Last Abundant Year for Black-and-White Cinema

18 days ago (i.e., before the coronavirus had even begun to destroy American life as we know it) I posted a piece about Stephen Farber and Michael McClellan‘s “Cinema ’62: The Greatest Year at the Movies” (Rutgers University Press). It was titled “1962 Was The Year.”

Today Deadline‘s Pete Hammond posted a piece about same, titled “From Lawrence Of Arabia And To Kill A Mockingbird To The Debut Of James Bond, Was 1962 The Greatest Movie Year EVER? A New Book Says Yes.”

The paragraph that grabbed me was a suggestion that not only was ’62 a great year but also the last great annum for black and white films.

For mainstream monochrome features began to fade soon after. Fewer and fewer appeared in ’63, ’64 and ’65, which is precisely when color TVs were beginning to become more and more common in middle-class households. 1966 was the last year that the Academy awarded an Oscar for Best Cinematography, Black and White. The nominees were Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, The Fortune Cookie, Georgy Girl, Is Paris Burning? and Seconds.

Hammond: “[The authors] point out that so many of 1962’s best were in black and white (anathema for millennials today), and in fact only two of the ten lead acting Oscar nominees were in color. Thus it might be the last hurrah of black and white, followed by its ultimate decline before a little more than half the decade was out.”

Here’s my rundown of 40 exceptional 1962 black-and-white films: John Ford‘s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Robert Aldrich‘s Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, Bryan ForbesThe L-Shaped Room, Francois Truffaut‘s Shoot The Piano Player, Francois Truffaut‘s Jules and Jim, Agnes Varda‘s Cleo From 5 to 7, Luis Bunuel‘s The Exterminating Angel; Peter Ustinov‘s Billy Budd; J. Lee Thompson‘s Cape Fear; Frank Perry‘s David and Lisa. (10)

John Frankenheimer‘s Birdman of Alcatraz, The Manchurian Candidate and All Fall Down, the Blake Edwards‘ duo of Experiment in Terror and Days of Wine and Roses, Frank Perry‘s David and Lisa, Pietro Germi‘s Divorce, Italian Style; Stanley Kubrick‘s Lolita, the great Kirk Douglas western Lonely are the Brave, John Schlesinger‘s A Kind of Loving. (10)

Robert Mulligan‘s To Kill a Mockingbird, the internationally-directed The Longest Day, Arthur Penn‘s The Miracle Worker, Roman Polanski‘s Knife in the Water (released in the U.S. in ’63), Alain ResnaisLast Year at Marienbad, Michelangelo Antonioni‘s L’eclisse, Sidney Lumet‘s version of Eugene O’Neil’s Long Day’s Journey into Night, Otto Preminger‘s Advise and Consent; Jules Dassin‘s Phaedra, Don Siegel‘s Hell Is For Heroes. (10)

Tony Richardson‘s The Loneliness of the LongDistance Runner; Ralph Nelson and Rod Serling‘s Requiem for a Heavyweight; Serge Bourguignon‘s Sundays and Cybele (a.k.a., Les dimanches de ville d’Avray); Orson WellesThe Trial; Denis SandersWar Hunt (which costarred Robert Redford and Sydney Pollack); Philip Leacock‘s The War Lover; Masaki Kobayashi‘s Harikiri; Andre Takovsky’s Ivan’s Childhood; Robert Wise‘s Two for the Seesaw; Herk Harvey‘s Carnival of Souls. (10)

“Peter, What Are You Doing?”

Comedy is a deadly serious business. We all understand that the best comedies are those that are played absolutely straight, and the worst are those that send signals to the audience that something is intended to be funny. Goofing off, self-pranking, going too broad, etc. It follows that actors must never laugh at anything the audience may or may not laugh at. Signalling that something is funny is called “breaking character” — a violation of the code.

It’s significant, therefore, that in this scene from Stanley Kubrick‘s Dr. Strangelove, perhaps the greatest straightfaced comedy ever made, a serious actor can be seen dropping the ball.

Peter Bull, as Russian Ambassador Alexi de Sadesky, is the violator. It happens at 1:26 or thereabouts. Peter Sellers‘ titular character repeatedly beats his rebellious Nazi arm and Bull, standing nearby with a group of U.S. military officers, can’t help himself — he starts to grin very slightly but then reverts back to sternface. It’s surprising that Kubrick didn’t call for a retake.

Coral Clark Gable

I’m sorry but I’ve spent the last six hours painting the living room. Which of course involved more than just painting. I had to remove paintings and photos from the wall, tape off door jams, floorboards and light sockets, spread the plastic covering over floors and furniture, paint the main portions with a roller and then brush-paint the tops, bottoms and corners, which takes forever to do correctly.