Steve McQueen is a cooler cat than Paul Newman in "The Towering Inferno"

Irwin Allen's "The Towering Inferno" (1974) was hardly my favorite 1970s-era disaster epic.  Bloated and overlong, it featured a cast of mostly wealthy fat-cat characters (except for Jennifer Jones' heroic, yet tragic, Lisolette) who you barely cared whether they would survive.  Next to Jennifer Jones, probably the most sympathetic character in the movie was Steve McQueen's smart, cool-headed San Francisco Fire Department Battalion Chief Michael O'Hallorhan.  From the moment McQueen arrives on the scene, at the 43 minute mark of the movie, you know that there is finally someone who can take command of a situation that has gone dangerously out of control.  This is due in no small part to the commitment that McQueen brings to the role, in contrast to all the other actors who just show up to collect a paycheck.

 
My understanding is that McQueen was originally offered the role that Paul Newman ultimately played in the movie, the architect responsible for designing the 138 story Glass Tower that is the centerpiece of the movie.  However, McQueen was more attracted to the comparatively smaller role of the fire chief who helps resolve the catastrophe with his steely calm and ingenuity, a role originally slated for Ernest Borgnine.  McQueen wanted to play the fire chief because he felt O'Hallorhan was the character who is working to solve the situation, whereas the architect was the character who McQueen felt was, in essence, responsible for the disaster for having designed the building.  McQueen proposed to Allen that he play the fire chief, if the role could be beefed up, and suggested that Allen cast a star of equal magnitude to play the architect instead.

 
Evidently, when Irwin Allen cast Paul Newman as the architect, this tickled McQueen because it allowed him an opportunity to verbally chastise Newman on-screen throughout the movie because of his character having designed such a dangerously tall fire trap.  (Steve McQueen purportedly always felt a sense of professional rivalry with Paul Newman ever since he played a bit part in Newman's 1956 movie "Somebody Up There Likes Me.")  According to press releases, McQueen researched his role by accompanying fire chiefs to the location of a blaze that broke out at the legendary Goldwyn Studios and lent a hand to help put out the flames.  If it were any other movie star, I wouldn't believe that anecdote, but because we're talking about the daredevil Steve McQueen, I'll give the story the benefit of the doubt.  All of this demonstrates to me the level of commitment and enthusiasm that McQueen brought to this role, which is why his performance stands out from all the others in this film.

McQueen's O'Hallorhan makes a spectacular late entrance in "The Towering Inferno," the last of all the main characters to be introduced, pulling up to the scene of the fire in his fiery red fire chief's sedan at such a high speed that he looks like he's dangerously close to spinning out of control.  But O'Hallorhan is such a cool, controlled cat that, just as the sedan looks like it's on the brink of crashing into the barricades, he suddenly brings the car under control within seconds and pulls to a fast stop.  O'Hallorhan cuts a dashing figure as he leaps out of the vehicle wearing black slacks, white short sleeved dress shirt, and black tie.  He quickly dons a firefighter coat over his uniform, with his dress shirt and black tie still showing through, which allows O'Hallorhan to look both enviably dapper and rugged at the same time.

 
Unlike the other characters in "The Towering Inferno," there is no backstory to O'Hallorhan (except that he wears a wedding ring, suggesting that he has a wife and family that he wants to stay alive and go home to) and none is needed.  McQueen's textured performance provides all the details we need to understand the essence of this man.  The moment McQueen's O'Hallorhan meets Paul Newman's blandly named architect Doug Roberts, you can sense the mild contempt O'Hallorhan feels for Roberts for having designed such a tall building.  O'Hallorhan doesn't even shake Roberts' hand when he is introduced to him and, as they ride up the elevator to the 79th floor, he can't help but mutter under his breath "Architects."  When the self-pitying Roberts responds, "Yeah, it's all our fault," O'Hallorhan explains himself, "Now you know there's no sure way for us to fight a fire in anything over the seventh floor.  But you guys keep building them as high as you can."  When Roberts lamely challenges O'Hallorhan by saying "Hey, are you here to take me on or the fire?" O'Hallorhan stares back and doesn't bother responding, knowing full well that he's already made his point.

One reason why O'Hallorhan is such a likeable character is because Paul Newman's Doug Roberts is a self-pitying Henny Penny, spending the entire film ineffectually warning everyone that the sky is falling.  Despite his concerns, he never really does anything effective to warn people of the disaster that could result due to the substandard electrical equipment that he has discovered the building has been wired with, and doesn't do enough to defy the owner of the building James Duncan (William Holden, wearing the worst pair of glasses known to mankind) when he urges Duncan to call for an evacuation of the guests celebrating the opening of the building on the 135th floor Promenade Room.  Roberts warns Duncan about the fire and is overruled, and Roberts meekly accepts this and doesn't do anything further.

In fact, it's not until Roberts informs O'Hallorhan of the party taking place on the top floor that something is finally done to warn the guests.  When O'Hallorhan sagely asks Roberts "Well why didn't you get the them the hell out of there?" Roberts lamely challenges O'Hallorhan with, "Why don't you go upstairs and talk to Duncan?  He ain't exactly listening to me."  O'Hallorhan simply responds with, "I will" and goes up to carry out the job that Roberts wasn't man enough to do.  I like the brief scene in the elevator going up to the Promenade Room where O'Hallorhan thinks for a moment, hesitates, and then reaches up to take off his fire chief helmet and firefighters coat so that his appearance doesn't cause a sudden panic the moment he steps off the elevator.  The subtle choices that McQueen makes in this scene demonstrates the degree to which he was continuously conscientious about doing justice to this role.

I like the manner in which McQueen is always able to get his way in this movie without being overbearing or smug.  He plays O'Hallorhan with a direct firmness that demonstrates his natural leadership abilities.  In the scene in which O'Hallorhan tries to convince William Holden's Duncan that the partygoers should be evacuated, McQueen never raises his voice to get his point across, nor seems annoyed or perturbed when Duncan tries to pull rank on O'Hallorhan by informing him that the Mayor of the city is in attendance and that he can order O'Hallorhan to cease his efforts to ruin the party by calling for an evacuation.  O'Hallorhan calmly tells Duncan, "When there's a fire, I outrank everybody here.  Now one thing we don't want is a panic.  Now I could tell 'em, but you ought to do it.  Just make a nice cool announcement to all your guests and tell 'em the party's being moved down below the fire floor.  Right now."  McQueen is the epitome of authority while delivering that line.  I especially like how McQueen subtly looks down at William Holden's hand when Duncan grabs O'Hallorhan by the arm to try and stop him from making a public announcement about the fire, almost as if to silently say "Did you just touch me?"  McQueen makes it clear in this scene that O'Hallorhan is a politically savvy individual who doesn't suffer fools gladly.

And we're glad that O'Hallorhan knows how to handle any situation because those skills prove to be invaluable in dealing with genuinely life-threatening situations.  When O'Hallorhan and the other firefighters realize that the elevators aren't working and they must rappel down several floors by rope through the elevator shaft, a cowardly firefighter (played by Paul Newman's late son Scott Newman) says "I can't make it.  I'll fall.  I know I'll fall."  O'Hallorhan never loses his cool nor raises his voice at the cowardly firefighter.  He simply says "OK.  Then you better go first.  That way when you fall, you won't take any of us with you."  O"Hallorhan demonstrates that he has no time for self-pity at a time like this, and McQueen delivers the line in a matter-of-fact manner, not with any jokey sense of irony that a contemporary actor might have played it.

 
O'Hallorhan's lack of self-pity is another reason why his character is more sympathetic than Paul Newman's Doug Roberts character.  Not only is Roberts ineffectual at trying to resolve the crisis, but he spends the entire movie feeling sorry for himself, almost as if to absolve himself of the guilt he feels for having designed the building which led to the deaths of so many people.  O'Hallorhan is a man who has, evidently, faced death before and has learned he doesn't have the luxury for self-indulgent self-reflection because he's too busy trying to stop the fire.  But O'Hallorhan also has compassion and human decency as well.  After he and the cowardly firefighter are able to rappel down the elevator shaft, McQueen shoots Scott Newman an approving smile that silently says "You did good, kid" to let us know he still respects him.

Throughout "The Towering Inferno," McQueen brings a lot of subtle touches to the role that help bring depth to the character and to the film.  After the harrowing sequence when O'Hallorhan rescues the women trapped on the dangling scenic elevator that had been blown off its tracks by an explosion, and holds onto a young firefighter by one hand from the roof of the scenic elevator until it is brought to the ground, there's a striking scene showing O'Hallorhan sitting on the ground in the lobby of the Glass Tower, his back to the wall amidst a row of other firefighters also taking a well-earned rest from their duties.  McQueen blankly stares straight ahead, as if O'Hallorhan is lost in his thoughts, until he is called to duty once again.  In one brief shot, McQueen demonstrates the emotional toll that weighs on the conscience of rescue workers in times of disaster.  In so doing, McQueen reminds us that O'Hallorhan is no larger-than-life Superman, but a courageous and talented human being who is simply doing his job.

At the end of "The Towering Inferno," O'Hallorhan is getting ready to leave when he stops and takes a look at the body bags for all the firefighters who lost their lives in the course of the evening.  McQueen looks quietly and calmly, without any sense of self-pity, but with a genuine sense of respect, sadness, and gratitude for their sacrifice, and turns and walks away.  As McQueen's O'Hallorhan exits, Paul Newman's architect sits on the steps outside the building with his girlfriend Faye Dunaway (in one of her most thankless roles) and muses aloud "I don't know.  Maybe they just ought to leave it the way it is.  A kind of shrine to all the bullsh-t in the world."  Newman's line helps underscore the whiney, defeatist attitude that turned me off to his character, Doug Roberts, and which probably turned McQueen off to the role when Irwin Allen originally offered it to him.

 
It's easy to see why McQueen was more interested in playing the fire chief, especially since O'Hallorhan ends the movie by looking down at the seated Roberts and telling him, "You know, we were lucky tonight.  Body count's less than 200.  You know, one of these days, they're gonna kill 10,000 in one of these fire traps.  And I'm gonna keep eating smoke and bringing out bodies until somebody asks us how to build 'em."  A humbled Doug Roberts can only look up to O'Hallorhan from where he is seated and respond with, "OK, I'm asking."  O'Hallorhan smiles and says "You know where to reach me.  So long architect."  O'Hallorhan calmly turns around, gets into the fire chief sedan he arrived in and, unlike almost all the other characters in the movie, leaves the same way he arrived.  As with the rest of their interaction in "The Towering Inferno," Steve McQueen remains in control of the situation over Paul Newman, even after the disaster has been resolved.

I always liked Steve McQueen better than Paul Newman.  There was always a genuine ruggedness about McQueen, both on-screen and off-, that made him more appealing to me than Newman, who always struck me as being entitled and elitist.  The stories I've read concerning McQueen's difficult childhood definitely gave him more grit and gravitas compared to Newman's bourgeois middle class upbringing.  Yes, both McQueen and Newman raced cars and rode motorcycles, but with McQueen it seemed more like a natural extension of his personality, whereas with Newman it always seemed affected, like he was a spoiled rich kid putting on airs.  Steve McQueen was a real man, whereas Newman always remained a pretty boy.  One thing I enjoy about watching "The Towering Inferno" is studying their interaction on-screen together.  They don't have any genuine chemistry, because I get the impression the two men don't particularly care to be acting opposite each other, but that tension and disconnect between them is fascinating and actually works in favor of the movie.  Newman always comes off in the movie as overly self-conscious as to how his character will be regarded because he designed the building, whereas McQueen doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks of him in the course of the story.  Newman's listless sincerity just doesn't seem as impressive next to McQueen's can-do self-assurance.  In so doing, Steve McQueen's fine work in "The Towering Inferno" helps to demonstrates how he was a cooler cat than Paul Newman ever was. 

Raquel Welch and Faye Dunaway steal the show from "The Three Muskteeers"

My first exposure to Alexandre Dumas' "The Three Musketeers" occurred in the late 1970s when I received a Moby Illustrated Classics version of the book with my McDonald's Happy Meal.  Even though this may not have been a purist's manner of being introduced to the story, it was still a wonderfully engaging way to introduce me to the love of reading at an early age.  The Illustrated Classics version of the story was quite well-done, as I recall, and I kept it for many years.  Every so often, I would take it out to read and get pulled into the story all over again.  What stood out for me from the Illustrated Classics version of the book was the depiction of villainous Milady de Winter, Cardinal Richielieu's beautiful and treacherous spy.  I was fascinated that someone who was illustrated as so lovely in the book could also be so heartless and cruel.  She was, without a doubt, my favorite character in the story.  I was so engaged with her character, I was actually saddened when she was captured, put on trial by the Musketeers, and beheaded for her multiple crimes.  It was one of the first times I recall rooting for the bad guy in a story.

However, I also recall that I had absolutely no interest in the heroine of the story, Constance Bonacieux, Queen Anne of France's seamstress and confidate, and D'Artagnan's love interest.  Constance, unlike Milady, came across as bland and flat in the story, with little of interest or color to recommend her.  I usually regarded her as a minor character, rather than one of the two principal female characters of the story, because I always forgot about her.  Which is why I am always amazed by the fact that Constance happens to be my favorite character in Richard Lester's wonderful pair of movies based on Dumas' novel, "The Three Musketeers" (1973) and "The Four Musketeers" (1975).  To everyone's everlasting gratitude, Lester reimagined Constance as a feisty, klutzy, endearing and sexy character and gave Raquel Welch the best role of her entire career.  In a classic example of an inspired actress bringing something to the role that wasn't there originally, Welch brought Constance to life in ways that none of the actresses who have played her in other versions of the "Musketeers" saga have ever been able to do.  Paired with an equally inspired Faye Dunaway, perfectly cast as my favorite character in the novel, Milady de Winter, both Welch and Dunaway disprove the adage that women in action/adventure films are usually lightweight and expendable presences.  In so doing, they steal the show from their impressive male co-stars.  Both movies may have had the word "Musketeers" in the title, but it's Welch and Dunaway's show all the way. 

The concept of the beautiful woman who is also a comedic klutz wasn't new by the time Welch starred in the "Musketeers" films.  Sharon Tate had played one in the Matt Helm spy comedy "The Wrecking Crew" (1969), for instance, but her performance always struck me as mannered, contrived, and self-conscious, not helped by her line delivery throughout that movie, which always sounded forced and unsteady.  She wasn't as funny in that movie as her constituents have alleged.  In contrast, Raquel Welch brought a relaxed quality to the manner in which she played Constance in a comically klutzy manner that remains consistently delightful.  Unlike Sharon Tate in "The Wrecking Crew," Welch was funny because she was creating a flesh and blood character, with distinctly human traits and mannerisms that included being a klutz, as opposed to just going through the motions of being clumsy.  Constance is indeed klutzy throughout the movie, but the reason it seems fresh, and why the audience never gets annoyed, is because Constance never becomes self-pitying or apologetic about making a mess of the situation.  She takes it all in stride and has enough self-confidence to recognize that she has qualities of loyalty and bravery that redeem her character in spite of the mess she often makes of a situation. 

Constance is also one of the most endearing characters Welch had played in her career up until this time.  Prior to the "Musketeers" films, Welch had a successful run of films playing sexy characters who sometimes lacked warmth.  This had more to do with the roles she played than any inherent quality in Welch because, as she has proven in recent years, there was an earthy and humorous quality to Welch that had been untapped until the "Musketeers" films.  For the first time, Welch was as likeable as she was beautiful.  Welch is particularly funny in her scenes with Spike Milligan, who plays her selfish, slovenly older husband.  There is a tolerant affection that Welch instills in Constance with regards to her relationship with her husband that isn't evident in the book or in other film adaptations of this story.  The non-judgmental quality that Welch brings to Constance humanizes the character greatly.  One of her best moments in the film is when Constance reunites the Queen (Geraldine Chaplin) with her lover the Duke of Buckingham (Simon Ward) inside of a laundry.  As the two Nobles declare their secret love for one another, Richard Lester gives Welch an illuminating close-up showing how touched Constance is by the feelings these two have for one another, and helps to underscore the basis for the trust that the Queen has bestowed upon Constance.  Moments like these in "The Three Musketeers" demonstrated Welch's keen ability to play empathetic characters concerned about the welfare of others which, except for "Kansas City Bomber" (1972), she had not had the opportunity to play often up to that point in her career.

Another quality I like about Welch's performance is the way she appears unaware of her own beauty and attractiveness throughout the "Musketeer" films.  The lack of vanity that Welch instills in Constance strikes a notable contrast with Faye Dunaway's playfully scheming and treacherous Milady de Winter.  Milady knows her effect on the male species and thrives on her awareness that her looks and charm are able to bring ruin to foolish men.  Dunaway effectively modulates her expressive voice throughout the "Musketeer" films to veer between light and frothy, and cold and cunning with great ease.  I like the scene in "The Three Musketeers" where she is seducing the Duke of Buckingham so that she can steal the diamonds from the necklace that Queen Anne had entrusted him with.  Dunaway sits at the edge of the bed, swinging her legs and twirling up her toes, as the Duke undresses her.  She pretends to be a compliant and submissive sex object to the Duke, while knowing full well that she's the one in control of the situation because she has him under her spell.  Just as I reacted to the character when I read my Classics Illustrated version of "The Three Musketeers" that I got with my McDonald's Happy Meal, Dunaway makes Milady in this film version a villainess we happen to like very much by bringing some identifiable human qualities to the character. 

Dunaway created such an effective antagonist that it's a pleasure, at the end of "The Three Musketeers" to see Welch and Dunaway square off in a cat fight as Constance and Milady battle each other for possession of the Queen's diamonds.  Such a scene could be tasteless and campy, but Richard Lester stages it as a bawdy, raucous fight that never fails to rouse a delighted audience.  Dunaway demonstrates Milady's deadly determination throughout the sequence, even pulling out a sharp jeweled comb from her hair as a weapon to threaten the scrappy Constance.  Welch, meanwhile, shows Constance's courageous qualities during this fight sequence, never batting an eyelash when she gets the skirt of her dress caught in the closed doorway, immediately picking herself up from the marble floor after Milady repeatedly throws her to the ground, and fighting off her ruthless antagonist with knives, lit candles, and whatever else is at her disposal.

 
At one point, when Constance throws a bushel of grapes in Milady's face, Dunaway shows what a good sport she is by taking the hit in stride and fighting on as if nothing happened.  When Michael York's D'Artagnan crashes through a window, slides across a table, bumps into Dunaway's Milady from behind, and knocks the diamonds into the hands of Welch's Constance, you feel like applauding because the rousing sequence has been capped off by a comedy gesture that you normally would not associate with dramatic actors of this calibre.  Dunaway reacts with an appropriately outraged and indignant expression that, actually, makes Milady even more endearing and allows you to anticipate the revenge she will cook up against D'Artagnan and Constance in the sequel.  What makes the sequence work is the fact that neither Welch nor Dunaway ever lose their ladylike dignity in this fight sequence.  They demonstrate their characters' mettle without ever looking silly doing it.

Welch and Dunaway continue to be delightful presences in the sequel "The Four Musketeers," with Constance kidnapped by the Count de Rochefort (Christopher Lee) and Milady embarking on an affair with D'Artagnan that quickly turns dangerous.  Unfortunately, because the film follows the storyline of the novel, both Constance and Milady die violent deaths, with Constance strangled by Milady, and Milady beheaded by the executioner hired by the Musketeers.  I always found this dark turn of events unsettling, particularly because I had grown to like both of their character so much.  Every time I watch the "Musketeers" movies, I always dread the ending because I know that these exciting and vibrant women will meet fatal ends.  Years later, director Richard Lester reunited much of the cast for a sequel entitled "The Return of the Musketeers" (1989) that was competent, but lacked the charm of the initial two films, due in no small part to the absence of Welch and Dunaway.  When you watch "The Return of the Musketeers," you realize the extent to which these two actresses brought humor, class and playful exuberance to the original "Musketeers" films.  I would love to see Welch and Dunaway reunited for another film that casts them as strong-willed rivals on opposite ends of a conflict.  I have no doubt that they would still create magic together.  In the meantime, the fine work of director Richard Lester, and of actresses Raquel Welch and Faye Dunaway, in "The Three Musketeers" and "The Four Musketeers" allow both of these films to rise above the cliches of the action-adventure genre by giving us a pair of substantive women for the audience to enjoy.  In so doing, they help set a standard that other action films should aspire to, but rarely achieve. 

They Called Her One-Armed Faye

A couple of years ago, Faye Dunaway went to Wales to make a modestly-budgeted horror film called "Flick" (2008).  In this very stylized and stylish film, Dunaway plays Lt. McKenzie, a persistent and perceptive police detective from Memphis, Tennessee assigned to work in a Welsh village on a police exchange program.  She investigates a series of murders committed by the recently revived corpse of a troubled Teddy Boy teen named Johnny who drowned in a car accident after being involved in a violent altercation at a dance back in 1960.  The revived, zombified Johnny is empowered whenever he hears period-era rockabilly music being broadcasted by a pirate radio station in town.  Johnny seeks revenge against the now-elderly youths who had picked on him at that dance nearly 48 years earlier.  In the process, he hopes to be reunited with Sally (Julia Foster), the girl of his dreams who is now unhappily married to the brute who was his rival for Sally's affections back in the day.  Dunaway, working in conjunction with a local area police detective (played by Mark Benton) races against time to prevent Johnny from carrying out his vendetta and finding Sally.

"Flick" remains a little-known movie in the United States.  It was never released theatrically, but is available on DVD in America.  It is hard to understand why the movie hasn't found a wider audience, because there is much to enjoy about it.  Writer/Director David Howard embues the movie with colorful, striking images and camera angles that evoke a strong sense of 1950s nostalgia.  There are interesting bridging sequences where action is depicted on-screen by vividly detailed comic book panel images.  A wistful sense of regret permeates the film, as characters such as Johnny and Sally and all of their allies and enemies from 1960 find their fates sealed in an existence they created for themselves at the dancehall over 48 years before.  1960s British starlet Julia Foster is touching as Sally, a woman married to a man who neglects and mistreats her and their daughter, while still the object of desire of Johnny, a zombie who still cares about her decades later.  Foster, who appeared in "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" (1962), "Alfie" (1966), and "Half a Sixpence" (1968), made a welcome return to the cinema after having taken time off from her career to raise a family.  One of the most unique and effective features of the film are Johnny's POV shots when he confronts characters from the past.  From his vantage point, he still sees them in their youthful personas rather than their middle-aged selves as they are now.  It helps underscore how these characters remain haunted by their pasts.

What prevents the movie from becoming too heavy-handed and downbeat is Faye Dunaway's delightful performance as Lt. McKenzie.  Even though she no longer receives the high-profile film offers that she still richly deserves, Dunaway remains an interesting and prolific actress in independent productions and made-for-TV movies.  Lt. McKenzie is, without a doubt, the best part she has had in years.  Unlike other mature actresses cast in horror films later in their careers, Dunaway has neither a thankless nor unflattering role in "Flick."  McKenzie is a quirky and offbeat character, exemplified by her prosthetic right arm, but Dunaway makes sure never to allow that to turn McKenzie into a grotesque.  The prosthetic right arm merely reflects McKenzie's tenacious nature and ability to overcome all obstacles, while at the same time indicates, like Johnny and Sally, McKenzie still lives with the long-term effects of the events from her youth.  Dunaway brings heart and humor to "Flick" with her vibrant presence.  She maintains just the right level of enthusiasm and never allows the character to veer into camp.  In her skillful hands, McKenzie is wise, witty, brave, heroic, compassionate, romantic.  The role allows her to tap into her seldom-acknowledged ability to skillfully portray warm, sympathetic and vulnerable characters.

Dunaway has great chemistry with Mark Benton, who plays the Welsh police detective assigned as her partner.  Dunaway draws upon her real-life Southern roots and speaks with a Southern accent that reflects earthy practicality and intelligence.  She contrasts beautifully with Benton's burly Welsh charm.  I would love to see Dunaway and Benton revive these characters for a police procedural TV series.  My favorite scene in the movie is where Dunaway and Benton come upon an Southwestern American-themed diner in the Welsh village.  While they dine, Benton asks Dunaway what happened to her arm.  Dunaway responds with a touching monologue about losing her arm in a childhood accident and the subsequent ostracism she endured from her classmates...a story that parallels the ostracism Johnny faced from the other kids in his village.  She recounts a fanciful story of how Elvis Presley took the one-armed girl to the Prom, an event that gave Lt. McKenzie a strong sense of self-confidence that has stood her well in her law enforcement career.  Dunaway and Benton subsequently slow-dance to the jukebox, and we suddenly realize that this unlikely pair are perfectly matched with each other.  It's one of the most romantic moments in Dunaway's career.