I think I've mentioned before on this blog that Robert Mitchum is my movie star boyfriend. That is, he's my guy, my dreamboat, my Robert Pattinson, if you will. I'm crazy about him. I'm not sure if it's the low, rumbling voice or the essence of complete coolness that seems to seep out of him like tea left on a hot summer porch. There's something easy and calm about his demeanor too, just like a warm summer night.
I feel like I'm babbling on like a true fangirl. Let me start over.
Robert Mitchum began his career in his words, because he needed to eat. His life seemed tragic and the perfect setting for a film noir, the style he would later define. He did everything as a teenage runaway - hitching rides on trains and boxing (which, on a side note, a lot of guys did back in the day, including Dean Martin). I read somewhere that he also did time on a chain gang. At any rate, he wound up in California and a lot of his early roles in the mid-forties were killers, bad guys and mobsters (like his predecessor tough guy, Humphrey Bogart). He didn't have the same stellar looks or charisma as say, Cary Grant, but Mitchum had an easy, don't-give-a-damn attitude that worked perfectly for the new genre of film noir. He made Out of the Past (see still above) in 1947 and I doubt anyone involved would know what an impact that film would make. It's been reference and quoted in almost every film history article I've read on film noir. It's such an interesting movie that uses flashback and narration very, very well. One of the things I love most about Robert Mitchum is his voice, so hearing him tell his story in this way adds to the tone and overall feel - that low rumble is smooth enough, but you can hear the history in it, along with all the cigarettes and long nights.
Mitchum's voice, in fact, is something that sets him apart in the film industry. I'm sad when he doesn't sing in one of his films, which is part of the reason I adore the B-Western romance Rachel and the Stranger (well, that and William Holden takes his shirt off). Mitchum has a fine, powerful singing voice and it seems a big shame we never heard more of it. He did go on to record two albums, but his best triumph was probably the ballad he wrote for the film he wrote, directed, produced and starred in - Thunder Road (1958). It was a story he had wanted to do for a long time, but couldn't get anyone to back. So after he left the studio and started to take on his own career, he put his efforts towards this film about a bootlegger outracing the law in Tennessee and trying to come to terms with what he really wants out of life. In many ways you could say that Mitchum was like his character, Lucas Doolin, just standing behind the clock waiting for the race to start, not at one end or the other but stuck somewhere racing around in the middle.
I think what appeals to me the most about Robert Mitchum is his versatility as an actor. He's best known for roles as a bad guy in films like Night of the Hunter (1955) and Cape Fear (1962). But before that he was the private eye in a sticky situation in films like Out of the Past. I mentioned his time in prison in an earlier review; when he returned to the screen, directors didn't know how to handle him in light of this new publicity. They tried a lot of fluff roles to make him seem like a good guy again, like Holiday Affair (1949), and even in some Westerns like The Red Pony (1949). Mitchum just did well in any genre, always with that same laid-back attitude. Later on he'd show off his sense of humor and good timing in films like El Dorado (1966) and an often forgotten comedy, The Grass is Greener (1960). The latter is about an English noble couple played by Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. She winds up having an affair with a dapper American tourist, played by Mitchum. The men decide the fair thing to do is fight over her, but it doesn't really go as planned. It's a scream, mainly because you know, having to choose between Grant and Mitchum would be nearly impossible! Then came older, more mature roles like Ryan's Daughter (1970) or Home from the Hill (1960) and just like good wine, Mitchum just got better with age. Sure he lost his good looks (well, I think he was quite handsome) and some of his energy, but he turned into one of those fine old gentlemen you could tell had really seen it all. For me, I will always remember him in the first role I remember seeing of his - that of Brigadere General Norman Cota in The Longest Day (1962). I think that moment when he sees his men that have made it to the beach and the carnage behind them, you can watch the emotions rolling through him. His barrel chest sticks out, he chomps his cigar and tells them all: "I don't have to tell you the story. You all know it. Only two kinds of people are gonna stay on this beach: those that are already dead and those that are gonna die. Now get off your butts. You guys are the Fighting 29th." I cannot even capture the pride or the sadness you feel when watching. It's just one of those truly amazing moments captured on film.
Mitchum not only could act, but he could direct too. It might surprise you to know that even though he came off as a bad guy or a really tough guy, Mitchum was the one in Night of the Hunter who directed the childrens' scenes, as the film's director couldn't work with them. I guess I could probably write a book about why I love this secretly kind, decent guy with the bad-boy persona. Mitchum's attitude is one that is typically American - the rugged individual, often a man surviving in nature or alone in the wild city (I can't even count the number of times he's been put into a natural setting with something like fishing or hunting to keep him occupied). He captures part of that old myth of the cowboy at the same time as hiding a simmering, jaded rebellion. He's a frontiersman in a fedora. He's that bad-ass everyone kind of fears and yet admires at the same time, but off screen it's even more compelling to know what a gentleman he was. If I had one word to describe him, it would simply be cool.
You posted! :)
ReplyDeleteI think you should write a book about Robert Mitchum.