Reeling Backward: "It Happened Tomorrow" (1944)

 

"It Happened Tomorrow" combines several of my favorite things: movies, journalism, romance and the supernatural.

Dick Powell plays Lawrence Stevens, a young newshound who magically starts receiving the next day's newspaper and tries to twist this foreknowledge to his advantage -- especially with regards to wooing his new lady love, Sylvia Smith (Linda Darnell), who ironically stars in a stage show in which she pretends to go into a trance and predict the future.

She's a charming faker, but everyone knows it and enjoys the deception, while he's telling the truth, yet no one believes him.

Fast-paced and filled with rapid-patter dialogue, it's part "Groundhog Day," part "His Girl Friday," a dash of "It Happened One Night" and "It's a Wonderful Life," with a little vaudeville blarney thrown in. It's typical B-movie mid-century cinematic fare, featuring middling stars and production values. 

It's amusing and worth a look, though not a film to linger long in the memory. It's out in a handsome new Blu-ray edition from Cohen Media.

It was directed by René Clair from a screenplay he wrote with Dudley Nichols -- both former newspapermen themselves -- adapted from an unproduced script by Howard Snyder and Hugh Wedlock, which may have been "inspired" by a one-act play by Lord Dunsany from 20 years earlier.

Clair wanted Cary Grant for the lead role and couldn't get him, and the project knocked around Hollywood a bit before finally getting made as a downscale production. At 85 minutes, the movie moves along quickly, almost in a hurry.

As the story opens Larry has just completed his 500th obituary for The Evening News, marking his elevation from newsroom lackey to journalist. After a celebration of hard drinking, he is surprised to see the elderly clerk, Pop Benson (John Philliber), back at the office and is even more startled when the old fellow hands him a copy of tomorrow evening's edition with Larry's byline on the lead story about the opera being held up. 

However, Pop -- who is later revealed to be a ghost or angel a la Clarence from "Wonderful Life," having passed away that first night -- repeatedly warns that even knowing what the future brings will not win Larry the advantages he thinks.

The subtext is hard to miss in the middle of World War II is hard to miss: having all the pleasures and advantages you desire will not guarantee you happiness.

Larry uses the paper to force a raise from his editor (George Cleveland), since he always seems to be where the news is happening, and win the admiration of the more seasoned reporters. Brimming with newfound confidence, Larry pitches woo at Sylvia after catching her act with her uncle, Oscar Smith (Jackie Okie), who goes by the stage name Cigolini and wears some tremendously ostentatious outfits, even when he's not performing.

A framing story is set in 1944 when Larry and Sylvia are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary surrounded by a huge family gathered in their mansion, so we know from the start things turn out well for them. Larry wants to tell the truth about his magic newspapers, though Sylvia is worried their loved ones will think he's a loon.

In 1894, people get around in horse-drawn cabs and telephones are the two-piece kind, often with a crank for electricity. The mores are a little more restrictive too, as in a scene where Sylvia gets drenched in the rain while out with Larry so he loans her one of his old suits to wear. The old biddies at the boarding house where she lives see her sneaking in the window and think a male masher has made his way in for a dalliance. 

Cigolini arrives to protect her honor but, seeing the suit stashed under the bed, thinks Larry has run off without his clothes determines to shoot him the next time they meet.

There's also a fun sequence where Larry finally thinks to place bets on the winning horses at the races the next day, quickly amassing a fortune with which he and Sylvia can live happily ever after. Unfortunately, by this time he has seen the third day's paper announcing his death in a shootout on the front page. So he's actually depressed when each horse wins, seeing it as more evidence of the surety of the newspaper's predictions and another nail in his coffin.

But it turns out to be a case of mistaken identity. The thief who took off with the $60,000 Larry won at the races -- just shy of $2 million in today's dollars -- is the one who gets gunned down, misidentified by having Larry's wallet on his person. So Larry and Sylvia get their happily ever after, after all.

I liked "It Happened Tomorrow" well enough, though it's a bit slapdash and superficial. I would've liked to have seen another version played for pathos, with Larry haunted by the tragedy of always knowing the future, never being able to stop it. But this movie ain't that animal.

Reeling Backward: "It Happened Tomorrow" (1944)

I first heard of "It Happened Tomorrow" when a local blogger and former colleague at The Indianapolis Star, Ruth Holladay, approached me asking for names of newspaper movies for a post she was writing. She already had this 1944 picture starring Dick Powell and Linda Darnell on her list, and I admitted I'd never heard of it before.

Perhaps it's because "Tomorrow" is less a movie about journalism than a fantasy-slash-morality tale. An enterprising young reporter receives the next day's paper a day early, and uses that information to advance his career and love life. It's amusing enough, but I suppose because I was expecting something completely different, it underwhelmed a bit.

The film opens with a clumsy framing device. An old man and woman are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary in a grand mansion. Rows of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are lined up to greet them when they begin arguing over a newspaper. Powell and Darnell -- shown only in long shot to disguise an inept attempt to age them up -- talk about an article he wants to publish about his life, and she forbids it to save him embarrassment.

It brings a note of awkwardness to the film's opening and closing, and I don't see what it really adds.

Powell -- who directed last week's classic film subject, "The Enemy Below" -- was at this time a song-and-dance man who had grown tired of being cast in lite musicals and comedies. After "Tomorrow," he refused his next assignment and broke his contract to star in the film noir "Murder, My Sweet."

The setting is turn-of-the-century New York. Powell plays Larry Stevens, a young reporter for The Evening News who's just written his 500th obituary, and has now graduated to full-scale reporter. He and several colleagues are celebrating with some two-fisted drinking in the newsroom after closing out that evening's edition -- a much more common practice in the trade than is generally known

(By the time I broke into newspapering in the 1990s, overt imbibing had disappeared, but a few old-timers were known to keep a bottle somewhere in their desk. And I saw more than one editor put together the next day's section in a red-eyed, bleary state.)

Stevens and the other fellows josh around with Pop Benson (Hoosier actor John Philliber), the ancient curator of the paper's morgue, who tells them that every day's edition contains both the past and the future. Larry offhandedly claims he'd give up 10 years of his life to see the next day's news ahead of time. Pop, who we later learn actually died that night, appears to Larry over the next three days to hand him a copy of the following day's Evening News.

Larry uses the information in the manner of any hungry reporter: To be present wherever the next day's biggest news is going to happen so he can get the front-page scoop. Of course, when Larry gets the paper it already has the story under his byline, so he doesn't even really have to write it, just copy it down.

His first blockbuster is a shoot-out a the opera house between some bandits and the police. Interestingly, Larry makes no attempt to stop any untoward behavior, but simply uses it to make a name for himself.

If you think that's ethically shaky, it's also not unusual in the hyper-competitive world of newspaper reporting, where front-page bylines are the mark of relevance. When I moved from my first job at a tiny newspaper to my second at a middle-sized one, I heard tell of one unscrupulous reporter who brazenly stole from her own colleagues. The editors asked each reporter, before they left for the night, to enter what they planned to work on the next day in a shared file.

This newshound made it a habit to show up early every day, scan the list of proposed articles, and start working on the most promising idea -- whether it infringed on another staffer's beat or not. When the other reporter showed up later that morning or afternoon -- a typical schedule for that ilk -- the editors would invariably say, "Well, she's already deep into it, so we'll let her finish." She had a lot of front-page stories, and few friends.

Any way, Larry becomes enchanted with Sylvia (Darnell), a girl working in a magic act with her uncle Oscar, who goes by the stage name of Cigolini. He pretends to put her in a trance, while she stands out in the audience and makes predictions about the future. Cigolini/Oscar is played by Jack Oakie, who was known for doing a tongue-twisting Italian accent, despite being from Oklahoma by way of Missouri. He used this same skill in his most famous role as Benzino Napaloni, the caricature of Mussolini in Charlie Chaplin's "The Great Dictator."

The Larry/Sylvia romance is one of those swept away deals where they're getting married two days after meeting. By this time Larry has received the last day's early paper, with his death notice on the front page. Morose, his only goal is to marry Sylvia, win a bunch of money at the horse track, and leave her with a comfortable inheritance.

Reticent before to change the future, Larry now does everything in his power to avoid being at the appointed time and place of his demise. Of course, events conspire to bring him there anyway, where he learns the paper had his death wrong. The thief who made off with the $60,000 he won at the track is shot dead by the police, who find Larry's wallet on him. The error is not discovered in time before the first edition of the Evening News goes out with the incorrect identification.

This begs lots of metaphysical ponderables: Was Pop always bringing Larry the first edition? Why not the last, most factually complete one? What kind of slipshod ghost/guardian angel is he?

And why exactly is Pop's ghost passing out newspapers a day early? He says something about not being able to change the future despite knowing it in advance, but it seems to have a major impact on Larry's life. Also, if Larry lost his winnings -- the cash is missing when the wallet is recovered from the thief -- how did he ever become rich enough to afford the mansion we saw?

More a daffy comedy than a true newspaper movie, "It Happened Tomorrow" left me with more questions than answers.

2 stars out of four

(I couldn't find an embeddable clip from the film, but Turner Classic Movies has one here.)

Reeling Backward: "The Enemy Below" (1957)

One of the things I always appreciated about Humphrey Bogart is that he doesn't look like a movie star -- with his stopped posture, unimposing stature, scarred lips, slurred speech and (reputed) toupee, he was nobody's idea of handsome. And yet he commanded the screen with his soulful eyes and the way he rolled his jaw.

Robert Mitchum, on the other hand, looks every inch the movie star. I have this theory about stars that mostly applies to women but, to a lesser degree, men as well. It's not enough that they be attractive. There are thousands of perfect-looking models who never make it in the movies. The may lack the acting ability, but looks play a role, too. People respond to actors who are not only handsome, but have a distinct look that sets them apart.

Take Julia Roberts. Her sparkly eyes, cascade of curls and iconic horsey smile make her not only beautiful, but unforgettable. Audiences don't want blandly beautiful, but performers who stand out and are memorable.

Mitchum was a tall, good-looking lug, but very much in a distinct way all his own. If you look at him in profile, his entire face seems to be sloping forward like an arrowhead, with his eyes marking the tip of the point. It gives him this aggressive, confident quality that he carried in all his roles. His eyes were famously baggy, but set deep and so wide apart they seemed to have a mournful tilt. His long nose and jaw fell straight down to a chin that seemed less dimpled than cleft with an axe.

"The Enemy Below" may not have been Mitchum's greatest acting job, but the movie doesn't really call for one. Mitchum, who liked to say that acting is mostly about showing up, hitting your marks and not flubbing your lines, manages to do just that here. Jurgens fares better, getting in a few licks as a reluctant warrior who fights for his country rather than the current regime.

It's a straightforward World War II picture, a battle of wits between an American destroyer captain (Mitchum) and a German submarine commander (Curt Jurgens). Mitchum really doesn't have much to do other than snap orders, with the exception of one brief scene where he confides in the ship's doctor (Russell Collins) that he was a merchant ship captain before the war, and that his wife was killed when his boat was cut in two by a U-boat torpedo.

Still, while recognizing that it's not any sort of great piece of acting by Mitchum or a searing portrait of war, if one accepts "The Enemy Below" as an action-filled war movie, it's thoroughly entertaining stuff.

Director Dick Powell -- a busy actor who also directed a half-dozen flicks, including Mitchum in "The Hunters" -- and screenwriter Wendell Mayes concern themselves with the manly exploits of naval combat, with a few human scenes tossed in to give it a little color. Interestingly, it's based on a book by D.A. Rayner, a British naval officer who saw plenty of anti-submarine combat. All the Brit characters were changed to Yanks for the movie.

For awhile, we follow the conversations of two or three swabbies aboard the USS Haynes expressing their concern about the fitness of their new captain, and I figured they'd pop up now and again as sort of a resident Greek chorus. But the movie misplaces them after the first 20 minutes or so. There's also an African-American sailor constantly mopping the deck who sneaks into a couple of conversations, I guess to comment on on the segregation of the military during WWII. By 1957, when "Enemy" came out, the forces were mostly integrated.

The battle scenes are indeed impressive for the time, although one doesn't have to look too hard to spot when the edits cut from footage of the real vessels to the models. The film won an Oscar for special effects.

All the hallmarks of the submarine genre are here -- the pinging sonar, the worrying creak of the hull as the captain orders the ship below the maximum recommended depth, the shaking as depth charges explode, one man freaking out at the claustrophobic setting, etc. What's notable about "The Enemy Below" is it was one of the first films to show the Germans on the receiving end.

Even 24 years later, the great "Das Boot" was considered groundbreaking (and controversial) for daring to show German submariners as brave and true.

The film ends with both ships fatally wounded, and the American skipper saves the German captain and his number two (Theodore Bikel) before the automatic detonators blow up the U-boat. The idea of Americans and German being equally capable of nobility and depravity was still pretty bold in 1957.

3 stars out of four