THE STOOGE: MOD Blu-ray (Paramount, 1951/53) Paramount Home Video

In 1945, Dean Martin met Jerry Lewis for the first time. It ought to have been a match made in heaven or, at the very least, a meeting of the minds; Martin, the suave straight man who could effortlessly sell a song, and Lewis, the comic genius, able to find the insanity in practically any situation. Two things prevented this from being a fortuitous summit – ego vs. ego plus. Interesting, actually, to consider the trial by fire all great comic duos pass through. Lou Costello, as example, once suggested ‘straight men’ were a dime a dozen, while comedians hailed from rare birds of paradise in need of their wooden counterparts, merely to display their more flamboyant plumage. But Martin & Lewis really came into their own at the tail end of that golden age in comedy ‘dream teams’ – Paramount’s then ‘contemporary’ answer and replacement for Bob Hope and Bing Crosby who, whether teamed or apart, had made the studio a lot of money throughout the 1940’s. And certainly, Martin and Lewis each proved they could command the screen without the other’s participation. Retrospectively, Lewis would go on to have the more ‘down in front’ career in a series of movies built around his bundle of energy – frequently to dominate the story. By comparison, Martin enjoyed being part of an ensemble, whether tinkling cocktail glasses on the Vegas strip with his fellow rat packers, Frank Sinatra, Joey Bishop, Sammy Davis Jr., or, even more ambitiously, to take on serious roles in movies that pushed the boundaries of what we all thought we knew about Dean Martin - star. Anyone to discount Martin today as a lightweight performer, easy on the eyes, in high spirits and good voice, should turn their attentions to 1959’s Rio Bravo, a role in which Martin shows us the ugly side of alcoholism and ravages on a rummy, set for a bit of big-time redemption.  

Norman Taurog’s The Stooge (1951 – but released in 1953) falls right in the middle of Martin & Lewis’ meteoric string of successes as a comedy duo at Paramount. Interestingly, the studio delayed its theatrical debut by almost two years due to concerns audiences would not take kindly to desperate actor, Bill Miller’s (Dean Martin) chronic berating of Theodore Rogers (Jerry Lewis); also, the picture’s unusually serious undertone, frequently taking precedence over the usual light-hearted fluff. Indeed, at the time, audiences felt a genuine affinity for Jerry Lewis as the underdog in the Martin & Lewis screen teaming’s – an affection, later to sour as Lewis’ reputation for being something of a prima donna, both on and off the set, began to emerge in the tabloids or footnoted in tell-all biographies written by other stars.  By 1951, Lewis was already resentful of Martin’s increasing popularity as a lady’s man – a professional jealousy to fester throughout the remainder of their professional alliance. Nevertheless, in later years, seemingly to have buried the hatchet, Lewis considered The Stooge his personal favorite among their many offerings, as he believed it most closely resembled their earliest work together on the stage.

Bill and Ted's ‘act’ in the movie uncannily parallels the improvisational spirit of Martin and Lewis’s own stagecraft. And Lewis, acutely aware of its ‘throwback’ quality, later reasoned, of their 16 outings as Paramount’s biggest box office draws, only The Stooge truly captured the intangible quality of their flawed buddy/buddy chemistry. The screenplay, co-authored by Fred F. Finklehoffe and Martin Rackin, with additional dialogue by Elwood Ullman, and based on a story by Finklehoffe and Sid Silvers, is a thinly veiled retelling of Martin and Lewis’ own struggle to make it to the big time. At times, the veneer is painfully thin, revealing of Lewis’ embittered naïveté, also, his inability to hold his liquor, the curiously offbeat physical affection the men shared, and Martin’s bared pleasure to his co-star’s impromptu sight gags. The Stooge is also frequently cited as the movie to trademark Lewis’ rambunctious ‘Hey lady!’ yelp, herein directed at Marion Marshall’s Genevieve 'Frecklehead' Tait, as Theodore takes a tumble from a theater balcony in his first performance as Miller’s ‘stooge’. But making The Stooge was hardly a pleasure. Indeed, Lewis frequently clashed with producer, Hal B. Wallis on Martin’s behalf, suggesting the team break with the formula of their previous hits and let Martin in on some of the comedic bits. Augmenting this uncertainty was the fact Martin’s subtler approach to comedy failed to hit reviewers in the gut the way Lewis’ in-your-face’ antics did, thus suggesting Martin’s yen for comedy somehow paled to his co-star, or, even more devastating, was ‘not funny’ at all. Such discrimination against Martin’s obvious gifts for humor eventually led to his own professional jealousies and, finally, the splitting up of their act – Martin, determined to prove he did not need Lewis to have a career in Hollywood. To avoid direct comparison to Martin & Lewis’ actual early careers, the Ziegfeld Follies was rechristened ‘The Sutherland Revue’ in The Stooge, despite advertising Will Rogers and Fanny Brice as its headliners. In reality, both Rogers and Brice had been Ziegfeld discoveries.

The Stooge is set in 1930 as entertainer, Bill Miller is preparing to venture into a solo career after a highly successful partnership with actor, Ben Bailey (Richard Erdman). Miller fails miserably, and his manager, Leo Lyman (Eddie Mayhoffe) suggests he take on ‘a stooge’ to enliven his act. At this point, we are introduced to Theodore ‘Ted’ Rogers, a dim-witted and accident-prone simpleton who is just what the doctor ordered. Soon after begrudgingly accepting Rogers into his act, Miller’s career prospects begin to soar. As Rogers is too stupid to figure out, he is the real drawing power, he becomes slavishly devoted to Miller, accepting no billing, other than ‘partner’, and, standing by Miller when others infer he is being shamelessly exploited. Eventually, Miller’s own wife, Mary (Polly Bergen) accuses her husband of being a shameless self-promoter at Rogers’ expense. Mary even threatens divorce. To prove both Mary and Rogers wrong, Miller fires Rogers and forges out on his own, a decision to implode when his solo career is a disaster. Realizing his life and career are nothing without Rogers’ participation, Miller begs the audience to forgive his ego, and declares Rogers as the true ‘heart and soul’ of the act. As Rogers is in the audience, he willingly comes to Miller’s rescue. Each regards the other with genuine appreciation and begin anew to establish a true 50/50 partnership at last.

The Stooge’s parallels to Martin & Lewis’ own rise to fame, and even more clairvoyant prediction of how the real-life act would turn out in the end, hits very close to home. The coming together of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis first happened at the Glass Hat Club, a chance meeting leading to their official debut at Atlantic City's 500 Club in 1946. Alas, the duo was a flop this first time out, ditching their pre-scripted arrangements for an improvisational act in which Martin sang and Lewis, garbed as a busboy, did everything from dropping flatware to crashing into scenery to wreck his song. The combination of raw slapstick and Vaudeville was a sensation, and soon, Martin & Lewis were booked into some fairly swanky engagements across the country. Audiences everywhere juddered with glee as Lewis’ ‘stooge’ intruded upon Martin’s ‘legitimate’ art, barracking his co-star in a barrage of insults to culminate with the two ‘adversaries’ chasing one another around the stage. From here, the boys boomeranged from their own radio program, debuting in 1948 and lasting until 1953, to making the rounds on popular variety hour programming like Ed Sullivan’s Toast of the Town. A year later, Martin and Lewis were given their own chance at a prime-time TV show. Once again, a rocky start quickly escalated to better things, as Lewis hired future ‘All in the Family’ creator, Norman Lear, and Ed Simmons to write the show. That same year, Paramount signed Martin & Lewis to a contract, appearing in their first smash hit, My Friend Irma (1949).

Agent, Abby Greshler negotiated one of Hollywood's all-time sweethearts’ deals, Paramount paying $75,000 for the privilege to co-star Martin and Lewis with an option to do at least one outside movie per year. They also had complete control of all club, record, radio, and television appearances, the real cash cows to net each performer enviable salaries totaling into the millions. For Colgate, Martin & Lewis committed to a series of half-hour programs, consisting of songs and skits from their nightclub years. From 1950 to mid-decade, Martin & Lewis reigned as the highest paid act in showbiz. Regrettably, from this heady apex began an as inexplicably abysmal descend, Martin begrudging his role as the ‘straight man’ as Lewis’ antics were to further discount his legitimate gifts as a singer. It also wore heavily on Martin, the critics considered Lewis the real talent of the act. After five years playing a monotonous romantic lead, a virtual footnote to Lewis’ vignettes devoted to wild and crazy comedy, Martin had enough. The final blow was delivered by Look magazine when its editors cropped Martin out of their cover story on the act. Even as Martin respectfully finished out his Paramount contract, his discontent with the partnership ended in several publicized arguments and a bitter split in 1956. For the next 20 years, Martin and Lewis did not speak to one another.

Ironically, the split proved a boost to both men’s careers; each, perhaps determined to outdo the other. Lewis became Paramount’s biggest film star of the early to mid-60’s, while Martin re-established himself as a film star of diverse talents, and, as a recording artist, popular with the jukebox sect. He also exceled on television; The Dean Martin Show enjoying a 9-year run, from 1965 to 1974. While a guest on The Eddie Fisher Show in 1958, Martin made an impromptu appearance while Lewis was the featured guest – an 8-second cameo that seemed to suggest it was time to bury the hatchet for good. Then, in 1960, seemingly unrehearsed again, Lewis appeared during Martin’s farewell at the Sands Hotel, introduced by Martin, the pair doing 15-minutes of adlib and a duet. Yet, this too could hardly be considered a reunion, although Martin and Lewis were seen ‘together’ on friendly terms in public. When complications on the set of Lewis’ latest movie, The Bellboy (1960) threatened already agreed upon contractual obligations for his own act at the Sands, Martin graciously filled in for his one-time partner.  Yet, ironically, it was not until 1976, when Frank Sinatra, friend to both, arranged for Martin to appear on Lewis’ annual Labor Day telethon, that these lingering wounds of old were granted a full pardon. Hence, when, in 1987, Martin’s son was tragically killed in a plane crash, Lewis chose to quietly attend the funeral unannounced. Two years later, the men reminisced publicly in an act at Bally’s in Vegas, Lewis presenting Martin with a birthday cake, adding “Why we broke up…I’ll never know.” Alas, this would be the final public tribute – Martin, retiring a short time later, and, dying on Christmas Day, 1995. During those waning years, in private life, Martin and Lewis reportedly remained in constant contact. Indeed, Lewis would write a glowing memoir in 2002, prominently to praise Martin for his rare gifts as a superb ‘straight man’, life-long friend, and all-around ‘class act’ entertainer.

Viewed today, The Stooge is hardly a great film. And yet, it has some wonderful moments, chiefly resolved by the vintage Martin & Lewis chemistry, as yet to be tainted by their creative differences. Were that Paramount would finally recognize the popularity of these two legendary performers with a legitimately authored Blu-ray release. Instead, we have the studio’s burn-on-demand offering in hi-def, culled from reasonably sound – if not entirely pristine – B&W elements.  The results will satisfy most, although, at intervals, the image can appear slightly thick, with exaggerated contrast, and density issues that fluctuate from solid, deep and rich, to looking slightly anemic and careworn. A lot of Paramount’s rich history has been sacrificed over the decades – either, through studio short-sightedness, or just general neglect and a certain, lingering unwillingness to wholly commit to the home video market by indulging in an asset management program to aggressively preserve and restore its back catalog for future generations to enjoy. That said, The Stooge looks as good as one might expect, with grain levels in check and very authentic to their source. There is a bit of edge enhancement and aliasing, but its influences are not altogether distracting. The 1.0 DTS mono sounds solid too. So, why, oh why, couldn’t this one get a legit Blu-ray authoring? Bottom line: for fans of Martin & Lewis, The Stooge represents the very first opportunity to collect their vintage in hi-def. Hopefully, this means more to follow on Paramount’s ‘to do’ list. We’ll see.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

0