Stanley Kramer on The Defiant Ones (1958)

A film like The Defiant Ones was merely an inadequate attempt by a white filmmaker to deal with a contemporary problem. James Baldwin has been very critical of me, and though it hurt, what he said is true. He said I captured all the intellectual and moral viewpoints of my age but didn’t capture the soul of the black man. Well, who the hell does he think I am? I’m not black. The fact is that I am a white man who made films about human beings who happened to be black. I understood the problems of black men and women morally, socially and intellectually, but the damn soul kept slipping between my fingers. It had to be spoon-fed to me secondhand because I didn’t feel it or know it enough.

There are so many areas into which I’ve stepped under the umbrella of what is sometimes amusingly called the Establishment, Hollywood style. The reason I’m defensive about my films is that sometimes—just to get the job done—not enough of the artist and too much of the political tactician and social worker prevailed. That’s where my area of sensitivity is. It’s just like undressing in front of you and saying, “Well, look, this is where I’m vulnerable. Stab me there.”

I’ve always been what is laughingly called an independent. I say “laughingly” because latitude is comparative. I have usually had some latitude when casting, something I enjoy doing, but sometimes the distributor screams that you have to do something. The Defiant Ones was written for Brando and Poitier. But Brando got tied up in Mutiny on the Bounty. I wanted to go with Poitier and a new actor, but United Artists said, “You’re chaining two guys together and one of them is black. You’ve got to give us some stars.”

At the time I approached Lancaster, Douglas, Mitchum. You know, I went down a lot of the guys. It needed to be a pretty big guy opposite Poitier. Time went by and we just couldn’t wait, so I ended up with Tony Curtis. Now, that didn’t seem to be a particularly brilliant piece of casting to anyone, including me, but I couldn’t get anybody else to play the role. I cut Tony’s hair, we straightened his nose. I think he did very well with the role, but it certainly wasn’t written for him.

November 2

Burt Lancaster is born in New York City, 1913. The former circus acrobat shot to fame with his first movie, 1946’s The Killers, beginning a 43-year career on the silver screen. “I woke up one day a star,” Lancaster said. “It was terrifying. Then I worked hard toward becoming a good actor.” As evidenced by his performances in Criss Cross (1949), The Rose Tattoo (1955) and Sweet Smell of Success (1957), he became one. Oscar chimed in as well, validating his acting abilities four times: Best Actor nods for From Here to Eternity (1953), Bird Man of Alcatraz (1962) and Atlantic City (1980); he won by preaching fire and brimstone in Elmer Gantry (1960).

Regarding From Here to Eternity, Lancaster felt nervous acting opposite Montgomery Clift (above, left) who, Method to the core, actually got drunk in a scene where both he and Lancaster sat in the middle of a road, soused. Director Fred Zinnemann remarked, “Clift forced the other actors to be much better than they really were. That's the only way I can put it. He got performances from the other actors, he got reactions from the other actors that were totally genuine.” Lancaster recalled a moment early in the shoot: "The only time I was ever really afraid as an actor was that first scene with Clift. It was my scene, understand: I was the sergeant, I gave the orders, he was just a private under me. Well, when we started, I couldn't stop my knees from shaking. I thought they might have to stop because my trembling would show. I was afraid he was going to blow me right off the screen.”

Five Football Classics

As we lament summer’s end, we focus on the good things about it: better movies slowly start to invade local theaters, hordes of horrid little children return to school, and grown men strap on helmets and shoulder pads to fall all over themselves for six points. Here are a few classic films where gridiron shenanigans drive the plot.

Jim Thorpe — All-American (1951)
An Olympic gold medal winner for pentathalon and decathalon, Jim Thorpe was a Native American athlete who found success in a wide array of sports, including collegiate and professional football. Burt Lancaster plays the man whose athletic achievements duke it out with personal setbacks.

Horse Feathers (1932)
Huxley College president Quincy Wagstaff (Groucho Marx) sets out to recruit a couple of prize football players for an important game against rival Darwin College. He ends up with Harpo and Chico instead.

Paper Lion (1968)
In a true story, Alan Alda stars as George Plimpton, going undercover as a Detroit Lion third-string quarterback to see how an average Joe would fare on an NFL team. It isn’t pretty.

The Freshman (1925)
College kid Harold Lamb (Harold Lloyd), with the help of his friend Peggy (Jobyna Ralston), aims to be popular and finds that being on the school football team is the key.

Knute Rockne All American (1940)
Ronald Reagan plays George Gipp, Notre Dame football player and strep throat victim. Pat O’Brien plays Knute Rockne, inspirational coach and father of the forward pass. A bedridden Reagan delivers the line that became part of our national lexicon: “Ask ‘em to go out there with all they got and win just one for the Gipper.”

August 28

The Killers opens in New York at the Winter Garden Theater in 1946. Based on a short story by Ernest Hemingway, the film would see the debut of Burt Lancaster, with Ava Gardner on hand to ensure that the movie's sex appeal go through the roof. Prior to the movie's release, a special screening was arranged for Hemingway, armed a bottle of gin and a bottle of water to soften the impact of a bad movie. "Didn't need 'em!" he remarked, holding up the full bottles as he emerged from the screening.