They Just Don’t Make ‘Em Quite Like They Used To

There is no perfume like nostalgia, no fragrance like remembrance. Nostalgia makes it all a little better, as if we were seeing everything through a pink scrim, no seams showing, all imperfections blurred.

Were those movies I saw at the old Beverly Theater with its Moorish dome on Wilshire Boulevard really that good? Or was it age, ours and the world’s, that made so many of them 2 1/2 hours in a golden land?

When I said that my favorite movie of all time was “Lives of a Bengal Lancer,” a lot of you agreed with me. I don’t even remember a woman in it, although there may have been a nautch dancer or two. It was not a romance, not a boy-girl picture, but it was romantic. It was about bravery, honor, sacrifice, conquest over terrible odds. I was delighted to know how many of us chose it as our favorite movie.

Of course, it isn’t fair because there have been fine movies since then, but maybe we didn’t see them. Whether you like a movie or not depends on who you are at the time, what was happening at home or at school, who was the cutest boy in class, what we were reading, what we were whispering to our friends behind notebooks in the library.

Jeanne Weiss wrote, “How strange to read in your column and find a kindred soul whose favorite film is ‘Lives of a Bengal Lancer.’

“When the film was in its heyday, I followed it all over New York. . . . Now, it is shown occasionally on TV, and I watch it faithfully (no matter the hour) pointing out which parts have been cut (never the same).

“Another favorite of mine is ‘Penny Serenade,’ a real tear-jerker with Cary Grant and Irene Dunne. I have seen it on TV again recently and still love it.

“They don’t make movies like that anymore, or leading men like Franchot Tone and Cary Grant.”

I remember “Penny Serenade” and the scene of the little girl’s feet, clad in sneakers, walking up a ramp backstage to a platform where she was to be angel in the Christmas pageant, and you knew just as surely as you chewed your Abba Zabba bar that the little girl was going to die.

For a lady who was such a good comedienne, Irene Dunne was superb in four-handkerchief pictures. Remember the same starry team in “The Awful Truth”?

Another letter was from Mary Bess Grimes, who wrote, “I must have seen ‘Lives of a Bengal Lancer’ 14 or 15 times at the Uptown or at the Arlington. This makes me feel justified in gently correcting your impression that Franchot Tone recited Shakespeare in the dungeon of Mohammed Khan (a.k.a. Douglas Dumbrille) after Gary Cooper had bamboo slivers driven under his fingernails.

“It was neither Richard III nor Henry IV whom Tone quoted, but a stanza from a poem by William Ernest Henley, a Victorian-Edwardian poet perhaps better known for “Invictus.” (“I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”)

“The poem’s title is ‘Pro Rege Nostro,’ and the stanza runs:

“Ever the faith endures,

England, my England:

Take us and break us: we are yours,

England my own!

Life is good and joy runs high

Between English earth and sky:

Death is death; but we shall die

To the song on your bugles blown,

England

To the stars on thy bugles blown!”

“They don’t make ‘em like they used to!

“How about Jujy Fruits (sic?) My favorites were the black ones--they had a mysterious soapy flavor that was very satisfying,” Grimes added.

I remember Jujubes, kind of like little round gummy bears. Mary Bess Grimes is right and I thank her for her gentle correction.

Of course, they are making fine movies now. It’s just that we don’t see them, having had our hearing and senses pummeled and brutalized by squealing tires and gunshots.

I saw Cher’s picture, “Moonstruck,” the other night and loved it. Bill Windom says, “She’s Having a Baby” is a romantic picture, gentle and warm and real.

“Murphy’s Romance” was a beaut. I have been a gibbering fan of James Garner’s ever since “Maverick.”

Remember the dialogue in that series? It all goes back to the words, the lines, the writer. They can load a picture with stars, have an able director and a strong producer and it can lay an egg the size of downtown Walla Walla. It takes writing. Notice the remakes? They’ve redone “The Front Page” for at least the fourth time.

I shouldn’t even discuss films, I see so few. The Times conducted a poll last year, asking people what was the all-time best picture, and “Gone With the Wind” was the runaway winner. Of course, “GWTW” was great, but it was just too big to love, too many people, too many horses and too many flames. A magnificent feat of photography and costume but I never forgot it was a movie. There. I’ve said it.