A night (or matinee) at the movies isn’t what it used to be. Now, we’re lucky if we see two trailers, the rest of the lengthy pre-show being packed with commercials that frustrate – bringing the atmosphere down several notches. Drawing your attention to what you would have seen circa 1940, you would have experienced a newsreel, followed by a live action short, then an engaging cartoon. . . all of this leading into the main event (the trailers running after the film’s closing. . . if you’ve ever wondered why they are called trailers, now you know).
Flashing back to August 1940, air conditioned audiences would have witnessed the visual horrors of the war – specifically, the bombing of Britain (which started in July), these realities then leading into Alice in Movieland – a short depicting the dream machine that is Hollywood leading a girl to fame and glory (a fascinating watch due to its young lead – soon to be star Joan Leslie; How to Marry a Millionaire director Jean Negulesco’s direction [this a much earlier work]; and perhaps more than anything else, a screenplay written by young journalist Ed Sullivan – long before his rise to fame).
The final lead-in to the feature is a Looney Tunes’ adventure – Porky’s Poor Fish, a seven minute musical laughfest full of visual gags. Written by Melvin Millar, directed by Robert Clampett and starring the great Mel Blanc (voicing six characters), the simple story opens with a rascally cat attempting to nab a jauntily walking down the street mouse.
Like Sylvester, this cat has little luck, next trying his ‘misfortune’ by sneaking into Porky Pig’s fish store for a snack (as the owner has skipped out for lunch). Each fish has its own gag (sole fish actually looking like the bottom of a shoe; an oyster actually having a bed; two eels being named AC and DC. . .), this school coming together to foil the hungry feline once again.
After all of these wonderful experiences, you are greeted with a Warner Bros. picture featuring their legendary matinee idol – Errol Flynn. Their biggest box office earner (more so than even Humphrey Bogart and James Cagney), he is once again paired with expert director Michael Curtiz – though best known for being the man behind Casablanca, this is the tenth of twelve films the pair would make together – one of the greatest director/actor teams of all-time, in The Sea Hawk.
How do you follow up years of successful films? Rather cleverly, studio execs actually scrapped the Sea Hawk story (based on the 1915 novel of the same name and the successful 1924 silent feature), bringing in talented Seton I. Miller (Here Comes Mr. Jordan) to re-write it as a unique combination of Flynn’s greatest hits (Howard Koch also came in a bit later and reworked it into its final product). Encompassing the swashbuckling escapades of 1935’s Captain Blood, the steal from the rich and give to the poor heart of 1938’s The Adventures of Robin Hood, and the political/historical intrigue of 1939’s The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (all three also directed by Curtiz), The Sea Hawk (set in the sixteenth century) follows cheeky Geoffrey Thorpe (Flynn), a pirate privateer beholden to Queen Elizabeth (Flora Robson), in his dangerous escapades. Fun fact: many of the same costumes and sets were reused from the above mentioned 1939 feature.
Though this is the general basis, Miller also weaves in a rather clear if clever tale that links to what was occurring at the time in Europe. Spain’s King Phillip II (Montagu Love) is the narrative’s Adolf Hitler stand-in – a sneaky, Armada building dictator gearing up for war while pretending to bandy about peace. Don José Alvarez de Corboda (Claude Rains) – with a name like that, you just know that he is going to be snooty – is the King’s emissary and ambassador, a snake oil salesman attempting to hoodwink the Queen. At first seeming like gullible, peace chasing Neville Chamberlain, she eventually becomes Winston Churchill, her speech (like Charlie Chaplin’s in The Great Dictator – clearly 1940 was the year for impassioned monologues) of, “and now, my loyal subjects, a grave duty confronts us all: To prepare our nation for a war that none of us wants, least of all your Queen. We have tried by all means in our power to avert this war. We have no quarrel with the people of Spain or of any other country; but when the ruthless ambition of a man threatens to engulf the world, it becomes the solemn obligation of all free men to affirm that the Earth belongs not to any one man, but to all men, and that freedom is the deed and title to the soil on which we exist. . .”, somehow transcending through screen, her words spoke directly to the audience – influencing and inspiring them in this most dire time (a most powerful message, to be sure).
Amongst all of this political interplay, there is Thorpe. The Captain of the Albatross, he and his feisty crew, managed by his right hand man, Carl Pitt (Alan Hale Sr.), harass the Spanish ships on the ocean. It is here that he meets Doña Maria (Brenda Marshall), Don José’s niece that he is bringing to the Queen’s court – and Thorpe’s soon-to-be love interest. . . the pirate raiding their ship and then escorting them to her Majesty’s court.
A two hour and seven minute action adventure film, Thorpe goes through the ringer in this one, his mission taking him to America in an attempt to steal Spanish gold (these sequences shot in sepia as opposed to the black and white found in the European portion – symbolic of the oppressive heat of the South American jungles), only to find himself sentenced to life as a galley slave rower. Will Thorpe find his way out of this present predicament so that he can help his Queen? Can an Englishman find love in the arms of a Spanish woman in these tumultuous times? And, is being a Spanish slave rower actually a good workout routine?
Firing on all cylinders, Curtiz’s visual style is ever present – a master with pans, dolly shots, cuts, and everything in between, each technique used to capture life on a sea vessel. Building two full size ships on the floodable soundstage on the Warner lot, you are hard-pressed to believe that they aren’t filming on the open waters. . . we watch as pirates swing, extras tumble into the water, waves crash, and ships sink – it all coming off as impressively real. Paired with Sol Polito’s cinematography, it is a heroic match for Curtiz’s visuals. Held together with Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s striking score, it is sweepingly epic, operatic in detail, romantic at times. . . he himself tinkering with what he had done in the previous films mentioned above that both Curtiz and Flynn also worked on.
Yet, like so many films, everything hinges on its actors. Flynn, with a twinkle in his eye, is all charm and swagger as the confident sea Captain (perhaps the best looking ever seen – though, if you think about it, that is not much of a competition – considering all of the eye patches and peg legs). There is always a cheeky little smile on his face, as if he is in on the joke, that he will, in the end, be triumphant. Paired with longtime sidekick Hale Sr., the pair have an infectious chemistry. Though most would probably expect regular Flynn love interest Olivia de Havilland to be the female lead, Marshall steps in as the stoic, oft affronted woman who slowly melts under the charm of the pirate. Robson, playing the Queen, is very much like Flynn. . . a scene stealer who loves life, bravado and humour, despite her regal position (her Queenly accoutrement hiding a playful smile that frequently pops up). Rains, with his voice, is a crafty and dangerous adversary. Though not mentioned above, he is paired with Lord Wolfingham (Henry Daniell), an advisor to the Queen that is on the Spanish side – a spy that twists everything in order to keep Her Highness from thinking of war. The most impressive actor of all may be the classy little monkey. . . a pet that takes off his own fancy hat every time someone approaches – a tip of the hat that goes a long way to endear us.
A lavish 1.7 million dollar historical action adventure tale, The Sea Hawk is a highlight for swashbuckling affairs. Both relevant to the time as well as historical epic, it is exciting, romantic, twisty, and important. Look for climactic swordplay between Flynn and Daniell – done with so much style (giant shadows, candles being destroyed, epic overhead shots), it was all composed this way because none of it is actually Daniell – as he was so poor with a sword, every single shot (other than his closeups) is done with a stunt double. . . whereas Flynn is in every frame of it. So, join the fleet of people who have experienced this classic firsthand, it is a most worthwhile voyage.