For my last in a series on movie presidents, I return to the cinematic interpretations of the life and career of Abraham Lincoln for a look at the major biopics. The biopics are not a window into Lincoln’s life and times; instead, they are mirror reflections of the issues and problems of the decades that produced the films. Sometimes that mirror is cracked or warped, resulting in fractured or distorted history. But, that is precisely why I like biopics and have a high tolerance for even the ponderously pompous ones.

The Depression era was flanked by three major biopics of Lincoln. D. W. Griffith’s Abraham Lincoln was released in 1930, while John Ford’s Young Mr. Lincoln and John Cromwell’s Abe Lincoln in Illinois concluded the decade. Released in 1940, Abe Lincoln in Illinois was adapted from Robert E. Sherwood’s Pullitzer-Prize-winning play, which covers Lincoln’s early years in Kentucky, his Illinois law practice, his ill-fated romance with Ann Rutledge, and his debates with Stephen Douglas. Raymond Massey, who originated the role on stage, was nominated for an Academy Award for his performance. Like Frank McGlynn, Massey became identified with the character of Lincoln. He appeared in two television versions of Abe Lincoln in Illinois– an episode of Pulitzer Prize Theater in 1950 and an episode of Lux Video Theater in 1951. Five years later he played the 16^th president in a small-screen version of The Day Lincoln Was Shot for another drama anthology, Ford Star Jubilee. As late as 1962, Massey was still appearing as Lincoln, making a cameo in the epic How the West Was Won. Legend has it that Massey loved the role so much that he appeared at parties and Hollywood social events dressed as Lincoln, prompting playwright George S. Kaufman to quip, “Massey won’t be satisfied until someone assassinates him.”

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As a follow-up to last week’s commentary on movie presidents, I intended to devote this week’s post to  Abraham Lincoln, wrapping up with a discussion of the recent cinematic odes to the 16^thpresident, Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln and Tim Bekmambetov’s Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter. However, after sifting through sources and tracking down interesting asides, I discovered that there is way too much on Mr. Lincoln to fit into one post. Being such a movie-president enthusiast, especially when it comes to Lincoln, I just couldn’t bear to omit some of my favorite tantalizing tidbits, surprising suppositions, and ornery opinions. My two-part series on movie presidents has expanded into three parts. This week, I offer the unusual, the obscure, and the forgotten; next week, I will revisit the familiar, the celebrated, and the (in)famous.

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Given Daniel Day Lewis’s heralded performance and the stellar work of a bevy of character actors, Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln will undoubtedly sweep the acting categories during this awards season. The fanfare surrounding the film reminded me that Honest Abe has been the president most often depicted on film, and it prompted me to investigate other cinematic depictions of iconic presidents. The result is a two-part series, Reel Presidents. Next week I will focus exclusively on celluloid Lincolns, including the axe-wielding action hero in one of my favorite movies of the year, Abraham Lincoln Vampire Killer. This week, I offer a run-down of other movie presidents and the actors who played them.

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Today, the films of Anthony Quinn are spotlighted as part of TCM’s Summer Under the Stars. Lust for Life, one of my favorite movies featuring the earthy, expressive actor, airs this evening. However, this biopic of artist Vincent Van Gogh is not really Quinn’s movie. Nor is it star Kirk Douglas’s film, despite his intense, show-stopping performance. Instead, Lust for Life belongs to director Vincente Minnelli, who not only identified strongly with Van Gogh’s tortured life but also translated the artist’s techniques, palette, and compositions into cinematic equivalents.  Minnelli was inspired and influenced by painters throughout his entire life career, from his days as a set dresser on Broadway to his years as one of MGM’s most talented directors. He filled notebooks with photos and illustrations of paintings, ornamentation, architectural details, and other imagery, which he used as references for set and costume design. He approached his work in Hollywood like an artist, and he strove to collapse the distance between fine and popular art. Alongside the 17-minute ballet at the end of An American in Paris, Lust for Life is his finest achievement in that regard.

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It was over 5 years ago that I wrote on these pages about my other passion and its relation to this one, and referred to an ‘essay’ that I’d written on the topic for my site. (The article is really just a compilation of movies that contain at least one scene – or even a glimpse – of my favorite sport “in action”). Since then, I’ve added dozens of additional “tennis-related” films – some foreign but mostly domestic – the most recent being the seventieth title added to the list: last year’s Academy Award winning Best Picture The Artist (2011), which has a brief scene featuring Bérénice Bejo on a tennis court, coming to the net to shake hands after a mixed doubles match.
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I love vaudeville and old-time vaudevillians, probably because I grew up watching Hollywood musicals that romanticized that heady era when the underprivileged, the penniless, and the disadvantaged used any speck of talent they had to get on to the stage and out of poverty. Yesterday, I caught The Seven Little Foys, featuring Bob Hope as Eddie Foy, a huge star in vaudeville, in musical revues, and on Broadway. The entertainer died in 1928, but “Eddie Foy” remained a well-known name for decades because his children continued in show business, particularly Eddie Foy, Jr., a character actor in films and stage musicals, and Bryan Foy, the main producer in MGM’s B-unit during the Golden Age.

The Seven Little Foys tells the story of Eddie Sr.’s decision to bring his brood of boys and girls into show business. In the film, Foy forms the act to keep his family together after wife Madeline Morando Foy dies, but in actuality, he formed the Seven Little Foys about 1912 or 1913. Madeline did not die until 1918. In the movie, the kids sing and dance onstage dressed in matching yellow or red suits, providing Hope as Foy the opportunity to crack asides and one-liners with his exquisite timing. Some of the wisecracks spoken by Hope had been used by Foy onstage, including the line he always uttered after introducing the kids onstage: “It took me a long time to put this act together.”

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It’s been a little over a year since I debuted here, and in that time I’ve stirred up a handful of firestorms–but weirdly, not the ones I expected.  I posted a clip of Buster Keaton as a sympathetic Nazi general, and nobody chirped a word of protest.  I ran a whole blog about blackface comedians, and the comments thread it initiated was reasoned, intelligent and low-key.  I facetioustly pretended that The Thing was a Christmas movie, defended Popeye, and praised Charlie Chaplin imitators.

But the one time I provoked serious anger and acrimony was the time I suggested that William Haines–William Haines!–wasn’t all that funny (I got called “hateful” for that one!)

When I wrote last week’s post about the Muppets, I figured I was running a risk.  Critics say nice things about heavily hyped contemporary movies at their own peril.  But my positive thoughts on the new Muppets wasn’t what kicked up dust–heavens, no.  The vitriol came out in my offhanded reference to Orson Welles having appeared in the 1979 Muppet Movie!  Somehow, this prompted the comments thread to start to tear into F for Fake. (how?)

To be fair, it was just one lone voice, wailing into the ether about how much he hated the Muppets, and F for Fake.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a put-on, somebody simply trying to bait me.  But I’m not above being baited.  I won’t stand by and let anybody talk smack about F for Fake, one of my 10 favorite movies of all time.  Consider the battle joined.

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Each month, I join my movie club for brunch where we engage in a lively discussion of all things cinematic. Being a down-to-earth group with no pretentions, we favor two watering holes on Chicago’s North Side, the Holiday Club and the Fat Cat Lounge. Meetings at the former generally entail discussions of film movements, foreign films from specific countries, or the work of acclaimed directors, while those hosted at the Fat Cat tend to cover contemporary films currently in the theaters. Nothing is more fun to cinephiles than sharing information on favorite films or dishing the dirt on duds.

Personally, I have a soft spot for the Holiday Club because the back room is decorated with posters from one of my favorite Frank Sinatra films, The Joker Is Wild, along with stills and memorabilia from other classic movies. The Joker Is Wild is an appropriate choice to don the back room of the Holiday Club, because the film is a biopic of Joe E. Lewis, sometimes called “the father of stand-up comedy.” Lewis was a Chicago-based entertainer who honed his craft in the clubs and bars on the city’s North Side during Prohibition and the Depression.  The story of his career is a testament to the gritty history of the Windy City.

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