From Those Were the Days:

1943 - For the first time, Flashgun Casey was heard on radio. Later, the name of this CBS Radio program was altered to Casey, Crime Photographer, and became much more popular.

1949 - Jack Webb’s Dragnet was first heard on NBC Radio this day. The program was the first to dramatize cases from actual police files. Each episode on radio and TV began with the announcement, “The story you are about to hear (see) is true; the names have been changed to protect the innocent.”; and ended with the somber sentence handed down to the criminal.

Dragnet went to television in January 1952 after a successful TV preview on Chesterfield Sound-Off Time a few weeks earlier. The show actually ran simultaneously on radio and TV from 1952 - 1956, continuing on television through 1959. After a seven-year hiatus, it returned as Dragnet ’67 to distinguish itself from its own reruns. This first major real-life police drama series was so successful that it remains in syndication some 30 to 40 years later.

The original sponsor of the radio series was Fatima Cigarettes and, later, Chesterfield Cigarettes. The composer of the original Dragnet theme was Walter Schumann, which included “dum-de-dum-dum,” possibly the most famous four-note introduction since Beethoven’s 5th.

Sgt. Friday’s sidekick was originally played by Barton Yarborough both on radio and TV. His untimely death shortly after the first TV telecast opened up the role to Barney Philips. Herb Ellis picked up the part in the first fall season, followed by Ben Alexander, who played officer Frank Smith for 7 years. Harry Morgan was Jack Webb’s sidekick in the 1967-1970 series as Officer Bill Gannon.

(Ivan's note: I went to see Fahrenheit 9/11 with my father today, and the movie contains a nifty Dragnet sequence that consists mainly of scenes from the 1954 film version. Georgia Ellis and Stacy Harris are included in these highlights as well.)
11:08:06 PM    comment []  trackback []  

“Oh boy! I’m so smart it’s a disease!”

I continued watching a couple of Netflix rentals into the wee hours of the a.m. this morning, starting off with Days of Wine and Roses (1962), the unflinching tale of a married couple (Jack Lemmon, Lee Remick) whose lives become devastated by alcoholism. I hadn’t seen Roses in quite some time, and I’m always amazed at how although the film has dated a tad it’s still pretty strong meat—though I think Lemmon’s performance (an amazing change-of-pace from his usual comedic roles that got him nominated for an Oscar, Remick as well) has a tendency to creep into the “chewing the scenery du jour” domain, particularly in the greenhouse sequence. (Maybe it’s just me, but I sometimes think The Lost Weekend—a film even more dated than Roses—might even be the better picture.) The screenplay was written by J.P. Miller, based on his original 1956 teleplay for the prestigious Playhouse 90 series which starred Cliff Robertson and Piper Laurie (I saw this once on PBS a long, long time ago and it’s every bit as impressive as the movie version), and directed by Blake Edwards (who, like Lemmon, was also trying to expand his range from comedies with movies like this and Experiment in Terror). The supporting cast includes Charles Bickford, Jack Klugman (whom I always underrate as an actor as a result of overexposure to The Odd Couple and Quincy reruns), Jack Albertson, Maxine Stuart and radio veteran Ken Lynch. The DVD has a couple of trailers and an interview with Jack Lemmon about the film—but this is a curious item; Lemmon is apparently talking with an interviewer on a phone via split screen—but the other side of the screen is blank and you don’t hear the questions. I’m guessing this was a gimmick to allow anyone (local television stations perhaps) to “pretend” they were actually talking to the actor—it’s a shame a copy of the questions asked couldn’t be found.

I wrapped up the Netflix moviethon with Mildred Pierce (1945), a classic that I’ve admittedly only seen bits and pieces of—so I relished the opportunity to sit down and watch the whole enchilada. Pierce is often classified as a film noir, which disturbs me somewhat—I think the only noir connection here is the fact that it’s based on a novel by author James M. Cain (Double Indemnity); it’s more melodrama (or, to use the term of that particular time, “women’s picture”) than noir. Still, it’s pretty entertaining stuff; Mildred (Joan Crawford, in an Oscar-winning performance) is a housewife-cum-businesswoman whose entire life is devoted to keeping her revoltingly spoiled daughter Veda (Ann Blyth, in the role of a lifetime) happy—even to the point of trying to take the rap for a murder Veda’s committed. I’ve stated previously that I’m not a big Crawford fan, but fortunately Pierce has other performances to recommend it: Jack Carson (who’s a real hoot, his line “There’s something about the sound of my own voice that fascinates me” never fails to break me up), Eve Arden (in her finest hour on screen) and Zachary Scott (as an oily gigolo) are just a few that come to mind. Mildred Pierce was Joanie’s first Warners film after jumping the MGM fence and it ushered in a series of successes for her including Humoresque (1946), Possessed (1947, I think this is her best performance, by the way) and Flamingo Road (1949).
11:02:26 PM    comment []  trackback []