GENTLEMAN JIM: Blu-ray (Warner Bros., 1942) Warner Archive

Errol Flynn remains the definitive superstar of the Warner Brothers’ swashbuckler.  If for nothing else, Flynn will forever be ensconced in filmdom as that eloquent rapscallion of the cod piece and flounced shirt. In a career to illustrate so distinctly he was so much more than just a paragon of masculine grace, Flynn’s everlasting reputation as the ultimate male sex symbol of his generation took a decided blow to his conceit when, at the height of his popularity in 1942, he was accused of raping two teenage girls; 17-yr.-old, Betty Hansen at his Bel-Air home, and, 15-yr.-old Peggy Satterlee aboard the Sirocco, his fabulous yacht. Hansen, a drug store clerk to have already had an abortion, was supposedly lured to Flynn’s abode with the promise of procuring ‘extra’ work in the movies, while Satterlee had already been indicted for an illegal ‘sex act’ with another man and was placed in ‘protective custody’ for the duration of the trial. Thus, it began – the circus and the charade to paint these girls as virtuous victims and dismantle Flynn’s reputation in tandem. It had taken Flynn seven years to transform from the Tasmanian-born nobody into one of Hollywood’s irrefutable he-men. Now, the threat of total annihilation to that studio-sanctioned image was very real. Fans were agog. How could a dashing figure, boldly represented on the screen as the epitome of manliness, suffer from such a catastrophic dearth of scruples?

To be clear: Errol Flynn was no angel. And regardless of Hansen and Saterlee’s lurid pasts before meeting Flynn, they were nevertheless well under the legal age of consent. By 1942, Flynn’s promiscuity was well-known around Hollywood. Warner Bros. PR ensured none of his bedroom antics ever came to light. And publicly at least, it appeared as though Flynn and Warner contract player, Olivia de Havilland were well on their way to the altar. For a while, at least, de Havilland and Flynn were, in fact, very much in love.  If, outwardly, Flynn appeared to be the perfectly hewn man of action and integrity, it was just a façade, masking a more deep-seeded rebellion against authority with a tragic over-indulgence into sex, drugs and booze. This would, in time, erode Flynn’s stunningly handsome mask of virtue, exposing the outward bloat and inward rot of his decadent lifestyle. Part of Flynn’s insecurity perhaps stems from the fact he knew, even at the height of his sexual attractiveness, it was all a fake; Flynn, denied enlistment in America’s war effort with a diagnosis of tuberculosis, and, stricken by a weak heart, the result of his bout with malaria decades earlier, to contribute to his heart attack on the set of Gentleman Jim (1942) – the picture made partly as a response to the trial, to reaffirm fans Flynn was not a sex-crazed monster, but also, to ease away from his on-screen reputation as the sly rogue, more footloose and fancy free, previously celebrated in pictures like Captain Blood (1935), The Charge of the Light Brigade (1936) and Robin Hood (1938).

Given the perverse timing of the theatrical release of Gentleman Jim – and its universally manufactured, though no less affecting account of the life and times of professional pugilist, James Corbett, and, further still, viewed from a vantage some 80+ years removed from the rape trial and subsequent acquittal of Errol Flynn, the picture today can be most clearly assessed as Warner Bros. slickly packaged ‘damage control’, skewed to cajole the masses into embracing the Flynn of filmdom - not from life, with yet another commodified account of the well-designed stud in gentleman’s harness, incapable of such depraved, if all too human weaknesses. And, if at least superficially, the dead aim of the pic and PR managed to keep the particulars of the trial at bay (Gentleman Jim was a box office dynamo), the good natured ‘understanding’ between Flynn and his boss, Jack Warner, had taken a palpable hit behind the scenes. Flynn’s hidden vices as the studio’s prodigal son could no longer be entirely ignored or excused. Once allowed to thumb his nose at middle class morality, Flynn now felt the yoke tightening at Warner’s insistence to curtail his quintessential hedonism. The backstage bacchanalia, though hardly over, would never be as sweet again.

As early as 1941, the studio had announced in the trades it had acquired the rights to Corbett’s life story from his widow, Vera with the understanding Flynn was its intended leading man. Corbett had, in fact, penned his memoirs in 1925. But what ultimately hit movie screens in 1942 bore little resemblance to this account. At the outset, screenwriters, Aeneas MacKenzie and Wally Kline were assigned to work on the film. But then, something happened, and the pair were replaced by Vincent Lawrence and Horace McCoy. Consequently, original plans to costar Ann Sheridan were also derailed in favor of Alexis Smith – a formidable second choice. However, Raoul Walsh was always in the director’s chair. Walsh had previously directed Flynn in They Died With Their Boots On (1941) and Desperate Journey (1942). After Gentleman Jim, the pair would continue to reshape Flynn’s camera appeal with a more sober grace in Northern Pursuit (1943), Uncertain Glory (1944), Objective, Burma! (1945), and Silver River (1948). It has been noted that the Walsh/Flynn collaborations are a marked departure from Flynn masterpieces made under the auspices of Warner’s other premiere director, Michael Curtiz. Retrospectively, there is little to deny the Walsh/Flynn catalog is more centrally focused on reassessing the definition of ‘heroism’ in general, and Flynn’s screen rebranding of it in particular.

Walsh’s affinity in unearthing nuggets of wisdom made from the extraordinary circumstances of ordinary people, living quiet lives is well-documented in Gentleman Jim. The picture is as governed by several principles. First and foremost, by Walsh’s ability to earn Flynn’s respect behind the scenes. Flynn was noted for clashing with the superficialities of his profession and with directors whom he reasoned were exploiting his image in ways he did not approve. Yet, Flynn respected Walsh immensely. Hence, this undying devotion to the man behind the camera shines through in the performance Flynn is giving in front of it. There is also the meticulous attention to period detail to reconsider, as recreated by art director, Ted Smith and set decorator, Clarence Steensen. The bric-a-brac here is far better than the usual turn-of-the-century quaintness ascribed such regressions into America’s gilded past. There is a lived-in quality permeating each frame. So, if anything, the ‘period’ look does not hermetically seal off the movie in a sort of frozen epoch from another design. But most of all, Gentleman Jim is anchored to Errol Flynn, who gives the performance of his life as the self-confident, but far less ego-driven charmer. The post-match address Flynn’s Corbett renders to defeated opponent, John L. Sullivan (Ward Bond), remains the irrefutable highlight – an epitaph to sportsmanly decorum, as well as a subtler address to the ‘then’ present-day vulnerability of Flynn’s own lasting appeal at the box office – given the circumstances facing the actor outside this fictionalized ring.

Part of the success of this Walsh/Flynn collaboration is owed Walsh having Flynn be more himself, slightly relaxed, occasionally careworn, and, gently comedic. It is a distinct departure from all those highly romanticized figures of unattainable masculine chic Flynn usually played. And owing to Flynn’s respect for Walsh, he insisted doing his own boxing in the picture. Alas, the strain proved too great. While staging the climactic bout between Corbett and Sullivan, Flynn suffered a heart attack, collapsing on the mat. He was rushed to hospital, miraculously to recover and return to work a week later. Reportedly, co-star, Alexis Smith inquired as to whether Flynn was concerned with living a long life, to which Flynn, in his usual way replied, “I’m only interested in this half. I don’t really care for the future.”  There is, perhaps, something more to this that needs to be stated for the record, as Flynn always managed to live life on his terms. His sacrifices were few and far between. He was used to having his own way and the world be damned because of it. To such men is either retrospectively ascribed the status of a rough and tumble visionary/maverick, or, conversely, the scrutiny of a darkly manipulative and self-destructive puppet master. Situated somewhere in the vast meridian between these polar opposites lies the real truth of Errol Flynn.

Gentleman Jim opens in 1887 San Francisco, where free-style boxing is illegal. Nevertheless, boxing does go on. At one of these underground matches, James J. Corbett (Errol Flynn) a brash bank teller, and his pal, Walter Lowrie (Jack Carson) are arrested. Also in deep water, Judge Geary (Wallis Clark) a senior member of the board of directors of Corbett's bank. Corbett's slick talk gets Geary off the hook. The judge, having a passion for professional pugilism, endeavors to have forthright men fight under the Marquess of Queensberry Rules. To this end, Geary brings British coach, Harry Watson (Rhys Williams) over to the U.S. to evaluate prospects. Watson believes Corbett’s combative Irishness is an excellent fit for promotion. Geary concurs and takes Corbett on as his well-mannered protégé. Alas, Geary’s attempts to sell Corbett clash with Corbett’s innate arrogance. This creates friction between Corbett and upper crust socialite, Victoria Ware (Alexis Smith) during their first ‘cute meet’. However, as fate would have it, opposites attract.

Very soon, Victoria’s distaste for Corbett melts into romantic love. Corbett becomes a professional prizefighter under the auspices of manager, Billy Delaney (William Frawley) who introduces him to a more sophisticated method of boxing, with its emphasis on footwork. As Corbett’s reputation in the ring rises, he comes up against the more visceral fighting style of reigning champion, John L. Sullivan. Victoria, adverse to Corbett’s profession, though only because she now cares deeply for him, eventually comes around to attend the penultimate match between these two titans. Sullivan, whose physical prowess is on the wane, loses the bout to Corbett’s vigor and more sophisticated fighting style. Afterward, both men exchange heartfelt compliments and Corbett, having completely won Victoria’s heart, is crowned the new heavyweight champion of the world.

The success of Gentleman Jim is, in hindsight, well-deserved. The picture is accomplished and poignant in unexpected ways. And Flynn gives this fictional reincarnation of Corbett a subtler ballast. Interesting to consider what the real James John Corbett would have made of this fairytale reconstitution of his life. Corbett died in 1933, just as Flynn was beginning to make a name for himself in the movies. Survived by his second wife, Vera, Corbett too had aspirations of becoming an actor. Most assuredly, he possessed the good looks to succeed in that alternate profession. Alas, it was not to be. Instead, Corbett fought Peter ‘Black Prince’ Jackson in a legendary 61-round/no contest victory that catapulted him to national prominence. For his subsequent bout with Sullivan, Corbett trained extensively. His defeat of Sullivan was both a beginning and the end of his career as a professional pugilist. In the days before boxing commissions, and with the sport virtually outlawed in most states, Corbett was content to hold his heavyweight title near and dear, only occasionally thereafter to appear in the ring. In 1897, Corbett lost his title to Bob ‘Ruby Robert’ Fitzsimmons in Carson City, Nevada. Attempting to shore up his reputation and regain the title, Corbett quickly discovered Fitzsimmon’s was no fool. He refused to engage Corbett for another fight. Retiring from boxing, age 37, Corbett attempted once more to break into the movies. But it never panned out.

As for Flynn’s heroes, they continued to speak in soliloquy or with a pseudo-cultured eloquence for another two decades on the screen, though increasingly, to diminished box office returns. Flynn did manage to distinguish himself as a better than anticipated actor, playing the cad, Soames in MGM’s glossy, That Forsyte Woman (1949). Alas, subsequent movies made at his alma mater tried to wedge Flynn back into that Hollywood he-hunk mode of yore. Ironically, Flynn was to fare better away from Warner Bros., back at MGM again for Kim (1950), one of his most lavishly appointed and profitable movies. After more than 18 years and 35 films, Warner Bros. terminated Flynn’s contract when The Master of Ballantrae (1953), another costly attempt at the swashbuckler days, failed to perform up to snuff. For most of the remaining decade, Flynn tried his hand as a film star overseas. But the results were unexpectedly bland to downright disappointing. Wooed back to Hollywood, Flynn continued on his downward trajectory, with only a brief reprise in the 2oth Century-Fox mangled adaptation of Ernest Hemmingway’s The Sun Also Rises (1957).

Now, middle-aged, and having lost much of his physical prowess and dashing good looks, Flynn retreated into semi-retirement, sailing around the world on his yacht. In the halcyon days of youth, he had been known to squire A-lister debutantes and superstars like Lupe Vélez, Marlene Dietrich and Dolores del Río. Now, he was resorting to love where he found it and the pickings were decidedly slim. His failed marriages to actress, Lili Damita (with whom he had his only son, Sean – rather notoriously to vanish without a trace during a tour of duty in Cambodia), Nora Eddington (two daughters, Deirdre and Rory) and actress, Patrice Wymore (one daughter, Arnella Roma) were a source of niggling consternation. How could Hollywood’s most amiable lover be a dud in matrimony?  In 1959, Flynn's was virtually bankrupt. Leasing his beloved yacht to businessman, George Caldough while squiring 17-year-old Beverly Aadland, Flynn suddenly fell ill and was rushed to hospital. Barely 20 minutes later he was gone, the coroner signing off on a conclusion of myocardial infarction due to coronary thrombosis and atherosclerosis, with a fatty degeneration of the liver.

Since his time, like so many stars from Hollywood’s golden era, there has never been ‘another’ Errol Flynn. Though other actors of his generation valiantly tried to assume the mantle and cod piece, with some, like Stewart Granger, coming very close to achieving a Flynn-like athleticism, none who graced the sword thereafter, or even in Flynn’s own time, came nearest to his enviable charisma.  Since his passing, there have been any number of ‘tell-all’ books written about the man – mostly by those who never actually knew him while he lived. Those seeking the truest interpretation might turn to ‘My Wicked, Wicked Ways’ the autobiography Flynn deigned to author with ghostwriter, Earl Conrad, published posthumously in 1959. If Flynn was to reflect somewhat graciously upon his less than flattering moments of debauchery, he nevertheless remained truthful in admitting to them. Other books have either been revisionist critiques or hatchet jobs of the ‘Mommie Dearest’ ilk, to radicalize Flynn’s image as everything from a serial rapist to a Nazi sympathizer. History, however, is usually gravely imperfect and sincerely flawed – Flynn’s more so than most. What remains true enough about Flynn’s screen persona is that it radiated, and continues to project kilowatts of masculine stardust. There will never be another Errol Flynn. And perhaps, there never ought to be one either.  

The Warner Archive (WAC) unfurls another Flynn treasure from its storehouse, perfectly framed in 1.37:1 and presented in immaculate 1080p. This is a stunningly handsome B&W offering, with gorgeous gray scale tonality. Contrast is uniformly excellent and there is a light smattering of film grain appearing indigenous to its source. Black levels are a tad anemic. But forgivably so. This looks incredibly solid. Age-related artifacts are gone. The DTS 2.0 mono audio is beautifully rendered. Extras are limited to 3 short subjects from 1942 and a radio adaptation, plus a theatrical trailer. Bottom line: Gentleman Jim is a film, not only for lovers of Flynn (as opposed to Flynn’s lovers), but for lovers of cinema in general. While highly fictionalized, Walsh’s swift, yet sensitive direction and Flynn’s affecting congeniality make for a truly memorable movie that warms the heart.  The Blu-ray is near perfect. Very highly recommended!

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

5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

2