Nobody Lives Forever

So I sits myself down in my favorite Morris chair, takes off my two-toned stompers so as to give my dogs a rest, fixes myself a Spam sangwich and a nice cold Moxie, and I watches this Warner Brothers classic from 1946: Nobody Lives Forever, starring John Garfield, Geraldine Fitzgerald, Walter Brennan, and George Tobias. Boy, this looks to be a real killer-diller, a humdinger, what with that cast, and it also being penned by W. R. Burnett, a literary mug who can really make with the participles.

John Garfield plays this soldier who's sent stateside when his mitt is smooshed by a German Firefly. To you cats who ain't so hep, his hand was shot. He recoups, you bet, and comes out fine as frog's  hair. With the help of his pal (George Tobias), who's a Likeable Larry, but something of a gamook, he goes to retrieve fifty thou in greenbacks he left with his doll, who's a rather nifty, laquered-up dish, if you asks me. But this doll is tempted to hang on to the dough, because fifty big ones is a lot of lettuce, and this much scratch could keep her in nylons and open-toed shoes for a long time to come.

But John Garfield ain't having none of this, see? So he has to make with the fisticuffs and serve up the knuckle sangwiches to retrive his moolah, and retrieve it he does. Then it's off to California, with his pal along for the ride, to take it easy with a little relaxation in the sun and surf in Los angeles and its various confines.

But John Garfield has something of a past, see, and but natch this past has to catch up to him. 'Cause before the war, Johnny was a top-drawer con man. Not one of those two-bit chiselers with frayed cuffs and no pocket kerchiefs, but a real Swell Sam, the best in the biz. So sweet and smooth, Hoover's boys could never lay a pinky on him, much less a glove. But Johnny just wants to lay low and lie on the beach, drinking only the best hooch and soaking up the sun's healthful vitamins.

Word gets to him that there's this rich dame in town, just rolling in currency and ripe for the pickin's, if only he'll give her a tickle so's she'll let loose with the bankroll. Against  the magilla at first, John reverses field and agrees to the con, as long as there's no back-sass, see? because two million in greenbacks is a heap of verdancy.

Turns out this wealthy widow (Geraldine Fitzgerald) is something of a dreamboat, with sparkling peepers, not the kind of hairy tugboat that John Garfield envisaged.

Does John Garfield have a change of heart and actually fall for this delicious dish? Watch the movie to find out. Ya get me?

                                      "I'm just a mug, see? No good for a high-class tomato like you." Or something like that.

The Constant Nymph

So I get up late one night, not being able to sleep after eating all those sardines in mustard sauce I stole from the pantry, and I see my Dad's preparing to watch a movie called The Constant Nymph. Later he tells me he's confused it with a drive-in movie he saw in the 90s*, but this turned out to be a pretty good picture anyway.

 The Constant Nymph was made in 1943 and the main actors are Charles Boyer (pronounced "boy-YAY", 'cause he's French, don'tcha know), Joan Fontaine, and Alexis Smith. They make up what we in the literary world call a love triangle.

Without revealing any spoilers (that's something you should only do when movies suck), let's just say that Joan Fontaine, an adorable little scamp of fourteen, who adorably runs around indoors like an ungainly colt, is devotedly in love - she's the "Constant Nymph" referred to in the title, unless there was a baby insect I'm forgetting about - with struggling composer Charles Boyer. But Chuck up and marries rich girl Alexis Smith. Emotional fireworks and gloopy romantic scenes ensue.

The gloopy romantic scenes were okay, if you like that kind of thing. At least they saved them toward the end of the movie, but I wouldn't recommend watching them on a stomach full of sardines in mustard sauce.

Two questions I have: what does this delightful young girl (who should be going out with someone like me) see in this old geezer, what with his bulbous forehead, his cigarette breath, and his pudgy Gallic hands? Gosh, Boyer is like my dad, if my dad smoked a lot and wore a bad toupee. And is anyone else creeped out by the fact that someone of Boyer's age, and married, to boot, wants to gallivant across Europe with a fourteen-year old girl? It's like my dad wanting to run off with one of my sister's friends. Yuk. Maybe that kind of thing was not frowned upon in Europe in the 40s, but today I think he might just end up in the pokey, in a cell next to my uncle Elmo. And the less said about my uncle Elmo, the better.

Charles Boyer is good in the movie, in a land bereft of desirable males, appealing if you happen to find yourself susceptible to his Pepe LePew voice and his particular brand of oily charm. Alexis Smith is good too, a real trooper in a role that's not very flattering, having to be all jealous and mean to adorable Joan Fontaine. And I think Alexis is talking with the wrong accent, as are a lot of people, so I guess it's no big deal. But Joan Fontaine! Wow!

Joan Fontaine is so good as the fourteen-year old capable of loving and feeling well beyond her years, with a heart full of unconditional love and understanding. Like a puppy. She made me completely forget that she really wasn't fourteen, but an old broad of twenty-five. And I also forgot that she spoke with a British accent, although she grew up in an European mountain village somewhere. But I guess that's what great acting is all about.

Giving a great screen performance is all well and good, but more importantly, she reminds me of this girl who sits next to me in most of my classes and copies from me. And I gladly let her, because that's what true love is all about. True, eternal, hopeless love.

Perhaps we all have our own Constant Nymph.


* The Constant Nympho (1992), starring Tawny Porte and Brad Nailer.

                                                     The girl who sits next to me.

The Double Man

Still grounded. Dad is convinced, without any direct, circumstantial, or evidence of any kind, that it was me who put Super Glue in his Preparation H. Very unfair.

At least I'm not constantly cooped up in my room. I get to occasionally watch a movie with him, as long as I keep my lip buttoned and not ask any stupid questions. But how  am I supposed to learn anything if I don't ask questions? Like the time my dad said before showing me a movie, "Joel McCrea only made westerns after the war." I wanted to ask, "Which war and who's Joel McCrea?", but I didn't want to risk a smack upside the head.

So we sit down to watch a movie, which my dad describes as a Cold War spy thriller. Couldn't help it, I had to ask: Why do the call it a Cold War? Dad gives it some thought, and says, "Because it's always cold in Russia."

Turns out it's this movie called The Double Man, and boy is it a stinkeroo on a platter. It stars this old bald guy named Yul (rhymes with "uncool") Brynner. When I say bald, I don't mean like my Uncle Roscoe bald, I mean shaved head bald. And, believe it or else, women in the picture seem to go for him! I can't believe what I'm seeing, and I know better than to say anything out loud, so I just look at my dad, and he just shrugs his shoulders, and says, "Women."

So here's where we come to what we in the blogosphere call "spoilers", where I discuss things in the movie that are supposed to be surprises. If you still want to see this turdburger, go away. Otherwise, read on.

Yul Brynner plays this CIA agent who has only one look on his face: constipation. It so happens that his teenage son is killed in a skiing accident, so he travels to the Austrian Alps for his son's funeral. Curious his son's body wouldn't be sent home to the States, but then he wouldn't have any reason to go to the Alps, would he? Then he starts thinking that it was no accident, but he was killed on purpose. In other words, murder!

So he starts asking questions. Questions. And more questions. But he's not real good at it, because he has to meet up with one person about four times before he finally gets around to asking her what he wants to know. Chiefly, who killed my son? Duh. In the meantime, he skis with her, and lots of it looks really phony. My dad said it looked bad because it was "rear projection". I didn't ask, but I think it means it was projected out of some one's rear.

Okay, here comes the spoilers. We finally discover, now that the movie's nearly over, that the Russians (or are they East Germans? Who knows?) enticed Yul Brynner over to the Alps so they could replace him with another secret agent who looks exactly like him! (Also played by Yul Brynner. As if one of him weren't enough). Man, I didn't see that one coming! (Sarcasm). And instead of killing him in a secluded farmhouse where they have him captured and tied up, the evil agents let him get away while trying to transport him. Didn't see that one coming, either. (More sarcasm).

A chase ensues, mostly in the dark where it's hard to see what's happening. Also more phony skiing with more butt projection. Then the two Yul Brynners meet, and you'll never guess what happens.

On the bright side, there's this really pretty girl in the movie named Britt Eckland. She's really pretty, even though she has monkey-ears that kinda stick out. But she reminds me of this girl who sits in front of me in English class, Vera Similitude, who smells like strawberries. I like strawberries.

Dad and I both agreed that this was one big, fat, steaming turkey. I asked him (safely, once the movie was over) why he chose it, and he said because it was directed by someone named Franklin J. Schaffner, who directed some good movies, like Patton and Planet of the Apes. But Dad and I both agreed that this was one that should be kept off the resume.

Finally, I asked Dad if Yul Brynner was a really big star, and he assured me he was. I asked him why. He thoughtfully scratched his head, and said, "I have no earthly idea why."

The Double Man. It stinks in any language.