Deus Sabe Quanto Amei

In any other year Shirley MacLaine would have walked off with the Best Actress Oscar, but NO ONE was going to take it from Susan Hayward in 1958.

In fact the film is filled with nominations, Arthur Kennedy for Best Supporting Actor, Martha Hyer for Best Supporting Actress and these were great performances. Dean Martin does a great follow-up to The Young Lions in playing Bama Dillert here. This was no stretch for Dino however. This is exactly the kind of background he came from, so the part fit him like a comfortable old shoe.

The flaw is Sinatra. To his credit, he really tries hard and succeeds in spots. But he's miscast in a part that either Paul Newman or Montgomery Clift might have taken an Oscar home for.

But the acting honors go to MacLaine. The high point of the movie is her scene with Martha Hyer in Martha's classroom at the college. This poor pathetic Ginny Moorehead trying to assess her situation vis a vis Dave Hirsch pulls all the stops out. You have to be made of stone not to be moved by her pleas to Martha Hyer and Hyer's reactions in this scene probably got her, her nomination.

If you can get past a miscast Frank Sinatra, then this film is a gem.

Dave Hirsh is through with the army. A drinking binge with his buddies results in Dave being loaded onto a Greyhound bus bound for Parkman, Indiana (his seldom-visited hometown) clutching the few things he has managed to collect - Ginnie the floozie ("that dumb poushover") and a bag containing two bottles of scotch, the tattered manuscript of a love story and Hirsh's beloved copies of Faulkner, Wolfe and Steinbeck. Dave was once a writer of considerable promise. It had not been Dave's intention to revisit Parkman, but now that he's here he decides to hang around for a while. He wants to settle a score with his brother Frank.

The proprietor of a thriving jewellery store and a rising star in the Rotarians, Frank Hirsh is the worst kind of small-town phoney. He is a master of glib sales patter and the vacuous small talk of country club social evenings. Though he would rather die than say so, he doesn't want his kid brother within a hundred miles of Parkman. Dave is bohemian, hedonistic, creative - in other words, thing which threaten scandal. Having to socialise with Dave (folks would gossip if he shunned his own brother), Frank spends the time alternately bragging about his vulgar prosperity and timidly hinting that maybe Dave should move on.

"I'm an expert on tramps," wisecracks Dave (played by Frank Sinatra). Typically of Ol' Blue Eyes' projects of the period ("Ocean's Eleven", "Come Blow Your Horn") women are depicted as chattles to be despised and traded.

Equally typically, it is from Dean Martin's character that the most virulent misogyny comes. Bama Dillert warns Dave that you either give women orders, or allow them to dominate you. There is no other way. Bama hangs around with Rosalie, the lowlife zombie, and tells Ginnie to "just be a good girl and shut up". It is poor, good-natured Ginnie who gets most of the abuse. "You'll go anywhere with anybody," says her husband-to-be. She is grateful when he allows her to clean the house for him. Edith the nice girl and Dawn the perfect daughter are shown to be whores at heart. Even superior, educated Gwen has her sluttish moments.

Dave's rediscovery of his writing talent is somewhat improbable, as is the volume of whiskey supposedly consumed by these 'real men'. Even more unlikely is Dave's romantic rush of blood to the head near the end of the picture, and the melodramatic consequences which flow from it.

There is a Cahn and Van Heusen theme song, of course ("To Love And Be Loved"). Shirley Maclaine is good as Ginnie the 'escort' with the heart of gold. She tended hereafter to be typecast as a trollop ("Irma La Douce", "Woman Times Seven", "My Geisha", "Sweet Charity", "Two Mules"). The set of the French house is marvellous, with its easy-on-the -eye three-dimensional layout. Martha Hyer as Gwen seems miscast as Frankie's love interest, not least because her head is twice the size of his.

A product of the Eisenhower fifties, Some Came Running, adapted from a James Jones novel, stars Frank Sinatra as a footloose writer returning to his Midwestern home town right after World War II. Directed by Vincente Minnelli, in a grand, florid manner, it is essentially a smart soap opera, with some very deep emotions, shot in garish color, that can at its best bear comparison with the films of Douglas Sirk, and is in some ways better, more imaginative. The story matters less than the characters, which aside from Sinatra's artist-in-uniform, include an alcoholic Southern gambler, played by Dean Martin, who's also his best friend; a pathetic floozie from Chicago who followed Sinatra home (Shirley MacLaine); Sinatra's brother, a frustrated if successful businessman (Arthur Kennedy); and a prim, somewhat stuffy school-teacher (Martha Hyer), who admires Sinatra as a writer but cares little for him as a man. Sinatra is torn between bad girl MacLaine and good girl Hyer; and though the former is easy to be with, if not much of a conversationalist, the latter is an ice princess, and proud of it. Understandably, Sinatra reverts to gambling, drinking and carousing with friend Dean Martin, but is clearly not happy with it. He would like to find a place in society, but how? Where?

This one could have been a classic, and the cast is for the most part excellent. MacLaine's Method-ish performance is the only jarring note, but it's a loud one. A number of things keep the film "down", or at any rate in second gear. First of all Minnelli was as man and director such an aesthete that he spends much of his time painting with his camera. Aided in no small measure by the excellent photography of William Daniels, his compositions and color create an often surreal effect, almost hallucinogenic, ultimately anti-realistic, though fascinating to watch, and this in the end detracts from the story. On the other hand Minnelli was good with people, and his more intimate scenes between people who really know each other,--Sinatra and Martin, Sinatra and MacLaine--show a genuine understanding of human behavior. Back and forth the movie goes. That its setting is Indiana make both the movie and the characters seem out of place in this most conservative of midwestern states. There is none of the wholeness here that one gets from, for instance, Kazan's On the Waterfront, where everything comes together beautifully and nothing is out of place. Here everyone seems to belong either elsewhere or nowhere, to be thinking or dreaming of other things, to not really care much for their surroundings. There is also a strong undercurrent of Tennessee Williams and William Inge-inspired textbook Freud, with the characters either sexually obsessed, sexually frustrated or sexually avoidant. I doubt the word sex is ever actually used in the movie, but it's everywhere. The Elmer Bernstein score, jazzy and doubtless influenced by Alex North's music for Streetcar Named Desire, tends to telegraph, often hilariously, how one ought to feel about what's going on, especially the raunchy, down-dirty greasy horns he deploys whenever the story moves to the wrong side of the tracks or to a card game, as if to say, "Okay Middle America, this is NOT the way to be".

For all its flaws, the movie has many grace notes, some of them even musical, as Bernstein occasionally redeems himself, especially in his lovely main theme. The compartmentalized, evasive lives most of the characters in the film live are, shorn of the melodrama, not unlike real life. Even when the plot becomes predictable the underlying emotions of the main characters remain authentic, and the result is in many ways a compartmentalized movie that at times seems to take its style from the dreams and fantasies of its various characters, becoming in effect their view of life rather than their actual lives. This feeling of fantasy versus reality becomes the movie's major issue when an old boyfriend of MacLaine's shows up, starts drinking, and begins to stalk her. The danger in the air is palpable, and as many of these later scenes take place literally in a carnival atmosphere, the film becomes simultaneously urgent and otherworldly, like someone coming off a mescaline trip who suddenly realizes that he's standing on the ledge of a twenty storey building. This was very daring of Minnelli, and I'm sure intentional, and the ending is truly heartbreaking, and yet aesthetic also, with the director refusing to give up his florid manner even in the last scene. I sense that the tragedy in the film had a very private meaning for Minnelli, and that he intended for it to have the same effect on the audience; to trigger personal issues in each viewer that he could take away from the movie which were independent of the movie. In this he succeeded magnificently.

Vincente Minelli was a master at creating powerful cinematic imagery that made unforgettable many a film which, in other hands, might have been quite ordinary. So many aspects of the story he deals with in "Some Came Running" had to be compromised because of the censorship issues that governed movies of that era. This led to some very awkward scripting, suggesting but never explicitly spelling out much that was central to the story. As a result, the drama veers into a rather dated soap-opera feel from time to time.

The wonder of this picture lies in how the director draws consistently strong performances from his cast and then, using striking visual compositions, magical lighting, stunning use of color, delivers a startlingly powerful result. Like so many of his films, this is the sort of richly satisfying visual experience that you want to re-visit again and again.

Serious home theater buffs should loudly protest that such Minnelli masterpieces as "Some Came Running", Home from the Hill" and "Lust for Life" are still unreleased as widescreen DVD's. This seems so shamefully, incomprehensibly neglectful!

This is one of the most heartbreaking, heart-rending films I have ever seen. There are many levels in this story of the returning soldier: his conflict with his brother, with his community, with his beloved and with himself. But for me, the most poignant is the story of Dave Hirsh and Ginny Moorhead. Dave is searching for redemption; he is emotionally needy and spiritually enervated. He thinks he can find love in someone who can fill his creative needs and the void in his heart created by the war.

Here is the tragedy: Dave does not realize that real love can only come from a sense of self worth, from finding someone whom he not only needs but, just as important, who needs him. Ginny is an angel, an angel in the form of a wrong-side-of-the-tracks bimbo; but of all those in Dave's world, Ginny is the purest of heart and the purest in love, and her love is for Dave. When Dave finally realizes that his bliss lies with Ginny, it is too late, for both him and Ginny. And this ending comes in a moment that left me shattered, my mouth agape.

While the ending was not expected, neither was it contrived, and with hindsight, one could see its coming.

"Some Came Running" captures a time and culture only now beginning to fade from the collective memory, as its cohort ages and dies off, America immediately following World War II. And as a period piece, "Some Came Running" is quite successful. But I believe the story depicted here is a universal one, and I think the characters of Dave and Ginny and their sidekick Bama, played wonderfully by Dean Martin, are to be found anywhere. In fact, "Some Came Running," along with "From Here to Eternity," is the closest American cinema has come to being Shakespearian, without consciously trying to be.