Ocean's Eleven.

No, not the George Clooney one.

Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack pals star in the original 1960 version of Ocean's Eleven. Frank teams up with Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., and Peter Lawford for this film, shot on location in Las Vegas. The film portrays the exploits of a reunited army unit as they try to rob five casinos on the same night. It's truly a "Rat Pack era" film--much of the action takes place in and around the casinos, and booze, women and money are plentiful.

I'd like to take a closer look at one particular scene which gives a glimpse of the Rat Pack lifestyle. After all the vets arrive in Las Vegas, Frank (Danny Ocean) lays out the plan and clues his buddies in as to how much they can expect to net from the venture. Later on, the men sit around in a sort of gameroom/bar area and discuss what they plan to do with their shares of the take. Their conversations reveal their attitudes towards women, racial others and politics.

Dean Martin (Sam Harmon) makes some noise about repealing the 14th and 20th amendments, so he could "take the vote away from women and make slaves out of 'em." Misogynistic remarks like this carry on throughout the film, epitomizing the playboy attitude.

When asked what he plans to do with the money, Frank's remarks aren't much friendlier to females. He says, "I'd do somethin' for world peace. Buy out the Miss Universe pageant and take all the girls out. Sit down and talk to them individually, you know. Find out how things are in Sweden." He goes on to speak about bringing all of the Miss Universe contestants to New Orleans for a weekend, and his friends agree that Frank's idea is a good one.

Peter Lawford (Jimmy Foster) is primarily interested in going into politics and maybe buying some votes with his newfound cash to get there. Racking his brain for a high-ranking but low-profile position, he says, "You know how much money a man could steal if he were....uhh...Commissioner of Indian Affairs? That's what I'll be." It's interesting to note Lawford's character's supposed interest in politics here. Lawford married Patricia Kennedy in 1954, making him brother-in-law to John F. Kennedy. In 1960, the same year that Ocean's Eleven was released, Lawford became an American citizen so he could vote for his brother-in-law in the presidential election. Lawford and the rest of the Rat Pack actively campaigned for Kennedy.

Sammy Davis, Jr. (Josh Howard) suggests that perhaps Lawford could be an ambassador. Lawford replies, "Yeah, in a small country like Andorra," again seaching for a cushy, low-stress appointment. Here, Sammy pipes in, "Or Little Rock!" This, and the fact that the audience is introduced to Sammy as he sings the blues, continues to identify Sammy as a racial other, which, in the Rat Pack, he is. Although we know that Frank was a longtime crusader for civil rights, it seems odd that Sammy is set apart in such a distinct way in this film.

Some Came Running.

In Some Came Running (1958), Frank Sinatra plays Dave Hirsh, a veteran (shocking) who returns to his hometown in Parkman, Indiana. He spends the duration of the film juggling relationships with Gwen French, a creative writing teacher played by Martha Hyer, and Ginnie Moorehead, a dumb floozy from Chicago played by Shirley MacLaine. Already, there is a dichotomy set up between Ginnie and Gwen--the two women are polar opposites.

Sinatra is much less the playboy in this film than he is in other films of the same era, but I think that's because the female characters don't allow him to be. The presence of Gwen, a strong, self-assured, confident woman, prevents Frank from lapsing into his playboy ways. Gwen rebuffs Frank's advances throughout much of the film and reprimands him, saying, "If you want to flatter me, I've only one good feature and that's my mind." She questions him about his friendly, cordial relationship with her father, asking, "Why can't you have the same kind of relationship with an intelligent woman?" Disappointingly, Gwen crumbles when Frank starts kissing her after she reads through a story he has written. As he pulls the pins out of her hair, she relaxes. Gwen must actually, physically "let her hair down" before she can be with him.

Even then, Gwen is still unsure about how she feels about Frank. He is surprisingly open with her, saying, "Just know that I'm the kid who wants to marry you. That is something I want more than anything else in the world,"but she is still wishy-washy.

Frank himself sets up this stark contrast between smart Gwen, who gets a job at a publishing house in New York, and Ginnie, who hasn't "got enough sense to come in out of the rain unless someone leads [her] by the hand."

It would seem that Ginnie is ready to give Frank whatever he wants and to play into the "bunny" stereotype, but she's actually pretty independent at the beginning of the film. At the beginning of the film, Frank drops her quickly after he realizes that he drunkenly brought her on a bus to Parkman, but Ginnie manages to find her way to the bar just fine. It is only then that audiences are introduced to her former lover, a mobster who has followed her to Parkman from Chicago. After this introduction, Ginnie becomes the damsel in distress. She is slavishly devoted to Frank and ends up throwing herself in front of him at the end of the film to save his life, sacrificing her own.

As we saw in Anchors Aweigh, Sinatra's performance changes greatly when the plot revolves primarily around the decisions and actions of female characters. Although Dave Hirsh is the main character in Some Came Running, the plot is really decided by Ginnie's and Gwen's actions. Their choices and ways of being prevent Sinatra from being the playboy. Instead, they pigeonhole him into begging for Gwen's hand in marriage and being protected from gunshots by Ginnie.

Frank & Joe E. Lewis

On Tuesday in class, we watched a concert Sinatra gave at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas in the 1970s, which fit nicely with our film screening this week, The Joker is Wild (1957). In the film, Sinatra plays Joe E. Lewis, singer and nightclub comedian. Sinatra greatly admired Lewis and commonly referred to Lewis as a master of the trade, so it was interesting to see Sinatra portray one of his heroes on the silver screen.

The Joker is Wild tells the tale of Lewis's fight to regain stardom after a violent brush with the Mob prevents him from singing again. Vocal cords sliced, Lewis is forced to find a route to celebrity that doesn't rely on his pipes, so he turns to comedy. Sinatra came to imitate Lewis's gentle teasing and self-deprecating manner in his live performances. Sinatra also picked up Lewis's style of ribbing his friends and acquaintances in the audience. In fact, at the concert at Caesar's Palace, Sinatra used one of the same jokes that Sinatra-as-Lewis uses in the film. Teasing an older celebrity in attendance at the show, Sinatra chortles, 'He's been dead for a week now, but we haven't had the heart to tell him!" 

In the opening scene of the film, Lewis acknowledges a man in the crowd who came from a rival club. The two men signal back and forth to each other, and the visitor indicates that he'd like Lewis to perform at his club soon. During the concert at Caesar's Palace, Sinatra acknowledges and welcomes various distinguished guests in a more overt style. 

Also in the opening scene of The Joker is Wild, Lewis establishes himself as an expressive performer who uses large, sweeping gestures and no microphone. Throughout the film, Lewis rarely uses a mic, perhaps because he tends to be in intimate, small clubs where amplification is not needed. Sinatra, on the other hand, was the master of the microphone. 

Sinatra and Lewis both always had drinks in hand during their performances as well, although Lewis's drinking became a problem for him at various points in his career. From The Joker is Wild originates one of the most widely-quoted lines about drinking in American culture:

"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day."

Frank & The Playboy Image.

In The Tender Trap (1955), Sinatra's character Charlie Reader is the on-screen manifestation of the playboy lifestyle. In the opening scene, viewers find Charlie reclining on a couch as the woman laying on top of him feeds him grapes. As Charlie's childhood friend Joe arrives at the bachelor pad and announces that he needs a place to stay while he and his wife take a break, a parade of young women march in and out of Charlie's apartment. I'm interested in the reasons why these girls were so attracted to Charlie. I think that the playboy bachelor, simultaneously very adult and very childish, fulfills some maternal instincts in the girls attracted to him.

Charlie is successful and wealthy--his career as a talent agent puts him in contact with rising stars and the generous salary allows him to live a lavish, comfortable lifestyle. Financial success can be a draw for some women, particularly the "gold digger" types who just want to be wined, dined, and gifted, but the women who spend their time with Charlie don't make him do the work of wooing. Instead, the women who come to Charlie do so to care for him. They bring him dinner, clean up the apartment, and walk his dog. When Joe tells Charlie that the women "want what they all want...to feed you, caress you, burp you, sew monograms on your shirts," he is alluding directly to the intensely child-like side of the playboy persona. Perhaps that's just it--playBOYs revel in boyish, youthful states and attract the maternal care of young women.

Frank & XM.

I spent 14 hours in the car yesterday, roadtripping home to North Carolina from Notre Dame. Lucky for me, the car I was in had XM satellite radio. I spent the majority of the trip fiddling around with the dial, flicking through hundreds of channels of music and news and comedy shows. To my surprise, Frank Sinatra has his very own channel--#73. It's an XM/Sirius collaboration called "SIRIUSly Sinatra." Cue eye rolls.

I was so excited at the prospect of listening to Frank for the duration of my journey, but I quickly became disillusioned with the Sinatra station. It wasn't all Sinatra! The channel mostly played covers or songs that could be tangentially related to Sinatra, but weren't actually sung by him. A lot of the artists on the station were of the "Sinatra era" (which is, as we've learned, very broad)--some probably performed with Sinatra at some point, and many were his direct competitors. It only takes a few notes to recognize Frank's voice, and more often than not, it wasn't Frank I was hearing. I heard Bing Crosby, Mel Torme, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Nat King Cole, Harry Connick Jr., Dean Martin, Rod Stewart (!), Shirley Temple, Nancy Sinatra, and Doris Day, but only a handful of songs actually sung by Old Blue Eyes himself. 

XM must have cheaped out and purchased a too-small selection of Sinatra music, because the other stations dedicated to particular artists didn't seem to be running out of material. Disappointed with the Sinatra channel, I kept turning back to the Elvis station (#18). Every time I tuned in, it was Elvis singing. I even caught The King covering Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline," and it was awesome. Nobody but Elvis sings on the Elvis station. Same thing for the Bruce Springsteen station (#58). A few other artists "host" channels which play music of a particular genre, like Radio Margaritaville (#55) and B.B. King's Bluesville (#74).

If you're gonna make the claim that a channel is "SIRIUSly Sinatra," then own up to it! I want all Sinatra, all the time. 

In the mean time, a Sinatra channel on Pandora serves the same purpose as the XM channel. And it's free.

Frank & Drugs.

In The Man With The Golden Arm (1955), Frank Sinatra plays Frankie Machine, an aspiring musician and not-really-recovering heroin addict. The film has quite a few vivid scenes of Machine shooting up and going through withdrawal. It was difficult to watch Sinatra in this role, and I imagine it would have been downright unsettling for audiences to see 55 years ago.

This week in class, we spent time discussing the way that Sinatra uses cigarettes in his films and musical performances to create drama and to emphasize his fragile brand of masculinity. As Frankie Machine, Sinatra uses cigarettes as devices to reveal his character and accentuate the seriousness of his heroin addiction.

Near the beginning of the film, Machine establishes himself as a deceptive card shark by performing a sleight-of-hand trick with a cigarette. This scene takes place when Machine and Sparrow are sitting in jail, and Sparrow asks Machine to "do a cigarette trick, just to break the monotony." After he is released from jail, Machine gets roped into dealing cards for Schwiefka. His hands shake as he is dealing, so Machine goes outside to have a cigarette to calm his nerves and to attempt to stave off the symptoms of heroin withdrawal. Later, when Machine goes to light a cigarette for his girlfriend Molly, his hands shake and he becomes oddly fascinated by the lit match. It is then that Molly realizes that Machine has relapsed.

Machine says, "I guess in the beginning you do it only for kicks," in reference to his heroin habit. Drug users of all stripes have uttered these words about all sorts of substances, from legal ones like nicotine and alcohol to illegal ones like heroin.

The Man With The Golden Arm was hard to watch because the Frankie Machine character was not well-marked as different from Frank Sinatra himself. Musicians, womanizers, Franks.

I found myself really hating Zosh, Machine's faux-crippled wife. Besides the fact that the character deceives her husband and clingily manipulates him into staying with her, I thought the actress was unbearably annoying. I was glad to see Zosh take herself out of the picture at the end of the film.

Frank & James.

A few weeks ago, I posted about an article called "The Night Sinatra Happened," which was featured in Vanity Fair magazine. The author of the article, James Kaplan, is the author of a newly released book about Sinatra called "Frank--The Voice." Michiko Kakutani's reviews Kaplan's book in today's The New York Times. The article refers to well-respected writers and books in the Sinatriana canon, such that it is. My classmates might be familiar with Pete Hamill, author of "Why Sinatra Matters," and Will Friedwald, author of "Sinatra! The Song Is You."

I was surprised to learn that Kaplan's new book "ends before Sinatra's ascent to legendary status," ending just after Sinatra's 1953 Academy Award win for his role as Angelo Maggio in From Here to Eternity. Because the majority of Sinatra's dramatic (as opposed to musical) roles in films came after 1953, it seems that Kaplan's book would have to portray him mostly as a musician, largely ignoring his acting prowess.

Frank & The Reds.

In this week's film lab, we screened The Manchurian Candidate (1962). The film dovetails last week's discussion of Sinatra's Democratic leanings and alleged Communist involvement with this week's focus on Sinatra's relationship to presidential politics. 


The Manchurian Candidate seems to be more focused on providing a commentary on the Red Scare and the paranoia surrounding Communist activity in the 1950s and 1960s than on Sinatra's personal leftist leanings. The Communists in the film brainwash Lawrence Harvey's Raymond Shaw as an assassin, shrewdly hypnotizing him so that he has no memory of his actions. This new state leaves Shaw free from "those uniquely American symptoms--guilt and fear." The Communist characters in the film give audiences insightful glimpses into two things: first, what American producers and directors guessed Communist leaders were thinking about Americans, and second, what the American producers and directors really thought about themselves. The scenes where the Communists speak about Shaw as a new kind of weapon are particularly telling--Americans were worried about the threat within.


As Major Bennett Marco, Sinatra portrays a radically different type of character than in his previous films. The difference between Marco and Sinatra's musical characters is perhaps most easily noticed, but the Marco character is also a departure from Sinatra's dramatic soldier roles. For one, Marco is an intellectual. His apartment is filled with stacks of books (my kind of guy), and he enjoys reading about everything from "principles of modern bankruptcy and diseases of horses" to "ethnic choices of the Arabs and history of piracy". In war films, Sinatra's drunken buffoonery often serves as comic relief from the stresses of combat (see Maggio in From Here to Eternity and Francis in None But The Brave). 


In his musical films, Sinatra plays the naive young military man, totally inept in the ways of romance (see Anchors Aweigh and It Happened in Brooklyn). He also tends to play the second-fiddle love interest to greats like Peter Lawford, Gene Kelly, and Marlon Brando (It Happened in Brooklyn, On The Town, and Guys and Dolls, respectively). In The Manchurian Candidate, we finally see a Sinatra who is comfortable with himself and his relationships. He doesn't go through the shenanigans of pursuing the "wrong" girl until the last minute, when he realizes that the "right" girl has been under his nose the whole time. Instead, Sinatra meets Janet Leigh's Eugenie Rose Chaney early in the film. A strong female character, Leigh asserts herself and gives Sinatra her address and number when they meet on a train. She goes home, breaks off her engagement to another man, and rushes to the police station to bail out Sinatra after he is picked up for getting in a fight. 


An interesting note--at one point during the film, a movie theater in the background of a scene displays an advertisement for Walt Disney's "Pinocchio" on the marquee. The film is set after the end of the Korean War (so sometime after 1953). "Pinocchio" was released in 1940.
Additionally, I found it odd that the actor who plays Chunjin, an "Oriental" interpreter who comes to ask Shaw for employment, is actually a Brooklyn-born Italian. 

None But The Brave.

Maybe my mind is just stuck on Sinatra's politics because that's what we've been focusing on in class lately, but while screening "None But The Brave," I kept thinking about "Kings Go Forth" and "The House I Live In," two Sinatra films which deal racial and religious prejudice. It seemed to me that Sinatra directed "None But The Brave" (1968) not only as a war film but also as a social critique of racism. As the film opens, the credits are segregated. The names of the American actors appear on the left side of the screen, and the names of the Japanese actors appear on the right. This automatically sets up a dichotomy and establishes the Japanese as distinctly "not American." The first few minutes of the film depict the day to day activities of a platoon of Japanese castaways, and to maintain a level of realism, Sinatra chooses to have the soldiers speak in Japanese (except for an initial voiceover). The conspicuous absence of subtitles is a curious but effective device for the exposition of the film.

Sinatra's character Francis is a hard-drinking but racially-tolerant Navy medic. He stands in contrast to 2nd Lieutenant Blair (played by Tommy Sands), an upstart officer determined to race in to battle against what he presumes to be a menacing Japanese enemy. Clint Walker portrays Captain Dennis Bourke, Sinatra's friend and the leader of the marooned soldiers. Sinatra plays off these two to create for his character the image of the racially-tolerant, accepting playboy. When Sands speaks disdainfully about the "dirty Japs," Sinatra replies, "Dirty Jap, huh? They invented the bathtub." Small, seemingly offhand comments like this bolster Sinatra's character's image as non-judgmental and open. His character also gets to look like a fun guy because in addition to his perpetual drinking, he used to be "shacked up with some L.A. dame" who followed him to the Pacific Theater.

Later in the film, it is Sinatra's character who acts as the bargaining chip between the Japanese and American soldiers. The Japanese commanding officer requests Sinatra's medical services for a wounded soldier, and in return, offers the Americans access to food and clean water. Walker instructs Sinatra to act as a spy to determine the materials, camp setup, and manpower of the Japanese soldiers. Sinatra amputates a young soldier's leg and returns to follow up on the procedure. Instead of gathering information which could possibly be used against the Japanese, Sinatra spends his time in the Japanese camp treating various maladies and painting smiley faces on bandages.

After trading Sinatra's medical skills, the Americans and the Japanese come to an uneasy peace and agree to a truce until either side rejoins their country's war efforts. During this time of neutrality, the Japanese and Americans work together to sandbag the reservoir. A Japanese soldier saves Sands when he falls in the water during a storm, and Sands' opinion of the "dirty Japs" changes. At the end of the film, Sands tells Lieutenant Kuroki, the Japanese commander, "Lt. Kuroki, you can take this for whatever it's worth. Maybe it's not much, but you're a hell of a guy."

Lt. Kuroki and Walker share stories about their lives before the war. Upon hearing that Lt. Kuroki "was a staff writer for various periodicals," Walker exclaims, "Well I'll be damned! I had you pegged as a bonafide samurai." This is another instance when the audience sees a shift in a character's perspective and the melting away of preconceived notions and stereotypes.

Despite all of these changes of heart, the Japanese soldiers all end up getting killed at the end of the film. Sinatra makes the movie's anti-war message clear by displaying the message "NOBODY EVER WINS" on the final scene. I think this message is actually secondary to the film's less obviously stated message of racial tolerance. Sinatra's characters serves as the catalyst for the Japanese/American interactions which lead the soldiers to overcome their stereotyped thinking. Sands and Walker, the two commanding American officers, see stereotypes that they had held disintegrate when they get to know the Japanese soldiers. Similarly, Kuroki learns that he has much in common with Walker, despite their different nationalities. Like the (somewhat uncomfortable) tagline says, "The brave are never different--only different looking!"

Vanity Fair.

Anybody looking for a topical-yet-fun midterm week diversion should be sure to check out a great article called "The Night Sinatra Happened" in this month's Vanity Fair. 

The story is a perfect example not only of Vanity Fair's mastery of long-form journalism but also of some great fact-finding. The piece is a collection of excerpts from James Kaplan's new book "Frank: The Voice," which is to be published in November.

The article has great quotes and details about Sinatra's time with Tommy Dorsey. Kaplan pulls some quotes from Pete Hamill (we've read his book "Why Sinatra Matters" in class), but much of his material comes from other figures who interacted with Sinatra during the early period of his career.

 Kaplan has found some incredible archived photographs of Sinatra from the early 1940s when he was first breaking on to the pop music scene. Kaplan unearthed a picture of Sinatra singing at his first gig at the Rustic Cabin nightclub in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey; of course, Sinatra's mother Dolly supposedly pulled some mob strings to get her baby boy his first job singing. Additionally, Kaplan uses photographs of Sinatra and Bing Crosby together and of Sinatra wearing a sailor hat and smoking a pipe while recording to draw parallels between the singers and to emphasize Crosby's dominance at the time Frank was becoming popular.

Many of the photographs in the print version of the article are not available online, but the text of the article can be found here.

Kings Go Forth.

Some observations about “Kings Go Forth” (1958):

--In “Kings Go Forth,” Frank Sinatra plays Lieutenant Sam Loggins. Sam narrates the film and volunteers his perspective as the events unfold. In keeping with many of the other Sinatra films we’ve seen, Sam comes from a working class family on the west side of Manhattan. I was intrigued by the fact that Sinatra continues to play characters from such similar backgrounds—often, backgrounds strikingly similar to his own. Does he select these roles because he feels as though he can identify with the character based on origins alone? Or does playing the tough New York guy become a fallback for Sinatra? I suppose his role in “High Society” was a departure from the “raised on the mean streets of New York” role that he so often falls in to. I found myself wondering if the New York background gave his characters some kind of intangible credibility in the military films, but Sinatra played characters from New York in other films too, like Nathan Detroit in “Guys and Dolls.”

--The racial twist in “Kings Go Forth” surprised me. I was not expecting the lovely French-born American Monique Blair (Natalie Wood) to announce that she had a Negro father. It just goes to show you that looks can be deceiving…especially in films.

Throughout his career, Sinatra was a vocal advocate for civil rights. In his 1945 short film “The House I Live In”, Sinatra addresses religious tolerance. The film doesn’t allow him to discuss race outright, but by bringing a conversation about religious differences to the table, Sinatra helps to open the door for conversations about racial inequality.

In the ten-minute short, there is a brief discussion about blood and the mixing of blood. Sinatra’s argument is that people are people and blood is blood, regardless of where that blood’s body goes to church. The unspoken argument here about race is as close as “The House I Live In” gets to touching upon the tense subject. In “Kings Go Forth,” Monique’s blood, according to the prevailing quasi-scientific measures of the time, is half black. Despite her lily-white skin, Monique would have been considered black and subjected to much (if not more) of the segregation and discrimination faced by African Americans in the US.

I found Sam’s response to Monique’s surprising news to be very believable, considering the time period—he stepped back and took some time to figure out what to do about the situation and to decide whether or not he was going to continue to pursue a relationship with Monique and her mother. This was definitely Sam’s reaction to the announcement, not Sinatra’s. Frank likely would have brushed off the news about Monique’s father and continued to see Monique, but Sam needed time to sort out his thoughts.

Frank & Bing & Grace & Louis.

For my Fine Arts requirement, I took a class called "Introduction to Jazz" in Spring 2009. It was a really fun primer to a uniquely American art form--it certainly diversified my iTunes library. We had one session on Frank Sinatra as a jazz artist towards the end of the semester. The first day of class, however, we watched a YouTube video of Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong singing a song called "Now You Has Jazz." (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dC3VTBG0tRc)

The clip was from High Society (1956). The film stars Bing Crosby as C.J. Dexter-Haven (aka Dexter), a jazz cat trying to win over his ex-wife and neighbor Tracy Lord, the lovely Grace Kelly. Our pal Frank Sinatra also stars in the film as Mike Connor, an undercover tabloid journalist who becomes attracted to Tracy while covering her wedding to businessman George Kittredge, played by John Lund. The plot erupts into a sort of love-square, or a triangle with Kelly at the center.

A few observations:

--The film's portrayal of Crosby as a jazz musician is odd, considering the presence of Louis Armstrong and his band. Crosby doesn't do anything particularly jazzy, other than sing in his normal crooner style. The "Now You Has Jazz" number is really quite vanilla--a comfortable introduction to the dangerous, outsider world of jazz music for the stuffy gala crowd. Considering the prevailing trends in jazz music at the time of the film's release, the number in High Society is a bland swing composition. In the mid-1950s, jazz had transitioned from the familiar, approachable Benny Goodman-type big band dance arrangements to the esoteric, challenging styles of bebop, cool jazz, and hard bop. In 1956, anyone familiar with the jazz scene would have already heard the work of John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk. "Now You Has Jazz" is friendly--it is, appropriately, Bing Crosby-style jazz. 

--Sinatra and Crosby aren't set at odds as crooners in High Society. They have one number together, a delightfully silly drunken duet. Crosby establishes himself vocally early in the film--he has the first musical number. It makes sense for his character to be singing. After all, Dexter is a jazz musician. The backstory is that Dexter wrote a song called "Samantha" as an ode to his young wife Tracy. When Sinatra sings, it's a little more incongruous. Tabloid journalists aren't supposed to have pipes like that! 

--Sinatra seems like the third-tier musician in the film. Crosby wins, I think because his character is a musician and he can sing. But for me, Louis Armstrong beat Sinatra for the second spot. Armstrong plays himself in a very odd narrator role. He opens the film in a bus with his band, singing the "High Society Calypso," a prologue for the film. Throughout, Armstrong pops in and comments on the action and progress of the narrative. Armstrong validated Crosby as the primary musical character by providing accompaniment for Crosby's first song. Crosby sings to Caroline Lord in the garden, and a few bars into the song, the camera pans the yard as Crosby strolls around. When Crosby walks past an open door, we see Armstrong inside, playing the accompaniment for the song with his band. This little detail makes Crosby's performance much more believable and realistic. When Sinatra sings, he doesn't have any visible accompaniment, so it feels much more like a movie or a Broadway show. 

Frank & Marlon.

I have a sizeable crush on Marlon Brando. Not creepy, threatening Don Corleone Marlon Brando, but strapping, young, On the Waterfront Marlon Brando. 

Marlon Brando and Frank Sinatra starred in Guys and Dolls in 1955. Brando played suave high roller Sky Masterson, and Sinatra played "old reliable" Nathan Detroit. While watching the film, I put aside my Brando infatuation to try to determine the models of masculinity that the men portray.

As Nathan Detroit, Sinatra plays a guy with a huge social network. Detroit is the purveyor of the "oldest established permanent floating crap game in New York", so he always knows where the action is and who the players are. In addition to a pack of gambling buddies, Detroit also has Miss Adelaide, his long-suffering nightclub singer fiance of 14 years. Nathan doesn't even have to try to get Adelaide to fall in love with him--this lack of romantic conquest is a distinct change of pace from the earlier Sinatra films we've watched. Detroit is reluctant to tie the knot with Adelaide because he doesn't want to be tied down, even though they've been engaged for such a long time. The Nathan Detroit character is surprisingly similar to the Rat Pack persona that Sinatra puts forth in the mid/late 1950s. Sinatra poses himself as this hat-wearing, swinging playboy type, and it becomes his most enduring incarnation. 

Like Sinatra's Detroit, Brando's Masterson is suave and confident, but he expresses that confidence in different ways. Masterson takes on Detroit's challenge to take Mission "doll" Sarah Brown to Havana. He is extremely certain of his ability to make Sarah fall for him. This brazen assertiveness comes with a slight lack of self-awareness--Masterson doesn't realize that he could (and does) fall for Sarah too! 

At the end of the film, Sky and Sarah share a joint wedding with Nathan and Adelaide. Brando doesn't seem the type to fall for a whirlwind romance, but is more plausible that Sinatra would keep a girl waiting on him for 14 years. 

Frank & Don.

Frank Sinatra released "In the Wee Small Hours" in 1955. The LP marked Sinatra's foray into the concept album, and it is characterized by a "mood of late-night isolation and aching lost love".

Sinatra's 1955 album inspired the title of a Season Three episode of AMC's hit drama Mad Men. "Wee Small Hours" is set in September of 1963 and the episode first ran in 2009--8 and 54 years after the release of the album, respectively. Despite the passage of time, Sinatra's album remains relevant to set the tone of the television episode.

Mad Men chronicles the work and womanizing of Don Draper, creative director at New York firm Sterling Cooper. "Wee Small Hours" begins just then with an early morning phone call for Don from client Conrad Hilton. Don leaves his wife Betty and their new baby, presumably to go to work, but on his way to the office, Don sees his daughter's primary school teacher jogging. He picks her up in his car and tries to pick her up for "coffee", but she resists his advances. Don never plays the jilted lover--he always gets the girl (and eventually succeeds with the teacher), but so far, Sinatra's "In the Wee Small Hours" fits the mood of this episode.

Other characters have their own "Wee Small Hours" moments as well. Betty begins her relationship with politician Henry Francis; (spoiler!) they marry after Betty divorces Don at the end of the season. At Sterling Cooper, a client comes on to Sal, the closeted art director. Jilted and embarrassed, the client calls the agency and demands that Sal be fired for being "uncooperative".

By the end of the episode, Sal has called his wife to tell her he loves her, Betty and Henry have shared their first kiss, and Don has slept with the teacher. The episode ends at night, just as it began. Much of the action that transpires in "Wee Small Hours" follows the "late-night longing" theme of Sinatra's album.

In characteristic Mad Men style, the only musical soundtrack to the show is the song that plays just after the last scene and through the credits. Despite the title of the episode, Sinatra does not make a musical appearance in this final song. The writers of Mad Men create a very particular and subtle mood for the episode by naming it after Sinatra's album but not invoking Sinatra's music.

(This link will take you to a John Mayer cover of  "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning."  It's also relevant, considering that Don Draper and John Mayer share a talent for making women swoon and for treating ladies with complete disrespect.)

From Here to Eternity.

I don't see what the fuss is about.

Frank Sinatra won an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his performance as Private Angelo Maggio in From Here to Eternity (1953). 

Sinatra's role in the film was small. Granted, Maggio was an important figure in terms of plot advancement, but he had limited screen time and not a whole lot of dialogue. This is the role for which Sinatra fought so hard, used Mob muscle, had Ava Gardner beg and plead with the studio? 

I don't get it.

Maybe the film (and Sinatra as Maggio) received such hype and acclaim because it was Sinatra's first departure from the musical comedy genre and his first foray into serious drama. Like the previous films we have screened for class, Sinatra plays a military man, but From Here to Eternity uses the military to set up the context of the lives of the characters on base and of the power structure in place. 

In the Maggio character, Sinatra finds an avenue to prove how tough and masculine he can be. Maggio drinks copiously, flirts freely, and fights frequently. He is court marshaled and sent to the stockade for 6 months as punishment for a barroom brawl and for insubordination. Maggio finds his way out of the stockade with a carefully planned escape, but on his way back to his friend Prewitt, Maggio falls out of the back of his escape vehicle. He has been beaten recently, and the combination of the injuries from the beatings and from the fall prove to be too much for Maggio--he dies an uncomfortable death on screen, in the arms of his friend. 

Maggio would have had no place in Anchors Aweigh, It Happened in Brooklyn, or On The Town. He is too rough around the edges, too ethnic (he is frequently referred to as a "wop" by an antagonizing character). Only shiny, happy, perky Sinatra can sing and dance with Gene Kelly.

On The Town.

On The Town is a slight departure from the previous two films we have watched for class. Instead of playing the romantic buffoon opposite a male costar (like in It Happened in Brooklyn or Anchors Aweigh), this time, Frank Sinatra plays it coy with two male costars! Sinatra, Gene Kelly, and Jules Munshin are sailors on shore leave (another recurring theme) in New York City for a day, and they want to make the most of their time by seeing the sights and meeting some "Manhattan women".

In the previous two films we have seen, Sinatra's character is shy and uncertain around women. It is only towards the end of the films that Sinatra gains confidence and discovers that the girl for him has been right under his nose the entire time. In On The Town, Sinatra begins the film by playing up to the country bumpkin stereotypes of being simple, inexperienced, and modest. Through his exposure to progressive women in the film, Sinatra breaks from his Peoria past and becomes more confident and suave.

The three female characters in the film represent modern, metropolitan women. They break gender norms and defy stereotypes, but at the end of the day, they end up falling in love with the sailors and sacrifice the independence they have gained. The first female character we meet is Ivy, who is the Miss Turnstiles pin-up girl of the month. Kelly falls for her when he sees her picture in the subway. She is a lovely girl who enjoys all the pastimes of New York's social elite. A dance number introduces Ivy as "a frail and flower-like creature, but oh boy! What an athlete!" After she paints and dances, Ivy pantomines winning a race against a group of young men. Ivy "roughs up" the boys and finishes the number perched jauntily on top of a pile of her vanquished competitors, a perky smile on her exquisite face.

After Kelly falls in love with Ivy, the sailors walk outside to hail a cab. To their surprise, the cabbie is a woman. "Hey! He's a girl! What are you doing driving a cab? The war's over." Brunhilde, or Hildy, replies saucily, "I never give up anything I like." Hildy ends up with Sinatra, but only after she aggressively demands that he "come up to [her] place". She also tells him, "Stick with me kid, I can teach you plenty." Hildy is so forward about her attraction to Sinatra, so bluntly honest, that it takes him by surprise. A kid from Peoria like Sinatra isn't used to girls coming right out and asking to be kissed. Hildy's confidence and self-awareness, combined with her brash approach to romance, provide Sinatra with a new model of womanhood. And it turns out that he likes it (and Hildy) very much.

The third female character in On The Town is Claire, an anthropologist. We meet Claire when she compares Jules Munshin's character to a neanderthal specimen in a museum. Claire, in addition to being a well-educated young woman, is intensely sexual and suggestive. When Sinatra asks, "Hey, how come a girl like you is interested in this stuff?", Claire responds, "I've been running around with all kinds of men. My guardian thought if I took up an objective study of men, I'd get it out of my system!" The song she sings ("Prehistoric Man") is chock full of double entendres, shimmies, and winks. Claire sings, "Bear skin/Bear skin/He just sat around in bear skin/I really love *bare* skin!" In this number, Hildy is desexualized because she runs around apelike, playing drums with the men. This sets up a stark contrast between Hildy and Claire.

The biggest shock of all comes at the end of the film when it is revealed that Ivy, Miss Turnstiles, has been working as a "cooch dancer" at Coney Island. Kelly accepts her for it, and the men put on a show in order to save Ivy.
One way in which On The Town differs from the other films we have analyzed is that this time, Sinatra sticks with the same girl for the whole film. He doesn't have to change his mind or discover that the woman who he has been pursuing is actually destined to be with his costar. In On The Town, the pairings are clear from the very beginning.

It is only through his encounters with these enlightened, fresh female characters that Sinatra's character is able to develop from a reserved, small town boy into the self-assured sailor who gets his girl. This parallels Sinatra's actual persona development to some extent--it was only through his encounters with devoted women and crazed fans that he was able to cloak himself in a mantle of machismo.

Sinatra & American Studies.

I was able to get a seat in the Sinatra class because it was crosslisted under my major, American Studies. The course is intended for FTT (Film, Television, and Theater) majors, although I believe there are a few seats reserved for Gender Studies students as well. Reading Pete Hamill's book Why Sinatra Matters, I couldn't help thinking about the study of Frank Sinatra in the context of American Studies. 

Hamill's book revolves around the central thesis that Sinatra is important--he matters. And he matters because he "transcended several eras and indirectly helped change the way all of us lived"(6). Much has been made of Sinatra's Italian heritage. Because of his immigrant roots, Sinatra has come to embody the up-by-the-bootstraps success story of a poor city kid making it big and becoming a star. In addition to considering the importance of ethnic identity to Sinatra's image, we can also examine technology and crime as important tools of Americanization that led to Sinatra's success. 

As an Italian-American, Sinatra was subject to significant ethnic discrimination. He was the subject of class assumptions and eventually became a symbol and a representative for working class America. Sinatra was shaped by "the stark conflict between what America promised and what America delivered"(49) during his childhood in Hoboken. Despite having witnessed this contrast and the hardships faced by other immigrants, Sinatra remained committed to his Italian-American identity. He refused to change his last name to the more stage-friendly "Satin". Instead, he elected to retain his surname Sinatra. Ironically, "Sinatra" is actually an Americanized version of "sinestra", the Italian word for left.

Hamill notes that so many of the composers who crafted the classics of the era in which Sinatra grew up were of immigrant stock themselves. Irving Berlin from Siberia, Yip Harburg from Russia, Harry Warren from Italy; "All were very American, creators of most of those songs that became known as the 'standards' of twentieth-century American music"(95). These earlier immigrant musicians paved the way for immigrant stars like Sinatra. At the same time that Sinatra was gaining popularity, so were integrated swing and jazz bands. Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman--all the great jazz band leaders were beginning to include musicians of other races in their performance groups. This process of democratization through music was a telltale sign of things to come. 

Technology, another democratizing force, played an integral role both in the Americanization process for immigrant children and in the rise of Sinatra's stardom. Hamill writes about how the motion picture, the phonograph, and the radio "would provide one form of national unity, allowing people form every region and every ethnic group to share common emotional experiences"(52). Virtually every home had a radio, so all kinds of people could listen to programming in English or even in Italian. Immigrant children immersed themselves in the English language through radio, and hearing English words spoken or sung fostered their cognition. Technology, as a force for Americanization, was critical to Sinatra's success as the creator of "an urban American voice"(93). 

Continuing with the immigrant theme, we can interrogate Sinatra's alleged Mob connections as a part of his image. The Mob, according to Hamill, "was not a synonym for the Mafia. It was an alliance of Jews, Italians, and a few Irishmen...who organized a supply, and often the production, of liquor during the thirteen years...of Prohibition"(79). The Mob was an entirely new concept, an American invention created by immigrants who "believed that it was foolish to abide by the old Sicilian traditions of excluding non-Sicilians in the name of honor and respect....This was America; you worked with any nationality if it was in your common interest"(79). The Mob represented the democratization of crime--the opportunity to partake in illegal activity and make a quick buck doing so became an option for all. No longer restricted by la via vecchia, the immigrants bucked tradition and opened the Mob up to anyone willing to participate, including, as the story goes, Sinatra. Equal opportunity law-flouting. What's more American than that?

Technology and crime served as processes of democratization and Americanization which, in concert with his immigrant identity, catapulted Sinatra to the height of fame. And after The Fall, technology and crime helped bring Sinatra back to his former glory. 

Frank & Justin.

Is it blasphemous to draw a comparison between Frank Sinatra and Justin Bieber?

The front page of today's New York Times Arts section has a review of Bieber's recent concert at Madison Square Garden. Two color pictures accompany the article--a large photo of white denim-clad Bieber, and a smaller photo of the hordes of screaming girls who attended the show. Bieber, 16, has attained true teen idol status. He is the newest member of the heartthrob club; he is in the company of dreamboats like David Cassidy, James Dean, Elvis Presley, and, of course, Frank Sinatra.

Sinatra is often seen as the original teen idol because of his popularity with bobbysoxers in the 1940s. Audiences of adoring teenaged fans fell under Sinatra's spell, the "Sinatrance". Men questioned whether the swooning, shrieking, and fainting that Sinatra's voice provoked were brought on by frustrated romances of women and girls whose boyfriends, fiances, and husbands were heading off to war, or whether their fanatical devotion to Sinatra was simply the result of feminine silliness. Either way, Sinatra's songs successfully seduced a generation.

Bieber's fans exhibit much of the same obsession that the bobbysoxers showed to Sinatra 70 years ago. Like Sinatra, Bieber capitalizes on their adolescent fervor. As heir to the teen-pop throne, Bieber uses some of the same tantalizing tactics that Sinatra used to captivate audiences. The Times article notes, "[Bieber's] songs cracke with the first blush of seduction and power--sweet enough to deceive his youngest fans, and probably their parents too, but absolutely delivered with a devious glint in his eye." 

The Times has an excellent collection of photos from Bieber's concert here: http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/09/01/arts/music/20100902-beiber-ss.html

A video at this link http://www.paleycenter.org/sinatra-the-bobby-soxers shows bobbysoxers going crazy over Sinatra. This article http://www.pophistorydig.com/?tag=bobbysoxers has good pictures and gives a nice summary of bobbysoxer Sinatra-fever. 

New York, New York.

A Quick Summary:
In It Happened in Brooklyn, Frank Sinatra plays Danny Miller, a soldier coming home to Brooklyn after serving abroad for four years. On his last night in England, Danny meets Jamie Shelgrave (Peter Lawford), the "square" grandson of an English duke; Danny promises to make-over Jamie, should he ever visit Brooklyn. Upon returning to his beloved borough, Danny rekindles his friendship with high school janitor Nick Lombardi (Jimmy Durante) and woos music teacher Anne Fielding (Kathryn Grayson). Suddenly, Jamie arrives in Brooklyn, and it is up to Danny to teach his twerpy friend how to be cool, a true Brooklyn guy. While doing so, Danny and Jamie strike up a musical partnership. When all is said and done, Jamie and Anne end up together--Danny sees that he never truly loved Anne the way that Jamie loves her, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Some Thoughts:

--"Brooklyn"has very specific connotations in this film. The nurse character in the opening scene (who Danny finally realizes is truly the girl for him) is a Brooklyn girl, and she sharply criticizes Danny for not living up to her idea of Brooklyn. "I know what guys from Brooklyn are like, and they're not like you." "A Brooklyn guy is a friendly guy. When I see you out makin' a friend, then I'll believe you're from Brooklyn." Danny becomes frustrated with her and tries to prove that he lives up to the "Brooklyn standard" of being friendly, poised, confident, and self-assured. It is only when he takes on this persona and pretends to be outgoing and gregarious that Danny encounters Jamie and catches the attention of Jamie's grandfather. The duke immediately recognizes Danny's faux personality as fitting his conception of Brooklynites. Even though the friendship is originally based on a slightly-untrue self presentation on Danny's part, Jamie's company in the US helps Danny to develop the "Brooklyn guy" personality. Danny becomes helpful, friendly, and confident while he is charged with saving Jamie from perpetual dorkiness.

--Jamie and Danny constantly diminish Anne. They speak to her and about her as though she is a child or is somehow less important, less intelligent than themselves. "Annie, be a nice, quiet little girl, won't you?" When she protests this statement, Danny replies patronizingly, "Ok, what have you got to say?" In describing her figure, Jamie notes, "She doesn't wear nail polish. Her hands are like a little girl's. And that perfume she wears is like a little girl too, so soapy and clean." Even though both men vie for Anne romantically, neither of them see her as an equal.

--Frank Sinatra is able to play to his Italian identity much more so in It Happened in Brooklyn than in Anchors Aweigh. The Nick Lombardi character is an Italian janitor and serves as an ethnic comedian. Throughout the film, Jimmy Durante serves as a foil to Peter Lawford--the Italian clown to the English sophisticate. Durante also gives Sinatra permission to express his Italian-ness without seeming overly ethnic. When Nick and Danny first meet and recognize each other, Nick greets Danny in Italian ("Come stai?"). Because Nick has expressed the ethnic identity first, Danny has permission to respond in Italian ("Molto bene!") without seeming foreign or out-of-place. The two men enjoy an Italian meal of pasta, red sauce, garlic toast, and wine. Later in the film, Danny, Jamie, and Anne dine at an Italian restaurant. During the meal, a duet from Don Giovanni plays, so Danny and Anne sing along in Italian. Because of the ethnic interactions that Danny had earlier in the film with Nick, it is perfectly acceptable for him to sing in Italian, even though he is in the company of his friend and girlfriend.

Frank & Gene.

In Anchors Aweigh, a 1945 musical romantic comedy, Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly play sailors on shore leave. Kelly's character Joe Brady is a "wolf"--a masculine, aggressive, confident playboy. We tend to associate this sort of characterization with Sinatra, but he doesn't take on this persona or description until a few years after Anchors Aweigh. In this film, Sinatra plays Clarence Doolittle, an innocent, shy choirboy. Joe and Clarence are given permission to roam the streets of Los Angeles for four days because of their bravery in combat--Joe saved Clarence's life when the latter was blown overboard. Clarence spends the entire film tagging along behind Joe, seeking to learn Joe's wolfish ways.

 

Kelly is traditionally seen as a masculine, physical dancer, and in all of the roles that I have seen him in, he is romantically successful. One of my favorite movies is Singin' in the Rain, a perfect example of Kelly's ability to dance and to look strong, attractive, and appealing while doing it. In Anchors Aweigh, Kelly's character Joe is supposed to be a total ladies' man and a complete catch, but I had a hard time believing it. Joe seemed like he was trying too hard to be a big stud. Between Joe's overemphasis of his success with women and Clarence's slavish desire for Joe's tutelage, I detected an undercurrent of homoeroticism throughout the movie. 

In the opening musical number, "We Hate to Leave", Clarence and Joe tell their shipmates just how sorry they are to head off the boat and over to shore. Couched in their faux sympathy for leaving their compatriots behind, Joe and Clarence sing and wink, "No more pin-up gals that we so enjoy/Tonight, my boy, we get to meet the Real McCoy". The rest of the song goes on about meeting "beautiful dames in their soft silk dresses" and leaving behind "these guys sitting here in their undershirts". Clarence and Joe's excitement to go out and meet girls seems forced and exaggerated. Later, in "I Begged Her", Joe and Clarence recount the fictive encounters they had with women during the night to their fellow sailors. Joe sings of having to beg, plead, and eventually threaten his girl to get a kiss; Clarence sings of a girl begging him, pleading with him, and threatening him. By creating these romantic encounters, Clarence and Joe act as caricatures of what they think sailors on shore leave should be like. 

Clarence's admiration for Joe almost appears to stem from more than simple gratitude. He is unable to take his eyes off Joe when Joe sings, dances (more understandable--Sinatra wasn't much for dancing, so he was following Kelly's lead), speaks, or sits. Clarence even comments on Joe's body ("He's got muscles!"). 

At the end of the film, after much back-and-forth, Clarence and Joe get the girls. As they embrace their respective girlfriends, they turn and smile at each other. 

I would doubt that these homoerotic cues were on the radars of the producers/directors/actors at the time the film was made. However, it is interesting to note that they are present in the movie. I probably picked up on them so strongly because as I was screening the film, I was hyper-aware that I was watching Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly, two "manly men". As innocent, naive Clarence, Sinatra plays so strongly against the cool, debonair image of Sinatra that I have in my head. 

Seriously.

I'm a junior at the University of Notre Dame. I'm an American Studies major. I'm taking a course called "Sinatra". 

How awesome is that?

Even cooler--each week, the class has a 2-hour long lab section, which we'll spend watching Frank Sinatra movies and TV specials. 

Assessment for the course includes a blog/online journal component. I'll be posting here at least once a week for until the end of the semester in December. Sometimes I'll reflect on the films we watch in class, sometimes I'll write about other Sinatra-related topics, but I'll always write about something interesting.

I'm currently watching "Anchors Aweigh", a 1945 film starring Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly. The film will be the topic of my first official post for class. For now, I'm still reveling in the glorious fact that I get to take a class all about Ol' Blue Eyes. 

It's nice work if you can get it.