Stanwyck’s Fatal Phone Call: ‘Sorry, Wrong Number’ 1948

Barbara Stanwyck, A+ in an atypical role, as a weak, wealthy woman, who overhears
a plan for murder, in 1948's film noir suspense film, "Sorry, Wrong Number."

*Spoiler alerts ahead*

The 1948 movie version of Sorry, Wrong Number caused some criticism with some critics and film fans at the time—and even thereafter. It was adapted from an instant classic radio play by Lucille Fletcher. The star was Agnes Moorehead as a rich hypochondriac who overhears a phone conversation of a plot to commit murder that very night. It then turns out she is to be the victim! The radio play was a one-character show, offering a tour de force for Moorehead. 

When Paramount and Hal Wallis snapped up the film rights, casting a star name was standard to carry a movie. I think a number of mature actresses could have been great in the role, but Hal picked one of his favorites, Barbara Stanwyck.

The gradual unraveling of Leona Stevenson when she realizes that she is to be a
 murder victim is superbly played by Barbara Stanwyck in "Sorry, Wrong Number."

Since then, there’s been a bit of a bias against the movie version, favoring the radio play. It goes something like this: Hollywood buys the rights of the half hour play, casts a big movie star and pads it out to 90 minutes. But the play is far superior, in less time, don’t you know. This is why I never bothered to see the film version of Sorry, Wrong Number until recently.

Agnes Moorehead, who originated the role of Leona Stevenson
for radio, in "Sorry, Wrong Number."

I get the criticism, but I still prefer the film. I'm not of the school that Agnes Moorehead was robbed and that the movie version was watered down because it was fleshed out to 90 minutes. (Playwright Fletcher also wrote the movie screenplay). Aggie was a great actress, but listening to her become increasingly hysterical, with her naturally querulous voice escalating, was more grating than great, for me. Agnes won much praise for her supporting scenes as a nympho neurotic in Dark Passage the year before, but Moorehead’s few scenes were plenty for me. I can’t imagine 90 minutes of Agnes’ overstated shrillness front and center. I much preferred Barbara Stanwyck’s contrasting understatement. The back story brought Sorry, Wrong Number to just shy of 90 minutes, which was just right, typical for a noir thriller.

Barbara Stanwyck was a no-nonsense woman who usually played strong characters, is quite good in the role of an unsympathetic, spoiled daddy's girl. Stanwyck's innate likability makes Leona Stevenson more empathetic, despite the fact the character is basically a royal pain. Stanwyck was one of the acting greats of her era and goes from imperious to insecure to incoherent with fear and helplessness, all without overacting. 

By the finale of 1948's "Sorry, Wrong Number," Barbara Stanwyck's spoiled
rich matron is at the end of her tether--and soon, her life!

The movie is filled out with flashbacks of Leona and her bought and paid for husband Henry's relationship. There, the tough side of Stanwyck as Leona fits Barbara like a glove. Their courtship and relationship is skillfully depicted, especially as the marriage deteriorates. Henry wants to make his own way, working for her father, while the father and daughter both want a docile pet. This causes Henry to eventually take drastic action, as he gets mixed up with unsavory characters that end up calling in to collect on their favors to him. Henry has to take drastic action, putting a hit out on his wife.

A flashback scene of the woman used to getting what she wants is more familiar
 Barbara Stanwyck territory, in 1948's "Sorry, Wrong Number."

The scenes of Barbara’s deluxe lifestyle is intermingled with her father’s crude depiction of wealth and the drug dealing criminals husband Henry gets mixed up with, which is depicted in jarring film noir style.

The cast is terrific, from Stanwyck, down to Ed Begley, Sr. playing her tough dad, to William Conrad as a chilling baddie, and Ann Richards as Henry's good-hearted former girlfriend. Burt Lancaster is well-cast, since he could be strong or shady, though this isn’t the kind of role that makes for a great leading man. A bit like when Kirk Douglas played Barbara Stanwyck’s even weaker bought husband in 1946’s The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Both Burt and Kirk soon got away from supporting film divas as weasels and driving in their own movie vehicles.

Burt Lancaster, in one of his early roles, as the trophy husband for rich girl
Barbara Stanwyck in 1948's "Sorry, Wrong Number."

The film version of Sorry, Wrong Number is extremely stylish, right from the opening credits, and you are sucked right in. At the end, as the noisy city train roars by, when Leona is killed in her luxury apartment, is another statement of lifestyles juxtaposed against one another.

The 1948 film version of "Sorry, Wrong Number" is stylish suspense right from
the opening credits!

Sorry, Wrong Number has had various TV versions starring such diverse actors as Mildred Natwick, Shelley Winters, and Loni Anderson! Geraldine Page would have been great as the high-strung heiress in the ‘60s or early ‘70s.

The direction by Anatole Litvak is strong, and he would direct Olivia de Havilland in The Snake Pit the same year. The cinematography by Sol Polito is perfect for a film noir suspense film, as stylish as his work in 1940’s The Letter with Bette Davis. The score by Franz Waxman is powerful and dramatic, elevating the suspense. Edith Head, a designer fave of Stanwyck’s, heightens the storytelling with Barbara’s gowns depicting youth and wealth in the flashback scenes, and her expensive but fussy-looking dressing gown as the bedridden matron.

Barbara Stanwyck as the younger Leona, dressed in soft ermine, against a childhood
portrait of herself, in 1948's "Sorry, Wrong Number."

The main set, with Leona’s whining following all the way down the winding stairs, past the servants’ rooms, to the foyer, and the kitchen, all depicting an expensive lifestyle, but no signs of life.

In the finale, in true noir style, the married couple let their guard down during the final phone call. But it’s too late, the plan is put into action, and the chilling final line is the title of this movie!

Here’s my look at the more charming side of Barbara Stanwyck, in 1945’s holiday favorite, Christmas in Connecticut: https://ricksrealreel.blogspot.com/2017/12/christmas-in-connecticut-1945.html

 

Interesting moment in 1948's "Sorry, Wrong Number," when Barbara Stanwyck's spoiled rich woman catches herself in a rare moment of seeing her actual self.

‘Desert Fury:’ Crazy, Colorful Film Noir 1947

Lizabeth Scott and John Hodiak make a striking team in neon noir "Desert Fury."

Typically, film noir is as visually dark as its storyline. 1947’s Desert Fury is a rare exception. Like Fox’s ’45 noir classic, Leave Her to Heaven, Paramount’s Desert Fury is a film noir in blazing Technicolor.

The story of Fritzi Haller, a tough casino owner whose wayward daughter and gangster ex come back to fictional Chuckawalla, Nevada, and cause dramatic clashes, was originally Desert Town, by Ramona Stewart, her first novel.

Lizabeth Scott is the prodigal daughter, back home & under mom Mary Astor's skeptical eye.

Much has been made of the “gay gaze” of Desert Fury. I won’t dwell on the subtext, as it’s already been much discussed, except to say that Mary Astor’s Fritzi is more like a sugar daddy than a mama, constantly calling daughter Lizabeth Scott “Baby,” and with more conviction than Fred MacMurray does with Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity. Some have commented on Astor’s cropped do, but she sported the look since '41's The Maltese Falcon and the same brusque manner in ‘41’s The Great Lie with Bette Davis, which nabbed Astor a best supporting actress Oscar. Astor’s acting is forceful, though at times her exchanges with daughter Scott are so rapid fire that Robert Rossen’s screenplay sounds like a speed reading contest. 

Daughter Paula wants a big kiss on the mouth from mama Fritzi, at the film's finale!

Then there’s Lizabeth Scott as Paula, the prodigal daughter. She calls her mother “Fritzi” and demands a kiss on the mouth at the finale, and they act more like a bickering couple. Because film noir was for adults, perhaps such subversive material was easier to sneak in during Hollywood’s golden era.

Hodiak's Eddie and Corey's Johnny enjoy a quiet moment at home before Lizabeth Scott's Paula comes along...

John Hodiak’s gangster, Eddie, constantly barks orders at sidekick Wendell Corey’s Johnny, like a bullying husband. And yes, their relationship seems like a charismatic husband, stuck with a jealous wife... and Lizabeth Scott is the third wheel. You could play a drinking game with how many times Astor slaps Scott, or Hodiak belts Corey!

Lizabeth Scott as  Paula, the world's most sophisticated 19-year-old!

I haven’t seen Lizabeth Scott in many movies, so I don't know quite what to make of her. Scott's an intriguing personality and looks stellar full face, yet she has that pushed-in profile like Faye Dunaway, Jessica Lange, and Angie Dickinson, giving her a severe look.

In the novel, Paula is only 17 but already a wild child. In the film, she is 19 and Lizabeth Scott was 25, but with her perfect hair, makeup, clothes, and languid demeanor, Scott looks and acts like a 30-something sophisticated lady. Plus, despite Paula’s wanting to run wild with one of mama’s old gangster boyfriends, Scott seems a bit staid. Unlike Lizabeth here, I don’t think Lana Turner read books by the fire with her gangsta guys! Scott’s style was not as theatrical as most golden era stars, and while a strong screen presence, she doesn’t really rise to the big emotional moments.

Mary Astor as The Purple Sage proprietor & Burt Lancaster as the sexy cop in a leather jacket.

Though Paramount tried to expand Burt Lancaster's part, I don't understand why they shoehorned Burt into the second-lead good guy role. Lancaster had already broken through in The Killers and Brute Force on loan out and would have been a natural for the Hodiak role, but the production must have been set. Nothing against Hodiak, but all you have to do is look at re-release posters. In the film, Hodiak gets top billing. For Fury re-releases, the posters bump him to second billing and finally, third billing. Paramount newcomer Lancaster had to be a team player and play the secondary part. Burt Lancaster is most appealing and self assured, but he has nothing exciting to do in the nice cop role. Still, Burt sure looks good in his uniform, especially with the black leather jacket. Lancaster's tidal wave of a pompadour also preceded Elvis Presley by about a decade.

John Hodiak sure looks like movie star material to me!

John Hodiak got a bit of a bum rap. He was one of those interim male stars who did well when the established stars went off to war. However, post-war, he was swiftly sidelined to second leads. Even though he wasn't the typical star personality like Gable or Jimmy Stewart, he was more natural, and in keeping with the coming generation. But stars like Lancaster and Kirk Douglas were also breaking through, and they were a combo of the old school stars with a bit of the more modern stars of the '50s. I think Hodiak kind of had one foot in both eras, and was rather underrated in both. John Hodiak was interesting, intelligent, and most attractive. Maybe not a Clark Gable style star or a Monty Clift gifted method actor, but certainly a cut above some stars of the time. Spencer Tracy ruled the MGM roost during the war, of course. But Hodiak got lost in the shuffle when aging Gable and the ever-dull Robert Taylor came back. Who else was there? Mickey Rooney? Van Johnson got lots of attention. Robert Walker was on the skids after his breakup with Jennifer Jones. Peter Lawford? Why wasn’t Hodiak ever considered for The Postman Always Rings Twice? MGM borrowed WB’s John Garfield instead, who was brilliant, of course. As Eddie Bendix, the gangster with a short fuse and a fragile ego, John Hodiak is intense and sexy as hell in Desert Fury.

John Hodiak as cuckoo criminal Eddie Bendix loses his cool.

Desert Fury was Wendell Corey’s film debut. Corey had those deadpan cold blue eyes, which he uses to great effect here. In his decade-long tenure as a top movie actor, he could play either the laconic leading man or the stone cold villain. How ironic that a decade later, Corey and Scott would be fighting again, this time over Elvis Presley's loyalty, in Loving You?!

Wendell Corey, in his first film. His Johnny doesn't take to Scott's Paula putting  the moves on Hodiak's Eddie.

The color is lush, but not gaudy, compared to 20^th Century Fox musicals. The visuals seem lavish for a film noir, without any big box office names, but Hal Wallis was giving Lizabeth Scott the big buildup, hence the glamour and production values. There’s lots of lovely Arizona location shooting, especially Cottonwood, standing in for fictional Chuckawalla.

It sure is nice that mom Mary Astor kept college kid Lizabeth Scott's bedroom intact for her!

Edith Head's costumes for the two women look so chic and most of them are so simply timeless, that they could be worn today. Fritzi's house is so lavish that her Purple Sage gambling den must really rake in the loot. Daughter Paula's bedroom in particular is so insanely extravagant. Still, Fritzi drops cigarette ashes all over her home like she’s at The Purple Sage. Speaking of which, in the book, her biz is a gambling joint and brothel. If it’s one in the movie, it’s pretty damn discreet.

Desert Fury is the perfect example of a ‘40s flick, filled with rapid repartee, eye-popping visuals, outlandish coincidences, and old-style performances.

When 'Desert Fury' was released, John Hodiak got top billing in the film.
But when it was re-released several times, Hodiak's billing kept dropping on the posters.

Burt Lancaster and his hair got the big buildup circa 'Desert Fury.'

FYI: I put all the movie overflow on my public FB  movie page. 

Check it out & join!  https://www.facebook.com/groups/178488909366865/