Man With the Golden Charm

Frank Sinatra’s position as the preeminent popular singer of our time has had a tendency to put his formidable film work in the shade.

No summary of his career could fail to mention his Academy Award-winning performance in “From Here to Eternity” (1953), or the way that film propelled him back to the top of the show-business ladder. But when the name Sinatra is mentioned, it’s music that first comes to mind; his movie career is an afterthought.

Think about it more carefully though and a different picture emerges. Sinatra was no movie dilettante.

Early on, he developed a warm and engaging screen personality, as evidenced in the MGM musical “Anchors Aweigh” (1945). For that film, he went to work with no less a coach than Gene Kelly, to be able to match his nimble co-star step for step in some delightful dance routines. (He and Kelly recalled those days in an amusing segment of a Sinatra television special decades later; the number was titled “We Can’t Do That Anymore.”)

That he was able to master this feat says something about Sinatra’s determination, and his willingness to work. It stands in direct contrast to his later reputation for only wanting to shoot one or two takes. This anecdotal truism is usually associated with the performer’s supposedly cavalier attitude toward acting. But it may have been a response to the fact that he had no dramatic training and couldn’t summon the same emotions over and over again.

When he turned to drama, he brought a surprising intensity and credibility to his work. There was seldom, if ever, a false note--no pun intended. And he tackled a number of challenging roles.

He took on these challenges willingly, even eagerly, following the success of “From Here to Eternity.” Another person in his position, having been “unwanted” for several years, might have chosen to play it safe. Sinatra went in the opposite direction, portraying a steely-eyed assassin paid to gun down a U.S. president in “Suddenly” (1954), then a jazz drummer hooked on drugs in “The Man With the Golden Arm.”

Bear in mind how daring those films were thought to be in the 1950s. The scene of drug addict Frankie Machine enduring the agony of withdrawal, cold-turkey, was unlike anything audiences had ever seen before. Perhaps if it was someone less familiar and likable than Sinatra they would have rejected it completely.

He laid himself bare before the camera in that unforgettable scene, and it proved beyond any doubt that he was an actor, not merely a personality.

But he was canny in his career moves. Between these dramas he returned to musical turf opposite Doris Day in “Young at Heart” (1954), in a role originated by John Garfield in the 1938 film “Four Daughters”; essaying the role of Damon Runyon’s colorful Broadway character Nathan Detroit in “Guys and Dolls” (1955); and showing a flair for light comedy in “The Tender Trap” (1955), which opened memorably with the star sauntering toward the camera from a distant horizon while singing the title tune. That song became a Top 10 hit, fueling his recording career and a perfect example of what we now call synergy.

Movies provided him with other hit songs over the next decade, including “All the Way” from “The Joker Is Wild” (1957), the biography of nightclub comic Joe E. Lewis; and “High Hopes,” which he sang to young Eddie Hodges in “A Hole in the Head” (1959).

Variety was foremost in Sinatra’s mind as he chose his movie vehicles, which included musicals (“High Society,” 1956, with his boyhood idol Bing Crosby; “Pal Joey,” 1957; “Can-Can,” 1960); contemporary dramas (“Kings Go Forth,” 1958; “Some Came Running,” 1958; “The Devil at 4 O’Clock,” 1961); and at least one ill-advised costume epic (“The Pride and the Passion,” 1957). Clearly, there’s nothing he wouldn’t try at least once.

Real life spilled over onto movie scenes when Sinatra made films with members of his Rat Pack. “Ocean’s Eleven” (1960), the quintessential Rat Pack movie, even took place in Las Vegas, enabling Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop to do late-night stage shows while they were filming.

It’s one thing to accuse an entertainer of “playing himself” on-screen. It’s quite another to make that transformation seem natural, as Sinatra did while kidding around with his real-life pals in “Sergeants 3” (1962), “4 for Texas” (1963) and “Robin and the 7 Hoods” (1964). As in the Hope-Crosby road movies, Sinatra and company seemed to be having a good time, and audiences found that feeling contagious.

Like many top stars of this period, he served as his own producer, sharing ownership of many of these films. It was that position that enabled him to make what has become his most celebrated film in recent reevaluations of his work: “The Manchurian Candidate” (1962).

Reportedly, United Artists was worried about making this adaptation of Richard Condon’s political thriller, which involved the attempted assassination of a presidential candidate, but when Sinatra conveyed word that his friend President John F. Kennedy had enjoyed the book, UA gave the green light.

Having conquered so many facets of the movie world, he decided to try his hand at directing, on the World War II drama “None but the Brave” (1965), in which he also starred along with Clint Walker and his then-son-in-law, Tommy Sands. The reception was mild and he didn’t attempt an encore. His next film, also set during World War II, was notably superior: “Von Ryan’s Express” (1965).

With musicals no longer in fashion, he turned to urban cops-and-robbers films like “Tony Rome,” (1967) and its sequel, “Lady in Cement” (1968). His last starring film, “The First Deadly Sin” (1980), also fit into this category. Ironically, he bowed out of a similar vehicle in the early 1970s and it was left to Clint Eastwood to create the role of Dirty Harry.

Sinatra cut a wide swath through social circles in Hollywood, but his fierce independence made him his own man. His clashes with movie moguls and the press were as notorious as his headline-making romances with Ava Gardner (whom he married) and Lauren Bacall (whom he didn’t, despite much heated anticipation).

In the end, it’s his dedication to music that will serve as Frank Sinatra’s epitaph. He was an artist and a perfectionist. But don’t be surprised if, years from now, someone who’s never heard a Sinatra record discovers one of his film performances and expresses surprise that such a powerful actor also sang.