PETER FALK: IN THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND …

Back in the seventies, my grandad used to love watching ‘Columbo’.  He loved the way he missed nothing and always managed to get the suspect to tie themselves in knots.  “He’s a clever one, that Columbo”, he told me.  Of course, my grandad had never heard of Peter Falk.  Columbo was real to him and, in a way, he was right to think so.

Typecasting is a common fear among TV actors – although, of course, it’s something they all secretly pray for – but there are few who have deserved it and embraced it as much as Falk.  William Link and Richard Levinson may have created Columbo, but Falk owned him.

It was not inevitably so.  Falk wasn’t even the first person to play him.   The character first appeared in the person of one Bert Freed as part of a 1960 TV show called The Chevy Mystery Show, in a one-off episode called ‘Enough Rope’.

This episode was then adapted into the stage play ‘Prescription: Murder’ (where the role was played by Thomas Mitchell – Uncle Billy from It’s A Wonderful Life).  This, in-turn, was adapted back into a TV movie and that’s when Falk got to don the rumpled overcoat.  But only ’cos Bing Crosby turned it down.

In the 1968 TV movie Prescription: Murder, Columbo is quite a different character; persistent, yes, but crueller in his pursuit of his prey’s female accomplice.  He also lies in order to extract confession – something which, in later stories, he would always skilfully avoid.

It would be three years before Falk would get to wear the overcoat again, by which time his acting skills had leapt to a new level thanks to his working with John Cassavetes and Ben Gazzara on the very grown-up and largely-improvised Husbands.  Cassavetes practiced (and taught) The Method, whereby an actor effectively loses himself in his role.  This is something which Falk would increasingly come to do with Columbo.

Falk with his friend and occasional sparring-partner Cassavetes

Both the first Columbo movie and its follow-up Ransom for a Dead Man were directed by Richard Irving (who would go on to direct the pilot for The Six Million Dollar Man) and he succeeded in making them popular enough to warrant developing into a regular series.  The first episode of which was directed by a twenty-five year-old Steven Spielberg.  Wonder what happened to him? 

This story:  Murder by the Book tells of a catastrophic falling-out between two murder mystery writers.  I wonder if one can read anything into the fact that this wasn’t written by Levinson and Link but by Steven Bochco who would go on to be show-runner of a little thing called Hill Street Blues?

Indeed, Link and Levinson could afford to take an increasingly hands-off approach to their creation, overseeing the show more as producers than writers, because they knew the Lieutenant was in good hands.

Falk took it upon himself to maintain the quality control of the show – constantly arguing with writers and directors over details which he felt were not right for the character.  Of course, this was partly because he didn’t want the show’s focus taken away from him.  If they’d introduced side-kicks and car-chases it would have made the show more like everything else out there, and less of a study in character development.  It would be less about him.

Falk’s Columbo performances are text books in hogging the limelight.  Some of American TV’s best actors pitted their wits against him – and it is a real case of the actor trying to win scenes off Falk, in exactly the way that their character is trying to beat the Lieutenant.

Actors who came back for more include William Shatner, Robert Vaughan, Ray Milland and Patrick McGoohan (who turned up four times, directed a couple of later episodes and even wrote one).  Falk also wrote one of the latter episodes.

Yes, that's Captain Kirk wearing some kind of ill-fitting top-lip wig.

What is the appeal of a detective who is never wrong?  What could possibly hold our attention through sixty-nine virtually identical episodes over thirty-five years?  It’s Falk.  It’s his eccentricity, his patience and his intelligence (often well-disguised); it’s his humour, his modesty and his politeness.  One of the most delightful things about the show is just how gentlemanly it is. 

Like Agatha Christie’s greatest creations he is always very polite to his victims who, in turn, are gracious in admiring the tenacity of their captor.  But Christie’s stories were always set in a fantasy version of the 1920s.  Not Columbo … He was contemporary.  Indeed, in his very last outing – Columbo Likes The Nightlife, he found himself investigating 21^st century nightclub culture.

There is a cosiness to the killings in a Columbo story, which is why they invariably crop-up on afternoon TV in a generally uncut form.  They’re harmless homicides.  Safe for the whole family. 

Whenever I watch Columbo, I think of my grandad, perched on the edge of his Windsor chair, rooting for the little rumpled detective.  He and I would watch the shows together and, despite the sixty-year age difference, we’d enjoy them equally.  We’d celebrate together when he hesitated, turned in the doorway, uttered the immortal line: “Just one more thing” and casually delivered the knock-out blow that would break down the killer’s defences.

You know that moment is coming, you may have even seen the episode so often you know exactly what is going to happen, but that doesn’t diminish your delight in watching the fly enter the trap one more time.

Given that I associate Falk with my grandad, imagine my delight when, now an adult myself, I saw him turn up in The Princess Bride as the unnamed grandfather of Fred Savage.  Their bickering over whether or not it is “a kissing book” is so beautifully observed it lifts what could, otherwise be an (albeit superior) piece of pastiche into a film of real depth and genuine affection.

But, for me, none of this is Falk’s lasting legacy.  No, for me that is his starting, unprecedented ‘special appearance’ in Wim Wenders’ masterpiece Wings of Desire.   Here he is told “You look like somebody’s grand-father”   Me.  He looks like my grand-father.   Well, maybe not look … But he certainly feels like him! 

Falk plays himself, mulling over life and legacy and Wenders has said he cast him because he “radiated gentleness and generosity”.  Falk said he took the role because Wenders hadn’t written him into the script and so he could, as with his Cassavetes work and, to an extent, Columbo, make the role up as he went along.  After all, he’d been playing Peter Falk all his life!

"I can't see you, but I know you're there!"  Makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck every time!

Towards the end of this film about angels, we learn that Falk is himself an angel; or rather, was once, but voluntarily gave up immortality – after millennia of watching and caring for humans - to experience real life.  He chose the impermanence of mortality.  He clearly has no regrets.

If there is any actor whose calm, warm wisdom suggests an understanding of those existential questions which haunt our unguarded moments, and reassures us that there is nothing to fear, it is Falk. 

He is back up there now, among the angels.  With my grandad.

Thanks to the good people at Obsessed With Film - you'll also find this piece, formated slightly differently, here.

"THE TWO AND ONLY" JANE RUSSELL RIP

You'll have to forgive me for using this as an opportunity to exploit some glamour on my weblog, but Jane Russell was accustomed to being exploited.  She was, to my mind, the model for the modern celebrity.  Here, in the 21st century, where fame is pursued aggressively by an entire generation of young people who have been raised to believe that life doesn't happen unless it happens in the headlines, where children are snatched from obscurity and thrown to the tabloid wolves by Svengali-like figures on a monthly, almost weekly basis, being exploited has become an acceptable, even aspirational, norm.

Justin Bieber became famous, apparently, by posting himself on YouTube.  He was desperate to be exploited and now, at the tender age of sixteen, he has his wish.  By the time he's seventeen, of course, the nano-second attention-spans of his fan-base will have very-likely moved on to the new shiny object.  But he'll never be entirely forgotten.  That's the thing with being famous ... it means that, however inconsequentially, you get to leave your fingerprints on our culture.

Jane Russell found her Svengali when she was just nineteen.  She died this week, seventy years later, and her fingerprints are still all over our popular culture.  Rather like the post-Madonna pop-stars (Kylie, Beyonce, Rihanna, Fergie, etc) she was as famous for her underwear and what she put in it, as she was for her actual talent.

It would be easy to see her as a victim of an exploitative, sexist, media machine, especially since her fame came at the behest of the notoriously weird millionaire Howard Hughes, who became obsessed with her photograph or, more precisely, with her extraordinary breasts.

He created the film The Outlaw for her in 1943 and propelled her into the public consciousness through an ad campaign that was far too raunchy for the censorious attitudes of the time. 

The original poster, with its come-hither, roll-in-the-hay promise and cunning, vaguely Freudian, use of sexual symbolism is available in various forms, some of which are more 'acceptable' than others.  Of course, as is often the case, the censored version - which replaces the gun with a bullwhip - could be considered far more provocative than the original.

That cleavage and that steely stare were to propel Russell into a career that many young girls would die for.  The thing is; she was never really 'A list'.  Hers is not one of the names you think of when considering the great actresses of the period (and there were a lot of great actresses during the war years, that really being the only time in Hollywood history they were given an equal share of the spotlight) and I think this is because she had the raw sex appeal of a Monroe with the intelligence and attitude of a Bette Davis and, consequently, failed to fit into either stereotype.

People forget that the prophetically entitled Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) was a starring vehicle for Russell.  Marilyn Monroe was merely the supporting role, but her sexuality combined with her vulnerability propelled her to an iconic status of which Russell could only dream.  Even the publicity shots for the film - such as the rather ungainly handprints-outside-Grauman’s photo below - put the emphasis very much on Monroe.

You see, Monroe fed men's rescue fantasies.  She seemed lost and at risk and completely dependent on the kindness of men.  Russell had no such vulnerability.  She was taller than a lot of men and had that smart, intimidating stare.  Men, of course, were (and very much still are) the decision-makers in the entertainment industry and their taste ran more to the ditzy, self-destructive blonde than to the witty, self-confident brunette.

Compare the famous, iconic image of Monroe from the film:

... To this frankly ominous publicity shot of Russell for the same film:

... And draw your own conclusions about the way she was perceived.

Russell understood the way the wind was blowing and she didn't make another significant film after 1957, effectively bringing an end to her short, notorious career.  Ironically, once she was below the celebrity radar, she proved to be far more vulnerable than she appeared and, like Monroe, sank into alcoholism which resulted in her reappearing in the headlines in 1978 when she was jailed for drunk driving.

Her later years were marked by her outspoken Right Wing politics and Christianity, but she clearly never lost her sense of humour, describing herself as "a teetotal mean-spirited Right-wing conservative Christian bigot".

Possibly with that in mind, the Daily Mail has written an excellent obit for her here and The Guardian has gathered together some clips of her more famous acting moments here.

JOHN BARRY RIP

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I thought long and hard about whether I should write about John Barry.  Is it distasteful to be singing his praises in the past tense today, when we could so easily have done so in the present tense yesterday?

I have decided that it isn't.  Whilst we who didn't know him cannot (and should not) mourn as his family mourn, we can take a moment to celebrate his achievements, now that his labours are at an end.

John Barry, the quiet, unassuming Yorkshireman, wandered into film composition almost by accident, through his association with the singer and actor Adam Faith.  He was still in his twenties when he was asked to arrange and, essentially, 're-mix' Monty Norman's theme to Dr No (1962).  This would prove to be the defining moment of his professional life.

The authorship of that piece would eventually come to be something of a thorn in Barry's side since the composer credit has always been given exclusively to Norman, yet a significant part of the tune's enduring success must be put down to the instrumentation chosen by Barry.  But, I guess that's the difference between composing and arranging.

Here is an interesting editing exercise where one James Bond fan has taken Norman's original Eastern-influenced version and mixed together a couple of Barry's prior arrangements, to demonstrate quite why he chose to arrange the music the way he did.



Barry had learned the important difference between arranging and composing and was soon brought back by the Bond film producers to work on the next Bond film and every subsequent one until The Spy Who Loved Me.  His enduring legacy with these films was to give them an elegance and a legitimacy which, to be fair, they didn't all deserve!

Here's a perfect example, a masterly score for a ... meh ... alright film:



These eleven Bond movie soundtracks - with their accompanying hit songs - would be enough for any career, you would think, but Barry went on to win five Oscars for his non-Bond work.  That's the same number as John Williams!

The Academy particularly appreciated his romantic work, like Out of Africa (1986) and Dances with Wolves (1991), soundtracks that demonstrate a real elegance.   But, for me, the tracks that The Oscars didn't recognise are the stand-outs, such as the deceptively simple and laid-back theme to Midnight Cowboy (1969) - which did, at least, win a Grammy:



Some films just demanded the kind of epic qualities that few composers were capable of providing (especially in the 60s when lush orchestral scores were a dying art), but Barry was always there, ready to take a huge, heroic film and raise it to mythical proportions.  Zulu (1964) is, simply put, one of the greatest British films ever made and this is in no small part because of Barry's majestic score:



His reach even extended to TV where he gave the Roger Moore / Tony Curtis vehicle The Persuaders an air of exotic mystery which the show itself couldn't really maintain:



In fact, that seems to have been one of the constant themes (if you'll pardon the pun) running through his work ... It elevated the films it was part of to a higher state of being.  This is never truer than with what is, I think, my absolute favourite Barry score, for the indifferent Disney flop The Black Hole (1979).  First we have the triumphant, militaristic fanfare, a spectacular way of showing John Williams that he couldn't quite have it all his own way in the late 70s:



Followed by the piece wherein Barry's trademark measured, deliberate pace perfectly represents the largest spaceship ever seen slowly manoeuvring in space, and does it all with a dignity and elegance far beyond that which the film-makers deserved ...



Finally, I can't finish without remembering at least one of those exquisite Bond theme tunes ... Almost every one of which has entered the public consciousness in a way few other pieces of film music have managed.  Obviously, Goldfinger is the standard against which all others are compared, and that's exactly as it should be, but I have always had a real soft spot in my heart for this:



Now, here's a thing.  David Arnold, who was Barry's own choice to replace him as Bond composer, has written a delightful tribute to the great man here, and has also asked THE question of the day, over on Twitter: "Shall we try to get the sublime "we have all the time in the world" to number one this week? John Barry and Louis Armstrong"   He's @DavidGArnold if you want to go off and do something rash like follow him but, before you do, why not go and visit your local music website and download 'We Have All The Time in the World'.


Go on, 89p to elevate the charts to a higher state of being!  Bargain!

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