The Making of a Film Fanatic

My love of old films is not a secret.  I adore Gloria Grahame, and wish I could have been Rosalind Russell’s best friend (if only to have a shot at borrowing her wardrobe!) 

My post-mortem crushes include Robert Mitchum and his “immoral mouth” and Sterling Hayden and his…well, Sterling Hayden.  I would have loved to have been menaced by Richard Widmark and having my heart broken (and most likely my bank account drained) by that slimy-as-okra, yet compellingly attractive Steve Cochran might not have been such a bad thing.

But the appreciation for the titans of film (and the lesser gods as well) came later in my life.  The passing of a film star who is probably unknown to a good 80% of the general public and to at least 99% of people younger than say 40 has made me reminisce about childhood film experiences.

The actor in question, Turhan Bey, died on September 30^th at the age of 90.  Dubbed the “Turkish Delight”, he was active in films in the late 40s and early 50s.  His last movie role was in 1953, and he “retired” to become a photographer and stage director.  Younger TV viewers may remember him from a guest role in Babylon 5 as the Emperor of Centauri, whose name was “Turhan”.  Mr Bey was also quite the ladies man – once engaging in a public fistfight with Stephan Crane over Crane’s estranged wife Lana Turner (nice going, Turhan!)

My memories of Mr Bey take me back to my childhood in Jacksonville Florida.  Long before the advent of cable television (Paying to watch TV!  Hah!  That’ll never catch on!), there was “The Million Dollar Movie” and “Dialing For Dollars”, as well as “Creature Feature” .  Later on in South Florida, I became addicted to “Night Owl Movies”, hosted by Big Wilson.

“The Million Dollar Movie” was out of NYC and featured “Tara’s Theme” from Gone With The Wind as its intro music.  “Dialing For Dollars” was a local version of a franchised format that ran on WJKS and featured some overly-pomaded and equally pompous TV “personality”.  You would send in your name and phone number to the station on a post card and it would be put in a wire cage that was spun every day.  The schtick was you had to be home and able to get through if they called your name.  If you were successful, you’d win something like $37.49 and a gift certificate to the Ponderosa Steak House.

I, however, was not interested in the payola.  I was interested in Kay Kyser and Ish Kabibble in You’ll Find Out.  Or Ann Rutherford in Orchestra Wives.  Generally, the movies shown were purchased in a package, and the station had no choice in what they received.  This would account for me having viewed the complete oeuvre of the Bowery Boys/Dead End Kids.  The films were also “edited” for time.  I use the term “edited” loosely as they were chopped, sliced and diced to within an inch of their sprockets with no regard to storyline or continuity.  However, every once in a while you’d find a gem in the middle of all that cubic zirconia. 

The File On Thelma Jordon with Barbara Stanwyck and Wendell Corey, who was so wooden he probably died of termite infestation.  All of the “Gold Diggers of Insert Depression Era Year Here” films with Ginger Rogers and Ann Miller and Ruby Keeler. 

Horror films were usually reserved for “Creature Feature”, but I distinctly remember DfD running Cat People with Simone Simon.  I got chills watching Jane Randolph being stalked by an animal (only shown in shadow) in the basement swimming pool.  Mr Bey figures in my childhood induction to cinemaphilia as he had prominent roles in The Mummy’s Tomb and The Amazing Mr X.

From these horribly edited and badly packaged duds sprang a curiosity about this Hollywood thing.  My love affair with movies began in earnest one night at the Regency Square branch of the Jacksonville Public Library.  I was maybe 10, and while waiting for my mom to pick me up, I wandered into a small conference room where a movie was being set up on a projector.  I sat in the back so I could see when my mom arrived. 

There were a few other patrons in the room, and all were way older than I.  The lights went out, and the projector started.  It took a few seconds till the sound and picture syched, and then there were the credits – Flying Down to Rio – starring Dolores del Rio and Gene Raymond  (an introducing two schlubs – Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers).  By the time mom arrived, chorus girls had danced on the wings of planes and Fred and Ginger had danced to “Carioca” and I, as they say, wuz hooked.

So thanks, Turhan Bey.  And Wendell Corey and Dick Powell and Huntz Hall and Glenda Farrell and Joan Blondell and so many others without whom my life would not be as fun and my skills at Trivial Pursuit would not be so polished.