THE REEL REALS: Clifton Webb

Clifton Webb

Clifton Webb has a wonderfully unusual Hollywood success story. While he dabbled in film in his younger years and participated in some silent features, he would not hit it big until his breakthrough role in the iconic Laura when well into his '50s. If not recognized for his participation in that role, he is more classically remembered as the snooty yet surprisingly lovable know-it-all in the Mr. Belvedere, whom he played in a series of films. With his ever-polished look and impeccable style-- which labeled him as one of the "best dressed" men in Hollywood-- his poise and cynicism could easily be turned in his roles from wit and arrogance to that of a sinister viper at a moment's notice. He made comparatively few films in his career, mostly because of his late start, but his resume in the entertainment industry is actually quite hefty.

To understand Clifton, one has to know about his mother, Mabelle. Mabelle left her husband very soon after Clifton's birth, and her son would become her instant life partner. Their relationship was intensely close and-- one supposes-- emotionally overburdening to the growing boy. Clifton's identity would forever be attached to his mother, for whom he lived out all the ideal fairy tales of life on the stage. Clifton made his mother proud by working his way up from a nineteen-year-old ballroom dancer to a bona-fide Broadway thespian who worked with everyone from Al Jolson to Humphrey Bogart when treading the boards.

Eventually, he found his place in Hollywood, remaining a tactically closeted homosexual actor throughout his life and living with his mother until her death, after which he was inconsolable. He would only survive her a few years, but his performances in cinema hold up, which explains why they earned him three Oscar nods. His appearances in The Razor's Edge, Titanic, Sitting Pretty, and of course Laura have solidified his dignified and uncouth charms into the annals of history, which Mr. Belvedere himself would probably have to admit is at least moderately impressive.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part VII

More close encounters of the celeb kind. Enjoy!

James Cagney's many talents would help pave his 

way to Hollywood.

In 1921, James Cagney and his girlfriend Willie Vernon were traveling around with different vaudeville troupes trying to save enough money to start a life together. There were highs and lows, but Jim was a determined guy devoted to doing whatever it took to earn money to keep himself and his family back home afloat. If that meant taking a job outside the entertainment business, he was fine with it. However, Willie always pushed him to pursue his stage talents, even if it cost them the extra dough. Every once and awhile, Jim would get a lucky leg up. One such opportunity was taking a gig with a trio that had just lost it's third member. Thus, the group Parker, Rand, and Cagney was born. Unfortunately, the comic trio did not fare well and reviews were poor. Apparently, the writing and gags were old hat and not very funny, which is perhaps why the original member had ducked out. Originally, the group had been called Parker, Rand, and Leach. James would later bump into Archibald Leach after both men had gone Hollywood and the latter had changed his name to Cary Grant. One wonders if they ever laughed over their shared stage mishap.

The young Archie Leach, after he had become the more 

polished Cary Grant.

Jim may have never gotten to Hollywood at all had it not been for the help of another famous fellow. It turns out that Al Jolson (left) owned the rights to the smash play, "Sinners' Holiday," in which both Jim and pal Joan Blondell had had success. Jolson was impressed with their performances. When he worked a deal with Warner Brothers to have the play produced into the film Penny Arcade, he urged Jack Warner to see the staged version himself and check out the new talents before he went about making casting decisions. Jack agreed and was impressed. He wound up giving both Jim and Joan contracts with Warners and they appeared in the same supporting roles in the film. Jack would both enjoy and regret his decision, since Jim would prove to be one of his biggest moneymakers, but also one of the largest thorns in his backside. Interestingly, Al Jolson would be indirectly responsible for getting Jim's good friend Pat O'Brien a movie contract with Warners as well, because Jack also happened to go and see Pat's latest play when he was in town at this time.

Joan and Jim break into the biz in Penny Arcade.

In the entertainment industry, it's all about who you know. Grace Kelly (right) was very fortunate that, in addition to her own strength and determination, she had an "in" in the theater world through her playwright uncle: George Kelly. After studying drama and appearing in her 31-second film debut in Fourteen Hours, Grace was ready to start treading the boards for real, and after a few roles in various plays, she was looking for a part to showcase her range. Luckily, a plum role fell right in her lap via producer Grant Gaither in New York. Gaither had worked with George Kelly in the past on his hit play "Craig's Wife," so when discussion began about casting a beautiful ingenue to play the role of a society girl who becomes a nightclub singer in Gaither's latest production "Alexander," Grace's name came up. She was quickly cast and went to work at the Albany Playhouse. Sadly, the play premiered to modest reviews and didn't run long. One bonus that came out of the play, aside from the experience, was the chance to spend time with a famous co-star: Leatrice Joy, the silent film siren. The two got along well, and Leatrice certainly saw in the young actress a bit of herself. In a way, she certainly felt that she was passing the torch to Grace, whose fame would later far surpass her own former but equally impressive glory.

Leatrice Joy defined what a star beauty was before 

Grace Kelly cornered the market.

Every good parent understands the importance of introducing art to their children. This is why, despite the unbalanced nature of Norma Jeane Mortenson's mentally ill mother Gladys, one can give her kudos for trying to bring music into her little girl's life. After losing her two older children when they were taken from her by her husband, Jasper Baker, Gladys projected a lot of animosity against her "illegitemate" daughter, whom she blamed for her wreck of a life. But, at times, Gladys had moments of clarity and displayed her love for the only person who truly loved her, and she worked diligently at several jobs to be able to afford a nice home for the two of them. Having lived in a topsy turvy world where she spent a lot of time with random relatives and babysitters, Norma Jeane was excited to finally be living with her mother, who continued to run hot and cold. In one of her warmer moments, Gladys bought a white baby grand piano for Norma Jeane and paid for her to receive lessons. The little girl was not a natural, but it gave her and her mother great pleasure to know that she was tickling the ivories of an instrument that had once belonged the movie star Fredric March. Eventually, Gladys went broke, lost the house and the piano, and Norma Jeane was farmed out once more. When she grew older, Marilyn Monroe hunted for the piano, which represented to her one of the happiest and most innocent periods of her life. In time, she found it (see left). Billy Wilder too privileged from Marilyn's limited knowledge of the instrument: the scene in The Seven Year Itch, in which Marilyn plays chopsticks, was the only one she completed in one take. Today, the piano belongs to Marilyn fan and songstress Mariah Carey, who has stipulated that upon her death it be placed in a museum.

Little did Fredric March know, his musical appreciation 
effected more people than himself.

The premiere of Cecil B. DeMille's infamous religious masterpiece The King of Kings was-- in keeping with all things Cecil-- stupendous. Debuting at the newly built Grauman's Chinese Theatre (as it would have appeared at the premiere, right), the pre-show was as jaw-dropping as the film itself. An intricate series of prologues were staged, depicting infamous scenes from the Bible. In total, 100 performers were cast to put the production together, and each scene depicted a different tableau from the scriptures, chronologically leading up to the tale of The King of Kings. All of the famous glitterati were there, including Mary Pickford, who pressed the button to open the curtains. So incredible was the production, that the actual film didn't begin until well after 11pm. One avid film-goer would remember the experience vividly, even after he later rose in the ranks of filmdom himself. Watching then as a young, 12-year-old boy, Gregory Peck, a pharmacist's son, was enraptured by the ornate splendor. He would recall the costumed, Mandarin ushers, the scent of the incense, and the plush carpeting leading to the screen. He could easily see why the fanfare cost $5,000,000 all said. Such an experience only inflamed the secret desire in him to be in the film business. His original plan to become a doctor would be brushed aside in the hope that one day he too would enjoy being a part of such a rich, heart-wrenching piece of artistry. Wonder if he ever thanked Cecil for the sign from God?

Gregory Peck would ditch the medical books for the stage.

Growing up in Jamestown, it was apparent to several local people that Lucille Ball (left) was destined to be an entertainer. It was especially clear to her mother, who encouraged Lucy to enroll at the prestigious Robert Minton-John Murray Anderson School of Drama. Of course, this was also probably done to keep the young girl out of trouble and keep her focused on her future-- after all, she was hanging around with thugs. It took a lot of hard work, and scrimping and saving for Lucy to afford a spot at the notable academy, which was also the only one of its kind. Previous generations hadn't been "taught" how to act; they had simply taught themselves when traveling the vaudeville circuits. Lucy's experience was limited, but it was her same natural, self-taught ability and her limited vaudeville experience that landed her a spot in the exclusive school. Earning her spot, she was on a high when classes began in Manhattan, but her confidence quickly dwindled. The competition was fierce, and Lucy came off as an unstudied, uncoordinated ham. The teachers' criticisms were harsh and very damaging to her self esteem. Her former assurance in her abilities disappeared, particularly because all the attention at the school was going to another talented ingenue, who had both students and faculty alike astounded by her passion and abilities. With all eyes on Bette Davis, Lucy had little chance of success. When cuts were made after the first term, all but 12 of the original 70 students were sent home. Bette made it; Lucy did not. While Bette would consider her courses there a mere stepping stone on her way to fame and notoriety, Lucy would consider the whole thing a serious hurdle between her and the prosperous life she finally found after decades of struggle. She would later state, "All I learned in drama school was how to be frightened." Luckily, she later taught us all how to laugh.

The eyes have it: even as a young woman, Bette's 

determination was obvious.

Didja Know: Part III

Here are the latest facts that were "news to me." Didja know that...

Cagney gets a little rough with Bogie in Angels with Dirty Faces.

... James Cagney almost slept with the fishes???

In 1939, James Cagney and George Raft went to work on the intense prison film Each Dawn I Die (left). The two leading men knew each other and got along well. Both had grown up "in the hood" as it were, and had rubbed elbows with some of the nastiest ne'er do wells-- some of whom would go on to become leading gangsters and Mafiosos. However, both managed to keep themselves from becoming too deeply involved in the mobster lifestyle. For his part, Jim stayed completely away from the men he considered morally reprehensible. George, on the other hand, forged certain alliances when acting as a chauffeur for certain goons in his Hell's Kitchen days, yet he never got into the deep stuff. A suave guy, he knew how to play the game, kept things social, and stayed out of the business, while giving the bad guys just enough allegiance to maintain their respect and his own separate life. These connections would come in handy. James and George met again in Hollywood, and Jim got George one of his first big breaks dancing the "Peabody" in Taxi. Later, George would return the favor.

During the big Hollywood shakedown, when gang warfare had resulted in physical and financial intimidation of the studios-- who were forced to use mob managed union workers-- the notoriously stubborn Jack Warner must have been causing the big guns a little bit of irritation. While on the set of Each Dawn I Die, George happened to see his old pal Willie Bioff wandering around the set. Bioff's eyes landed menacingly on Cagney, no friend to the mob, then moved up to a large klieg light hanging above. George then witnessed Bioff give a signal to a worker standing in the rafters. What George didn't know, was that Bioff was planning a celebrity assassination: he wanted to take Cagney out by dropping a light on his head! Offing one of Warner's biggest stars was a definite way of sending the big-wig a message. It has been popularly recalled that George stepped in to save Jim's life, but this is only partially true. George clearly knew that something was afoot, but he didn't know what, and he also knew better than to get in the middle of it. Later, after the film wrapped, Bioff told George that he was indeed going to bump Cagney off, but had been halted because they didn't want to screw up filming for George. So, in effect, George did save Jim's life, even if indirectly. One wonders if Jim ever knew how close he came to curtains???

Of course, Jim always knew that life on a film set was dangerous. Not only is a film celebrity's career constantly in jeopardy due to changing public tastes, competitive talent, or demanding moguls, but before the advent of the Screen Actors Guild-- of which Jim was a proud member and instigator-- performers were often put through the mill emotionally and physically. Overworked, underpaid, and unprotected, the company brass had little concern for the pawns in their money game. After all, if you lose one actor, you can just hire another. This mentality led to the lackadaisical way actors were put in danger. Ever notice how in those old Cagney pictures and likewise gangster films, the shooters are always pointing their guns at a downward angle? This was because they were often shooting with live rounds. For those big productions, when Jim had to outrun or dodge an array of bullets, he wasn't acting. When working on The Public Enemy, for example, a man named "Bailey" was hired as a professional sharpshooter. Having served in the Great War, Bailey was an ace shot. The director would set up the scene and direct the movement, then Jim's character would be instructed to run this way or that away from the spray of bullets, which Bailey, from his gunner platform, calculatingly fired behind him, leaving authentic bullet holes along the walls of the set. Filming these scenes took a lot of guts-- or stupidity. As good a shot as Bailey was, it took a lot of trust for Jim to perform knowing that if he moved a hair out of place, he might lose his whole head! Luckily, the miracle of special effects has made this method of gun play obsolete on the sound stage.


... John Barrymore had one up on Al Jolson?

Everyone recalls The Jazz Singer as being the miracle film that moved cinema from a land of silence to a world of sound. However, this transition did not occur overnight. Even The Jazz Singer itself was not an in toto sound film from start to finish. Instead, it is a silent piece with synced music in various places, into which Al Jolson stealthily added a line of dialogue or two. Before continuous music and dialogue became the norm, there were films produced with random sound effects, profiting off the gimmick of the new innovation. Inserted into the fray were a whistle here, a car horn there, and occasionally entire songs. But, before The Jazz Singer was released in 1927, John Barrymore's romantic epic Don Juan was produced in 1926 (left). It represented another step toward sound film in that it was actually the first film Warner Brothers released with the use of the novel "Vitaphone." Warners really spearheaded the sound film movement by investing in and acquiring this new apparatus, while the rest of the industry remained hesitant both about the change and the huge costs it would incur-- not only in production but in restructuring theaters to suit the new technology. The first Vitaphone feature film, Don Juan was synced from start to finish with sound effects and music, though dialogue was still noticeably absent. When played to packed houses, it was often accompanied by more talkie shorts and even an intro by the fearful censor boss, Will Hays.The film was a huge success as a result, but despite big box office, it failed to recoup its financial losses. This put Harry Warner off a bit, but Sam Warner-- the most forward thinking of the brothers-- really pushed for continued use of the device. His pegged the next Vitaphone feature as The Jazz Singer. Though not the first film produced with the Vitaphone, it would in time prove to be the most vital. Ironically, Sam would pass away one day before the premiere of his greatest success.


... the Egyptian was the first Hollywood movie theater?

Back in the early Hollywood days, the awkward transition from live performance to recorded film was evidenced in the film premiere. These days, one merely sits back as the opening credits start to roll, but in the 1920s especially, the film premiere was made to be almost as big a production as the film itself. Sid Grauman personified the extremities of cinematic extravagance with his plush movie palaces, complete with vast stages for elaborate pre-show performances, skits, dance numbers, and songs. The theater-going experience was just that-- an "experience," and one ripe for the senses. In addition to transporting his paying customers and clientele to various different places as they watched the screen, Sid too constructed his theaters to resemble far off, exotic locales. Grandeur, splendor, pleasure-- there was no holding back, and customers paid to be awed. While his Chinese Theatre is best remembered, he too had great success with a previous venture, The Egyptian Theatre, which opened 5 years earlier in 1922, mere blocks away on Hollywood Boulevard (right). This was the first official Hollywood movie theater because it was built specifically for cinema and was not a transformed storefront or vaudeville theater like the others, including The Iris.

Modeled after the infamous African country, and cashing in on the invigorated interest in the recent King Tut phenomenon, Sid covered the Egyptian's walls with ancient artwork and hieroglyphics, convincing audiences that they were sitting in the midst of a desert mirage. Lining the red carpet entrance, where fans stood to watch their favorite stars attend premieres, there too were rows of vendors offering souvenir items and showcasing costumes and props from the latest flick. Needless to say, the largess made it a huge success. To Sid, it was all in the details. He even had a sentinel fully costumed, standing on the roof of the theater to announce when showtime was about to commence. After the pre-show hooplah, the fan mayhem, and the dancing girls, it's a wonder anyone had any energy left to even watch the scheduled movie. Because Sid created this first massive theater, he literally brought film to Hollywood, which until then wasn't considered the hub of the industry it is today. With studios scattered all around Los Angeles, Hollywood and cinema had little connection until Sid came along, which is why he was given the name "Mr. Hollywood." After nearly 90 years of operation, the Egyptian is still going, though it's interior has changed a great deal. Nonetheless, it remains the oldest running 100%-movie-theater in Hollywood.

 ... "virgin" is a dirty word?

In 1953, Otto Preminger decided to tackle Hugh Herbert's smash play and turn it into a film. The Moon is Blue, a comedy of wit and manners, may have read like a modern Oscar Wilde play, but it translated like a bombshell. Opposing forces took offense to the very open and lighthearted dialogue with regard to sex. The film's heroine is a young, outspoken, and charming girl played by newcomer Maggie McNamara, who just happens to be a virgin and makes no apology about it. After she meets architect William Holden on the Empire State Building observation deck (where else?), he becomes completely smitten, but is mostly consumed with the idea of-- politely-- ridding her of the tedious "virgin" label. What results is a inept seduction with fellow suitor David Niven thrown into the mix and both boys realizing that they're no match for Maggie's smarts. Despite the fact that all ends well, in matrimony, MPPDA head Joseph Breen was hot under the collar due to the casual way with which sex was discussed, not to mention the open way in which the characters of Holden and Niven went about hatching plans to seduce their innocent prey. Breen refused to give the film the censorship's seal of approval, but Preminger released the film anyway with the help of United Artists. Such a thing was unprecedented. Due to the film's themes and the use of words like "seduction," "mistress," "pregnant," and "virgin"-- the latter of which had never been used in such context in a film before-- several theaters refused to show it. It started at small venues, slowly drumming up a fan following, and eventually earned a hefty $3.5m dollar profit. "Virgin" thus became the word that started the toppling of the production code administration. The film was additionally successful in earning McNamara an Academy Award nomination and winning Niven a Golden Globe, (which was doubly eventful for him, since originally the studio didn't want to cast him, thinking he was old news). 


... porn is nearly as old as film itself?

That's right. We've all been dirty perverts a long, long time. It's nothing new. While some pinpoint early German sexual education/health films as the earliest source of pornography, the movie labeled as the first official stag film is 1915's A Free Ride (right). There is some debate as to the year of its release, which may actually have been later, around 1923, but thus far it is the oldest surviving product of our cinematic debauchery. The plot is about as intricate as those today: some random guy picks up some random girls on the side of the road. After he pulls to the side to relieve himself in the desert, one of the two females follows him to do the same. The sight of her panties dropping apparently is more than he can handle, and before you know it... Yadda yadda yowza! Because such levels of sexuality and outright raunchiness were illegal, the film was not released publicly but was instead shown in all-male clubs, so as not to offend delicate, female sensibilities-- excluding of course the two female leads. What can be said about this now hilarious attempt at celluloid erotica, is that the filmmakers apparently embraced its comedy. The director is credited as A. Wise Guy, the DP as Will B. Hard, and the title writer as Will She.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Accidentally on Purpose

Certain movie moments stick with you. Whether it be one Hell of a line-- "I don't have to show you any stinking badges!"-- or a devastating shot-- Rhett carrying Scarlett up that staircase-- these pieces of cinematic splendor become permanent fixtures in our consciousness. The Mona Lisa, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, John Wayne... They belong to all of us, as familiar as the back of one's hand. 

When a memorable incident of film occurs unexpectedly in a spur-of-the-moment improvisation, it makes the event even more special; as if it were an act of God. When an actor is so deeply invested in his character that he can bring forth an unwritten truth, or when someone makes a flub that just so happens to be filmic kismet, we are all given the sweet gift of accidental movie magic. Here are some examples:

Acting genius often goes unrecognized, because those that are really, really good at what they do make it look easy. Jean Arthur (left) is a prime example of this: a woman who took her profession so seriously that it made her often physically ill. But there was more to Jean than the reiteration of lines and the fluttering of eyelids. She went beyond the script to inject her performances with little bits of business that made her characters truly unique and much more than the typical "Gal Friday." One entertaining example came when George Stevens caught Jean playing around in front of the mirror in The Talk of the Town. That hilarious and embarrassing moment when Ronald Colman walks in on her in her bedroom, dragging her hair over her face à la Veronica Lake and repeating "Lovelay... Lovelay" in a Kate Hepburn drawl was not originally in the script. However, it was added when Stevens saw that such an awkward and vulnerable moment would help to instigate the attraction between the two characters, which in turn would fan the flame of the love triangle between Arthur, Colman, and Cary Grant in the film. A few seconds of Jean's uncanny oddness, and cinematic gold was found!

Lightning struck twice for Jean, but the next time was with co-star Joel McCrea in The More the Merrier. The beautiful and sexy moment that the two share on the front stoop (below) after a dinner date was also not officially planned. The words were all there on the page, but the performance was missing. Joel and Jean got together before they began shooting and decided to raise the stakes. Instead of the usual romantic tension, they  kicked it up a notch, lacing the scene with unspoken desire and uncontrollable attraction. Or, as Joel put it, he got to "cop a feel." As Jean continues her dialogue as written, Joel kisses her neck and puts his arms around her, intermittently distracting her from the conversation as she tries to deny her surmounting arousal. Finally, their lips meet. It is pure poetry, and one more perfect scene out of one of the most perfect of romantic comedies.

In some situations, there is a conspiracy between actors or director and crew to play a joke on an unsuspecting victim, juuuuuust to see how it plays out on film. Most don't expect the captured image to see the light of day, but every once in awhile, the result is so phenomenal that it becomes legendary. One such instance is in Roman Holiday, Audrey Hepburn's first film, in which she won over the American Heart as well as the Academy Award. When she and Gregory Peck approach the "Mouth of Truth" (La Bocca della VeritÃ, below ), Greg and director William Wyler decided to play a prank on the ingenue. Instead of the planned scene, in which Greg would nervously put his hand in the lion's den and remove it unscathed, Wyler instructed him to pretend to be in mortal danger. So, Greg put his hand into the mouth and began screaming in agony, trying unsuccessfully to free himself! Terrified, Audrey grabbed at her co-star, tugging and pulling in attempts to release him. To her dismay, Greg's arm finally emerged from the hole, but his hand was gone! He then popped it out of his sleeve and, smiling mischievously, offered it to her in a shake. Thankfully, the sweethearted girl was a good sport, and they laughed it up. Wyler loved it so much, he decided to keep it in the film. Whether or not the moment we see today is the initial event, or they just liked the idea so much that they decided to film it a few times more, I don't know. But it remains a classic choice!

Another trick was played when James Cagney and director William Wellman decided to spice things up in the big breakfast scene in The Public Enemy. It involved a "morning after" conversation (right), where current squeeze Kitty (Mae Clarke) tries to endear herself emotionally to the dastardly gangster, Tom Powers, who clearly only wants her physically. After Tom yells at Kitty for sticking her nose into his personal business, Cagney was supposed to simply storm off. Instead, he picked up that now iconic grapefruit and smashed it into Mae's face! An extra bit of sadism, it contributed to the heartless menace of Tom Powers. The simple action spoke volumes about his character and the menace of the mobster lifestyle. Audiences were shocked by the brutality! However, there was at least one person guffawing in the theaters among the gasps. While Mae was not happy-- as she was suffering from a cold and a sore nose during the scene-- her husband,  Lew Brice, found the shot of his spouse getting a face-full of fruit absolutely hysterical, and he went to see the movie multiple times for that specific reason. (The idea was inspired by the gangster Hymie Weiss, who had used an omelet in place of a grapfruit on his own moll).

The aforementioned were all accidents, but "planned" accidents if you will. Sometimes, the moments that are caught on camera catch everyone off guard, including the next tidbit. When filming Citizen Kane, every one involved knew that it was groundbreaking and vastly different from the other films being made, but no one ever expected it to become the classic it is hailed as today. For the time being, it was just a group of friends supporting Orson Welles in his passion project. Joseph Cotten had been pals with Orson (both pictured below) for years and was a member of his Mercury Theater troupe. He was happy to sign on to play the part of Jedidiah Leland, who remained the voice of reason and conscience when Welles's Kane starts to go off the deep end. However, it was Cotten who lost his composure during one pivotal scene. After Kane loses his bid for governor, Leland-- sensing his old pal's dissent into greed and delusion-- asks to be sent to Chicago to do dramatic criticism. During rehearsals, Cotten had accidentally flubbed his lines saying "dramatic crimiticism," which worked perfectly in showing that his character was thoroughly inebriated. Orson loved it so much, he had Joe repeat it for the film. It added just that extra something to make the scene more believable, and the moment of comedy also served to cut the tension. Cotten was hailed for his performance, which was enhanced further by the fact that he had stayed awake 24 hours prior to the shoot. It made Leland look like even more of a mess! When he utters that line, you can still catch a smirk on the thoroughly entertained Orson's face.

And, in a finale, let's take a look at some of the one liners that have made movie history:

In Saturday Night Fever, John Travolta became a full-fledged movie star. The disco movie seems cheesy today to the un-informed, but the actual film is full of dark undertones and the resulting generational angst of the masculine search for identity. Though John is remembered for his dance moves, it was his performance as the cocky and oblivious Italian, Tony Manero, that is the true marvel. He proved his commitment to his character in yet another meal scene, this time where it is father and son fighting. When Tony's dad goes to swat him one, Tony, unexpectedly barks back, "Hey, hey, watch the hair!" The revelation of male vanity was totally in sync with the rest of the film, and the line made it into the American mainstream. It is still uttered today in jest, though few even know its true origin!

In Midnight Cowboy, Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voigt had to not only perform in emotionally and psychologically draining scenes, but they also had to put themselves in physical peril! When Ratso and Joe Buck cross a busy intersection of NYC, they were literally doing so. It was not staged, the cars and drivers weren't extras, and there were not cops to direct traffic flow. They were forced to carry out the scene as written several times, come Hell or high water, while director John Schlesinger sat safely with camera and crew on the other side of the street. Dustin, whose walk was further impaired by the pebble he had put in his shoe to exacerbate his character's limp, was in fear for his life. Thus, when a car nearly ran him and Jon over, he slammed his hand on the hood and screamed, "Hey! I'm walkin' here!!!" Today, even those who haven't seen the film know that line.

Jaws is a marvel of a film for several reasons, but then Steven Spielberg is famous for his unique ability to take the most absurd and outlandish situations and make them real. A movie about a killer shark? Really??? But it worked, and it terrifies audiences to this day. For the majority of the film, the finned villain exists only in the viewers' imagination, which is why, when he finally reveals himself, it comes as such a shock. At a test screening, Spielberg was downright proud at the gasps and screams he heard! For this reason, he got a little cocky, and decided to insert another scene to give viewers a thrill. The moment when Richard Dreyfuss finds the human head underwater was thus added, but the director later remarked that this initial shock took away from the later terror of seeing the oceanic beast. Thankfully, he had Roy Scheider to maintain that scene's magic. As if the look on Roy's face wasn't enough of a reaction when he saw the humongous shark come zipping out of the water for the first time, he calmly turned to his costar Robert Shaw aka Sam Quint and said: "You're gonna need a bigger boat." Steven loved it, and the quote stayed.

But perhaps the best improv of all time, and the one that speaks volumes (haha) about movies in general, came from the first "official" sound film: The Jazz Singer. Showman Al Jolson (below) was known for being a bit of a ham, but that extra pomp and swagger was just what was needed to woo audiences into a new era of film-- one they could hear as well as see. The entire film wasn't in sound, but the songs were, as well as the small bits of dialogue that preceded or followed. As Al was performing one of these ditties, he felt the energy he was creating and tapped into the significance of the moment and his part of it. Flying on the power of his own adrenaline, he decided to take an already huge cinematic moment and make it eternal. After performing "Dirty Hands, Dirty Face," Al threw in a line from his theater act: "You ain't heard nothin' yet!" Boy was he right, and audiences were primed for what movies had in store for them in the years to come! 

Over eighty years later, we still remain riveted and-- every once in awhile-- completely blown away by the power of movies and the directors and stars that have given them a place in our hearts.