'Andy Hardy' perfect fodder for foggy night

Nursing a migraine tonight with medicine and MGM's finest.

Yes, I decided last night to set the DVR to record Turner Classic Movies' 24-hour "Andy Hardy" marathon. It's part of TCM's month-long tribute to the great Mickey Rooney, who is 90 years young and still workin'.

It's fluff but perfect fodder for a foggy (in more ways than one) night.

The Hardy pictures were basically a sitcom in the days before television. It was gentle, predictable comedy about a "typical American family" that evolved into a star vehicle for Rooney as his character became more popular. Typical installments portray his misadventures in love. Usually at some point in the picture, Andy finds himself in a jam. A "man to man talk" with his father Judge Hardy (Lewis Stone) helps put Andy on the right path.

The series was so popular that it was awarded a special Academy Award in 1943 for representing "the American way of life." Sixteen films were produced from 1937 to 1958, although the first one, "A Family Affair," was merely a one picture deal. But it proved so popular that the Hardy clan returned for a "sequel" -- albeit with an almost completely different cast. Lionel Barrymore played Andy's father the Judge in the first one.

The regular cast also featured Fay Holden, Cecilia Parker and Ann Rutherford. MGM also used the series to promote some of its up and coming actresses, including Judy Garland, Donna Reed, Esther Williams, Lana Turner and Kathryn Grayson.

Production ceased after the 1946 entry, "Love Laughs at Andy Hardy." But some of the cast returned for something of a reunion in 1958's "Andy Hardy Comes Home." It was intended to relaunch the series, but proved to be the final "Andy Hardy" film.

My only complaint -- although that's not the right word -- is that TCM for some reason is showing the films in reverse order. So we get to watch Mickey/Andy grow younger!

I have long admired Rooney, who may be one of the most under appreciated actors in Hollywood history. While watching TCM, I surfed over to the Knox County Public Library's website and placed a hold on Rooney's autobiography, the aptly-titled "Life is too Short."

They don't make 'em like this anymore.

Frankie's shining hour

Didn't feel much like baseball last night -- which to those who know me well should tell you something. Got home from work just before 8 and surfed away from the Braves game to Turner Classic Movies in time to catch one of my favorites, the 1953 Columbia classic, "From Here to Eternity."

It's probably most famous for the then-provocative scene on the beach between Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr, but at its core, "Eternity" is Frank Sinatra's film. He's a supporting player, not the name above the titles, but he so dominates the role of Pvt. Angelo Maggio that he's noticeably missed when he isn't on screen.

File this one under Exhibit A for making the case that Sinatra, without question really, was the greatest entertainer of the American century.

I'll dispense with the usual plot summary other than to say this film focuses on the men that make up an army unit in Hawaii during the days leading up to the December 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. It's a guy movie, full of the rhymes and rhythms of military life, but it has a little romance and all the other stuff filmmakers used to think they needed to tell a story.

Lancaster is his usual terrific self. Kerr is mighty fetching as his illicit lover. My favorite woman in the film, however, is Donna Reed, who I will insist to my grave was one of the most beautiful women of her day. More importantly, she was a darn fine actor.

But this is Sinatra's picture. You can almost feel that Maggio was a character he was born to play -- the scrappy Italian who ain't takin' nothin' off nobody -- ripped straight from his own sense of who he was as a man and a performer.

Frankie was down on his luck when this movie premiered. He'd been released from his longtime recording contract with Columbia. His records weren't selling anymore. His tumultuous marriage to Ava Gardner had ended, too -- with Frankie holding the bag -- and the pieces of his broken heart.

He needed a comeback. Maggio was it.

From here, Sinatra made another fine little film ("Suddenly," in 1954) and bounced back on the music scene in a big way, making magic for Capitol Records during his long association with arranger Nelson Riddle. (Those Sinatra/Riddle albums of the '50s, by the way, are essentials for anyone who claims to love American popular music.)

After the film ended, I popped in some of Sinatra's early big band work with Harry James and Tommy Dorsey, and thought awhile about what being an entertainer used to mean. Elvis may be the king, Ellington may be the Duke, but Sinatra really is the Chairman of the Board.

If you doubt me, watch "From Here to Eternity" and "Suddenly" back-to-back, then take a listen to the "Wee Small Hours" LP.

It's not even close, folks.