors siphoning off would-be profit and calling it a distribution fee. Sharks in this instance swam at RKO. Their burden was at least as heavy as Lupino and company’s for having to merchandise a B/W hard-tack thriller without stars. Succeeding at that was possible as evidenced by the previous year’s The Narrow Margin, a critical establishment’s darling and one the customers embraced as well. Any low-budget thriller was a potential sleeper. You just had to get it to the right people early and hope word-of-mouth would haul bags from there. Of course, that required commitment as well … and money. The Hitch-Hiker was sold less on marquee strength (which Frank Lovejoy and Edmund O’Brien had not an abundance of) than on emphasis upon true-life fear anyone with a driver’s license might connect with. What if the guy you picked up by the road turned out to be a psycho killer? Hitch-Hiking was commoner then, and more drivers did offer lifts. Now, of course, we assume everyone on the highway is a potential threat, in or out of vehicles. In 1953, however, this was a new hook (at least for movies) and a good one.

Women directors, less of a novelty today, were so much so in 1953 as to demand explanation and maybe apology for presuming to claim such authority on sets. Ida Lupino had supposedly been obliged by force of unforeseen circumstance (an assigned director bugged out) to assume double duties as means toward getting self-produced pics done cheaper. You’d think experience by the time of The Hitch-Hiker would alleviate press nattering over her qualification to direct, but any attention was welcome, especially for such an otherwise minor programmer. A then-wiser course was to go along with patronizing coverage of oddities inherent in a woman "manning" the helm. Everybody was presumed to get fun out of sex roles gone topsy-turvy in Hollywood, and Lupino’s name was still one to conjure with for stardom she appeared to forsake for adventuring into a man’s exclusive preserve. Publicity for The Hitch-Hiker bent backward to reassure that femininity would survive despite such masculine pursuit. I retain every feminine trait. Men prefer it that way, Lupino said. They’re more cooperative if they see that fundamentally you are of the weaker sex even though in a position to give orders, which normally is the male’s prerogative, or so he likes to think, anyway. Such press seemed designed to ease disagreeable thoughts of a woman bossing men on location, especially cast-as tough guys in action mode. Lupino acknowledged as to how she was intruding into their world, while renouncing masculine characteristics that might rub off on her … which can often be a fault of career women rubbing shoulders with their male counterparts who become merely arrogant instead of authoritative. I’m guessing Lupino had to be a lot more defensive of her job with the press and its public than with co-workers who were probably relieved to have someone running a set that knew what she was doing. For appearance’s sake, however, rugged Edmond (Sock Em’) O’Brien was obliged (for publicity’s sake) to claim a dominant male’s advantage when he gallantly returned a handbag Lupino had dropped, after taking silent inventory of its contents. You may be a motion picture director who knows exactly what she wants, but fundamentally, you’re just another dame, read quotes attributed to O’Brien. Typical of your sex, you carry all sorts of junk around with you in your pocketbook. It’s likelier no such conversation took place between star and director, as O’Brien and Frank Lovejoy had been guided by women on previous legit occasions, but for purposes of soothing a perceived threat to filmmaking status-quo (even if a mild one), stories like this dominated much of printed discourse on The Hitch-Hiker (and probably most of 50’s films Lupino directed).

The real career frustration must have been William Talman’s. His was sold as the most startling performance since Richard Widmark’s debut in Kiss Of Death (and look what that did for Widmark). Star machinery was gone to rust by 1953 at RKO, however. Talman had proved himself there in any case with outstanding work as lead heavy in 1950’s Armored Car Robbery, another crime meller too unimportant for a wider audience to heed. It was lots easier to get noticed in a big picture, which Kiss Of Death certainly was in comparison to The Hitch-Hiker. Talman’s really the whole show here. He’s cold and cruel and makes no bid for sympathy. The actor liked telling a story of how some ding-a-ling motorist pulled beside his convertible and asked if he wasn’t The Hitch-Hiker. Upon Talman’s acknowledgment, the guy put in park, walked over, and punched him in the face. Better than an Academy Award, said the bloodied thesp, but small compensation for a career flattening out afterward, though regular paychecks off Perry Mason was better security than most actors enjoyed gypsying around in the 50’s and 60’s. The shame of it is that Talman, like Mason colleague Raymond Burr, was so adroit at playing richly sinister feature parts, yet both would be permanently rerouted into sameness of weekly confrontation in TV courtrooms where outcomes were foregone to nine season's infinity. However great a series Perry Mason was (is!), we missed out on a lot forfeiting these two to television.

Like so many small shows with breakout potential, The Hitch-Hiker got initial support via its Boston opening and RKO making hay of trade reviews unanimous in their praise. Television and print personalities like Art Linkletter and Jack Webb (as shown here) supplied testimonials, which were doubtless on the level. Webb’s stamp of approval on any crime thriller that year would have had much persuasive force. Maybe the subject matter was just too grim, for The Hitch-Hiker ended up a picture showmen either dumped in accordance with its "B" status, as here with Chicago’s first-run bottom placement beneath Pickup On South Street (Talman Meets Widmark!), or could pick up and run with as a single with offbeat allure. My exhibitor friend Dale Baldwin remembers liking the exploitable theme and deciding to make a project of it (he'd routinely select a P.O.W. --- Picture Of The Week). Little West Jefferson, North Carolina (800-900 residents within city limits in 1953) was car-conscious to start with. Action on wheels especially perked their interest. Committing promotional time and dollars to The Hitch-Hiker was like playing poker, according to Dale. You’d gamble about ten percent of your anticipated gross for advertising. Booking expense for The Hitch-Hiker was low. He recalled it as a "little picture" got for a flat rate (probably $15-$20), playing HH as a Late Show on Saturday night, July 25, 1953 at 10:30 only. That week’s ad for the local newspaper reflects scheduling policy at Baldwin’s Parkway Theatre. Few of his attractions ran longer than a day. He and I checked booking sheets from the previous week. Abbott and Costello Meet Captain Kidd merited a Monday run and Scaramouche played Tuesday only (The Mississippi Gambler was alone in getting a two-day berth on Thurs.-Fri.). You had to act fast to see anything at the Parkway. Dale routinely ground eight to nine features through his house per week, plus innumerable shorts. There were 735 seats. Admission was thirty-five cents for all. The Parkway stood to realize $257.25 for a packed house. Concession sales, always brisk (Dale used extra salt in the popcorn to stimulate beverage sales) were just that much more for the till. Corn makings sold cheap as topsoil. A fifty-pound bag cost $8.50. From that, you could pop individual servings into a next millennium. Baldwin’s relationship with the local paper was such that they’d sometimes print stories about an upcoming show and call it news (as here for The Hitch-Hiker). Teaser ads (above) dotted pages besides. That single Saturday, July 25 was a remarkably crowded one at the Parkway. Imagine this bill of fare: Laramie Mountains with Charles Starrett, plus Chapter 11 of Columbia’s 1942 serial The Secret Code, buttressed by an Our Gang from 1938, Feed Em’ and Weep. There were two cartoons as well, Universal’s The Dog That Cried Wolf and Don’s Fountain Of Youth out of Disney. All of this ran through the day and ceded to The Hitch-Hiker for a separate admission at 10:30. Yet another cartoon, Frightday The 13th, a Paramount Casper the Ghost, ran with RKO’s thriller. I’d guess The Hitch-Hiker pleased that night, for it’s tense and unnerving still (don't ask me to watch again anytime soon!). There was doubt as to the film’s very survival for a period of years when no one could seem to locate a print (ownership did not remain with distributor RKO). Television feature sourcebooks were silent as to syndicated availability (does anyone recall seeing it on TV?). Kino finally released The Hitch-Hiker on video and their DVD element looks to be rather murky 16mm. I’d be curious to know the fate of its original negative.