Chip off the Old Block and The Merry Monahans - 1944

Chip off the Old Block and The Merry Monahans, both released in 1944, were Ann Blyth’s first two films.  They are an intriguing view of a very young, still developing talent, but we can recognize the composure and maturity that carried her through her career and her life.  The camera loves her.  She seems, with ladylike reticence, to be waiting for a proper introduction to us, but with Donald O’Connor bringing her to the party, she’s in good hands.

B-movies to be sure, they are the tentative beginning of her thirteen-year film career that reaped a quick rise to stardom—but not just yet.  How much she took with her from her radio and stage training and applied it to her new screen career, and what she might have had to jettison to adapt makes interesting speculation—for this fresh-faced newcomer had been working since the age of six.  If she had learned anything by the age of fourteen-going-on-fifteen, when these films were made, it was that every new experience brought new wisdom, and a revelation, perhaps, that though one could not always create opportunity, one could still carve out a space on which to build the future.

She recalled this period for Modern Screen in 1955:

I guess everyone dreams about being in pictures.  I was no different.  I loved the stage.  But children’s parts, especially good ones, don’t come along too often, and pictures promised at least the chance of steady income.

A pragmatic approach for a young person, but perhaps entirely in character for a woman who would become known in Hollywood as much for her discretion, sense, and serenity as for her talent and beauty.

She and her mother had been several months touring with the road production of Watch On the Rhine (after having played Broadway for a year—see our intro post to this series here), and her seven-year movie contract with Universal meant she could unpack her suitcase for good, though far away from New York and Connecticut where family lived.  There would still be plenty of travel in her future, but from this point forward, California would be home.

The irony was that she came to Universal a dramatic actress—they discovered only in their interview with her that she could also sing.  Sufficiently impressed with this ability, they started her off in musicals.  The ink on the contract was still wet in December 1942 when an article by Harold V. Cohen in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette crowed, “Pretty little Ann Blyth…may be Universal’s new Deanna Durbin.”

After four B-musicals, Ann was loaned to Warner Bros. for Mildred Pierce (1945), see our post here, and when she returned to the Universal lot, never did another musical for them again.  She wanted to do musicals, but it would take a new studio—MGM—to give her that chance.

The first four movies, all musicals, that Ann made for Universal were Chip off the Old Block, The Merry Monahans, Babes on Swing Street, and Bowery to Broadway, and were all released in 1944.  We’ll discuss the other two films later in the year.  It’s difficult to say if they were made in order of their release, as Donald O’Connor was in most of them and the studio was in a race to crank out as many films with him as possible before he entered the Army Air Corps late in 1943.

Donald O’Connor is quoted in Dick Moore’s book Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—But Don’t Have Sex or Take the Car:

They tried to finish all those pictures before I went into the service.  We worked three pictures at one time: the one coming up, the one we were doing, and we dubbed the one we’d just finished.  That’s all we did: work.  It’s amazing we had as much fun as we did, grinding them out like that.

Despite MGM’s glossier and more famous “Andy Hardy” series, according to author Bernard F. Dick in City of Dreams-The Making and Remaking of Universal Pictures:

Universal movies featured more teenagers and young adults than any other studio—Deanna Durbin, Donald O’Connor, Peggy Ryan, Susanna Foster, Grace MacDonald, Ann Blyth…Gloria Jean…

Hedda Hopper noted in her column in February 1943:

Children on the upbeat at Universal.  Since Deanna Durbin and Gloria Jean made so much money for them, Henry Koster has little Ann Blyth…who was so good in Watch on the Rhine…while talking to her, he discovered she could sing.

Universal already had its youth unit, The Jivin’ Jacks and Jills, and the young dramatic stage actress, who it was discovered could also sing, was plunked into this energetic world of home front teens just shy of draft age.  Ann would recall these films as “good learning experiences.”

Later on in the year, we’re going to talk a little about Ann’s teen years in Hollywood.

Chip off the Old Block, released February 1944, in her very first film, gives her third billing after Donald O’Connor and Peggy Ryan--above the title.  This also, along with the uneven quality of the first four films, makes it difficult to really understand what might have been in the can first.  At some point in the frenetic assembly line, the studio decided she was worth featuring.

She is, not for the first time, playing older, a young woman of college age who, having been raised by an uncle and aunt in Hawaii, is now coming to New York City to live with her mother. (Played by Helen Vinson.  Her grandmother is Helen Broderick.)  “My mother and grandmother are famous actresses, and I guess you can’t be that and raise children too.”

She’d have a chance to prove that one wrong some years later.

Donald O’Connor is a campus cut-up at a military academy who performs in the school show.  His father is a career naval officer.  We don’t know what kind of career Donald has mapped out for himself—he laments that he’d be in the war already if his eyesight were better, but he’s so good at performing that his pal, young theater hoofer Peggy Ryan, enlists his help to get an audition.  

She is the comedienne of the piece, no real rival for Ann Blyth for Donald’s affections, though there are some misunderstandings that push the plot along like kids playing kick-the-can until the final number, where all three are on stage performing for war relief.

Our introduction to Ann Blyth is, serendipitously for us train fans, on a train.  Donald sits apart from her, doing eye exercises for his lousy vision, and she misinterprets it as somewhat grotesque flirting.  After a spat and reconciliation, they are cozily ensconced on the rear train platform (which, sadly, nobody can do anymore), and sing a duet.  Her voice is a pleasing soprano, but nowhere near the range, control and richness of what it would become with more training in the next decade. 

Like Donald, she is also a teen with a conscience and wants to do her bit for the war effort, and intends to divide her time between China Relief, the Red Cross, and the canteen, but is dragged into the theater because she sings so swell, and she agrees to do it if the producers give all the money to the war effort.

There is a subplot about Donald mistakenly thinking his naval father is selling plans to a Nazi spy, and a back story that his father and Ann’s mother were once engaged, and where his grandfather and Ann’s grandmother also had a broken-off relationship.  At first, mom and grandma don’t want Ann to have anything to do with Donald, fearing she will be hurt as they were, and they try to scuttle the friendship.  That’s all probably too much for one movie, but Ann shares her first screen kiss with Donald—she goes after him—so this little lightweight movie manages to accomplish a lot for her debut. 

There’s also Joel Kupperman, the seven-year-old math genius from the Quiz Kids radio program.  I’m not sure how he wandered in, but he’s cute as a bug, even if his recitation of math equations makes my head hurt.

Some favorite moments:

Arthur Treacher and Minna Gombell as the former vaudevillians, now turned butler and maid of Ann’s mother and grandmother.  He liked playing a butler so much on stage, he decided to become one.  He still dances up stairs.

The drugstore reconciliation scene (see our previous post on romance in drugstores here) and the endearing soda jerk listening to their tiff as if engrossed in a soap opera.

The sarcastic line, when Ann is fighting with Donald, “What train did you take this morning, the subway from Times Square to 49^th Street?”  It’s only one stop, and Ann lived on East 49^th Street before she came to Hollywood.

The way nobody makes a joke out of the lady cabdriver.  She’s doing war work.

Peggy Ryan.  My gosh, that girl was talented.  More on that below.  But though Donald O’Connor and Peggy Ryan eclipsed the other “Jacks and Jills” in popularity and became a team, the addition of Ann Blyth made them a triangle, with Ryan relegated to the pal or sister parts.  From a review in The Windsor (Ontario) Daily Star, May 1944:

The studio seems to have decided that Miss Ryan is a comedienne, and not glamorous enough for the junior romancing required.

So to share feminine honors opposite O’Connor, Universal has introduced Ann Blyth.  She’s a very junior miss who was in the stage version of Watch on the Rhine and looks 14 if she’s a day.

Trying to keep both Miss Blyth and Miss Ryan sympathetic cuts down conflict there, so they drag in the family rivalry.

O’Connor is his bright and brashful self and Miss Ryan again the angular dynamo, matching her partner in mugging. Miss Blyth is a shrinking violet in comparison and so put in the shade.

I get a kick out of the “looks 14 if she’s a day” line, but I have to disagree.  With the regulation upsweep hairdo, she’s quite grown up here, and looks the same age as Peggy Ryan, who in real life was actually some four years older.  It’s funny, and a little sickening, that aging was such a dark cloud over the heads of young performers.  Our old obtuse friend Bosley Crowther of The New York Times deigned to discuss the shenanigans:

The juvenile precocity of Donald O’Connor is wearing off as age is creeping up—the young man is now all of 18 and looks it…

He describes the film as “lackluster” and singles out Ann as only “a pretty newcomer.”  Peggy Ryan gets the mud slung: “Peggy Ryan is a clowning annoyance.”

According to Ann’s interview in the above-mentioned Modern Screen article, the preview for Chip off the Old Block took place out in Glendale.  “It took forever to get there by streetcar and bus.”

Ann’s mother accompanied her, and Ann recalled:

She probably realized that I had a lot to learn, but there for the first time on the screen was her daughter.  Her daughter made little impression on anyone else.  Nobody recognized me outside.  Nobody asked me for an autograph.

The next movie, The Merry Monahans was released seven months later, in September 1944, followed immediately by the third, Babes on Swing Street in October, and the last, Bowery to Broadway in November.

In December, MildredPierce went into production.  Nothing would be the same after that.

The Merry Monahans is one of those fun “passing parade of years” movies, where a decade and more fans through our eyes in a flurry of newspaper headlines and the ups and downs of a vaudeville family.  Jack Oakie teams with lovely Rosemary DeCamp at the turn of the twentieth century on stage, and proposes marriage, but his problems with alcohol have him helplessly entangled with another woman, who drags him to the altar first.  Oakie is likeable in the role, and poignant when he nobly faces heartbreak. 

It is a loveless marriage, and his wife leaves him.  Nobody misses her.  Oakie continues the act with their two kids: Donald O’Connor and Peggy Ryan.  Catch the scene where the kids are shown much younger using some sort of camera perspective trickery to make them appear much shorter than Oakie.

We’re taken up to the World War I era, where the act is traveling by train, and we have another train meet cute between Donald and Ann Blyth.  He is bored, wanders around the train, eventually decides to climb onto the train roof and stroll around up there.  Shades of his later role as Buster Keaton (see our post on Donald and Ann’s matchup in The Buster Keaton Story 1957, here).  In a later scene, he takes her up there with him.

When he climbs down, covered in soot, he lands on the rear train platform, and who is sitting there?  Ann Blyth, of course.  She thinks he is a hobo, feels sorry for him, and gives him a dollar.

Ann is also in vaudeville, traveling with her mother and the lead in the act, a distinguished dramatic actor played by John Miljan, who has eyes for her mother, and who takes a Svengali-type interest in Ann’s career. 

Here, Ann is not the breezy and self-confident sophisticate she was in Chip off the Old Block.  She’s playing closer to her own age, looks younger with the World War I-era long ringlets and old-fashioned clothing, and she immediately draws our sympathy for her anxiety over performing, of not being good enough and not pleasing her mother and Mr. Miljan, who coaches her.  She has to make good because they have to eat, otherwise, she’s not sure she belongs in this world of theatre.  A sad, sweet girl, doing her best to keep up, though she is overwhelmed.

We see at once that Ann Blyth has, in her second film, already established her ability to appear completely different to her previous movie role.  Her versatility, as we’ve seen in this year-long series on Ann Blyth, was the most striking and notable feature of her acting career, and is a quality she came in with from day one. Also, as we’ve seen, this very talent of simply being versatile could be useful in exploiting new opportunities; but it could also hold one back in an industry that seemed always to hire based on type.

Consider Donald O’Connor and Peggy Ryan, a very successful team as teens and both enormously talented.  They are the same in every film, because that was what clicked with the audiences.  Miss Ryan’s film career would not last much longer, and Mr. O’Connor would have a struggle to re-establish himself after his military service.  Francis the Talking Mule came to his rescue, and eventually, of course, there would be his exceptional performance in Singin’ In the Rain (1952) and a few other big musicals in the 1950s, and his own TV show.  Peggy Ryan and Donald O’Connor were seen as a sort of B-movie Mickey and Judy.  As a team, they were equally talented to the better known, more glossily produced Mickey and Judy team.  As individual performers—I would suggest they were even better.

O’Connor and Ryan were impressive dancers.  There are comic numbers that include amazing acrobatics and athleticism.  There are explosive tap numbers, and there are sweeping, elegant ballroom dances that surpass anything done by Mickey and Judy, and are the equal to any performance of Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire and their partners. 

In a lavish solo number, Peggy Ryan, who though she may have not been allowed to display a great acting range in her teaming with Donald O’Connor, and whose singing was only fair, here displays remarkable versatility as a dancer.  She is exquisite in ballet, ballroom, elegantly dropping the mugging comic persona for an enchanting presence as one of the great screen dancers.  I think this is too little acknowledged today, and maybe she has become forgotten by all but her fans, but we need to rectify that.  I hope to discuss more of her work in the future.  The Ryan-O’Connor dance team couldn’t be beat.

The Merry Monahans is mostly music, and some of the numbers staged as theatre shows are fantastic, especially the quite long “Manhattan Follies” sequence at the end, which leaves not a lot of time for plot.  Just as in Chip off the Old Block, there’s a lot happening here and it could almost be divided up into two or three movies.  First, there is the surprise when Ann’s mother comes to fetch her off the back train platform and…gasp!  It’s Rosemary DeCamp!  Jack Oakie’s former love!  And Jack Oakie is Donald O’Connor’s dad!  The coincidence is all too remarkable!

You can see where this is going.  However, there’s a whole lot to wade through before we get one big happy family.  John Miljan’s controlling influence over Ann and her mother is sinister, and where Ann is concerned, really quite creepy.  That could have been a whole movie by itself.

Then there is the recurrence of Jack Oakie’s drinking problem and how he messes up the act and Donald and Peggy have to go it alone.

Ann gets a nice variety of scenes in this movie that showcase her abilities.  Her first solo is sweet rendition of “If You Wore a Tulip” performed as part of a vaudeville act rehearsal.  Her dramatic abilities shine in the tension over John Miljan’s harsh influence over her, especially when she is moved to tears under his criticism, and her final standoff with him.  She even gets a nice comic scene when she has run away (“I can’t stand him anymore.”) and she and Donald are mulling over their problems on a park bench where an Irish cop played by Robert Homans (Hollywood Stereotype #412), on the lookout for the reported runaway, has discovered them. 

Ann, innocent as you please, launches into her Irish accent (possibly borrowed from her Irish-born mother, but I’m sure she put it back when she done using it), and berates “my fine policeman” for thinking she was anything but the proud daughter of another Irish cop.

They attempt to be married at a town hall, but the clerk rats on them.  He’s played by Ian Wolfe, who years later showed up as Ann’s butler in Wagon Train’s “The Jenny Tannen Story” (see this previous post here).

Gavin Muir, who we’ll later see as the dogged inspector plaguing Ann’s life in Thunder on the Hill (1951-which we discussed here) is the Broadway impresario who gives them all their big break.

Problems get resolved a little too quickly at the end, but then, we have to move fast because we’re running out of film.  The Merry Monahans is, for all its weaknesses, a really delightful movie with an unassuming cast so incredibly talented that we need to dismiss the sum total of the movie parts and just focus on the individuals who rise above the movie-making assembly line and prove themselves to be real troupers.

Before the movie was released to the general public, it was previewed at Camp Pendleton, whose proximity to Hollywood made it the lucky beneficiary of many visits from Hollywood stars donating their time to entertain.  A newspaper article from July 1944, probably a not a little beefed up by the studio publicity department, quote one “rugged Marine” back from battle on Tarawa and the Marshalls as admiring newcomer Ann Blyth, “She not only sings like an angel—she looks like one.”  Ann the “young singing and acting sensation of Universal’s The Merry Monahans had been made sweetheart of the regiment.”

She sang at the camp, and was lauded by other marines as “another Deanna Durbin.”  The article also mentions the “as yet unreleased” Bowery to Broadway, so here again, we don’t really know if these first four films were actually made all at the same time. 

Now she is on the threshold of film greatness while only in her middle teens.

This, despite the crackling sound of hyperbole, proved to be true, but not yet for her singing.  She was unexpectedly loaned to Warner Bros. for MildredPierce and her searing performance as the evil Veda broke the cycle of light teen musicals and would earn her a reputation as a promising dramatic actress.  Though she kept hoping for another musical from her home studio, it was not until she was loaned to MGM for The Great Caruso (1951) that Ann appeared in another screen musical.  It took some campaigning to get that role, and that role finally launched her string of big 1950s musicals, to the point where some may have forgotten what a tremendous dramatic actress she was.

If that meant she did not enjoy the firmly cemented screen persona that made Peggy Ryan and Donald O’Connor so easily identifiable to the public and so easily marketable by Universal, nevertheless it made for a longer lasting career with what must have been a satisfying degree of variety.

For the rest of this month, we’re going to cover that progression of screen musicals in the 1950s.  Come back next Thursday, when we start off with The Great Caruso with Mario Lanza.

To my knowledge, neither Chip off the Old Block or The Merry Monahans has been released in VHS or DVD (please correct me if I'm wrong), but bits can be found on YouTube.

To American readers: Wishing you a very happy Independence Day tomorrow.

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Classic Images, February 1995, “Ann Blyth: Ann of a thousand Smiles” by Lance Erickson Ghulam, p.18.

Deseret News (Salt Lake City), July 19, 1944, p. 7 “Ann Sings, Looks Like Angel.”

Dick, Bernard F.  City of Dreams-The Making and Remaking of Universal Pictures (University of Kentucky Press, 1997), p. x

Modern Screen, October 1955, “High Road to Happiness” by Ida Zeitlin, p. 82.

Moore, Dick. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—But Don’t Have Sex or Take the Car (NY: Harper & Row Publishers, c. 1984), p. 124.

The New York Times, March 17, 1944, review by Bosley Crowther.

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, December 3, 1942, article by Harold V. Cohen, p. 22.

St. Petersburg (Florida) Times, February 18, 1943, syndicated column by Hedda Hopper, p. 15.

The Windsor (Ontario) Daily Star – article by Annie Oakley, May 8, 1944.

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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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TRIVIA QUESTION:  I've recently been contacted by someone who wants to know if the piano player in Dillinger (1945-see post here) is the boogie-woogie artist Albert Ammons. Please leave comment or drop me a line if you know.

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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.

Thunder on the Hill - 1951

Thunder on the Hill (1951) is a great stew of dark-and-stormy-night whodunit, character actor fest, and higher questions on what is faith and what is only fanatic assumption.  Some of these aspects, not entirely married in the stew, fall to the bottom of the pot, neglected, and some rise again and again to the surface with a little stirring.

Connie Gilchrist is the cook in this film whose constant guardianship over soups and stews makes one inevitably hungry for some, and is responsible for the above gastronomic paragraph.

The movie stars Claudette Colbert as a nun with tragedy in her past and a troubled drive for excellence that creates conflict with those around her. 

Ann Blyth is a convicted murderess on her way to the gallows, when she and practically the whole county of this rain-sodden chunk of England is forced to take refuge at the hilltop convent and hospital.

The movie was still tentatively titled Bonaventure, after the stage play by Charlotte Hastings from which the story is taken (Miss Colbert’s character name is Sr. Mary Bonaventure)—when a reporter allowed to observe a scene being filmed commented on Ann Blyth’s encounter with an on-camera breakfast.

“Spread before her is a dish of bacon and eggs, two slices of toast and a cup of tea.  As the camera rolls, Ann methodically consumes her last meal.

‘Very good,’ says Director Douglas Sirk, ‘The action of the extras in the background wasn’t all it could be, though.  I think we had better do it again.’

The prop man brings another helping of food from his portable steam table, and the scene is filmed again.  This time, something goes wrong with the sound—and again Sirk calls for another take.

As the shot is finally completed to everyone’s satisfaction, Ann slumps back in her chair and pushes away the third empty dish of bacon and eggs.

‘Now I know what they mean when they say, ‘the condemned man ate a hearty breakfast,’ she gasped.”

Unfortunately, Ann’s Herculean task of eating three helpings of bacon, eggs and toast was for naught.  The scene apparently ended up on the cutting room floor; you won’t see it in the movie.

It was filmed early in the year 1951 (the article was published in February), and by December of that year, columnist Louella Parsons noted, “Ann Blyth, bright-eyed and happy, told me that 1951 had been the most exciting year of her entire life.”

It was certainly a busy one.  Five of her films, the most in one year, were released in 1951, including I’ll Never Forget You (discussed here, and we’ll talk about it some more later on in the series), The Golden Horde, The Great Caruso, and Katie Did It (which I’m having a terrible time finding - UPDATE - FOUND IT!).  They represent a variety of roles and genres, and this was perhaps the greatest satisfaction for her.

There were also several more radio performances, including two scenes from this movie played out on the Lux Radio Theater by Ann and Claudette Colbert.  The episode covers eight films premiering in 1951.  Listen here at the Internet Archive website and scroll down to “Movietime USA”.  Their scene starts at 7:54 and afterwards is followed by a brief interview.

Ann Blyth was twenty-two years old when Thunder on the Hill was filmed, her name along with Miss Colbert’s above the title.  Her stature in Hollywood had been cemented at this young age by her talent and popularity, but top movies would prove to be a challenge to get as the changing film industry, and changing society, advanced further into the 1950s. 

Claudette Colbert, a major star for a couple decades, was a great example of both career excellence and longevity, but time and diminishing opportunities in a coming era when her "type" of the elegant and sassy woman was replaced by a new wave of younger gamines and sexpots.  Ann Blyth’s film career, despite her being much younger, would end before the decade was over for some of the same reasons.  They both represented an era of actresses who radiated class, intelligence, and dignity, but in the years would not find much of a place on film.

Author Lawrence T. Quirk in Claudette Colbert, AnIllustrated Biography, notes, “Ann Blyth recalled her work with Colbert as a delightful experience, mentioning that unlike other great stars she had appeared with…Colbert was a relaxed, down-to-earth, infinitely secure person, disciplined about the projection of her talent, gracious to all those about her.”

Gladys Cooper, who plays the Mother Superior in the film, he quoted, “Claudette is a professional, and even when the material is thin and rather pedestrian, as I thought that film unfortunately tended to be, she gives it her best efforts.”

That the plot of Thunder on the Hill seemed a “pedestrian” and standard English murder mystery, with all the suspects gathered in one place at the climax, is the most common observation on this film.  While that may be intended as a complaint, I don’t see the plot, simply because it is standard, is a downfall.  There are only so many stories out there, and none of them are new.

I would suggest that more could have been done to season the stew simply by paying more attention to ingredients that were on hand: including the superstitious and judgmental townsfolk who are uncomfortable with having a murderer take refuge with them from the storm—versus the images of clemency, salvation and redemption present in the Catholic icons of the convent and hospital.  I was quite surprised to read director Douglas Sirk, who specialized in glossy melodramas, dismiss the idea that the film should contain any reference to religion.  In an interview with author Jon Halliday in Sirk on Sirk, Mr. Sirk comments:

“I wanted this picture to have nothing to do with religion.  For me, there is one interesting theme in it: this girl (Ann Blyth) being taken to the gallows, the storm, the delay, and so on.  This should have been the only thing the picture was about.  There was no story in the Claudette Colbert part.  But for various reasons, including the fact that the producer blew most of the budget building that fantastic convent in Hollywood, when we could have gone on location somewhere, they kept pushing it towards religion the whole time.”

I think Mr. Sirk was missing the elephant in the room this time around.  The villagers are escaping a devastating flood and flee to the highest ground near them, on which sits a convent and hospital run by nuns.  They’re not going to the McDonald’s on the hill; they’re going to the convent on the hill.  Just the image of being on higher ground sets a symbolic tone to a brooding story about being right and being wrong, being guilty and being innocent, always with the image of a young woman, guilty or not, about to hopelessly face execution—and thereby face what most of the characters presume to be some kind of afterlife and further judgment. 

The director and writers would have done better to face the religious tones of the original script head-on, rather than shy away from them.  Religion is one of the most conflicting, controversial, and contentious elements of man’s experience--great kindness and great evil have been done in the name of religion--which can make it a forum for intense drama.  It becomes a forum for weak platitudes only when we let it be.

As for Mr. Sirk’s complaints about spending the budget on the set—for me, one of the best things about this movie is the magnificent set.  Though I can understand that filming on location could be more cost effective, and certainly realistic to the setting of films, I often prefer the sets Hollywood created.  I don’t regard them as artificial, but as art.

Have a look at the detail of this set, the gothic arches, the stonework.  I love how the stone steps are worn, uneven, as if they’d been trod upon for centuries.  That’s great detail.

We begin Thunder on the Hill with thunder.  On the hill.  And in the marshy lowlands where, through torrents of cold rain, a whole lot of extras got work that day sloshing through a winding muddy road, walking like desperate war refugees with carts of their belongings, and even farm animals.  It’s a dismal setting and nicely played against the opening credits that sets the eerie mood and leads us into our receiving line of characters.

Connie Gilchrist, so beloved as earthy, excitable, crusty but with a heart-of-gold types, plays the sister in charge of the kitchen.  She also becomes Claudette Colbert’s sidekick, and inevitably takes the lead in solving the mystery.  I’m not sure, but I think she gets more screen time here in this film than others she’s played. 

Gladys Cooper, who in her long stage and screen career was rarely anything less than magnificent, plays Mother Superior, dedicated administrator of this chaotic menagerie, whose fairness is a source of strength to the troubled Miss Colbert, but who also presents Miss Colbert’s greatest turmoil by challenging her conscience and accusing her of always needing to be right.

It is a complaint others in the hospital have of Colbert, including one particularly nasty nurse played by Phyllis Stanley.  Miss Colbert runs the hospital, and everything’s always got to be her way.

Robert Douglas plays the gentlemanly doctor on staff, who, like Claudette Colbert, doesn’t seem to get any sleep over the suspenseful couple of days the story plays out.  He's the kind of movie doctor who administers a lot of sedatives.  He is also worried about his wife, ill and anxiety-prone, for whom he has set up a bed his office at the hospital to keep her safe from the flood...and away from others.

She is played by Anne Crawford, and she has a tendency to wander around.

Gavin Muir is the stalwart detective sergeant who escorts the doomed Ann Blyth to the gallows, who clashes more than once with Colbert over her confounding attempts to be nice to the prisoner.

Norma Varde is the police matron who accompanies Ann Blyth everywhere, chain-smoking and generally trying to mind her own business.  She had a spectacularly long career, beginning in the early 1920s, but is most often seen, I think, in reruns of The Sound of Music (1965) as the housekeeper.

I especially like John Abbott as the officious and stuffy pharmacist.  We last saw him in his great role as Frederick Fairlie in The Woman in White (1948) here.

Miss Colbert, trying to micro-manage everybody, finally makes her way with bowls of soup for the condemned and her guards, and we meet Ann Blyth for the first time, rigid with bitterness, sarcastic, and utterly without any feeling for anybody or anything.  She is impervious to gestures of politeness as she is to feeling the cold damp of this sinister storm.

She is well known among the villagers: some remember her pleasantly in former days before she turned bad, some call her “the devil’s daughter.”  She was convicted of murdering her brother, a concert pianist and unsuccessful composer.  He had been languishing from a stroke, and she, his caretaker, poisoned him by giving him an overdose of his medicine.  He is described as mistreating her, bullying her and others, an alcoholic with a fearful temper.  Nobody’s sorry he’s dead.  Everybody writes Ann off as guilty, because not only did she have perfect opportunity and means to kill him, but nobody would blame her for doing it.

However, Ann comforts herself in the office of the Mother Superior by playing one of her brother’s compositions on a piano, and angrily tells Claudette Colbert how his talent was unappreciated.  This is one of the ingredients of the stew that sank to the bottom.  It would have been interesting for a little more on why she could still find beauty in her brother’s artistry and defend him though he was said to have treated her miserably.

Small point, but I like Ann’s piano technique.  Most likely, she is dubbed by an off-set pianist, but she actually looks like she’s engrossed in what she’s doing and is making all the proper movements.  We don’t usually see natural and realistic pantomime on faked playing in films of this era.  She’s really “in the moment” in this scene.

Ann Blyth manages a creditable English accent in this film, and Connie Gilchrist whips out her trusty Irish brogue.  All the others accents are genuine, except for Claudette Colbert, who does not attempt to sound like anything but the usual “mid-Atlantic” speech that worked for her in all her films.

Colbert sees something in Ann’s intense playing, in her defense of her brother, as clues to her innocence, and the thought that she cannot help this woman so shortly to die haunts her, bringing back an old and never-ending emotional torment: the suicide of her sister, despondent over the lover who Claudette would not let her see.  Claudette interfered in her sister’s relationship with a man we are led to believe was no good, but though her intentions were, she thought, for the best, it ended in tragedy.  Feeling guilty, Claudette left the outside world, joined the convent, and in a few years was running things.  She’s disciplined, and devoted to detail.  She has a need for control.

These qualities make her a bit of a fanatic, something against Mother Superior warns her.  They also make her a good person to have in your corner if you’re going to the gallows.

This being a mystery, I won’t do the play-by-play, but we soon discover that the principle people involved in Ann’s murder case, witnesses at her trial, all happen to be here—taking refuge from the storm.  Including Willie the handyman, played wonderfully by Michael Pate, who is the slow, so-called “half-wit” who, though awkward in the company of people, knows his way around a bog. 

He wrangles a rowboat and takes Claudette to the village to bring back Ann’s fiancé, played by Philip Friend.  Ann requested Colbert to fetch him in a sarcastic taunt to perform a miracle for her, refusing any spiritual comfort just as she refuses the steaming bowl of Connie Gilchrist’s soup.

There is a parallel here with Claudette’s refusal to allow her sister’s romance and the guilt she feels for it.  Her nighttime adventure through the flood with Willie is a way for her to take control of that guilt and re-create the moment she most regrets, to play it over and change it.  She once refused her sister to have contact with her lover.  So she braves the flood and brings Ann hers.  As they glide through the dry ice fog of the soundstage, you’d think the Phantom of the Opera was going to pop out any minute and start singing about the Music of the Night.

If you filmed that on location, it wouldn’t be half so mystical or fun to watch.

I like Willie’s description that the fog “be thick and ghost-like.”

The fiancé, played by Philip Friend, is relegated to a sort of dishwater role, and I’m not sure if the weakness is in his portrayal, the script, or the direction.  On the one hand, I think it’s a great device that he, though deeply in love with Ann, actually thinks that she’s guilty, because like everybody else, he wouldn’t blame her for bumping off her creep of a brother.  But his turmoil only takes the form of him drinking in a pub, drowning his sorrows, where Willie and Claudette Colbert find him.  To be sure, at the end of the movie he admirably comes to Claudette’s aid (she is attacked in the bell tower by the real murderer—shades of Vertigo), but I think we’re looking for someone less self-pitying so we can empathize with Ann’s loss of a future life with her beloved. 

Ann Blyth is relegated to a passive role simply because she is a prisoner and her reality is that she is unable to save herself, others must do it for her.  She can only wait for either rescue or hanging.  All she can do as an actress is maintain the intensity of her seething resentment, broken occasionally by waves of panic, and she does that very well.

The action is left to Connie Gilchrist and Claudette Colbert.  Miss Gilchrist is a hoarder, who never throws away newspapers.  She has papered every shelf in the convent and hospital with them, and I like her line about loving the  Sunday Times because, “It has such a nice gray effect on my shift.”  Sister Nancy Drew and Sister Miss Marple spend the spooky evening hunting through all the closets, retrieving newspapers to re-read the trial transcripts.  Other clues pop up, like a stolen letter, but Claudette Colbert’s sleuthing is halted by Gladys Cooper, who forces her in accusatory terms to examine her own conscience.  Does she really believe this girl is innocent because she wants her to be?  Is she just trying to manufacture a case so that, once again, she can be right and everybody else wrong?

A compelling argument, and it is late in the game when Connie Gilchrist, and the fuddy-duddy pharmacist, supply the final clue to raise the most suspicion.

There is a climactic violent scene in the bell tower.  I like that the murderer is apprehended and will face the same course of plodding justice that Ann Blyth faced in her trial and failed appeal.  Too often movies, then and now, use a quick instant death to remove the villain, and that is just lazy.  It is like a deus ex machina to take our troubles away from us when we should be solving them ourselves.

It is regrettable, however, that we have only a brief look of happiness shared between Ann and Philip Friend at the movie’s conclusion.  It would have been more dramatic for the audience to witness the moment Ann is told she has been vindicated.  It’s the miracle she had taunted Claudette Colbert about early in the film.  Despite the religious aspects to the script and setting that made director Sirk uncomfortable, he missed a few opportunities, as did the writers of the screenplay, to fan the drama that was already there, inherent in the story.  It’s not that drama wasn’t there; it’s that they turned away from it.  They should have taken Sr. Connie Gilchrist’s advice and not wasted anything.

Some favorite scenes:  When Ann appears jolted when she is told the dike has collapsed and they will not be able to take her to the gallows tomorrow.  It’s going to have to wait a few more days.  Rather than relief, she is horrified.  It only prolongs her misery.  Nothing in life has worked out.  She took care of her creepy brother, and this is the thanks she got.  The law failed her.  The community turned its back on her.  Her boyfriend thinks she’s guilty.  All she wants now is to leave this hilltop haven, head back out into the icy rain and end this miserable life.

Then she melts into hysterics when she realizes with black humor that her execution is going to be postponed because of rain—“Like a cricket match.”

The moment where Claudette Colbert brings Ann’s fiancé to her, and Ann, humbled and grateful, tells Colbert, “I want you to know you did this for an innocent woman.  I make you a gift of it, my innocence.”  (Not only does this make Colbert’s wanton act of obstruction of justice raised to a spiritual level—it makes her right.  We may smile and debate which is the more important to this nun.)

I like Willie’s devotion to those who are kind to him, and the gallantry he displays to ladies, except Nurse Philips, whom he has threatened to smack more than once.

I like this shot here where we see Connie Gilchrist from under the table telling Michael Pate as Willie not to eat like a pig.

An interesting scene where, after a difficult birth, a baby is being aspirated manually by the doctor and by Claudette Colbert by sucking gunk out of his throat with a straw.  I don’t know how effective, or accurate this is, but it’s another look at the medicine of the day.

The scene where Ann tells Philip Friend she knows he thinks she’s guilty, always knew it, and forgives him, tells him to go on and live his life and not memorialize her.  Only a moment later, she panics and recants, wanting desperately to live, jealous of anyone he may love in the future.

When Claudette prays for help, making the intimate confession to God, if to no one else, that she doesn’t what to do and it scares her.

Enjoyably atmospheric and moody, whether in the rain-soaked foggy bog, or under the glare of a naked light bulb peering at the Sunday Times in the middle of the night in the dark recess of an ancient abbey, Thunder on the Hill creates a little world where all take refuge, but some aren’t safe.  It is available on DVD, fortunately, and I’d love to hear your take on it.  Have some soup or stew while you’re watching it.  Or three helpings of bacon, eggs, and toast.

Come back next Thursday when we lighten things up considerably with what I think is one of the funniest comedies of the era.  Ann Blyth woos a nervous Robert Montgomery in Once More, My Darling (1949) directed by Robert Montgomery in one of his last screen roles.

Did you notice if this post was long?  I wasn’t paying attention.  You shouldn’t talk on your cell phone and blog at the same time.  That’s how accidents happen.

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Dick, Bernard F. Claudette Colbert: She Walks in Beauty.  (University Press of Mississippi, 2008), p. 198.

Lux Radio Theater – “Movietime USA” episode September 24, 1951.

Quirk, Lawrence T. Claudette Colbert: An Illustrated Biography (NY: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1985) pp. 163-165.

Sirk, Douglas and Jon Halliday. Sirk on Sirk (Viking Press, 1972).

St. Joseph (Missouri) News-Press, syndicated article by Louella Parsons, December 16, 1951, p. 4D.

Toledo Blade, syndicated article, February 5, 1951, p. 35.

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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.

The eBook and paperback are available from Amazon and CreateSpace, which is the printer.  You can also order it from my Etsy shop. It is also available at the Broadside Bookshop, 247 Main Street, Northampton, Massachusetts.

If you wish a signed copy, then email me at JacquelineTLynch@gmail.com and I'll get back to you with the details.