Made in England, on TCM

Two decades before Merchant and Ivory started collaborating, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger were the first great hyphenated filmmaking duo. They wrote, directed, and produced some of the best British films of all time—and then they largely disappeared. However, Martin Scorsese and several of his contemporaries (notably including Francis Ford Coppola) re-popularized their films with cineastes. Of course, Scorsese knows everything about every classic movie ever produced, but he also knew Powell personally. Technically, David Hinton is the director, but Scorsese’s voice dominates as the on-camera presenter-host of Made in England: The Films of Powell and Pressburger, which airs again on TCM this Saturday.

Powell started in the film business working on silent productions helmed by Rex Ingram, whose epic style Scorsese identifies as a formative influence on the director. He honed his skills churning out B-movies, but finally gained prominence when he started collaborating with Pressburger, an exiled German screenwriter.

With 49^th Parallel, they immediately demonstrated their affinity for wartime “propaganda” films. Yet, they spent much of their accumulated good will on the controversially satiric The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp soon thereafter. The output from their partnership followed a yo-yo pattern of ups and downs. However, many of the “downs,” such as The Red Shoes, are now considered classics, while some of the “ups,” like The Battle of the River Plate (a.k.a. Pursuit of the Graf Spee), which were hits upon their initial release, have been overshadowed by their grand spectacles.

Tellingly, Hinton quotes a Puritanical review of from The Daily Worker, dismissing Powell’s late-career solo masterpiece Peeping Tom, huffing: “I was shocked to the core to find a director of his standing befouling the screen with such perverted nonsense.” Evidently, the Communist newspaper’s cinematic judgement holds up just as well as its ill-informed economic analysis.

The Cold Blue, on TCM

The Memphis Belle is one of the most famous planes in both American and movie history, right up there with the Spirit of St. Louis and Air Force One. William Wyer captured the B-17’s flight crew in action in his classic The Memphis Belle documentary, which has since been preserved on the Library of Congress’s National Film Registry. However, Wyler and his cameraman shot a lot more footage of B-17s than he included in his 45-minute doc. Fortunately, those outtakes survived in the National Archives, waiting to be rediscovered, restored, and incorporated into Erik Nelson’s The Cold Blue, which airs Sunday on TCM.

Frankly, there might be more interest for The Cold Blue now, thanks to the success of Masters of the Air and its companion doc, The Bloody Hundredth, than when it first released. The title is no joke. Both the sky and the sea in Wyler’s previously unseen footage appear eerily blue. This color film has that vintage 1940s look, much like that of the Oscar-winning Marines at Tarawa. The Flying Fortress could also be a brutally cold, sub-zero ride. In fact, several of the surviving vets providing context for Wyler’s film clips have stories of crewmates who lost hands or fingers to frostbite.

Even if the commercial timing was not ideal. It is a good thing Nelson made this film when he did, because the Army Air Force veterans were not getting any younger. Sadly, Gunnery Sergeant Paul Haedike, one of Nelson’s funniest and most colorful commentators just passed away this March. His contributions are priceless.

Thanks to him and the rest of the Airmen, viewers really get a sense of what it was like to serve on the Flying Fortress. The iconic plane emerges as a bit of a contradiction. In many ways, it was a death-trap, particularly with respects to the freezing temperatures crew experienced and the thin aluminum fuselage that offered no meaningful protection from enemy fire. Yet, they also praised the B-17 for being a tough old bird that could withstand tremendous damage and keep on flying.

The Power of Film, on TCM

UCLA Professor Emeritus Howard Suber retired over twenty years ago, but like Michael Corleone, they keep pulling him back each semester to teach his popular film studies courses. For well over fifty years, he has arguably shaped the field of study more than any other academic. Now Suber gets his turn in the spotlight, adapting his book and lectures for television in the 6-part The Power of Film, which premieres tomorrow on TCM.

Suber focuses solely on American films that were popular in their day and remain memorable over time. In the first two episodes provided for review, he zeroes in on common themes and elements that make such films appealing and enduring. They tend to revolve around families, either of the biological or surrogate kind. In most instances, the central character is “trapped” metaphorically and often physically.

Even though romances nearly always end tragically, American films also deliver a good deal of fun. That is why people around the world watch them. Defiance of authority is usually a crowd-pleaser too and it is a uniquely American inclination.

Inevitably, Suber’s terminology and selection of films will invite challenges from some critics. For his purposes, being a “good” film is not enough. It needs to continue to resonate with audiences over time, like Casablanca, The Godfather, or, like it or not, Gone with the Wind. Nobody would begrudge him for respecting Kramer vs. Kramer or Norma Rae (clips of both are incorporated in the first two episodes), but their lasting cultural footprints are debatable. (Ask the first 50 people at your local multiplex if they have watched either Oscar-winner in the last five years. Then try The Godfather.)

The thing about film is that we all have our biases, because tastes and preferences are so personal. Frankly, most viewers will just be watching for the clips, hoping for a new edition of That’s Entertainment. It is enjoyable to watch the collage of iconic scenes as they wash across the screen.

Chamber of Horrors, on TCM

Typically, proprietors of wax museums are a murderous lot in horror movies, but not Anthony Draco and Harold Blount. They happen to be amateur criminologists, who immortalize in wax all the sinister psychopaths they help capture. Jason Cravette was supposed to be their first case. Conceived as the pilot for a television series, but deemed too “intense” for network TV, their pursuit of Cravette (who would have been TV’s first “one-armed” killer) morphed into a reasonably success theatrical feature. Fans of William Castle-ish gimmicks will appreciate the “Fear Flasher” and the “Horror Horn” the proceed the genre bits in Hy Averback’s Chamber of Horrors, which airs tomorrow on TCM, as part of their Terror-Thon.

William Conrad’s opening narration warns the faint of heart to look away when the Fear Flasher and Horror Horn kick in, but the most macabre part of the film is the prologue, when Cravette forces a priest at gun-point to marry him to the corpse of his dead lover. After the ceremony, Cravette becomes a fugitive from justice, whom the Baltimore police apprehend with the help of Draco and Blount. Like Jesse L. Martin in Irrational, they have a knack for predicting debauched, anti-social behavior.

Of course, it does not end there. Although presumed dead, Cravette successfully escapes police custody, after chopping off his manacled hand. It is just as well, because he replaces it with an array of custom-designed hooks and slicing-and-dicing implements. Like any good super-villain, he goes on a killing spree targeting those who did him wrong, starting with the judge who passed sentence.

Obviously, the Fear Flasher and Horror Horn are corny distractions from what should be the film’s real business, but they are still kind of amusing, in a campy way. However, the sets and art design are remarkably lush and detailed, especially given the genre standards of the time. It would be incredibly cool to walk through a recreation of Draco and Blount’s House of Wax (an intentional echo of the Vincent Price classic).

Carl Laemmle, on TCM

Carl Laemmle would be appalled to see the Hollywood film industry he largely created now catering to the CCP regime, at a time when it was committing genocide in Xinjiang—but maybe not surprised. He truly was the only original mogul who criticized Hitler before the advent of WWII. Unfortunately, he had already been forced out of Universal by that time. Filmmaker James L. Freedman documents the mogul’s amazing life and career in Carl Laemmle, which airs late-night tomorrow on TCM.

Born and raised in Laupheim, Germany, Laemmle immigrated to America before Ellis Island was designated as a hub for new arrival processing. After some scuffling, he entered the movie business when it was still based on Nickelodeons and largely considered disreputable. A good portion of Freedman’s doc chronicles Laemmle role as a scrappy trust-buster, breaking Edison’s monopolistic hold on the motion picture industry. It is a good thing he did, because Edison was dead-set against producing feature-length films, whereas Laemmle was eager to push the envelope of film production.

With his son Carl Jr. in charge of production, Laemmle’s Universal’s produced some everyone’s favorite films, notably including the classic Universal Monster movies. That is exactly why a lot of viewers will be turning in. Some might prefer a deeper dive into Universal Monster lore, but the Laemmle doc still does them justice. However, Freedman focuses his familiar talking heads (including Leonard Maltin and Peter Bogdanovich) much more on Laemmle’s social and historical significance, first as the David who took on Edison’s monopolistic Goliath and then as a critic of Hitler and sponsor of Jewish refugees from Germany.

Scream, Queen, on TCM

Obviously, A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge did well at the box office, since there were six more films released in the original non-rebooted franchise (including Wes Craven’s New Nightmare and Freddy vs. Jason), but it has always been the most contentious of the series. Some fans complained screenwriter David Chaskin’s veered too far from Freddy Kruger’s established nature and motivations. (Future films kept him strictly dream-bound.) However, the homoerotic subtext (or text, per many critics) originally earned the film troll-ish scorn, but it built a cult following for the sequel over time. Lead actor Mark Patton found himself in the center of the controversy. After dropping out of show business, Patton reflects on the sequel he learned to embrace in Roman Chimienti & Tyler Jensen’s Scream, Queen: My Nightmare on Elm Street, which airs late-night tonight on TCM.

In some ways, Nightmare 2 was a possession film, in which Kruger tries to use the body of Patton’s character, the shy high school student Jesse Walsh, as a portal into our world. Instead of a jock, Walsh was a bullied teen, whose screams would subsequently be derided for their “girlishness.” Rather awkwardly, Patton happened to be closeted at the time.

The sequel’s stock has risen in recent years, thanks to critics driven by identity politics, who see it as a pioneering gay horror film—and not without reason. Walsh did not exactly exemplify “toxic masculinity.” There were several scenes in the boys’ locker room and even one in a gay bar. Unfortunately, it all generated a lot of uncomfortable scrutiny for Patton, culminating in his retirement from the public eye.

The Automat, on TCM

For decades, Horn & Hardart automats helped New Yorkers and Philadelphians maintain their buying power during times of inflation. Their New Orleans-style chicory coffee was only a nickel and everything else in their locations was priced in increments of five cents. Their machines were exclusively tooled for nickels, so when they finally raised the price of coffee, they had to double it to ten cents. That was the beginning of the end, but Horn & Hardart had a good run, which Mel Brooks and other famous former customers look back on fondly in Lisa Hurwitz’s documentary, The Automat, which airs Tuesday night on TCM.

When Hardart teamed up with Horn, he thought introducing New Yorkers to NOLA chicory coffee would be a winning strategy—and it was, even for their early diner-style restaurants. However, when they adopted and perfected European automated serving techniques, their brand really took off. All Hurwitz’s interview subjects warmly laud the automats for the democratic environment. Visitors could often find millionaires seated next to homeless people there, much like New York’s mass transit. Unfortunately, in the 1960s, New York’s swelling homeless population contributed to Horn & Hardart’s downfall, because it looked like nearly all of them passed their time loitering at their automats.

However, the food was always good—especially during the Depression. At that time, Horn & Hardart bought in such volume, they could still offer quality food at affordable nickel prices.

Mel Brooks was definitely a fan. He isn’t just Hurwitz’s lead interview. He also wrote and performed “At the Automat,” the endearingly sentimental original song heard over the closing credits. His old crony Carl Reiner was also a regular, who sat for an automat interview before his death in 2020. There are reminiscences from other famous people, but some of the most interesting commentary comes from Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz, who explains how his childhood automat visits inspired his hospitality approach for the coffee chain. (Hearing him talk might make you wish he hadn’t been muscled out of the 2020 presidential race, especially considering the alternatives we were stick with.)

Val Lewton, the Man in the Shadows, on TCM

Val Lewton is one of the few film producers who is granted something akin to auteurist status. He “made” all of RKO’s classic horror films, including Cat People, I Walked with a Zombie, and The Seventh Victim. Known for their use of suggestive sound and imagery, they could be considered the first “elevated” horror films. One of Lewton’s most famous admirers, Martin Scorsese, helps chronicle his life and work, as narrator and producer of Kent Jones’ Val Lewton: The Man in the Shadows, which airs tomorrow night on TCM.

Lewton was a protégé of David O. Selznick. In that role, he made critical but mostly uncredited contributions to Gone with the Wind. When he came to RKO, he had no burning desire to make horror films, but that was what the studio wanted. They also mandated his first title, “Cat People,” but Lewton took the picture in a radically different direction than the monster movies Universal produced—at a much greater cost.

To stretch his stingy budgets, Lewton often relied on shadows and clever camera work to heighten the atmosphere and suspense. As a result, every clip Jones incorporates is strikingly stylish and vividly evoke the eerie, otherworldly vibe of Lewton’s films. Technically, Lewton never directed a narrative feature, but all his RKO horror films have a similar look and feel.

Man in the Shadows was originally produced for TCM over a decade ago (prior to the release of Jones’ Hitchcock/Truffaut and Letters to Elia, his full-collaboration with Scorsese), so mercifully, there is no apologizing for the subject matter of Lewton’s Caribbean-set voodoo film, I Walked with a Zombie, or his late career western, Apache Drums. In fact, his depiction of zombies is one of the earliest appearances of the genre’s most enduring menaces. The same is arguably true of the Satanic cult in The Seventh Victim.

By Design: The Joe Caroff Story, on TCM

He was James Bond’s and Woody Allen’s Saul Bass. Over the years, Joe Caroff developed some truly iconic title treatments for the posters and opening credit sequences used by a number of classic films. He helped mold the identity of some of your favorite films, but he has remained largely unknown to most movie fans. The spotlight finally falls on the designer in Mark Cerulli’s documentary, By Design: The Joe Caroff Story, which premieres tomorrow on TCM.

Caroff’s designs and typography really define an era of movie history. He created the 007 logo for the James Bond franchise. It is such an iconic image, it hasn’t been cancelled yet, even though it has a gun coming out of the seven. He also created the West Side Story poster with the stylized fire escape and the whimsical lettering for A Hard Day’s Night, including the Beatles’ knotted-guitar logo.

Refreshingly, Caroff does not apologize for any of the films he worked on, including Last Tango in Paris or probably close to a dozen Woody Allen films, starting with Manhattan. However, Caroff’s anecdotes make it clear he and Allen were never exactly close. It was just good work to get. Admittedly though, Caroff had reservations regarding the lurid poster for Tattoo, produced by Joseph E. Levine, with whom he had a good working relationship.

By Design is fairly succinct, running under an hour (not including commercials), but it still devotes a good deal of time to Caroff’s early life, including his WWII service and his courtship of his wife. The film also covers some of his early book jacket work and his designs for television (particularly those commissioned by ABC).

This is Joan Collins, on TCM

Sure, there was conspicuous consumption in the 1980s (and it was great), but it was also a good decade for comebacks. Tina Turner and Chaka Khan had some of their biggest hits in the decade, while Joan Collins and Linda Evans became two of the era’s biggest TV stars on Dynasty. Collins played the femme fatale villain, so she was the more popular one. Dame Joan Collins looks back on her life and career in Clare Beavan’s BBC-produced This is Joan Collins, which premieres Tuesday on TCM.

If you hadn’t heard before, she was married a few times. Reading the narration drawn from her memoirs, Collins describes all her marriages quite frankly, including the first, which might have been the worst. Or maybe that was the fourth, Peter Holm, the faded Swedish pop star, who dragged her through the tabloids during their divorce proceedings.

Collins made some relatively big films while under contract to Fox, but by the 1960s, she was largely doing television guest spots. Still, for a lot of us, her pinnacle role came as Edith Keeler on the classic Star Trek episode “The City on the Edge of Forever.” Seriously though, when she mistakenly refers to “Dr. Spock,” it is a major groaner moment.

Somehow, Collins and Beavan overlook her appearances as The Siren in the Westverse Batman, but she talks at surprising length about Bert I. Gordon’s Empire of the Ants, which is a major bonus. Of course, Dynasty is discussed in detail, for obvious reasons. Thanks to Collins, it was a huge hit that came to represent the Eighties. Several times, Collins asserts the greatness of the 1980s, which is absolutely correct.

Cinema Through the Eye of Magnum, on TCM

Celebrated war photojournalist Robert Capa shared similar concerns with cartoonist Milt Caniff—stay with me on this one. Just as Caniff believed cartoonists should retain the rights and creative control for their comic strips (as he did with Steve Canyon), Capa argued photographers ought to retain their rights and negatives. To empower his colleagues, Capa founded the Magnum Photos cooperative agency to license and archive members’ work. Somewhat counterintuitively, Hollywood turned out to a significant source of employment for member-photographers. Sophie Bassaler documents their connection to movie-making glamor in Cinema Through the Eye of Magnum, which airs early tomorrow morning (or late tonight) at a super-convenient time on TCM.

Much to Isabella Rosselini’s surprise, Robert Capa was her mother Ingrid Bergman’s great love—a fact she only learned from reading an advanced bound manuscript of her mother’s memoir. While he was romancing Bergman, Capa accepted a gig as a still photographer on the set of Hitchcock’s Notorious. Soon Capa returned to battlefield assignments, but he forged an important connection for Magnum.

In fact, several Magnum artists developed close working relationships with legendary movie stars through such jobs, including with James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. (Indeed, Eye of Magnum serves as a nice compliment to the recent Reframed: Marilyn Monroe.) That trust led to access for more interesting candid shot than the sort of canned hyper-cheerful photos released by the studio publicity departments.

Bassaler and the current stewards of Magnum identify John Huston’s The Misfits as the high-water mark for the cooperative’s Hollywood work. Magnum had exclusive access to the set, so they dispatched nine photographers, even including the soon-to-be-bored Henri Cartier Bresson. However, their Hollywood work dried out as the studio system weakened, but jobs documenting the Nouvelle Vague and other contemporary European auteurs took its place.

Churchill and the Movie Mogul

In the 1930s, the motion picture industry was reluctant to criticize Hitler, fearing their films would suffer in the German market. So how did that investment payoff for them in the 1940s? Today, Hollywood cravenly self-censors to curry favor with the Chinese Communist Party. Does anyone think it will work out better this time? Back in 1934, there was one filmmaker who fully recognized the threat of National Socialism. He found a friend and ally in an eloquent but marginalized Conservative back-bencher. Together, Sir Winston Churchill and Sir Alexander Korda helped steel the British fighting spirit at a crucial time. Their efforts are chronicled in John Fleet’s BBC-produced Churchill and the Movie Mogul, which airs Monday night on TCM.

The mid 1930s were known as Churchill’s wilderness years. The Chamberlain government actively encouraged the press to censor Churchill, to stifle his “war-mongering” criticism. (Again, does any of this sound familiar, Twitter?) However, Alexander Korda, the Jewish-born Hungarian immigrant, was equally alarmed by the threat of Hitler’s national socialism. Finding a kindred spirit, Korda hired Churchill as a sort of idea-man at-large.

Churchill did not write any full screenplays for Korda and his conceptual treatments were considered too grandiose to produce. However, biographers and historians see Churchill’s fingerprints on a number of the patriotic films Korda produced during this time, particularly The Four Feathers, The Lion has Wings and his classic Hollywood production, That Hamilton Woman.

Fleet and his ensemble of experts do a nice job explaining the similarities shared by the seeming odd couple. They even smoked the same brand of cigar. Although considered “propaganda” by many critics, most of the films addressed in the documentary still hold up today. Likewise, both men’s hawkishness has been vindicated by history, which is what makes Fleet’s film so uncomfortably timely.

Brubeck at 90: In His Own Sweet Way

In 1936, Benny Goodman made history, hiring Lionel Hampton and Teddy Wilson for the first racially integrated combo to perform openly together in America. Twenty-some years later, it still raised some eyebrows when Dave Brubeck brought the African American bassist Eugene Wright into what would come to be considered his “classic” quartet. It cost Brubeck a number of gigs, but he stuck with his principles. That integrity partly explains why Brubeck remains one of the most popular and respected artists in all of jazz--and then there is his music. Brubeck, the man and the artist, take center stage in Dave Brubeck: In His Own Sweet Way, Bruce Ricker’s documentary profile executive-produced by Clint Eastwood, which premieres on TCM this coming Monday.

If you only own one jazz album, (shame on you, but) there is a fifty-fifty chance it is Time Out by the Dave Brubeck Quartet. Every track is a classic, but unquestionably the best known is “Take Five.” Though actually penned by alto-saxophonist Paul Desmond, Brubeck has played at nearly every gig since the record released. Yet, Brubeck assures viewers he always looks forward to playing it to see “how far out are we going to go.”

In fact, Time Out is a perfect example of how tricky it is to classify Brubeck’s music. With each composition written in an unconventional time signature, it clearly reflected an experimental impulse, yet it sounds safely grounded in swing when compared to the avant-garde “free jazz” that would follow. A Californian of hearty rancher stock, Brubeck is also often lumped in with the so-called “West Coast” or “Cool” school of jazz. However, Brubeck’s driving rhythms and muscular attack stand in marked contrast to Cool Jazz’s milder tone.

In assembling Sweet, Ricker is blessed to have such a wealth of archival material, from high profile interviews with the likes of Walter Cronkite, to an early appearance in a Darius Milhaud documentary while Brubeck studied under the revered French composer at Mills College. Appropriately, most of Ricker’s original footage was shot around a piano, with either Brubeck or Eastwood (the Chair of the Brubeck Institute’s Honorary Board) holding court with other admiring musicians (like David Benoit and Yo-Yo Ma) to discuss the pianist-composer’s legacy. Yet, nothing beats watching and listening as Brubeck and Kansas City legend Jay McShann jam on a blues.

Brubeck continues to lead an eventful life, but Ricker is able to shoehorn in most of the major highlights, including his WWII service and the goodwill tours he later undertook for the U.S. State Department, which in turn inspired The Real Ambassadors, a jazz book-musical Brubeck and wife Iola wrote for Louis Armstrong. Though viewers do not hear as much of it, Sweet also discusses Brubeck’s sacred music (including a commission for Pope John Paul II), as well as his eventual conversion to Catholicism.

Perhaps though, the strongest aspect of the man that Ricker captures is Brubeck, the husband and father. Indeed, he and Iola Brubeck seem to have an enduringly beautiful romance, while he also clearly maintains close relationships with his grown children, four of whom followed in his footsteps as accomplished musicians in their own right.

Sweet might be conventional in its approach, but considering they have Brubeck’s engaging personality and his extraordinary body of music to work with, why get complicated? The only thing really missing is Brubeck’s performance of “A Raggy Waltz” in Basil Dearden’s All Night Long, an eccentric but appealing retelling of Shakespeare’s Othello in the world of British hipsters and jazz musicians, but TCM rectifies this oversight by airing it prior to Sweet’s debut at 3:15 EST. East Coasters without Tivo should contrive an excuse to leave work early on Monday (12/6) to get a double dose of Brubeck in two very different but highly entertaining films. New Yorkers can also catch Sweet’s world premiere this Saturday (12/4) at the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade Theater.

The Hollywood Creation Story: Moguls and Movie Stars

In a mere twenty years, moving pictures became America’s 5th largest industry, supplying 80% of world’s films. It did not happen through glamorous star power alone. Combining vision and tenacity, a handful of enterprising immigrants built the American movie business, producing scores of cinematic masterpieces in the process. Now those behind-the-scenes entrepreneurs get equal billing with the celebrated stars whose careers they fostered in Turner Classic Movies’ seven part original documentary series Moguls & Movie Stars: a History of Hollywood (promo here), which begins this coming Monday.

In the first episode, Peepshow Pioneers, viewers will learn the Michener-like early history of the nickelodeon and so-called magic lantern shows. However, we also meet the men who saw the commercial potential of moving pictures, including the legendary inventor Thomas Edison. In fact, the final scene Edison Studios’ best known film, The Great Train Robbery remains one of the indelible images of cinema history.

As M&M continues with The Birth of Hollywood, the recognizable names of Louis B. Mayer, Samuel Goldwyn, Carl Laemmle, and Jack Warner begin to emerge as serious industry players. In addition to a number of film historians and Robert Osborne, the well-respected face of TCM, the series features personal reflections from surviving relatives of nearly every mogul. Perhaps the most insightful commentary comes from Samuel Goldwyn, Jr., a film producer in his own right, who explains how his father literally put up the family house as collateral for every film he produced after being ousted from MGM, the studio that still bears his name.

Series writer-producer Jon Wilkman shoehorns a great deal of Hollywood history into each episode without sacrificing watchability to a parade of names and dates. In a sharp contrast to recent history, M&M clearly documents how both the moguls and their stars embraced the war effort in the 1940’s. Yet perhaps the most intriguing segment involves the aptly named William Bioff, a mobbed-up union leader, who shook down the moguls for some substantial protection money. On the other hand, its treatment of the HUAC hearings is a rather simplistic, Hollywoodized treatment that completely ignores the post-Cold War revelations regarding the nature of the CPUSA. Indeed, M&M never plumbs any Hollywood controversy too deeply, preferring to keep its march through history brisk and snappy.

To a degree, M&M reinforces the stereotype of the early Hollywood moguls as gruff, cigar-chomping businessmen, who were more interested in profits than highfalutin notions of art. Of course, those preconceptions are not wholly baseless. As Goldwyn, Sr. once famously said: “Pictures are for entertainment. Messages should be delivered by Western Union.” Yet, that was the same Goldwyn who displayed consistently good taste in his own productions, like Dodsworth, Wuthering Heights, and Best Picture winning The Best Years of Our Lives.

Though traditional in its approach, M&M’s subject matter readily lends itself to the tried and true format of generous film clips, interspersed with talking head interview sound-bites. The dramatic visuals of the silent era segments might even inspire some viewers to check out early classics, like D.W. Griffith’s brilliant Intolerance (even though it evidently was not a big hit in its day). Christopher Plummer’s professorial narration also adds a Ken Burnsian air of authority to the proceedings. For movie buffs, particularly those interested in Hollywood’s early years, M&M is overall quite informative and entertaining. It debuts on November 1st, continuing each Monday evening through December 13th (with encore broadcasts on Wednesdays), on the TCM network.

The Johnny Mercer Centennial on TCM

Clint Eastwood’s film adaptation of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is probably best remembered for its soundtrack, consisting entirely of classic songs written by Savannah, Georgia’s favorite son, Johnny Mercer. Eastwood, a well known jazz supporter and occasional pianist, now serves as the co-executive producer and presenter of Johnny Mercer: The Dream’s on Me, a new documentary tribute to the singer-songwriter debuting on Turner Classic Movies this Wednesday, as part of the network’s month long celebration of Mercer’s centennial.

Mercer was an Academy Award winning songwriter who co-founded Capitol Records. He was a popular recording artist in his own right, having come up through the ranks of the Paul Whiteman and Benny Goodman big bands. While hip jazz and cabaret artists often record Mercer songbook projects, the Mercer name might not be as familiar to contemporary audiences, despite his storied career. However, Mercer’s lyrics remain instantly recognizable thanks to his classic standards, like “One More for My Baby,” originally written for Fred Astaire but immortalized by Frank Sinatra, “Jeepers Creepers,” which became a breakout hit for Louis Armstrong, and one of the most successful movie songs ever penned, “Moon River,” written with Henry Mancini for Blake Edwards’ Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Dream gives Mercer his due not just as a prolific lyricist, but also as a distinctive vocalist, whose laidback style helped bankroll Capitol Records in its early days. For instance, we hear how his distinctly laidback jazz-oriented delivery elevates a novelty number like “Jamboree Jones” into a real swinging affair in an appearance on the Rosemary Clooney Show.

Mercer collaborated with just about everyone, most notably including Hoagy Carmichael, Harold Arlen, and Jerome Kern. With his deep southern roots, Mercer’s work has readily lent itself to jazz interpretation by the likes of tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins (heard briefly in Dream) and pianist Bill Charlap (the son of songwriter Moose Charlap and vocalist Sandy Stewart), who serves as narrator for the program and plays over the ending credits.

Producer-director Bruce Ricker (who previously helmed Tony Bennett: The Music Never Ends seen on PBS's American Masters) crafts a classy tribute to Mercer, incorporating extensive vintage Hollywood clips and interviews from admiring musicians and vocalists, like Bennett, Andre Previn, Dame Cleo Laine, Johnny Dankworth, and Margaret Whiting. Eastwood also serves as host for some original sessions of Mercer songs including notable combos, like Broadway star Audra McDonald accompanied by composer John Williams on piano, as well as Eastwood’s daughter Morgan singing the title tune backed by Larry Goldings on piano with her brother Kyle on bass.

Nicely balancing biography with music, Dream conveys a good sense of both the man and his songs. Debuting this Wednesday (11/4), it is an entertaining and informative portrait of one of the great lyricists and vocalists of the American Songbook tradition. Dream kicks off TCM’s celebration of Mercer throughout the month of November, with regular Wednesday screenings of films featuring Mercer songs (including Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Blues in the Night, and The Days of Wine and Rose) as well as a full day of Mercer on November 18th to commemorate his 100th birthday.

(Photo credit: Adam Rose)