Oscars Time: Reflections on My First Grown-up Movies

It is Academy Awards time Sunday night, so naturally my non Trump thoughts are focused on the silver screen. This year’s host will be Jimmy Kimmel. I don’t have high expectations he will exceed or even match past enjoyment of seeing Billy Crystal emcee the gala event, but to be totally honest, I am probably too conservative, or should I say traditional, in my taste of comedic genius on Oscars night as I grew up watching Bob Hope host countless Oscars telecasts. I was disheartened when he lost his emcee spot back in 1969.

I’ve gotten over it. Though I see more flicks nowadays while sitting on the couch in our den I still enjoy the experience of going to the movies. Which brings me to the following question:

Do you remember the first films you saw in a movie theater? I don’t mean kiddie cartoons or even Disney full-length features, which in my case would be animated classics like Bambi, Fantasia and Lady and the Tramp. I mean the first grown-up movies you saw in a movie house, not on television.

The three movies that seem to be anchored in my memory as my first exposure to cinema are an eclectic trio. One is the 1953 comedy The long, Long Trailer starring Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz as newlyweds who spend their year-long honeymoon driving a motor home trailer across the United States.

The second is Alfred Hitchcock’s 1955 The Trouble With Harry. Starring John Forsythe and Shirley MacLaine in her film debut, the film is a comic mystery whodunnit and what-to-do-with-it when Harry’s body is found in a field of a small Vermont town.

The biblical epic Samson and Delilah starring Victor Mature and Hedy Lamar round out my memorable threesome. Gilda thinks I saw this Cecil B. DeMille movie on television since it came out in my birth year, 1949, but I remember seeing it in color and our family didn’t get a color TV until 1962, so I’m sticking with my vision that I saw it as a re-release a few years later. Indeed, according to Wikipedia, it was re-released in November 1959 when I was 10.

I don’t believe either of our parents took me and my older brother and sister to these movies. I suspect our babysitter, next door neighbor Madeline, did, though I might have been taken to Samson and Delilah by our mother.

For sure she took us to see The Ten Commandments at Radio City Music Hall in 1956. Before the movie we ate lunch in a nearby Schrafft’s restaurant.

A year before or after, as our mother recuperated in a hospital from what I believe was gall bladder surgery, our father took us to see Hill 24 Doesn’t Answer, a taut English-language Israeli picture about doomed soldiers during the country’s war of independence.

As my brother Bernie is four years older, he had the unenviable burden of taking me along when he went to the movies with his friends. Back then a ticket bought you two movies. One double bill I vividly remember was Glenn Ford in Torpedo Run, a World War II submarine story, and James Mason in The Decks Ran Red about a mutiny aboard an old freighter skippered by Mason. Even more memorable to me at the impressionable age of nine was the coming attraction for Steve McQueen’s first movie—The Blob, about a red slime man-eating extra terrestrial.

The promo so scared me that I stayed away from sci-fi movies until the day I graduated eighth grade in 1962. Several of my classmates chose to go to the movies after we were dismissed at 1 pm. The nearest theater was showing a double fare of horror: Godzilla followed by Rodan. I’m still creeped out by the opening scene of Rodan wherein Japanese miners discover a prehistoric egg that hatches into a flying Pteranodon.

The theater had no qualms letting half a dozen 13-year-olds enter unchaperoned. Three years earlier, however, my 12-year-old sister had difficulty buying tickets for us to see Cary Grant and Tony Curtis in 1959’s Operation Petticoat. We were deemed too young to see this risqué-for-the-time comedy. Lee and I had to try several movie houses before one would let us in.

Not that they were great movies, but I recall only one other double feature that I believe I saw with Lee. The first movie was A Pocketful of Miracles starring Glenn Ford and Bette Davis in a 1961 Frank Capra remake of his Apple Annie 1933 classic Lady for a Day. The second feature starred Robert Taylor and Cyd Charisse in 1958’s Party Girl about a mob lawyer and the woman he loves.

For a more complete record of movies of my formative years, I have to include 1954’s Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Otherwise, as that was one of his favorites, my brother Bernie would label this blog as fake news (OMG, I just can’t get away from Trump no  matter how hard I try).

Viking Hand, A World Cup Trip and Two Sad Notes

Those who know me might be surprised, even amused, by this next piece of information, but I have it on scientific authority, at least according to my brother, that I have Viking blood in me. Perhaps that explains my repeated viewing of the Kirk Douglas-Tony Curtis 1958 movie "The Vikings" and my interest in watching the current History Channel mini-series, "Vikings."

I have, as does Bernie, what is called Viking Hand or Baron Dupuytren’s disease. Here’s a link describing it (http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1305903/), but the long and the short of it is that on the palm of my left hand a small nodule has appeared recently. Its occurrence is usually limited to people of European descent, from areas where the Vikings are known to have traveled in their marauding and trading days. 

According to the National Institute of Health, “The Viking age of exploration, trading, and colonization lasted nearly 300 years. They raided as far as Newfoundland to the west, the Mediterranean and its many ports to the south, and the Caspian Sea—by way of the rivers of Eastern Europe, such as the Volga and Dneiper—to the east.” The Viking Hand could have could have easily been impregnated into my ancestors’ gene pool in Central Europe, by a Viking or by someone whose foremother a Viking ravished. 

While my sister Lee doesn’t have Viking Hand, not yet at least, our family has always believed she displays evidence of a Tatar invasion. Her high cheek bones, slightly slanted eyes and darker skin tone are traits not shared by any others in our family. 

For those who haven’t stopped laughing at the image of me running around as a Viking, let me remind you that Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis were both nice Jewish boys cast as fearless Norsemen.

World Cup Trip: The World Cup is almost over but I was amused by a recent article in the travel section of The New York Times. Here’s how it was described: “Instead of taking an expensive direct flight to the World Cup in Brazil, Seth Kugel, the Frugal Traveler, took a cheaper and more adventurous journey through four countries over 16 days.”

I found it quite extraordinary that The Times would think anyone but the richest of people, or those retired, would have 16 days to gallivant around before attending soccer games, the ostensible purpose of traveling to Brazil. 

Sadder Note: As you might have read or heard, Louis Zamperini died last week after a 40-day bout with pneumonia. Zamperini is the former Olympic runner who, as a World War II bombardier, survived a plane crash, 47 days afloat in the Pacific Ocean in a rubber raft and then two years of inhumane treatment in a Japanese prisoner of war camp.

Gilda and I listened to the Laura Hillenbrand book of his life, “Unbroken,” while driving through New Mexico last month. It is kind of eerie to now know we were thrilled by Zamperini’s exploits at the very moment he was fighting, ultimately unsuccessfully, for his life.

A Sad Note, Closer to Home: Here’s an example of why I am uncomfortable with most social media:

A few days ago I received an email from LinkedIn encouraging me to contact someone I knew who was registered on the business/social media site. Trouble was, he passed away several months ago. It was, to say the least, quite jarring to see his smiling face being used to hype LinkedIn. 

I realize LinkedIn cannot keep abreast of the passing of any of its users. But that reality does not condone or endear the service or that of any other social media to me. 

Picture This

Over breakfast most mornings I scan the Turner Classic Movies listings in the newspaper to see if there are any old time flicks that interest me. This morning I noticed The Blob was to be shown tonight at 8. Starring Steve McQueen, the 1958 movie is far from a classic sci-fi thriller. But as an impressionable 9-year-old sitting in a darkened theater, I was forever frightened by its coming attractions, never to see this flick, not then, not now.

The trailer aired before two movies I distinctly remember, Run Silent, Run Deep, and The Decks Ran Red. I had tagged along with my older brother, Bernie, and his friend, Jerry, for an afternoon of celluloid entertainment. Other than being scared out of my wits (there was a preview of another even scarier sci-fi film, but its title escapes me), the double-bill features did not disappoint. Run Silent, Run Deep starred Clark Gable and Burt Lancaster as officers of a WWII submarine. James Mason received top billing in The Decks Ran Red, a story about a mutiny aboard a freighter.

I don’t know why, but certain movies from my childhood have stayed with me, not because I have seen them time and again on television (though mostly I have), but because I remember the circumstances of when and where I saw them as a youngster.

In 1956, our mother took my brother, sister Lee and me to see The Ten Commandments at Radio City Music Hall. First, we had lunch at Schrafft’s. A day of spectacle any 7-year-old would remember.

That same year, while my brother attended a bar-mitzvah party, my father took Lee and me to a screening of Hill 24 Doesn’t Answer, the first feature film produced in Israel. It told the story (mostly in English) of a group of four Israeli soldiers assigned to hold a strategic hill near Jerusalem during the War of Independence. As the title implies, they did not survive their mission.

I remember seeing what should have been a most forgettable double bill, Pocketful of Miracles, a less than fulfilling 1961 remake of the delightful Lady for a Day (both, incidentally, directed by Frank Capra), and Party Girl, a story about mobsters and molls in early 1930s Chicago.

Two of the earliest movies I saw were Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954) and The Trouble With Harry (1955). Both times our babysitter, Madeline, took us to the theater, most probably because she wanted to see them herself.

When I was 10 years old in 1959, I encountered my first example of censorship, and how to beat it. Twelve-year-old Lee and I went to see Cary Grant and Tony Curtis in Operation Petticoat. Because of the “raciness” of the script, we were barred from entering the movie house on Coney Island Avenue and Avenue U without an adult. Not to be deterred, we made our way to the theater at Kings Highway and Coney Island Avenue where they were more than glad to take our money.

Ethnic Pride and Shame

Ethnic pride is a powerful cultural marker. What Italian didn’t feel his chest swell when Rocky Marciano won the heavyweight boxing title? Or when Luciano Pavarotti hit a high C note? When rap stars dominate the music business, when the NBA and most Division I college basketball teams feature Afro-Americans, when Barack Obama took the oath of office, how could people of color not be proud?

When I was growing up, my parents always pointed out prominent Jewish actors, playwrights, politicians, physicians, even sportsmen, especially when their names might not have given away their pedigree. Kirk Douglas. Tony Curtis. John Garfield. Arthur Miller. Jacob Javits. Jonas Salk. Sandy Koufax—how proud we were when he declined to play in a World Series game on Yom Kippur (how disappointed I was when Ike Davis of the Mets chose to play a meaningless game on this year’s Yom Kippur).

I wound up doing the same not so subtle identification process for my children.

But just as coins have two sides, ethnic pride is but the positive side of ethnic shame. Here are two prominent residents on my list of shame:

Bernard Madoff
Pamela Geller

Madoff is obvious. Beyond swindling money, helped along, let’s be honest, by the greed of many of his clients, was his total disregard for the impact his illegal activity would have on the numerous social and charitable organizations that blindly invested with him. Sad as it is that many individuals lost their savings, it is far worse that he bankrupted or weakened entities whose sole purpose was to help their fellow human.

If you are not already familiar with Pamela Geller, here’s a link to a profile from Sunday’s NY Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/nyregion/10geller.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=homepage.

To reject radical forms of Islam that have morphed into violence is not shameful. But Geller has transformed the perception of Islam from a major religion into an extremist movement. She incites hatred, intolerance, bigotry.

It is true. Some Muslims want to kill all “non-believers.” Nothing new here. Religions often are brutally intolerant—Israelites wanted to eradicate all inhabitants of Canaan; Christians killed non-believers during their conquests of the New World; Catholics and Protestants killed each other; New Believers and Old Believers fought for supremacy of the Russian Orthodox Church. Shiites and Sunnis kill each other in the name of Allah. It’s hard to find any religion without blood on its hands, as God always seems to be “on their side.”

But Geller, who went to Hebrew school, should have learned that Jews flourished in the early Middle Ages under Islam. Indeed, Spain was a model of religious tolerance when Muslims ruled there, allowing Jews to rise to the highest levels of government, commerce and the arts. Either through ignorance or intent, Geller turns her back on history to paint an entire religion as evil. Her depictions of Islam are as cruel as any anti-Semitic canard. She is a demagogue empowered by the Internet and cable TV. I shutter to think anyone might think she represents the Jewish community.


Texas Massacre: If you’re a liberal and a New York sports fan, this was a great weekend. First, the Texas Rangers lost two home playoff games to the Tampa Bay Rays. Both teams will travel to Florida for the deciding fifth game of their series to determine who will play the Yankees beginning Friday night for the American League pennant.

Second, the NY Football Giants beat up the Houston Texans, 34-10.

Third, the Dallas Cowboys lost to the Tennessee Titans, 34-27.

Few states bring out the nasty in me as does Texas. For the most part I enjoyed my visits there (I probably traveled to Texas close to 100 times). But I can’t separate the state’s regressive politics (and George W. Bush) from their sports teams. I was delighted the Rangers, Texans and Cowboys lost.

Oh, by the way, Target dodged a boycott bullet as the Yanks defeated the Minnesota Twins at Target Field (and Yankee Stadium).


Have a Seat: Perhaps you saw the Op-Ed piece last Thursday in the NY Times from John Edgar Wideman. He’s a a professor of Africana studies and literary arts at Brown University. At least twice a week he rides the Acela from New York City to Providence, RI, and back, discovering along the way that he rarely has to share a double seat with anybody. Why? He presumes because he is a man of color. (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/07/opinion/07Wideman.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=wideman&st=cse).

From more than 30 years commuting on Metro North, I can tell you he is 100% correct. As I never wanted to stand, I sat next to everyone and anyone, even if it meant taking the dreaded middle seat of a three-seat bench. My only bias was not to be wedged in between two portly passengers. If I sat at one end of a three-seater and a person of color sat at the other end, it was usually a given no one would take the middle seat, regardless of how crowded the train was.

Metro North is not like the subway where races mix, if not easily, at least commonly. Few Afro-Americans commute on Metro North. They are largely avoided. I am not alone in my convictions. Here’s how some other readers responded to Wideman in letters to the editor: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/09/opinion/l09seat.html?ref=amtrak.


??? For VP: Just as the baseball playoffs got under way, official, and unofficial, Washington entered its fall season with incessant speculation President Obama will shake up his team, switching the positions of Vice President Joe Biden and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. For the record, the White House denied any such move is contemplated.

As long ago as March 4, I opined Biden would conveniently and diplomatically be replaced on the 2012 ticket. I didn’t think it would be by Hillary. I picked former Indiana senator Evan Bayh, 55, a moderate young enough to give Democrats a good shot at holding the presidency in 2016 if Obama wins re-election.