SOME CAME RUNNING: Blu-ray (MGM, 1958) Warner Archive

In retrospect, 1958 was a fascinating year for director, Vincente Minnelli to have made and released 3 movies, so completely, to typify his style in the picture-making biz: the effervescent and class-‘A’ Euro-comedy, The Reluctant Debutante, the uber-apex of all MGM musicals, Gigi, to sweep the Oscars with a staggering 9 awards, and, Some Came Running – a picture very much of its time. Viewing this triumvirate of achievements today, Some Came Running holds up the least well. For better or worse, Minnelli’s reputation today is largely hinged on his directorship of some of MGM’s finest musicals. And while this pedigree remains a cornucopia of irrefutable masterworks, Minnelli’s other passion for melodrama, infrequently resulted in some truly memorable fare, only intermittently to coincide on a level playing field with these frothy and escapism spectacles. That Minnelli’s reputation here somehow pales, or is considered the ‘lesser’ is, I suppose a testament to the endurance of his iconic and legendary musical fare, perennially revived regardless of changing times and tastes. And – true enough, while musicals often appear timeless, garnering praise from each new generation discovering them for the first time, melodrama possesses a distinct time stamp to mark the decade in which it was once considered ‘cutting edge’ – the daring in the exercise inevitably to be reviewed at some later date as ‘quaint’, if not – in fact - archaic.  Such is the case with Some Came Running – a scathing indictment – for its time - of small-town hypocrisy and class distinction, to mar, maim and, murder a rough-hewn idealist’s desire to break free from its slum prudery and be his own man.

Retrospectively, Some Came Running had everything going for it, beginning with James Jones’ titanic novel, skillfully stripped to its barest essentials by screenwriters, John Patrick and Arthur Sheekman. Jones, the author of From Here to Eternity – to have had its own celebrated dance in 1953 as an Oscar-winning Best Picture made at Columbia – was to experience his own misbegotten folly when his ‘six-years-in-the-making’ opus tanked with critics. Now, those same cultural mandarins who had once hailed him a new literary giant on par with Steinbeck, Falkner and Hemmingway were as quick to break that reputation down to bedrock, eviscerating Some Came Running as a suffocating, dissolute and philosophizing piece of arrogantly conceived tripe from a writer trying much too hard to recapture the glory of his first time out the gate.  MGM, under the custodianship of Sol Siegel, but in an age of rapidly advancing financial entrenchment and ever-revolving upper management post-L.B. Mayer, neither to comprehend nor micromanage its unwieldy empire, bid a whopping $250,000 to produce a movie based on Jones’ saga – at 300 pages, and spanning 3-years in the life of its otherwise tersely embittered hero, a suicide mission for Sheekman and Patrick. Siegel also cast Frank Sinatra – once, a Metro contract player, though by now, a freelance artist demanding a hefty $400,000 plus 10% of the gross to partake. Sinatra, who had abhorred Metro’s handling of his early career while he toiled under their iron-clad contract, repeatedly cast as the scrawny masculine ‘not’ to Gene Kelly’s robust physical specimen, and, only to be cut loose in the early 50’s when his box office waned, thereafter, to endure what can only be described as a career-crushing one-two-knockout, was instead to miraculously rise from the ashes as both a recording artist and movie star par excellence, more Teflon-coated and indestructible than ever, especially after his Oscar-winning turn as the ill-fated Maggio in From Here To Eternity. So, Sinatra now was the best box office security MGM could ask for to hermetically seal the appeal of Some Came Running as the studio’s latest ‘prestige’ picture.

Into this mix was thrown a pair of ‘hopefuls’ – Shirley MacLaine who, in only 3 movies preceding this one, had managed to break through to popular appeal and win the Golden Globe as Best New Star of the Year for Hitchcock’s The Trouble with Harry (1955), and, Dean Martin who, cleaved as the straight man from co-star, Jerry Lewis, had already suffered a setback in his solo career with 1958’s Ten Thousand Bedrooms – a box office dud. It was a brief lapse, to be sure, although, at the time, gristmill rumors abounded that Martin, without Lewis, was a lost cause. Mercifully, the teaming of Martin with Sinatra for the first time in Some Came Running generated great appeal, eventually to pave the way for the Rat Pack Vegas act, making Dean Martin one of the few figures in Hollywood, like Sinatra, to acquire simultaneous, cross-media appeal as a recording artist, movie star and stage performer. As for MacLaine – she barely resembled the novel’s unappealing and cranially vacant trollop, Ginny – a crude receptacle for Jones’ misogynist derision, as tangibly grotesque as she was ethically insolvent. Then again, MacLaine could hardly be taken seriously as a Hindu princess – the part she otherwise acquitted herself of rather nicely in Mike Todd’s Oscar-winning Around the World in 80 Days (1956). MacLaine relished the opportunity to make over her already eccentric (at least by Hollywood’s glamor gal standards) pixie into the transparently vulgar Ginny, and, with Minnelli’s assist and inspiration, the transformation became complete.

Elmer Bernstein’s ominous main titles denote more melodrama than is actually on tap thereafter. The year is 1948 – the place, Parkman, Indiana (shades of Peyton Place), seemingly small-town idyllic with a thriving main street U.S.A and homes and churches to suggest a place where nothing bad could ever happen and where the people are as universally pure as the driven snow. Ah, but don’t you believe it! For into this seemingly innocuous and picturesque backdrop lands Dave Hirsh (Sinatra) a cynical ex-Army vet’ and a failed writer to boot, still sleeping off a potent hangover after an all-night bender in Chicago. Dave is none too happy to be home and for good reason. His brother, Frank (Arthur Kennedy) is a prominent businessman – his jewelry store, a hub for the community at large, and, with further interests to extend to the town’s city council and board of directors at one of the local banks. Frank is married to the affluent, Agnes (Leora Dana), a woman whom Dave slighted in one of his novels. She’s never forgiven him. And Frank is none too thrilled to have Dave back home either.

Meanwhile, we discover Dave picked up a floozy in the windy city: Ginny Moorehead (MacLaine in a role originally offered to Joanne Woodward) who has followed him to Parkman on the same bus.  Dave is congenial towards Ginny. After all, he cannot remember their ‘cute meet’ the night before. He also feels obligated to offer her $50 to return home without him. Ginny is polite and accepts his money, but doesn’t take the next bus to Chicago. Indeed, Ginny’s emotions for Dave run deeper than his for her. After giving his office manager, Edith Barclay (Nancy Gates) a lift, Frank begrudgingly invites Dave to dine at his home. Alas, Agnes informs her husband she will not be there when they return. So, it is saying something, although we are not exactly certain ‘what?’ that when Frank and Dave arrive, Agnes’ recalcitrant attitude is much improved -superficially. We are also introduced to the couple’s daughter, Dawn (Betty Lou Keim in her final screen appearance) who has never met her uncle before. The most empathetic of the Hirshs, Dawn senses Dave is not quite the black sheep her father has made him out to be. Indeed, Dave’s a writer whose 2 published novels have garnered high praise from a local professor, Robert Haven French (Larry Gates) whose own daughter, Gwen (the rather glacial Martha Hyer in her only Oscar-nominated performance) teaches English studies and creative writing at the local high school. It seems Agnes has invited the Frenchs over to discuss Dave’s work – something he absolutely abhors. Instead, everyone decides to go out to dinner at a fashionable restaurant. Soon, Dave is up to his old tricks. He finagles a dance with Gwen, who reluctantly obliges, but then decides she is not about to let herself be pawed or seduced by this slightly inebriated Lothario.

Dave manages to get Gwen to drive him ‘home’. Alas, on route, his every attempt at cheap amour gets shot down. And thus, Dave gets Gwen to drop him off at Smitty’s bar. There he encounters the itinerant gambler, Bama Dillert (Dean Martin). Earlier, Bama had been impressed by the way Dave handled a local teen, eager for him to procure a bottle of whiskey for his ‘hot date’. Now, Bama encourages Dave to partake of an illegal poker game in Smitty’s backroom, sincerely impressed when Dave manages to mop the floor with the rest of the players including him, lightening their purses with effortless aplomb. Aside: after his win, Sinatra references his challenging manipulation of the cards with “Well, ain’t that a kick in the head” leading some novice historians to assume this to be an in-joke referencing Dean Martin’s juke box winner of the same name. In fact, the song – written by Jimmy Van Heusen, was not even an afterthought in 1958, but became a gold record for Martin 2-years later. After a night of drunk carousing, Dave is hardly fit company.  He is reintroduced to Ginny whose thug boy/toy, Raymond Lanchak (Steven Peck) menaces, should Dave pursue Ginny any further. Not at all intimidated, Dave takes Ginny – at her request – for a stroll down the street. Raymond, skulking behind the garbage cans, lunges into a very clumsy attack, subdued by Dave with very little effort. Nevertheless, the police are involved in this skirmish, leading Frank to lament the incident. It’s taken his wayward brother less than 24 hrs. to sully the family name.  Frank uses his ‘connections’ in town to avert further scandal. He even gets the judge to drop all charges against Dave, but with the understanding Dave will soon be leaving Parkman for good. Dave agrees. He doesn’t want any more of this small-town slum prudery. He blames Frank for putting him in a charity boarding school when he was a child, merely to get him out of the way while Frank pursued his life and dreams with Agnes. To disprove the old adage about time healing all wounds, Dave had his discharge army pay deposited in a rival bank in town, thereupon chagrining his brother’s reputation with his bank’s board of directors.  

Dave desperately desires Gwen. However, whenever she rejects him - which is often – he responds by picking up with Ginny, who naively believes each time, that Dave is sincere in his romantic intentions towards her. Dave tests the depth of Ginny’s love by getting her to keep house for him and Bama while they embark upon a series of poker cons, designed to bilk the rival participants out of their savings. At one such match, however, one of the rival players (Joe Gray) subtly accuses Bama and Dave of counting cards or having a third party working on the outside on their behalf.  The incident leads to Bama setting the record straight with his fists, but the other man knifing him in the shoulder. Dave rushes Bama to the hospital where it is discovered he is already severely compromised with diabetes – a condition he did not know he had. Ignoring doctor’s advice to quit drinking, Bama hits the clubs hard with his gal/pal, Rosalie (Carmen Phillips), encouraging Dave to do the same with Ginny. On one such outing, Dave spies Dawn out on the town with a much older man. Knowing she will likely make a terrible mistake to spite her conservative parents, Dave takes control of the situation, ordering Dawn’s suitor away and putting her on the first bus back to Parkman. Not long thereafter, Dave realizes Frank is having an affair with Edith, and decides to call his sanctimonious brother out for his marital infidelities. Dave also encourages Dawn to take a job as an assistant editor in New York. In the meantime, he pursues Gwen, who has everything Dave wants in a woman – class, respectability, beauty and brains. Alas, while Gwen is instrumental in getting Dave’s latest manuscript published for a considerable fee - $500 – she remains romantically aloof and decidedly out of reach, concerned Dave’s passion is merely transient. Her suspicions appear to bear themselves out when Ginny clumsily confront Gwen in her classroom, tearfully pleading to know if Gwen is as much in love with Dave.

Gwen, who has only just begun to come out of her shell with Dave, is sincerely repulsed he would be romantically attracted to Ginny. And although she harbors no ill thereafter, Gwen has decided once and for all, she will never allow herself to fall in love with Dave. He is, at first, perplexed by her ‘about face’, but then learns of the reason for her decision. At first angry with Ginny, Dave realizes just how much Ginny loves him. Alas, she is not much for intelligent conversation, something Dave craves. Nevertheless, Dave proposes marriage to Ginny, a decision that disgusts Bama, who refers to Ginny as a pig. Dave denies Ginny is not his equal. After Bama vows to end their friendship if Dave pursues Ginny, Dave defies Bama by running off to a Justice of the Peace and marrying Ginny. As Parkman prepares for the town’s annual ‘founders’ day’ celebration/carnival, Ginny envisions a wonderful life for she and Dave, far from prying eyes and condescending faces. Regrettably, Raymond has come back to town. After searching the crowds for the newlyweds, Raymond draws his pistol and fires, wounding Dave in the shoulder, but murdering Gwen with two shots in the back (a reverse of the novel’s dénouement, where Dave taking the lethal bullet in the back for Gwen, who lives to tearfully see another day). A distraught Dave gingerly clutches Ginny’s lifeless remains in his arms as Bama, having come too late to prevent the murder, looks on. During the penultimate funeral, several of the previously judgmental town’s folk, including Gwen and her father, Frank and Agnes, attend Ginny’s funeral as Bama, apart from the rest, is left to reconsider his part in the tragedy he failed to prevent, removing his hat – a gesture of extreme respect he rarely, if ever, affords to anyone, much less Ginny while she lived.

Some Came Running is an affecting melodrama in fits and sparks. Certainly, the cast are performing at the peak of their powers, particularly the triumvirate of Sinatra, MacLaine and Martin, each of whom has committed some of their finest work to this picture. MacLaine later reasoned the six degrees of separation between her costar and Bama made for Martin’s uncannily genuine reflections on the ultimate loner, living life on his own terms. While Sinatra’s turn as the ‘hero’ drives this narrative, he and Vincente Minnelli continuously clashed on the set, particularly during the shooting of the climactic ‘carnival’ showdown. Sinatra’s natural distaste for doing re-shoots was countermanded by Minnelli’s fastidiousness to rehearse scenes down to a finite precision, over and over again – each time, finessing the particulars a little bit further until he achieved both the look and mood already caught in his mind’s eye.  Alas, Minnelli’s passion for the work was the bane of Sinatra’s existence – Sinatra, believing he was never more genuine than on his first take. “If you want a second take, reprint the first,” Sinatra would later muse. For decades, a rumor has persisted breaking point in Minnelli and Sinatra’s professional alliance occurred when Minnelli reasoned the Ferris Wheel erected for the carnival finale needed to be moved ‘3 inches’ in order to accommodate Minnelli’s camera set-up – Hollywood folklore, dispelled in Minnelli’s own autobiography in which he explained that the repositioning of the Ferris Wheel by 6 ft. was necessary so it appeared prominently in each shot as the focal point of the scene. Whatever the circumstances, Minnelli’s insistence to move the wheel led to Sinatra getting into his limo and immediately departing for the airport, accompanied by co-star, Dean Martin, who shared in Sinatra’s belief Minnelli was more interested in directing scenery than stars.

There may be some truth in this, as Minnelli’s forte for visual design, as with all of his musicals, herein, was oft telescopically focused to create startling moments of high-lit celluloid ‘art’, far removed from reality, rather heighted, absorbed and basked in the artifice of Minnelli’s own choosing, as a self-gratifying ice cream sundae, and, onto which Jones’ melodrama only serves as a framework. There is much of this heightened ‘style’ on tap in the movie’s finale. And, while Sinatra had difficulty following Minnelli’s visual leads, Minnelli was far more conciliatory towards his star’s method of preparing for the work, later reflecting that, despite Sinatra’s refusal to do multiple takes, “Frank gave me everything I wanted!” Conversely, the town of Madison, Indiana, where more than half the movie was shot, gave Sinatra and Martin more than they bargained for, surrounding the house rented for their stay and occasionally, having unwanted female patrons break through its barriers into their foyer, tearing at their clothes for souvenirs.  Of the many struggles to get the picture made, only MacLaine avoided the usual behind-the-scenes strain, claiming Martin and Sinatra thought of her casually as just ‘one of the boys’ and treated her as their common law mascot.  Given Sinatra is the real/reel star of this movie, it is somewhat off-putting he does not sing the Oscar-nominated ‘To Love and Be Loved’ – also written by Van Heusen, with Sammy Cahn. However, Sinatra would realize his own version of this ditty for his alma mater, Capitol Records – the single, released just in time to coincide with the movie’s premiere.

Viewed today, Some Came Running is a diluted masterpiece. William H. Daniel’s Cinemascope/Metrocolor cinematography represents the most exquisitely composed usage of the widescreen format yet, filling every inch of the elongated frame with fascinating visual set-ups to keep us watching when the drama occasionally falters. Alas, and true enough, what enthralled audiences in 1958 is not as compelling in 2021. What keeps Some Came Running above the usual pay grade in 50’s pulp and nonsense are its performances. Sinatra is at his cynical best as an honest reflection of a man scorned in youth, haunted by his past, and not terribly impressed with the trajectory of his future until he meets Gwen – the woman who could make it all go away. Alas, her heart is reserved for someone more refined in his aspirations. And thus, Sinatra’s Dave settles, half-heartedly, on Jones’ female albatross, the tartlet who serves as a willful reminder of Dave’s inescapability from the wrong side of the tracks. The repartee between Sinatra and Dean Martin is genuine, relaxed and revealing. These two, appearing for the very first time together, are clearly kindred spirits as their lifelong friendship thereafter would illustrate in spades. There is a familiarity between the boys, impossible to fake, and moreover, to generate a palpable reality in their exchanges of dialogue.  Shirley MacLaine’s is the most heartfelt and heart-breaking rendition. At one point, Ginny, frustrated by Dave’s disappointment in her inability to truly critique his story, remarks, “I love you. I don’t understand you…but I love you,” – a turning point in Ginny’s relationship with Dave. The public clearly responded to Some Came Running, ringing box office registers around the world. MGM had another reason to crow, delivering the sort of quality affair on which their reputation as Hollywood’s Tiffany studio had been built in the grand ole Mayer/Thalberg era with one essential difference. Despite its critical and financial cache, cost overruns on Some Came Running added to the studio’s fiscal deficit rather than its profits. In the end, prestige was a very costly pursuit!

Some Came Running arrives on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive (WAC) in a stunningly handsome 1080p transfer that belies the use of vintage Cinemascope/Metrocolor, to come with its own litany of issues. Herein, the image is solid and spectacular with color reproduction that is wholly satisfying. There are only a handful of instances where color saturation is decidedly less refined around the peripheries of the screen and the natural warping of vertical elements, inherent with Cinemascope’s Bausch and Lomb anamorphic lenses, results in some unnatural curvatures in close-ups and medium shots. Transitional fades and dissolves suffer from a sudden loss in clarity and color saturation – again, owing to the limitations of ‘scope’ photography. But Colors throughout look very indigenous to their source – much more than ever before on previous home video incarnations. The image here is razor-sharp with gorgeous amounts of fine detail revealed in skin, hair, make-up and clothing. The locations look incredible and the stars have never glowed with more luminosity. Contrast is excellent too with a light smattering of properly reproduced film grain. This is one of the most handsome looking ‘scope’ productions yet to arrive in hi-def. Nothing here will disappoint. Originally released with a magnetic 4-channel stereo soundtrack, only the general release Westrex mono has survived the years, lovingly preserved herein as a 2.0 DTS mono with competently rendered sonic resonance.  We get a nearly 20-minute featurette/reflection piece in 720i, produced for the DVD release and reissued here without any further image stabilization applied. It’s a pity too, because this is an info-dense ‘making of’ in the grand ole days when movie studios actually cared to produce extras worthy of merit and reconsideration. The only other extra is an original trailer. Bottom line: Some Came Running is noteworthy for its 3 stars giving it their all. Regrettably, the drama doesn’t hold up as anything better than a passing fancy. But Minnelli’s direction is exhilarating, as are his visuals, some of greatest yet achieved in widescreen.  This Blu-ray is perfection itself. So, very highly recommended!

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

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

1