Tag Archives: Hal Pereira

Welcome to Jerry’s Dollhouse

30 Jun

In 1954, a production design team comprised of Joseph MacMillan Johnson and Hal Pereira (Art Direction), along with Sam Comer and Ray Moyer (Set Decoration) worked movie magic with the completion of the magnificent set that anchors Alfred Hitchcock’s suspense classic Rear Window.  Hitchcock tasked the group with creating a series of apartment buildings clustered around a courtyard in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village, effectively a mostly exterior set built on a soundstage with extraordinary attention to detail.  The specifics include structures of varying sizes  (two-to-four storeys), colors, and surfaces marked, per verisimilitude,  by a lack of uniformity among awnings, windows, flowerbeds, fire escapes, and balconies; moreover, Hitchcock’s camera, parked a safe distance away in the interior set of lead Jimmy Stewart’s compact apartment, affords both its spying protagonist and the audience more than a mere peek into at least four of the apartments, all of which are sufficiently furnished and reflect the sensibilities and economic statuses of their respective tenants, among them a buxom dancer, a lonely middle-aged woman, a struggling composer who knows how to throw a great party, and the bickering couple at the center of a developing mystery.

Nothing cookie-cutter, nothing generic.

The work doesn’t stop there. Besides Stewart’s aforementioned apartment, the totality of the Rear Window set extends beyond the courtyard to the busy “street” across the far side of the courtyard, complete with moving vehicles and even what appears to be a bustling bar and grill which the lonely middle aged woman (“Miss Lonelyheart”) frequents out of desperation. Oh, and don’t forget the rainstorm.

The full effect is complete immersion in this community, meaning total suspension of disbelief. At first, it’s hard not to be impressed by the size and scope of the team’s achievement, which can be problematic if viewers care more about the set than the story unfolding within it. No worries. By the end of the film, audiences are caught up in the characters’ crisscrossing storylines, looking past the artifice of Hitchcock and company’s contraption–and into danger unfolding in real-time.

A well-reviewed audience favorite in its day, Rear Window barely rated a blip on the Academy’s radar. Oh sure, as the architect, so to speak, of the ingenious flick, Hitchcock rated a Best Director nod as did screenwriter John Michael Hayes, cinematographer Robert Burks, and sound mixer Loren L. Ryder, none of whom emerged victorious. More disheartening is how the Academy shunned the design crew, not even a nomination. Inconceivable.

In that year’s race for the Academy’s art direction/set decoration trophy among color films, Walt Disney’s 20, 000 Leagues under the Sea, adapted from Jules Verne’s early science-fiction classic, bested all comers. Okay, I get it. Disney’s mammoth underwater hit took audiences to, well, a whole new world, uncharted territory as it were, and apparently spared no expense in the creation of Captain Nemo’s  fantastic submarine, the Nautilus, with its ornate flourishes–the precursor to what we now refer to as “Steam punk.”  Full-tilt everything. The competition also included A Star is Born with its extravagant “Born in a Trunk” movie within a movie production number. Good enough. Historical epic Desiree? Okay, sure. But who can explain the inclusion of Brigadoon, the curiously flat rendition of Lerner and Lowe’s musical, set in the Scottish highlands, filmed on tacky sets–that look like tacky sets–on MGM soundstages? Or what about the musical western spoof Red Garters? I’ve never seen it, but I’m petty certain that it lacked the allure of a Hitchcock film. On the other hand, Red Garters was a Paramount Picture, like Rear Window, which means the nominated team included three of the four Rear Window team members: Pereira, Comer, and Moyer. I guess that’s better than nothing.

Imagine my surprise when I began utilizing the wonders of the Internet Movie Database, back around 2000, researching some of my favorite movies and learning that two individuals from the Rear Window bunch also collaborated on one of my favorite movies, Jerry Lewis’s The Ladies Man, from 1961.  Of course.

I’m getting ahead of myself. The Ladies Man stands as Lewis’s second directorial effort, after The Bellboy. The story begins on college graduation day for Lewis’s “nervous” Herbert Hebert. Diploma freshly in hand, he suffers rejection from the woman of his dreams. He then sets out to remove himself from the situation or anything resembling love and romance by catching a bus to the big city where he immediately encounters one babe after another, each one seemingly more terrifying than the last. In short order, he finds both shelter and a job as a handyman at a rooming hotel; however, he is initially ignorant to the-all female clientele, mostly showbiz hopefuls. That’s it: nervous Herbert reconciling his fear of females in a place wherein women pop-up around every corner, 24/7.  Let the laughs–and the slapstick–begin. [To clarify, Lewis’ film is in no way connected to SNL alum Tim Meadows’ 2000 flick of the same name in spite of the Paramount connection.]

Besides sharing the talents of Hal Pereira and Sam Comer, as well as costumer Edith Head, The Ladies Man and Rear Window both carry the Paramount Pictures’ stamp of approval. This explains the overlap among crew members, provided, of course, that the likes of Pereira and Comer were under-contact at the studio during that period, the waning days of such a system.  Of course, moneymaking machine Lewis had a sweet production deal with the studio, even claiming his own soundstage. That’s not all. There’s more.

I first saw The Ladies Man, oh, way back when, probably around 6th, 7th, or 8th grade, on the channel 8 Dialing for Dollars afternoon movie. It was a seminal experience in my growth as a movie aficionado.  See, fairly early in the film, the women in the house rise, shine, and begin their various morning rituals, a highly intricate routine set to music and choreographed by no less than fabled song and dance man Bobby Van [1]. Lewis and his crew, aided by an elaborate camera rig, glide viewers from one pastel room to the next, ultimately pulling back to reveal a massive structure that for all practical purposes resembles, no, functions, as, well, a gi-normous doll house.  As a child, I could scarcely believe my own eyes as I took in the full-effect of the colossal, luxuriously appointed, set. How did they do that?

How, indeed?

Ever since, I have pined for the opportunity to see The Ladies Man in all its glory on a big movie screen as Lewis intended.

Between my the DVD commentary provided by Lewis himself, with likeable sidekick Steve Lawrence of all people, and other sources, I learned that the totality of the set occupied not one but two full soundstages on the Paramount lot, one of which gave Lewis the home base he needed to house the crane that could steer the camera to one of a few dozen fully furnished rooms at all points among the sprawling four storey contraption, occupying the entire adjacent stage. Kinda-sorta Rear Window-ish. With virtually all the action contained to the central, multi-purpose set, Lewis minimized time between setups as lighting/lighting cues could be set in the evening before the next day’s shoot. Furthermore, each individual room was conveniently miked for sound. Efficient but also visually thrilling since, after all, Lewis enjoys the freedom to attempt all kinds of camera angles, delighting audiences at every turn.

Don’t believe me? Just watch:

 

I will not argue that The Ladies Man is an all-time comedy classic, but it is consistently entertaining. What it’s not is seamless. No, the plot, such that it is, is barely more than a framework for Lewis and co-scripter Bill Richmond to hang various gags and set pieces, not so much to advance a story but to treat audiences to a good time at the movies. As long as viewers understand that much up front, a good time may be had by all. For example, one recurring bit involves Lewis’s daily mail deliveries, going from one woman’s room to the next, always encountering a surprise.  One visit brings a modern Southern belle (Caroline Richter) whose drippingly sweet and saucy accent renders her unintelligible, reducing Lewis to a series of double-takes before a translator intervenes. Elsewhere, Lewis encounters a sultry Marilyn Monroe-alike, keeping in mind that MM was still very much with us at the time of the film’s release. Perky Hope Holliday scores big laughs of her own as an aspiring actress, eager for Lewis’s assist as she runs her lines, running a gamut of big emotions and bigger zingers. In another vignette, Lewis and various women stage a talent show as part of a TV broadcast, two highlights of which include a tap dance duo [2] and a chanteuse named Vicki Benet performing a piffle about Paris. The number is pleasant enough, and Benet certainly looks smashing in her Edith Head designed black cocktail dress; however, nothing compares to the elaborate fantasy sequence featuring trumpeter Harry James and his band along with leggy Sylvia Lewis–no relation–a black clad hoofer whose fluid moves easily rival those of Cyd Charisse, legendary for her work in such classic MGM musicals as Singin’ in the Rain, The Band Wagon, and Silk Stockings. Ms. Lewis, head-to-toe, is more than a match for Charisse.  Also, this same sequence, a snippet of which is seen in the video clip, may very well surprise moviegoers who fondly remember that moment in 2002’s Spiderman in which Tobey Maguire descends upside down into the frame, replete with Spidey regalia, and enjoys a wet kiss, literally, with Kirsten Dunst. Lewis and Lewis share a similar moment way ahead of its time.  To his credit, director Lewis seems quite generous when sharing the screen with his co-stars, despite reports to the contrary.

Two more big name talents appear in extended cameos, both of them smartly executed. In the first, comedian Buddy Lester plays straight man as a tough guy who remains scarily stoic as Lewis’s bumbling Herbert annihilates the gentleman caller’s hat. A hilarious coda ensues. Also, no less than silver screen gangster George Raft appears as himself  and sweet talks Herbert into dancing with him. Must be seen to be believed though the Raft sequence once again provides Lewis the director an opportunity to make stunning use of the set via exquisite lighting cues–with assist, of course, from W. Wallace Kelley (director of photography) and Carl Manoogian (crane operator).

Special shout-out to the late great Kathleen Freeman who plays a formidable housekeeper named Katie, only slightly dotty around the edges. If Freeman’s name doesn’t ring a bell, the face and the voice surely will–especially to anyone who has ever seen Singin’ in the Rain, in which she portrays–unbilled–a simply mahvelous dialect coach hired to help squeaky voiced silent screen star Lina Lamont (Oscar nominee Jean Hagen) make the transition to talkies. During the course of her lengthy career, Freeman was one of the most in-demand second and third banana character players in the biz (gruff here, zany there), with nearly 300 TV and movie credits (not to mention who knows how many commercials) [3], and she and Lewis play off each other like troupers.  Years ago, maybe early 2000s, Lewis incited quite a controversy when he claimed that women were not as well suited to comedy as are men, ignoring the contributions of such luminaries as Lucille Ball, Carol Burnett, and, yes, Freeman. He then spent years trying to qualify his comments, but actions speak louder than words. Freeman appeared in 11 films with Lewis  [4], so, clearly, he recognized comic gold when he saw it despite his misspoken words.

The other major roles are enacted by Helen Traubel and Pat Stanley. The former, a well known singer with a background in opera, and occasional mystery novelist, plays Lewis’s put upon employer, Miss Wellenmellon (quite funny in her own right) while Pat Stanley, fresh from winning a Best Featured Actress Tony (the musical, Goldilocks) plays a young woman who grows fond of Herbert and comes to value him for who he is rather than what he does as handyman. It’s not much of a role, but Stanley has a lovely presence.

So, there it is.  When Alfred Hitchcock developed Rear Window, he and his team crafted the big screen equivalent of, for all practical purposes, a massive dollhouse mostly viewed from the back, something akin to peering through to the inside from the outside. In The Ladies Man, Lewis and his team go one step further, not quite looking from the inside out, more like inside looking even further inside. Even in his DVD commentary, Lewis never pushes the dollhouse metaphor (not that I can recall after dozens of viewing),  but the effect is apropos. Welcome to the dollhouse, and all its living dolls, indeed.

I once read a comment from an industry insider that, regarding, say, the Oscar for Best Costumes, if a moviegoer, or potential Academy voter, notices the work involved, then the effect is too much. In other words, the work shouldn’t draw so much attention to itself and should exist only to advance the story or comment on the characters in some way. I have wondered many times if the obviousness of the sprawling sets in both Rear Window and The Ladies Man were indeed big turn-offs to Academy members. Previously, I explained why I think that should not have been a concern per Rear Window, but it’s harder to argue in defense of The Ladies Man in that regard because, clearly, Lewis is fond of his team’s creation and wants to show it off to audiences. But should that really be a concern since the set indeed serves Lewis’s concept?  Maybe, regarding both films, Academy members were jealous–or maybe they held prejudices against both filmmakers, especially Lewis. I can imagine that.  I also think that’s stupid, but I’ll also consider the times.

With all that in mind, please note that Hal Pereira and Sam Comer were hardly Academy wallflowers. In his career, Pereira garnered 23 nominations, including Hitchcock’s To Catch a Thief and Vertigo, winning for 1955’s The Rose Tattoo (in the B&W category), while Comer’s accolades include 26 nominations and two wins (the aforementioned Rose Tattoo and the color production Frenchman’s Creek in the 1940s). Furthermore, the rest of The Ladies Man team fared well with the Academy over the long haul. Ross Bellah scored a mention for 1956’s The Solid Gold Cadillac, and James W. Payne shared honors for 1973’s Best Picture winner The Sting, his third nod, btw. Backing up even further, to the remaining members of the Rear Window quartet, J. McMillan Johnson and Ray Moyer, they also were no strangers to the Academy. For example, Johnson was a six-time nominee who’d actually won as part of the special effects team for 1948’s Portrait of Jennie; meanwhile, Moyer reaped a dozen nods and actually won twice during the 1950/51 ceremonies, for B&W (Sunset Boulevard) AND color (Samson and Delilah). So, no, these artisans were no lightweights, nor were they forgotten geniuses, and I don’t know if any of them even considered Rear Window and/or The Ladies Man among their best works though I surely cannot imagine otherwise, and I do not think any of them would have scoffed at Academy recognition.

This is Amazon’s default image for Lewis’s much valued, highly collectible,  book The Total Film-Maker, spotlighting the superb achievement of a production design team consisting of Hal Pereira and Sam Comer. Yes, in many ways Lewis was, indeed, the total filmmaker even if members of the Academy failed to take notice. He passed away last August at the quite ripe age of 91. IMAGE: https://www.amazon.com/Total-Film-Maker-Jerry-Lewis/dp/039446236X

I know Lewis would not have scoffed at Academy recognition. Late in life, into his 70s, Lewis earned Academy recognition in the form of a Jean Hersholt Humanitarian award for his decades long commitment to hosting annual telethons and raising money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. While that is an incredible honor, it doesn’t acknowledge Lewis’s contributions as a first-rate filmmaker. Of course, I know scads of people (my own late mother included) who despise the actor’s brand of juvenile slapstick, many of whom also sneer at the notion of the French pronouncing reverence for him as though they were easily enthralled by pratfalls, funny voices, and rubber-faced goofiness. Not quite. It’s not that simple. My take is that the French appreciated Lewis not so much for his onscreen antics, but for his work behind–and with–the camera as demonstrated in this movie and even The Bellboy, his directorial effort. In that one he cameos as himself, more or less,  while enacting the title character, a silent role in an otherwise talking picture. Lewis shot the black and white film on a shoestring during the day while appearing at Miami’s Fontainebleau Hotel at night. He then completed the production in the midst of his subsequent gig at the Sands in Las Vegas. Of course, such esteemed filmmakers as Francis Coppola and Martin Scorsese revere Lewis for his book The Total Film-Maker (culled from his stint as a lecturer at USC in the early 1970s, one edition of which features a shot from The Ladies Man set on the cover) as well as innovative use of video assisted technology, which in the era before digital everything gave filmmakers a chance to see a scene exactly as it was captured on film–only sooner rather than later.  Lewis was already perfecting video assist by the time he directed The Ladies Man, btw, in 1961.  Elsewhere, lest not forget his superb skills as mime in the typewriter scene in Who’s Minding the Store, or his comparable routine to a Count Basie tune in Cinderfella–both, to clarify, along with one of my other faves, The Geisha Boy, are directed by Frank Taleshin rather than Lewis.

Then, of course, there’s Lewis’s classic performance, self-directed,  in The Nutty Professor (1963), a modernized comedic riff on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in which he ostensibly plays two roles and which legions, beginning with Cult Movies author Danny Peary, believe to be Oscar worthy. Oh, and, speaking of Scorsese, Lewis earned high-praise indeed for his startling turn as a comedian-TV talk show host (not unlike Johnny Carson, or, well, Lewis himself) in the director’s satirical The King of Comedy (1983).

Oh, backing up to Pereira and Comer, which is where we began, they were, not, as mentioned, strangers to the Academy. Indeed, both men earned double nominations in the color category for their work in two other 1961 productions, both Paramount: Breakfast at Tiffany’s AND Summer and Smoke. They lost to the team from West Side Story, and now  I get it. The members of the production design branch simply could not reconcile nominating the same team three times in one season. Make sense. I forgive you, Academy, for holding back on anointing The Ladies Man, but what about Rear Window?

Plus, I still cling to the idea of seeing The Ladies Man up on the big screen one day.

Thanks for your consideration.

[1] For the uninitiated, Van first made a name for himself as a young enthusiastic MGM star in the likes of The Adventures of Dobie Gillis, Kiss Me Kate and, perhaps most famously, Small Town Girl in which he hopped his way through an entire musical sequence a la a small-town Pied Piper (“Take Me to Broadway”), a bit that was replicated by Hugh Jackman during a gig hosting the Tony awards a few years ago.  Van, who passed away from brain cancer in 1980 at the relatively young age of 51, earned a Tony nom for his role in the early 1970s Broadway revival of No, No, Nanette, and frequently appeared on many of the biggest TV variety, talk, and game shows in  the 60s and 70s, often with Elaine Joyce,  his wife, famous in her own right for, among others, starring in the title role of the Broadway musical Sugar (based on Some Like it Hot, meaning Joyce starred in the role made famous by Marilyn Monroe). I loved watching Van on all those old shows.

[2] That would be Lewis, a showbiz jack of all trades born into a family of vaudevillians who hit the boards early, and a less easily identified co-star as all of the following are identified as “Dancer” per the IMDb: Francesca Bellini, Bonnie Evans, and Gretchen Houser. Furthermore, the actress who translates Miss Southern Belle’s dialogue is not clearly identified in the credits, nor is the Marilyn Monroe lookalike; others are easier to figure per the IMDb credits and Lewis’s own DVD audio-commentary.

[3] Ever the showbiz trouper, Freeman scored a Broadway triumph as the rehearsal hall pianist in the musical version of 1997’s indie smash The Full Monty. She earned a featured actress Tony nod in the spring of 2001, but left the production during the summer due to health complications, specifically lung cancer. She died only a few days later at the age of 82.

[4] Sources vary regarding the number of times Freeman and Lewis collaborated partially because, per the IMDb, Freeman sometimes appeared uncredited, likely in smallish walk-ons or cameos. Those credits include the early films in which Lewis successfully co-starred with Dean Martin, such a Three Ring Circus and Artists and Models, in the 1950s before the famous duo split.

 

 

 

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