Throughout the 30s, the 40s and indeed well into the 50s, M-G-M was the principal mainstay of Saturday nights at the pictures with a ready supply of historical melodramas and spectacles, escapist musicals, friendly knockabout comedies (not too rough or downmarket) and above all high-grade soap operas that no other studio could match.
By the early 1960s, M-G-M had lost a great deal of its exhibitor support. No longer was the lion an instant guarantee of entertainment quality, but even the entertainment value of such films as Night of the Quarter Moon, The King's Thief, The Rack, Gaby, I Accuse, The Living Idol, The Seventh Sin, Underwater Warrior, Count Your Blessings, The Beat Generation, Key Witness and All the Fine Young Cannibals was decidedly tatty. The studio did not help relations with its once lapdog exhibitor friends by its brief flirtation with Cinerama. Here was a three- screen, three-projectors, three 35mm films process that could only be shown in theatres expensively re-equipped.
So what was the film like? Rather dull actually. All the framing story directed by Henry Levin was a real bore, save for some wonderfully picturesque scenic shots of castles in Bavaria. George Pal's fairy- tale material was certainly more lively, with the process' potential entertainingly explored in a runaway coach sequence. All the same it was hard to enjoy the film because of Cinerama's many technical shortcomings. The three screens were often imperfectly joined, the dividing seams were always visible, and the luminosity of each screen sometimes varied considerably, accentuating a flickering effect that was almost always present, though at times less noticeable than others.
But the biggest drawback was that the screen was simply too big to accommodate actors. Scenery, yes, special effects, maybe; but human beings, especially grossly dull humans like Laurence Harvey and Karl Boehm and Claire Bloom — whose deadly lack of charisma seemed inordinately magnified — definitely not. The support players came out of it best, but even the best of them — with the notable exception of Russ Tamblyn — seemed dwarfed and over-awed.
By the early 1960s, M-G-M had lost a great deal of its exhibitor support. No longer was the lion an instant guarantee of entertainment quality, but even the entertainment value of such films as Night of the Quarter Moon, The King's Thief, The Rack, Gaby, I Accuse, The Living Idol, The Seventh Sin, Underwater Warrior, Count Your Blessings, The Beat Generation, Key Witness and All the Fine Young Cannibals was decidedly tatty. The studio did not help relations with its once lapdog exhibitor friends by its brief flirtation with Cinerama. Here was a three- screen, three-projectors, three 35mm films process that could only be shown in theatres expensively re-equipped.
So what was the film like? Rather dull actually. All the framing story directed by Henry Levin was a real bore, save for some wonderfully picturesque scenic shots of castles in Bavaria. George Pal's fairy- tale material was certainly more lively, with the process' potential entertainingly explored in a runaway coach sequence. All the same it was hard to enjoy the film because of Cinerama's many technical shortcomings. The three screens were often imperfectly joined, the dividing seams were always visible, and the luminosity of each screen sometimes varied considerably, accentuating a flickering effect that was almost always present, though at times less noticeable than others.
But the biggest drawback was that the screen was simply too big to accommodate actors. Scenery, yes, special effects, maybe; but human beings, especially grossly dull humans like Laurence Harvey and Karl Boehm and Claire Bloom — whose deadly lack of charisma seemed inordinately magnified — definitely not. The support players came out of it best, but even the best of them — with the notable exception of Russ Tamblyn — seemed dwarfed and over-awed.