The Impatient Years (1944)

The Impatient Years (1944) is an example of the kind of movie that is hardly ever made anymore, but was a staple of Hollywood’s heyday: current events.  In this case, the consequences of a hasty wartime romance, a quickie marriage and a baby – but when the couple are reunited when the soldier returns Stateside, they discover they are strangers.

(By the way, have a look at the "A" sticker on the car windshield in the picture above - and have a look at this previous post on gas rationing as depicted in the movies of World War II here.)

It’s a comedy, but it’s also a poignant and even rather sad take on what was a common problem as the divorce rate soared in the post-war years.  Even for those couples choosing to stay together, it was often a tough adjustment.  In a real sense, there was no getting back to “normal.”  There was only a mature and resigned acceptance that adapting to a new life was the only course.  Both husband and wife would have become different people in the meantime, due to their wartime experiences.

Jean Arthur is the lady, and she brings her trademark comic chops and intelligent silliness to the role of a young woman, repeatedly described by her father as a “nice girl,” so that we wouldn’t mistake her marrying a soldier almost the moment she met him as indicative of a “V-girl.”  “But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t brought up right…it was wartime and they fell in love.” 

Now, however, waiting with her father at the bus station to welcome home her soldier husband on medical leave, she’s as nervous as a cat and clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being married to somebody she knew only for four days.

Lee Bowman plays her husband, home on temporary medical leave.  He’s just as uncomfortable with Jean as she is with him, more so because he is coming home not only to a wife he barely remembers, but to a father-in-law he’s never met, and must try to make himself at home in a house he’s never been to and is already crowded.

Charles Coburn is Jean’s father, reprising a similar role of curmudgeonly matchmaking as he did in The More the Merrier (1943) of the previous year.  In fact, you’ll notice his “The Torpedo Song” of that movie being reprised as a theme for his character in The Impatient Years every time Coburn enters a scene.  He is the voice of common sense, trying to get his daughter and son-in-law to give each other a chance before they divorce – the movie starts in divorce court and the plot is then revealed in flashback.

There are two more people in the house who are strangers to Lee Bowman, one is his infant son, in whom he is delighted, but nervous as to how to hold him.   He has seen only pictures, and is disappointed to have missed his first words – which include “Mama,” and “Henry.”

Henry, played by Phil Brown, is the other stranger, a boarder in the house.  He is a young man who has been immensely helpful with the baby and who regards Jean and the baby as his surrogate family.  A proper fellow who enjoys the routine around the baby that Jean Arthur has established for the home, Henry, as Charles Coburn remarks to Lee Bowman, “He’s a very fine young man.  You’re going to get very sick of him.”

And we see why, but I feel rather sorry for poor Henry, usurped by the baby’s real father.  Despite his late-hour, petulant confession to Jean Arthur that he is in love with her, he stands no chance.  Yet there he is, in Jean’s room, soothing the baby while she goes to warm up the bottle of milk, with Lee Bowman staggering around, trying to find a place to hang up his uniform.  

When Jean returns and the baby is settled, Bowman asks casually, “You finally got him in bed?” and we know that her uneasy reply of “yes,” just short of a double-take is because at that moment, they are both thinking of Henry.  It is one of a few clever double meanings in this script.

As I remarked in the post on her work in The More the Merrier: “Miss Arthur makes this brittle woman interesting, and lovably obtuse.”  One could say the same for her character here in The Impatient Years, except that here she is slightly more irritable as a means of defense.  Her skittishness, and his own being baffled by the strange surroundings and stranger family, Lee Bowman nonchalantly decides to sleep on the floor, giving the excuse that he is not used to a bed after rugged Army life.  It is a gallant move to put his wife at ease, though we can see that she might also take it as an insult.  He ruefully remarks of the baby in the crib next to her bed, “I think he’d be ashamed of his old man.”  It is both self-deprecating and a shaft of conscience to Jean Arthur.

But they quickly get on each other’s nerves the next day and decide to call their marriage quits.  We are brought back to the courtroom scene where Charles Coburn, in an attempt to force them to get to know each other as a way to avoid divorce, suggests to the judge, played by Edgar Buchanan, that they be required to re-live the four days of their courtship that led to their marriage.  Judge Buchanan remarks, “You boys and girls think it’s very romantic to get married just because it is wartime.  You don’t stop to think for a minute that there’s going to be an after the war time, with a whole long life to be lived together.”  Yes, if they're lucky.

It is an admonishment to the young lovers in the audience, and it is a daffy screwball comedy turn in the great tradition of that era, and so we have our second half of the movie as the now bickering couple find themselves in the scenes of their hasty courtship in San Francisco, revisiting the same restaurants, tourist sights, hotel, and marriage license office, leaving confused desk clerks in their wake.  As Miss Arthur grumbles about a marriage license clerk who does not understand that they need to fill out a marriage license to get a divorce, “For heaven’s sake, if he’s going to be so stupid, let’s go.”

Ironically, it is their very spatting like an old married couple that brings them closer together, along with reliving the scenes of their romance and being away from Pop, the baby, the crowded house, her regimentation with household chores, and Henry. 

Because they need to follow through on the judge’s orders, they kiss, but only to avoid committing perjury.  But aha, there’s a glimmer of falling in love again.

Grant Mitchell plays a befuddled hotel desk clerk very concerned about Jean Arthur’s welfare when he thinks Lee Bowman is not only a wolf, but mentally unstable; and Charley Grapewin is the world’s oldest bellboy.  

He loyally sits outside Jean’s door all night to protect her, and humors Lee Bowman when Lee says “I love you,” meaning this is the message he was trying to tap in their old code on the wall of Jean’s adjoining room.  Charley thinks Lee loves him.

When sailor Frank “The Old Magoo” Jenks cuts in at a hotel dance, we see Lee Bowman getting jealous, to Jean’s delight.  But she saves Bowman from the MPs by vouching he is her husband and takes him firmly by the arm, “C’mon, darling.”

Finally, they trek to the house of the minister who married them.  He is Harry Davenport, and his sweet wife is Jane Darwell.  She remembers the couple, and the old folks are thrilled that a couple married in their livingroom, for once, came back to visit them.  It is not a screwball moment, but a very sober example of what a long and dedicated marriage is, and Mr. Bowman and Miss Arthur feel somewhat shamefaced at their fecklessness.

Afterward, they end up at the place where they had their wedding dinner—a Chinese restaurant where the vocalist is Bob Haymes, actor and singer Dick Haymes’ younger brother.  I’m not sure the point of this interlude of him singing at their table, except to give the up-and-coming fellow a bit of screen time. He has a nice voice.  But the dinner is where they really relive their wedding night—Jean becomes ill on fried shrimp, just as she did the first time.

The hotel clerk and his erstwhile bellboy are on the alert when Bowman must carry her up the stairs and she blithely announces her husband has poisoned her.  Charles Coburn and poor Henry arrive at the 11^th hour with a telegram ordering Bowman to the military hospital for his end-of-furlough checkup. 

It now appears that since their trial courtship is over and Bowman is ordered back to active duty, there’s nothing to keep them together anymore. 

In a sweet ending, however, Jean returns to her father’s house to reunite with her baby and discovers Bowman there, playing with him on the floor.  Miracle of miracles—the little boy takes his first steps to Daddy, and Jean is overcome with emotion.  She wants the toddler to walk to her next, and Bowman asks, “Can I come too?”

We have our happy ending, except for Henry, of course.  He's out of luck.

The movie, while not packing a punch like The More the Merrier, has some good moments, and it is particularly noteworthy that the screenwriter and associate producer for the film was Virginia Van Upp (1902-1970) – a child actress in silent films, later a script writer, producer, film editor, casting director, agent – pretty much a Hollywood jack-of-all-trades, unusual for a woman at that time.  (And is this a swell photo or what?) She had been brought over from Paramount to Columbia for Cover Girl rewrites that same year by studio boss Harry Cohn.  Lee Bowman also appeared in that film.

Speaking of the studio boss, The Impatient Years was Jean Arthur’s last film for Columbia under her much-hated contract with much-hated Harry Cohn.  She was free at last, and the wonderful A Foreign Affair (1948) here, and Shane (1953), discussed here, were ahead of her.

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Jacqueline T. Lynch is the author of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. and Movies in Our Time - Hollywood Mirrors and Mimics the Twentieth Century and Hollywood Fights Fascism and Christmas in Classic Films. TO JOIN HER READERS' GROUP - follow this link for a free book as a thank-you for joining.

My new non-fiction book, CHILDREN'S WARTIME ADVENTURE NOVELS - The Silent Generation's Vicarious Experience of World War II -- is now available in eBook here at Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo, and a wide variety of other online shops.

Or here from my Shopify store if you want to buy direct from me and avoid the big companies.

And it is here in eBook, paperback print, and hardcover, from Amazon.

It is also here in paperback from Ingram.

And here in hardcover from Ingram.

From Cherry Ames, to Meet the Malones, from Dave Dawson to Kitty Carter - Canteen Girl, the Silent Generation spent their childhood immersed in geopolitical events through the prism of their middle grade and young adult books.  From the home front to the battlefield, these books are a window on their world, and influenced their hard-working, conformity-loving generation. 

Buy this or any of my books online here at Bookshop.org.

Red Canyon - 1949

Red Canyon (1949) was Ann Blyth’s first Technicolor picture, first and only big-screen western, first time she received both top billing and name above the title.  She was 19 years old and had hit her stride.

It was a pinnacle of a kind, and the beginning of new trail.  After a string of six heavy dramas that gave her intense roles to prove herself a major up and coming actress, her last film before Red Canyon, Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid, which we covered here, was a complete change that charmed the public and clued-in the studio that Ann was also athletic, and that her beauty was as much an asset to selling a film as her acting skill.  Her trim body, also, could lend itself to more than posing in a crisp Noir wardrobe. 

It also reminded studio that she was young.  In those dramas, from Mildred Pierce through Another Part of the Forest, Ann’s characters were increasingly poised, knowing, sophisticated, and wore a mantle of worldly experience even though in real life she was still some years away from being old enough to vote.  Her characters were restless, mean, sad, tragic.

Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid, because of her fanciful character and its exotic costuming, her silent communication through her expressive face, and the joyful silliness of the plot, actually managed to re-set the clock on her screen sophistication.  She was suddenly much younger again.  For the next several films she would play more innocent ingénues, most of them in comedies, and this one western.

In Red Canyon, she plays the spirited tomboyish daughter of George Brent on a late nineteenth century homestead in the west.  Brent is a self-made man who runs a stagecoach line and a prosperous ranch, where he breeds and trains bloodstock for racing.  His prize horse is a great white stallion, his hope for winning an upcoming race, and he won’t let Ann near him, which infuriates her.  She wants to ride him.

George Brent has third billing here, and in that inevitable bittersweet Hollywood turnstile, no longer playing the romantic lead.  That job goes to Howard Duff, pulled away from a string of Noirs for his first romantic lead, and also his first western.  There would be many more westerns for him after this.  (Ann would have to wait for TV’s Wagon Train, in which she appeared in five episodes—we’ve discussed them all this year—to appear in more western stories.)

Mr. Duff plays a saddle tramp trying to capture a wild black stallion hereabouts known as Black Velvet (which was the film’s original working title).  Duff travels under an assumed name to distance himself from his no-account relatives.  That would be our old friend John McIntire, who played in so many of Ann’s films, as Duff’s wily outlaw pa.  Lloyd Bridges is his sneering no-account brother.  

Their gang steals horses, and many years ago made a raid on George Brent’s ranch, which resulted in the shooting death of his wife.

Jane Darwell, fussy and bossy as ever, plays George Brent’s sister, who has helped to raise Ann and is determined to make a lady of her, “If I have to break every bone in your ornery body to do it.”

We open on Ann’s birthday, when her pa and auntie present her with a gift of women’s duds.  Ann examines them with a wariness borne of not wanting to be changed by anybody, and a genuine fear of that metal rat-trap-looking thing called a bustle.  One look at the whalebone corset, and she bolts, climbing out the window.

Later, at the barbecue to celebrate her birthday, Ann appears in her feminine finery to the general approval of the crowd, including several would-be suitors.  They present her with an armload of gifts—the kind she likes—lariats, riding crops, saddles, bullwhips.

Bullwhips?

Catch the scene where she enters the outdoor party by walking down a flight of simple wooden stairs from her second-floor veranda, as the hem of her dress ripples down the steps and she gains confidence with every compliment.  By the time she’s reached the bottom step, she’s the belle of the ball.  As we’ve stated before on other films where the lady makes her entrance on a staircase, this is really the way to join a party.  A much-used device for showing off the heroine, but dang, it works every time.

Ladies, if you’re going to try this at home, all you need is an open staircase and a killer dress.  But make sure you don’t trip and take a header down the flight of stairs; it puts a damper the whole effect.

James Seay, another horse breeder and potential suitor for Ann, remarks she is “Prettier than a string of blue-nosed trout.”

This is apparently a compliment, because she is pleased.  One of the fun things about this movie is it is chock-full of euphemisms of the kind our western pioneers were evidently so fond.  Jane Darwell cracks off a string of them, starting with “flapdoodle” to describe the layers of feminine undergarments to which she introduces Ann.

About the only one in the movie who does not use euphemisms is George Brent, probably because, as we are told, he is originally from Massachusetts.  We in Massachusetts are not imaginative enough to compare a pretty young girl to a string of blue-nosed trout. 

We prefer cod, anyway.

The champion user of euphemisms in a particularly cussed manner is Edgar Buchanan, who plays Brent’s stagecoach driver.

The cod is the state fish of Massachusetts.

Mr. Buchanan is as big a teller of tall tales, and vain a man as you can get, trying to cover his nearsightedness, which will prove a danger to him and others. 

Cape Cod is in Massachusetts.  Oh…forget it.

Buchanan’s speech is so tangled up in the most outlandish and complicated blustering euphemisms that I’m surprised he could remember half his lines.  I’d love to see the outtakes; they're real tongue-twisters and he had to have messed up sometimes.

Tired of driving the stagecoach for Mr. Brent, Buchanan invites himself to be Howard Duff’s partner in catching the wild stallion, and voila, we have instant comic sidekick.  He is of no help, as comedy relief seldom is.

Ann’s first meeting with Mr. Duff is contentious, were he leaves her without a horse in the desert, and she catches up to him at a pond, coyly suggests they strip off and go swimming, and then steals his clothes and his horse.  Not a promising start to the romance, but gradually they each find something in the other they can respect. Duff stands up to her father, which she admires.  Ann is a better trainer for Black Velvet than Duff.  His bullying tactics to train the horse, once he’s caught him, only get him thrown off and lying in the dirt with a wrenched back, and the horse escapes from him.  Ann finds Black Velvet on the trail, where he is caught by a rope snagged on a limb.  The sudden jerk brings the poor horse crashing to the ground.

Ann’s gentle manner with Black Velvet goes over big with the horse.  She frees him, and leads him back to Duff, the horse trotting along beside her, happy as a puppy because she’s so purty and talks nice to him.  Duff’s astonishment is a hoot, but, to his credit, he lets her take over the job of training the horse without any ego.  He later tells her, “I would have been whipped.  Black Velvet’s too tough for me.”

Ann has an ulterior motive, she wants to ride Black Velvet in the upcoming horse race and beat the pants off her father, who won’t let her ride his white stallion, and says things, like, “You’d better realize you’re a girl,” as if that were a bad thing. 

Ann looks well on a horse and her confident riding is impressive.  She looks quite skilled and comfortable, even in the exciting shots where she is riding at a speedy gallop, leaning over the horse’s great neck, her hair flying.  I suppose we must credit the Hollywood studio training system for teaching a girl from Manhattan to ride like that. 

Since this is a Technicolor film, her hair has been lightened to a reddish brown.  I guess dark hair is only for black and white films.  For a tomboy, she wears a most vivid shade of red lipstick, similar in hue to the big red first letters in the words of the title.  You can’t waste Technicolor, you’ve got to make the most of it.  Likewise, the title Black Velvet becomes Red Canyon.

Westerns are really meant for color film stock, anyway.  A city scene artfully filmed in black and white can evoke a strong range of powerful emotions, but with an open range of small scrub, a gray palette does not distinguish detail as well as color.  Outside a closed set, there is less ability for the cinematographer to manipulate conditions.  In black and white, the western prairies look as desolate as the moon, but color film brings out depth and warmth to the rugged landscape, stark, challenging to the body and soul, and utterly majestic.

Howard Duff displays a quiet strength in this film, a virile self-confidence with an absence of swagger; he looks comfortable.  A likeable loner; if we never get to know him well it is not because he is complicated, but because he keeps his own counsel.  He faces down his conniving outlaw father and treacherous brother, as well as George Brent, who dismisses him as a saddle tramp.  Though his romance with Ann is tentative; there are no fireworks between them, in part due his reticence about getting involved with the girl who was made motherless by his outlaw family—nevertheless, their scenes together are genuine and reticence is natural to both their characters.  He is living down the burden of his family name; she is discovering her womanhood.  

Duff (in real life some 15 years older than Ann Blyth, but doesn't seem it) looks like he belongs to this landscape, as if he is a part of it.  George Brent does not; he still carries the aura of a transplant.  That, too, is natural.

Possibly the biggest star of the film are the uncredited horse wranglers.  The two great, spirited stallions, and especially the herd of wild horses under the lead of Black Velvet must have taken an extraordinary amount of handling. The camera work, too, is very good, with long and close shots sweeping over the backs of the galloping herd of wild horses.

One scene is a bit unsettling, when Howard Duff captures Black Velvet by forcing him to leave the refuge of a small, narrow canyon by starting a brush fire.  No wonder the horse doesn’t like him. 

By the end of the film, we have a horserace, a showdown, and a shootout.  Most surprisingly, Howard Duff and Ann Blyth decide to return the horse to the wild, and our last shot is not the usual happy couple pressing their cheeks together, but of a magnificent black horse tearing across the open range, rejoining the wild herd of which he is the leader.

The movie was filmed at Kanab, Utah, which was enjoying what was touted in the local press as the birth of a Hollywood-rival in location shooting.  (Howard Duff’s film with Yvonne DeCarlo Calamity Jane and Sam Bass (1949), which we covered here, with the same director and producer: George Sherman and Leonard Goldstein, would use the same racecourse and scenery the following year.).  Locals appeared as extras.  The Deseret News noted in October 1948:

During the past summer, southern Utah hotels, eating houses, stores and workmen reaped a rich harvest from the movie people on location around Kanab and Cedar City.  At the former site, Ann Blyth, Jane Darnell [sic] and George Brent captivated the citizens during their stay while filming Black Velvet.

The excitement of seeing Hollywood stars in their midst was accompanied by the thrill of knowing their part of world was getting attention, as the Deseret News recorded at the time of the film’s premiere in March 1949:

Red Canyon is a picture that’s worth thousands to Utah in the form of publicity.  Many who see the film when it is shown in theaters across the country will want to visit the region in which it was made…

Whether tourists thereafter clamored to get to the Kanab region, or only occasional film companies looking for sagebrush and scenery, but for one afternoon and evening in March 1949, Salt Lake City held the spotlight for the premiere of Red Canyon.

On the morning of Wednesday, March 16th, stars Ann Blyth, Howard Duff, Edgar Buchanan and Chill Wills, along with producer Leonard Goldstein, arrived at the train station on the Union Pacific Streamliner.  The mayor welcomed them, and they appeared on a live radio broadcast right there on the depot platform for the Breakfast in Hollywood program.  Among their personal appearances was to ride in parade through town the next afternoon along with the Downtown Days Queen—part of the Downtown Days festival run by the Retail Merchants Bureau of the Salt Lake Chamber of Commerce.

The evening of the 17^th was capped by the premiere showing of Red Canyon at the Utah Theater, with an overflow crowd going to the Capital Theater.  After the movie, the stars appeared on stage, with Chill Wills acting as emcee.  Ann sang.  The Deseret News commented:

The little Blyth girl especially won the plaudits with three songs which showed she is versatile in several fields of entertainment.  She left little doubt of her singing ability after she sang “Galway Bay” as her final selection.

Well, it was St. Patrick’s Day, after all.

If any of our readers attended that event, or know someone who was an extra, I'd love to hear from you.

The next day, the afternoon of Friday, the 18^th, it was the train back to Hollywood for the actors, leaving Salt Lake City with only its Downtown Days queen to maintain the magic of celebrity.

For Ann, the following week brought another celebrity experience when she attended the Academy Awards as a presenter, handing out the Sound Recording award.  The host was Robert Montgomery, with whom she was now working in Once More, My Darling, which we covered here.

It was her second appearance at the Academy Awards; you’ll remember her first was three years earlier as a Best Supporting Actress nominee for Mildred Pierce.  She had been a newcomer then; and if presenting the Sound Recording award was less exciting than being nominated, it signaled that she was part of the Hollywood establishment now. 

As you can see by the screen caps, this was recorded off the Encore Westerns channel.  I don't believe Red Canyon was ever released in VHS or DVD, but you can probably find a gray market copy. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

Come back next Thursday when we return to Ann Blyth’s first year of filmmaking, before any thought of Oscars, and the 1944 release of her final two teen musicals from Universal: Babes on Swing Street and Bowery to Broadway.

To all our American readers:  Happy Thanksgiving.

©Jacqueline T. Lynch, 2007-2014.  All rights reserved.  If you're reading this on a site other than Another Old Movie Blog, please be aware that this post has been stolen and is used without permission.

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Bonham Daily Favorite (Bonham, Texas) – November 18, 1951-  “Tiny Ann Blyth Proves Durable in Film Roles,” p. 2.

Deseret News, October 1, 1948 – “Movie Makers Turn Eyes to Utah” by Olive W. Burt, p. M1; March 18, 1949, “Red Canyon and Stars Win Plaudits at Premiere,” p. F-3; March 2, 1949, p. B1; March 17, 1949, p. B1; March 15, 1949, p. A8; November 11, 1948, “Kanab Runs Hollywood Close Second of Movies,” p. F-3.

Wiley, Mason and Damien Bona. Inside Oscar - The Unofficial History of the Academy Awards. (NY: Ballantine Books, 1986), p. 187.

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THANK YOU....to the following folks whose aid in gathering material for this series has been invaluable:  EBH; Kevin Deany of Kevin's Movie Corner; Gerry Szymski of Westmont Movie Classics, Westmont, Illinois; and Ivan G. Shreve, Jr. of Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.  And thanks to all those who signed on as backers to my recent Kickstarter campaign.  The effort failed to raise the funding needed, but I'll always remember your kind support.

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UPDATE:  This series on Ann Blyth is now a book - ANN BLYTH: ACTRESS. SINGER. STAR. -

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The audio book for Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is now for sale on Audible.com, and on Amazon and iTunes.

Also in paperback and eBook from Amazon, CreateSpace, and my Etsy shop: LynchTwinsPublishing.

 "Lynch’s book is organized and well-written – and has plenty of amusing observations – but when it comes to describing Blyth’s movies, Lynch’s writing sparkles." - Ruth Kerr, Silver Screenings

"Jacqueline T. Lynch creates a poignant and thoroughly-researched mosaic of memories of a fine, upstanding human being who also happens to be a legendary entertainer." - Deborah Thomas, Java's Journey

"One of the great strengths of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is that Lynch not only gives an excellent overview of Blyth's career -- she offers detailed analyses of each of Blyth's roles -- but she puts them in the context of the larger issues of the day."- Amanda Garrett, Old Hollywood Films

"Jacqueline's book will hopefully cause many more people to take a look at this multitalented woman whose career encompassed just about every possible aspect of 20th Century entertainment." - Laura Grieve, Laura's Miscellaneous Musings''

"Jacqueline T. Lynch’s Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is an extremely well researched undertaking that is a must for all Blyth fans." - Annette Bochenek, Hometowns to Hollywood

Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. 
by Jacqueline T. Lynch

The first book on the career of actress Ann Blyth. Multitalented and remarkably versatile, Blyth began on radio as a child, appeared on Broadway at the age of twelve in Lillian Hellman's Watch on the Rhine, and enjoyed a long and diverse career in films, theatre, television, and concerts. A sensitive dramatic actress, the youngest at the time to be nominated for her role in Mildred Pierce (1945), she also displayed a gift for comedy, and was especially endeared to fans for her expressive and exquisite lyric soprano, which was showcased in many film and stage musicals. Still a popular guest at film festivals, lovely Ms. Blyth remains a treasure of the Hollywood's golden age.

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A new collection of essays, some old, some new, from this blog titled Movies in Our Time: Hollywood Mimics and Mirrors the 20th Century is now out in eBook, and in paperback here.

Ann Blyth - Two Stage Dramas

Author's collection.

Two stage dramas, seventeen years apart in Ann Blyth’s career, tell of her acting range and of how she mined opportunities for a variety of work.  One occurred in 1950 when she was well established in her film career and a star just shy of her 22^nd birthday.  The second occurred a decade after her last film, when, though still a working actress on TV guest roles and in summer musical theatre around the country, she was considered, at 38, to be flying under the radar for her absence on the big screen.

The first play: Thornton Wilder’s Our Town at the La Jolla Playhouse in La Jolla, California, in August, 1950.  The second: Frederick Mott’s thriller Wait Until Dark at the Studebaker Theater in Chicago, 1967.

With her latest film released, Our Very Own (1950), which we covered here, the year 1950 brought new adventures, and challenges, for Ann Blyth that gave her a break from her film work.  One of these was her first time singing at the Academy Awards, which we'll cover in a future post.  Another was a week’s engagement at the La Jolla Playhouse, founded by actors Gregory Peck, Dorothy McGuire, and Mel Ferrer, which we talked about here in this previous post.

It had been seven years since Ann had trod the boards, having come to Hollywood via the national touring company in Lillian Hellman’s Watch on the Rhine, in the role of Babette, which Ann originated on Broadway.  We discussed that in our intro post to this series on Ann Blyth’s career here.  Ann was a child of 12 when she won her role in that prestigious play. 

Though Hollywood scavenged a lot of actors from the theater, the seven-year contract rarely released them back to that other world.  The La Jolla Playhouse, with its limited summertime schedule, offered a chance for stage-starved actors to put a toehold back in that other world, if only briefly.

Photo Modern Screen, November, 1950 (public domain)

Mel Ferrer, Millard Mitchell, Ann Blyth, Marshall Thompson

Our Town featured Millard Mitchell as the stage manager, with Ann as Emily, opposite Marshall Thompson as George.  Beulah Bondi as Ann’s mother, and Edgar Buchanan rounded out the top-notch cast of Hollywood escapees.  Mel Ferrer directed the show, performed at the La Jolla High School Auditorium.  Also in the cast were O.Z. Whitehead, Esther Somers, Raymond Greenleaf, Clarence Straight, Jay Barney, Frank Conlan, Elizabeth Slifer, and Ricky Barber.

In a review by Katherine Von Blon for the Los Angeles Times, the scene where Ann as Emily returns as a ghost to relive a happy birthday morning from her past is described as “almost unbearably moving.”

Exquisite Ann Blyth demonstrated rare and sensitive gifts as an actress.  There were few dry eyes in the house when she made the speech ending with “goodbye world.”

The show was “truly an unforgettable experience.”

But, of course, the stage world is ethereal, and so we may not forget, but we move on with only memories—and a few reviews and a tattered, yellowed program—to document the event.

Have a look at a few production photos of Our Town rehearsal here at the Mel Ferrer website.

At the end of the run, Ann returned to Hollywood, and was loaned out to MGM for The Great Caruso, which began her participation in MGM’s screen musical golden age.  We’ll talk about that film down the road.

By 1967, when Ann performed in the Chicago production of the Broadway hit Wait Until Dark, she had not made a film in a decade, and her stage work that had come to replace film as her main acting endeavor was devoted to popular musicals, allowing her, at last, to use her beautiful, trained, singing voice in a wide range of musicals that she never got to do on film.  But she was still receptive to a good dramatic role, and the part of Suzy, the blind woman at the mercy of a gang of drug dealers was an exceptionally meaty role.  It is emotionally draining, and physically challenging, and most actresses who’ve tackled the role get bruised and bumped up in the fight scene.

Production photo, credit unknown at this time.

I’ve always thought that the climactic scene where the villain opens the refrigerator door, casting a beam of light across a darkened stage to find his victim, who has been hiding from him, one of the most chilling sights in theatre.  So simply done, no theatrical razzle-dazzle, yet so creepy.

“Creepy” was the watchword of Thomas Willis’ review of Wait Until Dark in the Chicago Tribune.  Mr. Willis, longtime arts and music critic for the Tribune, labels not only the gang of drug dealers as creepy, but also the husband of the blind woman for his “deliberate lack of sympathy” for his wife’s blindness in forcing her to be more independent.  He calls Ann Blyth “the most believable” in her role and also finds it creepy she is able to compensate for her character’s blindness by distinguishing people around her by their footsteps, yet still has trouble navigating her own apartment.

Miss Blyth is beautiful as ever, but somewhat stiff in characterization of the girl not yet accustomed to sightlessness.

With that typically bored and blasé tone of many critics, he notes that the rest of the "uniformly capable" cast, “measure up," with most of his review describing the plot of the story, rather than commenting specifically on the acting or technical elements.

Wait Until Dark played for five weeks.  James Tolkan played the sinister Harry Rote.  Donald Buka and Val Bisoglie were the thugs-as-chumps, with Michael Ebert as her husband.  Sheryl Mandel was Gloria, the little girl upstairs who proves to be an ally.

Six bucks for the orchestra.  (The blogger heaves a big sigh.)

Later on in this same year that Ann performed in Wait Until Dark, 1967, she went back to musical theatre in The King and I in St. Louis, and then right into Carnival in Salt Lake City, where the Deseret News called her a “petite star of all five mediums,” recounting her role in Mildred Pierce (1945), which we discussed here, and then reminds us, “After that, she was one of the brightest stars of the movie world.  She has also starred in television, on the stage, and in nightclubs.”

It sounds like an obituary.  Just rounding 39 years old, and the press was reminding readers who she was.  But these musicals, though “off the radar” by standards that judged film to be the most important reflection of popular culture, yet offered her creative challenges, the ability to flex muscles, and, most especially, starring roles.  We’ll cover those in a later post.

We mentioned last week in a post on three of her radio performances that though while Ann Blyth is primarily remembered for her films, she made only 32 of them.  She performed as many as 400 times on radio.

But she acted on stage probably at least 700 times over the course of more than 40 years, not including her singing concerts, which extended her career another couple of decades. 

Her first stage appearance in Chicago was in 1942, (twenty-five years before Wait Until Dark) the year she turned 14, on the road show of Watch on the Rhine, which played at the Grand Opera House on Clark Street.

The year before, 1941, the show was still on Broadway, and Ann recalled for Modern Screen magazine in an article from 1953 a funny, but uncomfortable stage memory from that show:

What I remember particularly is the second act when I was supposed to be on stage and cook some potato pancakes (really flat bran muffins) for Lucile Watson.  One night I was so busy chatting with someone offstage that I missed my cue and Miss Watson had to improvise.  She walked right to the stage entrance where I was dreaming and said, “Where is Babette?  Oh, there you are!  (Looking at me so sharply that I woke up and realized what I had done).  I was wondering where my potato pancakes were!”  I ran on stage with them.  But when the act was over, I burst into tears that lasted all through the intermission, and I’m still embarrassed about it.

Missing a cue at 13 is even more terrifying than being attacked with a trick knife in Wait Until Dark at 38.

Still, that 13-year old leaves a small but special footprint -- it is common that when a playscript is published, the names of the original cast are included.  When you order a Watch on the Rhine actor's script today from its current publisher, Dramatists Play Service, this will greet you in the opening pages:

Come back next week when Ann rides TV's Wagon Train once more in 1963, as a tragic frontier officer’s wife who drowns her anguish in alcohol.  Ronald Reagan co-stars in one of his last acting roles.

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Chicago Tribune. "Wait Until Dark' at the Studebaker Tomorrow", May 14, 1967, p. E13;  "Wait Until Dark Simulates Terror" by Thomas Willis, May 16, 1967, p. B3.

Deseret News (Salt Lake City) August 26, 1967, p.10A, “Ann Blyth to Star in Carnival at Valley Music.”

Hellman, Lillian.  Watch on the Rhine. (Dramatists Play Service).

Janesville Daily Gazette (Janesville, Wisconsin), May 15, 1967.

Modern Screen. “Take My Word for It” star column by Ann Blyth, January 1953, p. 69.

Modern Screen, November 1950, “Ann Blyth’s Story” by Cynthia Willet, p. 88.

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THANK YOU....to the following folks whose aid in gathering material for this series has been invaluable:  EBH; Kevin Deany of Kevin's Movie Corner; Gerry Szymski of Westmont Movie Classics, Westmont, Illinois; and Ivan G. Shreve, Jr. of Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.

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UPDATE:  This series on Ann Blyth is now a book - ANN BLYTH: ACTRESS. SINGER. STAR. -

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The audio book for Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is now for sale on Audible.com, and on Amazon and iTunes.

Also in paperback and eBook from Amazon, CreateSpace, and my Etsy shop: LynchTwinsPublishing.

 "Lynch’s book is organized and well-written – and has plenty of amusing observations – but when it comes to describing Blyth’s movies, Lynch’s writing sparkles." - Ruth Kerr, Silver Screenings

"Jacqueline T. Lynch creates a poignant and thoroughly-researched mosaic of memories of a fine, upstanding human being who also happens to be a legendary entertainer." - Deborah Thomas, Java's Journey

"One of the great strengths of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is that Lynch not only gives an excellent overview of Blyth's career -- she offers detailed analyses of each of Blyth's roles -- but she puts them in the context of the larger issues of the day."- Amanda Garrett, Old Hollywood Films

"Jacqueline's book will hopefully cause many more people to take a look at this multitalented woman whose career encompassed just about every possible aspect of 20th Century entertainment." - Laura Grieve, Laura's Miscellaneous Musings''

"Jacqueline T. Lynch’s Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is an extremely well researched undertaking that is a must for all Blyth fans." - Annette Bochenek, Hometowns to Hollywood

Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. 
by Jacqueline T. Lynch

The first book on the career of actress Ann Blyth. Multitalented and remarkably versatile, Blyth began on radio as a child, appeared on Broadway at the age of twelve in Lillian Hellman's Watch on the Rhine, and enjoyed a long and diverse career in films, theatre, television, and concerts. A sensitive dramatic actress, the youngest at the time to be nominated for her role in Mildred Pierce (1945), she also displayed a gift for comedy, and was especially endeared to fans for her expressive and exquisite lyric soprano, which was showcased in many film and stage musicals. Still a popular guest at film festivals, lovely Ms. Blyth remains a treasure of the Hollywood's golden age.