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Dig A Hole: Character actor Henry Beckman, Hollywood cop

July 1st, 2008 by Scott Marks

Henry Beckman

Clockwise: Cmdr. Paul Richards in Flash Gordon (1955), Peyton Place’s George Anderson (1964) and as Alf Skully in Check It Out (1985)

Character actor Henry Beckman, a prolific 50s and 60s television staple, died June 17 in Barcelona, Spain. He was 86.

Mr. Beckman appeared in hundreds of TV shows, movies and commercials in the U.S. and Canada. Born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, he served in the Canadian military during WWII and survived the Normandy invasion. After the war he married Cheryl Maxwell, a one-time actress and Broadway producer. She remained his bride up until the time of her death in 1998.

His first television appearance was in the Pretend I Am A Stranger episode of The Philco Television Playhouse (1951). Following their 1955 marriage, Henry and Cheryl eventually purchased The Dukes Oak Theatre in Cooperstown, New York. Two years after that, they sold the theatre and moved to Hollywood where Henry pursued an on-camera career.

His first recurring television role was as Cmdr. Paul Richards on six episodes of the ultra-cheapo TV version of Flash Gordon (1955). His two longest running TV hits were roles as George Anderson on Peyton Place and Colonel harridan in “McHale’s Navy.

Mr. Beckman was known for playing heavies or small roles that required regional dialects or foreign languages. Great gunsel that he was, Henry was at his best when he wore a badge and answered his call on the Hollywood squad roll. He played just about every type of hard-line lawman one could imagine: a Motorcycle Cop (Niagara), a Beat Cop (The Twilight Zone, Tashlin’s The Man from the Diner’s Club, I Dream of Jeannie, Sweet Charity), Lieutenants (My Favorite Martian and the mind altering Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theatre), Sheriffs (Mannix, The Rockford Files, Quincy), Detectives (Hitchcock’s Marnie, The X-Files), a Narc (Breakfast at Tiffany’s) even the D.A. in an episode of The Monkees!

In 1977, Henry and Cheryl were awarded the Queen Elizabeth II Jubilee Medal for “contributions to Canadian culture and the esteem in which they were held by their peers”. (I wonder what the Queen thought of his performance in David Cronenberg’s The Brood?) His work in Canada earned two Canadian film awards in best-supporting actor category including a Genie in 1978 for Blood and Guts.

1979 the journeyman actor wrote and published How to Sell Your Film Project, a guide on how to make and market independent films.

Beckman also wrote film scripts, and was a member of the Writer’s Guild of Canada, the Screen Writers Guild of America, SAG, AFTRA, ACTRA and the Director’s Guild of Canada.

He is survived by two sons, Brian and Stuart.

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Actors With Character: Woody Allen favorite Mary Boylan

June 17th, 2008 by Scott Marks

Mary Boylan in Alice, Sweet Alice

Remember the old woman who lived in a shoe? Here’s an old woman who looked like a lived-in shoe and made a career out of it!

Seeing Mary Boylan on screen for the first time gave me a gigantic laff at the movies. It was towards the end of Woody Allen’s Bananas. In order to to avoid courtroom photogs, Fielding Melish covers his face with a hat. He spots Miss Boylan in the crowd and taken aback by her homeliness, Melish kindly places his cap over her face. Allen later used her as the blue-haired Miss Reed in Annie Hall.

She was born on February 23, 1913 in Plattsburgh, New York. Due to a genetic quirk, Ms. Boylan looked many years older than her age, so she invariably was cast as senile spinsters. Her first big screen appearance was as the lady who looks like she’s always smelling something bad in Hitchcock’s The Wrong Man.

She appeared in two of the most influential films of their day, Midnight Cowboy and The Exorcist, in which she received billing as “First Mental Patient.” Sadly, she didn’t get a crack at the role she was born to play.  Ms. Boylan never starred as Eleanor Roosevelt opposite Ralph Bellamy’s F.D.R. in a touring company of Sunrise at Campobello.

Offscreen, she was described as lively and energetic. In addition to her film roles. Miss Boylan starred in New York’s Off-Off Broadway theatres such as the Caffe Cino and La Mama, with vehicles written especially for her by such writers as H.M. Koutoukas.

And shades of Skip Bittman, when Ms. Boylan auditioned for musical roles, she she brought a tape recorder to auditions instead of an accompanist.

The next time you hear someone mimic Norma Desmond’s “They don’t make faces like that anymore,” think of meeskite Mary Boylan and thank God!

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Dig A Hole: Harvey Korman

May 29th, 2008 by Scott Marks

“That’s Hedley…”

As far as Emulsion Compulsion is concerned, Harvey Korman’s career can be summed up with one name: Hedley Lamarr.

As Blazing Saddles’ ruthless land baron bent on keeping avarice alive in the the small town of Rock Ridge, Harvey Korman distilled every movement, every gesture, every facial contortion, every everything that ever got him a laugh into one nasty comic character. Although he appeared in three more movies for Mel (High Anxiety, The History of the World Part 1 and Dracula: Dead and Loving It), nothing the actor did either before or after came close to matching Hedley’s depth of Hedley’s satirical silliness.

Korman died today Korman died at the UCLA Medical Center four months after suffering complications from the rupture of an abdominal aortic aneurysm. He was 81.

Harvey Herschel Korman was born in Chicago on February 15, 1925. The lanky TV comedy had a couple of unbilled spots in Gypsy and Son of Flubber before quickly realizing that his broad comic characterizations were better suited for the small screen. Korman’s first big break was a stint as a featured performer on Danny Kaye’s 1963 musical variety show.

On The Danny Kaye Show Korman began working in a format that would eventually bring him everlasting fame on The Carol Burnett Show. Over the years, Korman garnered four Emmy Awards for his work on Carol Burnett. I was never able to last more than 5 minutes watching this show. Broad comic antics with characters frequently breaking up at their own brilliance. This was the type of show that was for my parents and their generation. To my folks’ credit, neither one of them could stand it.

Korman’s distinct voice also led him to work as a vocal performer in cartoons. In recent years he contributed his vocal talents to Garfield and Friends, Hey Arnold, The Wild Thornberrys, but when it comes to animation Korman is best remembered as the snooty spaceman The Great Gazoo on The Flintstones.

In 1977, after the success of both Blazing and Burnett, Korman decided to strike out on his own. The Carol Burnett Show nosedived in his absence. Korman never learned the joy of being a second banana. No matter how much fame and recognition Mel and Carol gave him, Korman would never again find showbiz success.

As with all second-rate comics, Korman felt that he had at least one great dramatic role screaming to get out. The comic played straight man Bud Abbott in the terrible TV biopic Bud and Lou. As a dramatic actor, Korman gave one of his funniest performances. And his post-Carol shtick with Tim Conway wasn’t much better. I stepped into The Longshot based on the stellar reputations of director Paul Bartel and cinematographer Robby Muller. The colors were dazzling, the closest Chicago’s Plaza Theater ever came to dye transfer Technicolor.  Everything else about the production was ashen.

Korman was twice married, first to Donna Ehlert in 1960. It ended in divorce in 1974. He married Deborah Fritze in 1982. In addition to his wife, Korman is survived by four other adult children — Kate, Laura, Maria and Chris — and three grandchildren.

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Actors With Character: Whitner Nutting ‘Whit’ Bissell

May 13th, 2008 by Scott Marks

Whit Bissell in an episode of NBC-TV’s “Panic” (1957)

Nutting? Didn’t Whit’s parents see Mandingo?

I love this guy. Whether playing a prematurely gray doctor or prematurely gray scientist, Whit Bissell’s name in the credits holds almost as much promise (and screen time) as a Hitchcock cameo.

Who will ever forget Whit’s death scene in Riot in Cell Block 11 or his weasely bank teller in Anthony Mann’s Side Street? When someone asked, “Is there a doctor in the house?,” Whit invariably answered the call. Need a convincing scientific expert who just happens to look smashing in a lab coat? Whit fit. This guy played so many doctors he could cure the dead and enough scientists (mad or otherwise) to turn us into a race of teenage werewolves!

Was he a good actor? Who can say? He was seldom on screen long enough for audiences to find out.

The son of prominent surgeon Dr. J. Dougal Bissell, one can hear his father screaming, “I raised you to become a great doctor, not play one in the movies!” Let’s see J. Dougal bark the following directive to mute Teenage Frankenstein: Michael Landon with the same authority as his son: “I know you can speak! I sewed your lips on myself!”

I first took notice of Whit as a kid hooked on Irwin Allen’s The Time Tunnel. (It was a typical I. A. production: 95% of the budget went towards sets, special effects and talent while the rest paid for the screenplay.) At first glance, Whit didn’t appear to be acting. He so looked the part that I automatically presumed Whit to be a world renown scientist playing himself. (The fact that my young brain failed to automatically block thoughts of documentary realism when exposed to an Irwin Allen production proves that I am slightly retarded.)

Whit had been working hard in Hollywood since the 40s and by the time Irwin Allen introduced us, he had appeared in almost 300 movies and TV shows, invariably as a general practitioner.

Of his 283 movie and television appearances listed on imdb, I’d venture that I’ve seen half. Whit usually appeared in small doses, so it was very rare that he was allowed to stretch. Such was the case in The Comedian, a 1957 episode of Playhouse 90.

Written by Rod Serling, The Comedian stars Mickey Rooney as a ruthless TV comic said to have been patterned after Sid Caesar. The Mick hands in an astounding performance, one of the best of his career. Whit pops up as Otis Elwell, a J. J. Hunseckerish gossip columnist who threatens to topple Mickey’s fiefdom. Gone is the customary doctor’s frock and in its place, a sleek overcoat. Instead of seeing the world through dime store spectacles, Elwell sports a pair of fashionable designer shades. Sucking smoke through a cigarette holder, the rapier Whit commands a scene like never before.

His most embarrassing moment came in 1975’s The Psychic Killer directed by Ray Danton. If the name rings a bell, he played Legs Diamond in Budd Boetticher’s glorious biopic. I once asked Budd about Danton and he said, “the biggest, most egocentric prick I ever met in my life.” (I sure miss Budd!) TPK is terribly made. I lifted my beloved “so bad it’s educational” line from Dave Kehr’s review. Guess what role Whit plays? The actor was 65 when they made it and at last, after all those years of playing the good doctor, got to partake in a nude love-making scene. Whit stays covered, of course. Covered in Max Factor Pancake Makeup Tan #2. He’s wearing more makeup than the chick! His death by audio-phonic torture is a moment to be devoutly cherished. I actually paid to see this at Chicago’s Riviera Theater, long before it was converted it into a nightclub. It was the first DVD I ever purchased; it appeared to me in a used bin in Burbank for $3.00 and I grabbed it up even before I had a DVD player. Surely something as priceless as this would quickly go out of print.

Thanks for all the good medicine, Whitner Nutting Bissell!

Whit bissell & Michael Landon in \

The good doctor about to offer teenage werewolf Michael Landon a Chesterfield

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Dig A Hole: Robert DoQui, veteran character actor and member of Robert Altman’s stock company

February 28th, 2008 by Scott Marks

lily-tomlin-robert-doqui-in-robert-altmans-nashville-1975.jpg
With Lily Tomlin in Robert Altman’s “Nashville” (1975)

Versatile character actor Robert DoQui died February 9 in Los Angeles. He was 74.

Mr. DoQui was born in Stillwater, Oklahoma and later attended Langston University on a music scholarship. After a four year hitch in the army, DoQui headed east to pursue a career in acting. He first appeared on television as Lieutenant Jackson in The Invisible Enemy episode of The Outer Limits. After bit roles in The Cincinnati Kid and The Fortune Cookie, DoQui spent the remainder of the 60s appearing on some of the decade’s most popular television shows.

I Dream of Jeannie, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., Family Affair, Get Smart, The Mod Squad, Gunsmoke and Mission: Impossible are just a few of the series that the prolific actor worked on. In the early 70s, with the blaxploitation movement just warming up, DoQui landed roles in The Man, starring James Earl Jones as the first black President and Coffy where Pam Grier was hot, black and thoroughly capable of creaming you.

The closest he came to an art house vogue was appearances in three (Nashville, Buffalo Bill and the Indians and Short Cuts) Robert Altman films. DoQui is probably best know for playing the gruff, by the books Sergeant Warren Reed in all three RoboCop films.

His brush with the big screen was fleeting. For every feature film appearance there were a dozen TV roles including Maude, Quincy, Barnaby Jones, Punky Brewster, Benson, The Facts of Life, E.R. and Party of Five. In addition to live action gigs, DoQui’s distinctive voice brought him work on the animated series The Harlem Globetrotters, Scooby Doo and Batman.

DoQui served for ten years on the Board of Directors of the Screen Actors Guild, advocating for increased participation of women and minority groups in the media.

He is survived by his life partner Mittie Lawrence; four sons; a daughter; his 96 year old mother and 10 grandchildren.

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