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"I first thought of Marilyn Monroe, and then I thought of  

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx -- G.G. Flicking

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Favorites :: Character Spotlight :: When Nerves of Steele Fatigue and Finally Snap in William Wellman's The Story of G.I. Joe (1945)

There's a moment in George Clooney's The Monuments Men (2014), a World War II tale of a special squad efforting to preserve and rescue what's left of Europe's art treasures from the plundering Nazis, where Bill Murray and Bob Balaban's characters are stuck in the Ardennes at Christmas time. And as the Battle of the Bulge rumbles all around them, Murray receives a recording from home, alas, with no way to listen to it. His friend comes through, though, playing the record over the PA system for the whole encampment to hear. I admit, I teared up a bit during this scene, as Murray's daughter's Christmas Carol echoed through the woods and the ears of those so far away from home, but, I know I was also crying a bit for the stirred up memories of Sgt. Warnicki from William Wellman's The Story of G.I. Joe (1945), too, who also received a similar record, which holds the voice of his infant son whom he's never heard speak.

On the surface, The Story of G.I. Joe is an autobiographical look at famed war correspondent, Ernie Pyle. But just like with his books and essays, the film is not about Pyle, per see, but about Pyle serving as a witness to those men fighting the good fight -- not the where and the why, necessarily, but the frustrations and the 'hurry up and waiting' punctuated by sudden and terrible outbursts of violence and terror of the who. Here, the reporter follows one particular outfit from their disastrous baptism of fire at the Kasserine Pass in North Africa to the invasion of Italy that is loosely based on his Pulitzer Prize winning piece on the death of Captain Waskow and the impact it had on his men. 

Burgess Meridith is just great as the lyrical Pyle, who tries to personalize and put a face on the 'gravel agitators' in his columns for those back home; as is Robert Mitchum as the rapidly promoted Captain Walker. But the film is stolen out from under them both by Freddie Steele's Sgt. Warnicki and his quest for a working phonograph, whose comical build up leaves the viewer a bit unprepared for the truly brutal and heart-rending climax of this plot thread at the foot of Monte Cassino, where he finally gets it working, hears his son's greeting, and the months of accumulated fatigue and grueling combat finally pushes one man over the edge. 

The resulting dust-up as his comrades try to contain him from taking the hill by himself proves just as harrowing, with Warnicki beaten into the mud, a reverse-engineered take on civilization as he devolves back into the ooze that sprung us all. Kudos to Steele for pulling off the detonation of this emotional time-bomb so effectively, which is even more amazing when you consider he wasn't even an actor.

Born Frederick Earle Burgett, at the age of 14, Steele took up boxing as a profession and, after a decade of bouts, 'The Tacoma Thumper' was recognized as the middle-weight champion of the world from 1936-1938, compiling a record of 125-5, knocking out almost half of his opponents in the process. Steele's fighting career came to a premature end due to a series of auto accidents and other accumulated injuries and health issues. However, his celebrity status in the ring found him mixing in several Hollywood circles as well -- most notably, John Wayne's.

Known for his hard-hitting and fast footwork, Steele broke into showbiz when his feet doubled for Errol Flynn's in the fight scenes for Raoul Walsh's Gentlemen Jim (1942). Several bit parts followed, including a few for Preston Sturges, who gave him his first credited role in Hail the Conquering Hero (1944). He was absolutely hilarious in that, but Steele seemingly got his big break with Wellman's World War II epic as the hickish, tobacco-spitting, and tough of as nails, Warnicki. He bore the facade of a simpleton, with unsuspected depth, character and courage. Mitchum's Walker might've been the brains of the outfit, but Warnicki was the glue. And it should be noted that it was his mental collapse that rallies the outfit long enough to achieve the victory that had been eluding them for weeks.

It's amazing stuff that might've been fumbled in some other hands -- and it almost was. Remember, Wellman was a pilot who served in the Air-Corps during World War I and he hated the infantry, and therefore, refused all overtures from producer Lester Cowan flat until he spent some time with Pyle and learned how much the G.I.s truly revered him. (Pyle was so influential he campaigned for and succeeded in getting Congress to authorize extra combat pay for those serving in the front lines.) The only other non-combatant similarly adored was cartoonist Bill Mauldin, another Pulitzer winner, whose Willy and Joe strips were quite popular for their honesty, irreverence, and the resulting ire drawn from the brass for the same (-- scenes and scenarios which were pilfered mercilessly for this film). And to add even more authenticity, the army allowed United Artists the use of many veterans from North Africa, Sicily, and the Italian campaigns as extras as they were transferred to the Pacific theater of operations. Sadly, most of these men were later killed in action on Okinawa, including Pyle, who was killed not long after the film wrapped. His last words were asking another soldier if he was okay before a bullet struck him down.

Along with his books and columns, The Story of G.I. Joe makes for a fine memorial for Pyle. It also served as Mitchum's big breakthrough movie, landing him his only Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor. He lost to James Dunn for A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I've seen them both. Loved them both. But, Mitchum was robbed. And frankly, Steele was better than both of them that year anyway.

Alas, unlike Mitchum, this breakout performance did little to advance Steele's acting career. His piercing eyes and chiseled features were offset by a flattened nose that resulted in a nasally, almost cartoonish rasp of a voice that would've never allowed him leading man status; but the potential for a rock-solid character actor was there, evidenced by a couple of memorable performances in albeit minor roles. I especially liked him as the failed voice of reason for Raymond Burr's gang of hoods in Desperate (1947) and as part of a remarkable one-two punch combo as the muscle for bad guy Peter Lorre in The Black Angel (1946). His last film was Lewis Selier's steamy film noir, Whiplash (1948). After which, he gave up on acting and moved back home to Washington, where he opened a saloon in Westport with his wife, Helen, which they ran together until he suffered a debilitating stroke in 1980. Steele passed away four years later.

Perhaps it was just the right role molded for just the right person, but Sgt. Warnicki is one of my favorite characters from my second favorite war film -- the favorite being Wellman's Battleground; a truly great film in the same vein, who also saw one of its character actors robbed of an Oscar statuette. (All apologies to Dean Jaeger, but James Whitmore was ah-mazing as Sgt. Kinnie.) No matter what picture or genre, Wellman always had a thing for camaraderie, making this genre almost tailor made for his sensibilities. Like Pyle, he was less interested about why they were fighting but who was doing the fighting and the dynamics of who you were fighting with. Rousing, inspiring, heart-wrenching, and perhaps most important of all, credible, which guys like Freddie Steele brought to the table in spades. And I can't recommend his performance and this film enough.

Other Points of Interest:

Newspaper ads for The Story of G.I. Joe at the Morgue. 

The Story of G.I. Joe (1945) Lester Cowan Productions :: United Artists / P: Lester Cowan / AP: David Hall / D: William A. Wellman / W: Leopold Atlas, Guy Endore, Philip Stevenson, Ben Bengal, Ernie Pyle (novels) / C: Russell Metty / E: Albrecht Joseph / M: Louis Applebaum, Ann Ronell / S: Burgess Meredith, Robert Mitchum, Freddie Steele, Wally Cassell, Jimmy Lloyd

Simply Petrifying :: A Beer-Gut Reaction to Leslie Kardos' The Man Who Turned to Stone (1957)

Sensing there's something odd about the sudden spike in the mortality rate of her charges, a crusading social worker (Austin) at a girl's reformatory investigates the insidious rumors several of the petrified inmates have confided as to who, how and why, and tries to get to the bottom of things. Stone-walled at every turn by the quartet of doctors (Jory, Doran, Lynn, Varconi), who run the place with a stern hand and a one man brute squad (Ledebur), she manages to raise enough of a stink to warrant an outside investigator (William Hudson, in an odd-year movie, so he's a good guy this round), and together, they uncover the startling truth. 

Seems the reformatory was the perfect cover for these doctors, who discovered the secret of immortality back in the 1880s that involves an unwilling donor (preferably female, in her prime child-bearing years, 'natch) dumped in a bathtub, whose life energies are then drained and transferred by some dubious galvanic methods, recharging the batteries on these century old quacks -- for if they don't, their bodies will slowly petrify and expire. 

Here, things really hit the fan and start to unravel when this process doesn't seem to work as well as it used to, requiring more frequent re-charges and more dead bodies that need to be explained away. Luckily, our hero manages to deduce what's going on and throws a big old monkey-wrench into this dastardliness before our heroine takes a permanent bath. 

An odd mash-up of old school mad-science, a juvenile delinquency melodrama, and a women in prison flick, The Man Who Turned to Stone comes courtesy of Benard Gordon, who, after being blacklisted, eked out a living writing this kind of sci-fi whiz-bangery for producer Sam Katzman under a parade of false names (Earth vs. the Flying Saucers, Zombies of Mora Tau). And just like all those other Katzman flicks of the 1950s, this movie is a rollicking -- if a slightly hair-brained --  good time.

Other Points of Interest:

Posters for The Man Who Turned to Stone at the Archive.

Newspaper ads for The Man Who Turned to Stone at the Morgue. 
 

The Man Who Turned to Stone (1957) Clover Productions :: Columbia / P: Sam Katzman / D: Leslie Kardos / W: Bernard Gordon / C: Benjamin H. Kline / E: Charles Nelson / M: Ross DiMaggio / S: Victor Jory, William Hudson, Charlotte Austin, Ann Doran

Favorites :: Inks and Paints :: Wardrobe Malfunction? Pfeh :: Presenting the Greatest Super Bowl Halftime Show EVER!!!

Artist: Unknown

I don't know what this is from -- some Japanese spin-off of the Mars Attacks trading cards most likely, but I hereby declare it to be one of the greatest things ever. I said EVER.

Trailer Park :: Shiverin' and Shakin' and Quiverin' and Quakin' to José Antonio Conde's Sound of Horror (1966)

Somewhere in the hills of rural Greece, a Professor Andre (Casas) is setting off dynamite inside an isolated cave, trying to unearth a hidden treasure trove of priceless Greek artifacts, which were stolen and passed from hand to hand by thieves since there discovery decades ago until they were all hidden away from the plundering Nazis when World War II broke out. First getting wind of this secret-stash while fighting in said war, Andre and his old platoon pals, Asilov (Philbrook) and Dorman (Bódalo), got their hands on part of a map that led them to this particular cave. And while the other two track down a lead on the missing half that hopefully has the 'X' that marks the actual spot, Andre, accompanied by his niece, Maria (Miranda), and fellow archeologist, Stavros (Piquer), have been excavating around blindly, but only manage to unearth the mummified remains of a 'neanderthal' and the fossilized egg of some unknown dinosaur. Unbeknownst to our trio, however, the last blast unearthed not one, but two, dinosaur eggs; one of which rolls away unseen while the other is taken back to the cottage they've been squatting in, where they find Calliope (Gaos), the cook and local doomsayer, warning them to abandon this fool's quest and the cave, which is, according to local superstition, an accursed place of evil. 

Meanwhile, Asilov and Dorman return triumphantly with the other half of the map. And while Maria gets acquainted with Asilov's girlfriend, Sofia (Pitt), and Pete (Fernadez), the hired driver, who, frankly, seems more interested in his car than the girls, the rest of the men return to the cave where, sure enough, Andre was digging in the wrong place. And so, moving a few paces to the left, they start digging again and soon come upon another obstruction that calls for more dynamite. (And after seeing pictures of the fragile antiquities allegedly hidden here, one can only wonder what will be left of them once these idiots blast them out.) Leaving Stavros behind, whose been busy examining that mummy, the others return to the cottage. Again, no one notices the other dislodged egg, which quietly cracks open, regurgitating something covered in goo that quickly and mysteriously disappears. But we do hear its harsh and hungry cries as it quickly draws a bead on the unsuspecting Stavros...

Video courtesy of Brutallodotcom.

A ripping yarn of treasure hunting, explosions, shrieks in the night, and a rampaging dinosaur that we cannot see, the history behind the production of Sound of Horror (1966) is very fluid and in a constant state of flux. For just when you think you've got a handle on it and things start to cohere, you unearth another nugget that lays waste to the existing fossil record, cinematically speaking. So, to start from the beginning, we need to talk about Sam Abarbanel, who worked as a promoter for Republic Studios before serving a hitch in the infantry in World War II. When he got out of the army, he moved to Los Angeles and started working as an independent publicist, promoting such films as High Noon (1952) for the majors and Hot-Rod Girl (1956) for the minors and several imports like La Strada (1954) and The Red Balloon (1956). He even took the plunge into feature filmmaking, producing the exploitation-minded Prehistoric Women (1950), which boils down to a battle of the sexes amongst a segregated tribe of cave-dwellers, which he shared a co-writing credit with Gregg Tallas, who directed it, and who would also play a part in our featured feature today. 

See, around 1963, Abarbanel moved to Spain, where he produced a couple of Frijole Refritos westerns. And around this same time, he concocted another film with Callas to cash-in on the American monster movie boom of the late 1950s, which were finally showing up in Spain, for producer Gregorio Sacristán, El sonido de la muerte -- The Sound of Death. 

To realize this opus, enter Spanish filmmaker, José Antonio Nieves Conde. Apparently, Conde was a movie buff since childhood but was pursuing a law degree when the Spanish Civil War broke out in 1936, which found him on the Nationalist side fighting for Franco. When the war ended, Conde abandoned college and got a job as a newspaper film critic, eventually serving as the senior editor for several film fanzines, making contacts with several directors, who eventually nudged Conde behind the camera, which resulted in Surcos (1951), where a rural family moves to the city and comes to ruin, which kinda boils down to a propaganda piece for Franco's dictatorial regime, yes, but it's still championed as one of Spain's greatest films. After, Conde's films started having troubles with the censors and the church for broaching taboo subjects, which derailed his career for awhile, leaving him ripe for the plucking to direct a certain independent horror movie. 

Now, to add even more confusion, we need to talk about Samuel Bronston. Born in Russia, Bronston migrated to the United States in 1939, where he caught on at MGM, which soon found him heading back to Europe, specifically Paris, to work for the studio's production unit there. But it wasn't long before Bronston formed his own company, Samuel Bronston Productions, which cut its teeth on a couple of bio-pics for Jack London and John Paul Jones. However, Bronston's biggest claim to fame came in the 1960s with a series of large-scale, Cinerama blockbusters, involving star-studded cast of thousands, including King of Kings (1961), El Cid (1961), and The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964). To save costs on these massive productions, Bronston set-up shop in Spain, building a gigantic studio in Las Rozas. 

This, obviously, brought a lot of money into the local Spanish economy. And other producers, also looking to save money, filmed in Spain using Bronston's facilities, including Ken Annikan for his World War II misfire, Battle of the Bulge (1965), a film Dwight D. Eisenhower himself denounced for its glaring historical inaccuracy; a film that was shot, edited, scored and released in a staggering eight months; a film that came in under-budget, and whose surplus, as one unearthed rumor has it, was partially skimmed off and commandeered to finance Sound of Horror, which also utilized several of Bronston's locations, including the cave, which leaves me to boggle that the cavernous home for Casper the Killer Dinosaur might have also served as the tomb for our Lord and Savior in King of Kings. Noodle that for a bit, why don't ya. Wow. 

And on top of all of that, there's even some confusion when trying to actually date Sound of Horror, too. No. Stop it ... I'm not trying to 'date' the movie, I'm trying to pinpoint the exact year of origin. *sheesh* Anyways, some sources say it was released in 1964, others 1966. Even its American debut is in dispute as either 1967 or 1968, depending once again on your source. Regardless, it did get here. It should be noted that producer Sacristán made this type of genre picture for the express purpose of an easy international sell. And he found a buyer with Europix Consolidated (later morphing into Europix-International), who repackaged El sonido de la muerte as the bottom bill for Mario Bava's Operazione paura (1966), re-tagging them Kill, Baby, Kill and Sound of Horror. Europix had already imported several Euro-Shockers, turning La lama nel corpo into The Murder Clinic (1966), and Il mostro di Venezia into The Embalmer (1965), pairing it up with La Sorella di Satana a/k/a She Beast (1966) for a fantastic double horror-terror show (see poster above). Sound of Horror and Kill, Baby, Kill were given the same ballyhoo, unleashed as 'The Big SQ Show', promising you'd Shiver 'n' Quiver and Shake 'n' Quake with each feature. 

The combination proved a hit and Europix kept cashing in, selling the features off for TV syndication, where it was packaged with several fright films throughout the 1970s on many a Creature Feature program. Europix kept re-titling and re-releasing their features, too, most notoriously as the Drive-In triple-bill avalanche of grisly horror -- “The Orgy of the Living Dead.” Also of note, Europix used the same dubbing studio (most likely, Titra Sound,) as many other imports, as we hear the same voices at work here in numerous Godzilla movies, vintage anime, spaghetti westerns, Hercules and his progeny, and the far flung denizens of Gamma One.

Back on target, aside from that convoluted origin and its notoriously transparent monster, Sound of Horror's biggest claim to fame is the two burgeoning Cult Movie Queens leavened into the cast. Born in Spain, Soledad Rendón Bueno was one of six children. And to help the family make ends meet, she started flamenco dancing for a traveling troupe of entertainers at the age of 8. Bitten by the showbiz bug early, she decided to become an actress, drawing her new stage name, Miranda, out of a hat. And the newly christened starlet immediately found work as a background dancer or bit player in a couple of Spanish films, drawing the attention of American producer, Sidney Pink, who cast her in The Castillian (1962) and the fairly under-appreciated revenge drama, Pyro -- The Thing Without a Face (1963), before she wound up in Sound of Horror. After, her career kinda stalled until she entered Jess Franco's orbit, where she became his personal muse for Count Dracula (1969), Vampyros Lesbos (1970) and She Killed in Esctacy (1970). Alas, this tale ends tragically. For just when it appeared that her career was really gaining traction, Miranda was killed in an auto accident while en route to sign a multi-picture deal with Franco's producers in August, 1970.

As for her co-star, born Ingoushka Petrov in Warsaw, Poland, at the age of five, Ingrid Pitt and her mother, who was Jewish, were sent to a concentration camp when her father, a noted engineer of German descent, refused to help the Nazis with their V2 program. There, the family survived for nearly three years before making a harrowing escape, spending the rest of the war hiding out with partisans and sympathizers. (The father and an older sister were sent to a different camp but the family was eventually reunited.) When the war ended, Pitt found herself in Berlin on the wrong side of the wall. Salvation came when she married an American GI, Laud Roland Pitt, and migrated to the States around 1950. This marriage did not last long, however, and Pitt soon moved back to Germany, where she studied acting at the famed Berliner Ensemble, honing her craft onstage until making her screen debut, here. After which, a few uncredited parts followed until her big break came starring opposite Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood in Where Eagles Dare (1968). Hammer and Amicus came calling after that, and the rest is Horror Queen history. 

Both women are simply gorgeous, Miranda hauntingly so, and Pitt, who passed away in 2010, already showing a brassy edge. Sadly, all they're really used for in Sound of Horror is set dressing and sounding boards for the men to schmooze or reassure themselves when the crap hits the fan and their dreams of fortune and glory run into an invisible raptor out for blood. That, and a couple of Bouzouki dance numbers that serve no purpose other than to show off some *ahem* assets and kill off a reel of film. However, despite the material, neither actress embarrass themselves. Nor the male cast members, either, for that matter. 

Which brings us to the real star of our show, our invisible monster -- who is not only an invisible dinosaur hatched out of a centuries old egg with the metabolism from hell, but an invisible dinosaur vampire as it seems hell bent on slashing open its victims to drink their blood and leave the rest of the body intact and uneaten. No. Really. Cheap on the surface, and absolutely silly everywhere else, at least in theory; but still, once one realizes how much Sound of Horror presages the shrieking POV, crash-cut attacks of the forest demons of Sam Raimi's Evil Dead (1981), which prove just as effective in 1960-whatever as far as I'm concerned, your perspective changes. 

With each attack, we hear the beast first with its trademark shriek, starting with Stavros as he's torn to pieces, never knowing what hit him. This is a bit of a shock as Stavros, the man of science, would normally be the heroic voice of reason set against the fortune hunters and the seemingly obvious romantic interest for Maria. Well, think again. From there, the movie follows a familiar pattern as the survivors hole-up in the cottage, with no means to track the monster laying siege, and no means of escape thanks to a temperamental automobile that refuses to start and no time to find out why before becoming dino-kibble. This is followed by the romantic interlude (where Pete forgets the car long enough to hook up with Maria) and the rational explanation portion of our program, until the proof -- remember that other egg?, hatches above the fire place. Luckily, the hatchling is quickly dispatched, rather gruesomely, before it can engage its camouflage and escape. 

After some dubious exposition as to why they can't see the creature (-- but none, oddly, on its rapid rate of development), once its established and accepted, there are a few original twists that follow, especially when these hardened veterans, with their goal so close to hand, actually side with the superstitious Calliope, who convinces them to abandon the area as soon as possible, sighting how hard it is to spend the loot when you're dead. And so, it's decided to make another run for the car come morning. Alas, Calliope does not heed her own advice when she carelessly retrieves some water from the nearby well and is shredded quite horribly. Later, Andre meets the same fate, whose motives for clandestinely going back to the cave are a little muddled -- Was he taking one more shot at the buried treasure, or was he trying to seal the monster inside it? Whichever reason, he doesn't make it. 

Again, I cannot stress how savagely effective and unsettling these attack scenes can be when given the chance, as the unseen monster howls, its victims, none of whom go quietly, scream for their lives, and we hear their clothes and flesh ripped open and slashed to pieces for untold minutes until they finally and mercifully succumb. (Poor Stavros is split open from pelvis to hyoid.) And though we never really see the monster, we do see the damage as its dished out and the ghastly end results of its claws and teeth. It isn't as laughable as you'd think. Kudos to editor Margarita de Ochoa for making this work so well, and to composer Luis de Pablo, whose pulsing riffs really drive the terror home. In fact, the only time the film falters is with the fleeting glimpses we do get of the beast, which, honestly, looks like a close-up of one of those old rubber monster-knobs I used to stink on the end of my pencils back in grade school. 

"Rahr!" 

  

[In unison/] "Rahr!" [/In unison]

Then, the crap really hits the fan when the creature manages to sneak inside the house (don't ask), which also leads to their eventual salvation as our heroes find a way to track the thing due to some footprints found in the spilled flour on the kitchen floor. Thus, a trap is set, leading to a fairly hilarious sequence when Asilov and Pete chuck a couple of axes at the monster, which then stick into nothing and start moving around. Somewhat inexplicably, the creatures blood turns visible once bled, leading our group to believe it to be mortally wounded. And so, they make another run for the car and manage to get it started. 

Once safely away, however, the front windshield soon becomes occluded with blood. That's right. The monster was hiding on the roof of the car the whole time! And while the others abandon the vehicle, the wounded Dorman sacrifices himself by staying behind, igniting several gas cans, which explode, immolating him and the monster both, allowing the survivors to walk to safety. Hooray! 

When all is said and heard, Sound of Horror gets an enthusiastic passing grade from me but I also freely admit it is wildly uneven and it's overall plot makes not one lick of sense. At all. It takes some time to get properly going, and when the monster isn't attacking our characters, they spend way too much time navel gazing on how they all got here and taking political shots at the superpowers, bemoaning how the atomic age has basically rendered everything pointless when we can all go at the push of a button. Not to mention all the time wasted on repetitive reconnoitering sequences as characters cover the same ground, go to the cave, or load and unload everybody into the car only to abandon it, again and again and again. (Calliope goes to the well not once, but twice, and we get to see every step.) Still, I can safely say Sound of Horror is a lot better than its dubious reputation as that 'el cheapo horror flick with the invisible monster in it.' Don't believe me? Watch it, and then don't see it for yourselves. 

Okay, folks, this post is part of The Big Footprints Roundtable put together by a Motley Band of Blogs to honor really Big Monsters Gone Amok.
 

Checkpoint Telstar :: The Monolith Monsters.
 

Cinemasochist Apocalypse :: Godzilla 1985.
 

Terrible Claw Reviews :: Gamera vs. Baragon.
 

Micro-Brewed Reviews :: Sound of Horror.
 

Please check 'em out, won't you? Thank you.
 

Sound of Horror (1966) Zurbano Films :: Viñals Distribución :: Europix Consolidated Corp. / P: Gregorio Sacristán / D: José Antonio Nieves Conde / W: Sam Abarbanel, Gregg Tallas, José Antonio Nieves Conde / C: Manuel Berenguer / E: Margarita de Ochoa / M: Luis de Pablo / S: James Philbrook, Arturo Fernández, Soledad Miranda, Ingrid Pitt, José Bódalo, Antonio Casas,Lola Gaos, Francisco Piquer