Box Office Blues

Show business is a funny business. There are times when moviegoers show up in force to see really mediocre movies, while more acclaimed (and deserving) films are ignored. In fact, some of my favorite movies in recent years were box office flops.

Don't be fooled: This place can be brutal.

Looking back at these movies, I can't help but wonder: How hard did they fail at the box office and why? In this post, I'll explore a few of these films (in no particular order) and offer explanations for their box office fates.

Note: While movie studios are generally open about film production budgets, they are less forthcoming about other expenses (including market and distribution costs). This is why films may still fail to turn a profit even if their box office earnings comfortably eclipse their production budget. Generally, most films need to earn about 2.5-3x their production budget to turn a profit during their theatrical run, though this does vary.

Star Wars: Solo

Solo was sunk by fan discontent over The Last Jedi

The only Star Wars movie to lose money at the box office, Solo was actually one of my favorite Star Wars adventures, and one of only two of the Disney era (along with Rogue One) that I can fully embrace.

Released in May 2018, Solo opened to solid reviews (69% on Rotten Tomatoes) and earned a worldwide gross of $393 million, a sum which would have brought a tidy profit for many other productions. However, with a large production budget of $275 million, Solo ended up losing approximately $77 million in spite of this haul. So, what happened? The reasons are two-fold:

1. The production was highly troubled, with the original directors (Phil Lord and Christopher Miller) fired partway through filming. Director Ron Howard was hired to finish the film and ended up reshooting approximately 70% of the movie, causing costs to balloon.

2. Solo was released only 6 months after Star Wars: The Last Jedi. While the negative fan reaction to The Last Jedi is well-documented, what is less discussed is the fact that many Star Wars fans responded by boycotting Solo.

Alden Ehrenreich may not be Harrison Ford, but he did the character justice

Ultimately, the combination of costly reshoots and lingering fan resentment over The Last Jedi was just too much for Solo to overcome. That's a shame, as almost every Star Wars fan I know who actually saw Solo really enjoyed it (including me), and the real tragedy is that we're unlikely to see any further Han Solo adventures as a result.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

A solid swashbuckling adventure undone by the narrow appeal of its IP

I'll be honest, I've never been a D&D fan. However, I was intrigued enough by Honor Among Thieves to see it when it was released in March 2023. And man, what a treat.

Funny, fast-paced, and action-packed, Honor Among Thieves earned an impressive 91% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. However, the film managed to gross only $208 million against a production budget of $150 million (Paramount has never officially revealed how much Honor Among Thieves lost [likely in the tens of millions], stating only that it was a "disappointment").

Chris Pine channels his Captain Kirk energy in Honor Among Thieves

As for explaining the movie's underperformance, that likely comes down to the niche appeal of the Dungeons & Dragons IP. Moviegoer surveys indicated that the audience demographic skewed heavily towards millennial men, overlapping with the game's core fanbase. That is to say that if you weren't a fan of the game, you probably didn't go see the movie. A pity for sure, since even my parents (who are about are far removed from D&D fandom as you can get) enjoyed it.

Scott Pilgrim vs The World

A superb film that defied classification... and that was its downfall

Full disclosure: Even I passed on Scott Pilgrim vs the World when it was released in August 2010. A cartoony movie based on a cult graphic novel about a goofy gamer/garage musician guy trying to impress a girl with weird hair? Forgive me if I wasn't in line at the midnight premier. In fact, it wasn't until well after its theatrical release that I finally got around to watching it late one night when I has absolutely nothing else to do.

Oh, man. Only then did I discover what I was missing. Definitely one of the top 3 wittiest movies I've ever seen, Scott Pilgrim brought me laughs and feels in equal measure, and remains one of the few movies I watch on a regular basis.

Michael Cera and Mary Elizabeth Winstead may seem like an odd match, but they make it work

With a strong RT score of 82% and my personal seal of approval, it's disappointing to me that Scott Pilgrim brought in only a measly $49 million at the box office against a production budget of $85 million (like with many movies, the final gain/loss tally was never officially released by the studio [Universal]).

In my estimation, Scott Pilgrim failed at the box office for the same reason I didn't see it during its theatrical release: It wasn't marketed well. Was it a comic book movie? Comedy? Action? Was the target audience only young adults?

While it's common knowledge that genre-bending movies are tricky to market (see Cowboys & Aliens), it's still tough to swallow that one of my all-time favorite movies fell victim to this old problem. Maybe one day Hollywood will figure it out, but I'm not holding my breath.

Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning

Dead Reckoning couldn't compete with Barbenheimer

In the past, I've had a love/hate relationship with the Mission: Impossible film series. At best, I thought of them as solid action flicks good enough for a home movie night, while at worst, I considered them poor imitations of the Bond series. However, more recently I've been pleasantly surprised with how Tom Cruise and Director Christopher McQuarrie have revitalized this once-stagnant series.

Beginning with the 2015 surprise hit Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation, the Cruise/McQuarrie combo hit on a formula (a mix of lighthearted approachability and breathtaking practical action sequences) that produced back-to-back blockbuster successes in the M:I series (with 2015's Rogue Nation and 2018's Fallout raking in $689 million and $791 million, respectively).

With the duo returning for Dead Reckoning (which earned a 96% RT rating), it seemed that box office run was sure to continue. Unfortunately, audiences had other plans. Against a whopping production budget of $291 million, Dead Reckoning brought in a total of $568 million for a loss of around $100 million.

Despite Dead Reckoning's box office struggles, Tom Cruise remains the king of stunts

I've gotta be honest: When the numbers came in for Dead Reckoning, I was pretty disappointed. I enjoyed Dead Reckoning as much as Rogue Nation and Fallout, and my hope was that third consecutive hit would guarantee the continuation of the series for years to come. So, why the decline on fortunes for what was supposed to be a sure-bet blockbuster? One word: Barbenheimer.

As it turns out, Dead Reckoning had the misfortune of releasing in July 2023 on the week before the biggest theatrical pop culture phenomenon of the year, which certainly diverted audience attention away from what would have otherwise been a box office hit.

Moral of the story? Don't go head-to-head with pink-clad blondes or nuclear bombs.

Star Trek Beyond

Tough competition held back Star Trek Beyond

When J.J. Abrams rebooted Star Trek in 2009 to both critical and commercial acclaim, I was as happy as a fat kid in a candy store. The new Star Trek series (or the Kelvin Timeline, as it would later be known) was everything the original wasn't: Fast, flashy and fun. It felt like the property had found a new lease on life, one where it could break out of the heavy-handed sci-fi niche it had always existed within and achieve broad appeal.

With a successful follow-up in 2013's Star Trek Into Darkness, it was thought that 2016's Star Trek Beyond, the third (and thus far, latest) entry in the Kelvin film series, would see similar success. Armed with a strong 86% RT score, why wouldn't it?

Well, as you can probably guess (since it's on this list), it didn't. Against a production budget of $185 million, Star Trek Beyond managed to generate only about $343 million at the box office, amounting to a loss of about $51 million.

Was Star Trek Beyond the last adventure for this cast?

Now, let me be clear about one thing: For me, Star Trek Beyond falls squarely into "Good, not great" territory. While I found it to be a perfectly acceptable entry in the series, it wasn't quite the smash that I was hoping for. That said, the film deserved to turn a profit, and its $50+ million loss basically assured that we would see no further Star Trek films made for the time being.

So, what happened? While analysts mainly pointed to stiff competition at the box office during its release window (and that quite possibly played a part), I think the biggest thing that hindered Star Trek Beyond was the departure of J.J. Abrams as director. 

At the time, Abrams was the hottest director in Hollywood, but when he was replaced with Justin Lin (so that Abrams could direct Star Wars: The Force Awakens), that put a damper on audience enthusiasm for the film. That, plus a substantial production budget of $185 million, meant that Star Trek would have to fight an uphill battle to turn a profit (one that it ultimately lost).

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. released 48 years after the TV show ended

Movies adapted from TV shows have a checkered record. For many, the challenge centers around getting modern audiences to connect with characters and stories that went off the air years or even decades ago.

Such was the struggle with The Man from U.N.C.L.E. While the film itself was a slick, funny, charming spy thriller (co-led by the Man of Steel himself, no less) that earned a 68% approval rating from Rotten Tomatoes, it had the misfortune of releasing at a time when the box office was already saturated with spy thrillers that were more relatable to modern audiences.

Even Henry Cavill's star power couldn't save The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

This disconnect was a full display at the box office, where The Man from U.N.C.L.E. managed to gross only $110 million against a production budget of $75 million for an approximate loss of a whopping $80 million.

Moral of the story? Don't wait almost half a century before giving a TV show its big screen debut.

Conclusion

While I know that not many moviegoers keep a close eye on box office receipts, I do because it's important to me that movies I enjoy experience success. Part of it is that I want those who do good work to be rewarded, but perhaps more selfishly, I want to see more good movies get made. After all, when good movies turn a profit, it's more likely that others will come down the pipe.

That said, the market isn't always fair. Sometimes good (or even great) movies simply have bad luck, whether it's a bad release window, competition, or simple audience ignorance. However, the important thing is that while good movies may not always experience the success that they deserve, the fact that they exist in the first place gives us the opportunity to enjoy them, nevertheless.

Better Late Than Never

Movies, like any other product or service, are intended to turn a profit for the businesses that produce them. Hollywood history is filled with examples of productions that were major hits, massive failures, or somewhere in between. However, often lost in the mix are major film projects that are remembered for being failures, though they actually did turn a profit... eventually. For this post, I'll discuss perhaps the two most well-known examples: 1960's The Alamo and 1963's Cleopatra.

Publicity photos from The Alamo (left) and Cleopatra (right), two films long considered failures that were actually profitable.

The Alamo (1960)

Wayne directing on the set of The Alamo (1963)

Starting in 1945, Hollywood star John Wayne had dreamed of directing a major production about the Battle of the Alamo. Over time, it had become something of an obsession for him. Realizing this dream would prove difficult, however: When he presented the idea to his home studio, Republic Pictures, they balked at the proposed $3 million production cost. Republic, which was known primarily for producing B-movie westerns, flatly refused to take the risk.

Frustrated, Wayne decided to finance the film himself, including taking out mortgages on his two houses and securing loans against his cars and yacht in the process, a major personal financial risk. However, before filming even started, Wayne's decision to self-finance the picture forced an artistic concession. 

Originally, Wayne had intended to play the smaller part of Sam Houston, so that he could spend most of his time directing rather than acting. However, Wayne's creditors refused to back the production unless Wayne himself appeared in a lead role, believing that was the best way to ensure the film's success. Desperate to get the picture made, Wayne acquiesced and assumed the role of Davy Crockett.

The exterior façade of the Alamo replica. The entire set was painstakingly recreated using over 1.25 million hand-crafted adobe bricks. 

The production's biggest expense was the set. Wayne insisted on authenticity, and ordered an exact replica of the Alamo (and neighboring village) be constructed from scratch. The project was massive, and took two years to complete. When finished, the set included 14 miles of new roads, 6 new wells to provide water for the horses, miles of water and sewage lines, and 5,000 acres of horse corrals.

The principal photography also proved problematic. Issues with the weather and wildlife annoyed the cast and crew, and filming eventually took a total of 83 days, about 3 weeks longer than planned. By then, the film's $3 million budget had ballooned to an estimated $12 million. Wayne himself was under so much pressure (both financially and professionally) that he nervously smoked cigarettes non-stop whenever he wasn't on-camera.

When The Alamo was finally released in October 1963, it earned a box office take of $7.9 million, good enough to make it the 5th-highest earning production of the year, but well short of turning a profit.

It's for this shortcoming that The Alamo is most often remembered as a failure, a distinction that always offended Wayne. When asked about the film, he was always quick to (quite correctly) point out that The Alamo was a box office hit, just not a profitable one.

Ironically, The Alamo's savior would not be the silver screen at all, but rather the small screen. Since the 1940s, film productions had been finding new life (and revenue) by being sold to TV networks for broadcast. For the movie studios, this was a great way to increase a production's lifespan and squeeze some additional revenue from it before relegating it to the archives. The Alamo followed this trend when its television rights were sold to NBC in 1971. With this deal, The Alamo finally become profitable. 

As of today, the final tally for The Alamo stands at $20 million of revenue against a $12 million budget, for a profit of $8 million. Not bad for a "failure".

Cleopatra (1963)

Taylor and Burton's real-life affair added intrigue to the film, but also helped scuttle Mankiewicz's plan to release the film as two features.

In 1958, 20th Century Fox was interested in producing a film about Cleopatra. Two earlier films about the Egyptian ruler, one in 1917 and another in 1934, had performed well at the box office. Originally planned with a modest budget of $2 million in mind, producer Walter Wagner successfully negotiated a larger budget of $5 million in 1959.

Director Robert Mamoulian was hired to make the picture a reality, and star Elizabeth Taylor, one of Hollywood's biggest names at the time, was awarded an unprecedented $1 million contract to appear in the eponymous role, her fee representing approximately 20% of the film's budget at the onset of the production (Taylor had asked for a $1 million salary to appear in the film as an offhand comment when she was initially approached by Wagner. She was as shocked as anyone when the studio agreed).

From the beginning, the production was plagued with mismanagement, illness, and creative clashes. 16 weeks into the production, Mamoulian had burned through the film's entire planned budget of $5 million, plus an additional $2 million, yet had only approximately 10 minutes of usable footage to show for it. He was promptly fired by 20th Century Fox, and Joseph Mankiewicz was brought in to complete the film.

Matters got worse in January 1961 when Taylor fell ill with pneumonia and production had to be halted; her illness was serious enough that there was a legitimate risk that she may not recover. Quietly, 20th Century Fox began making arrangements for Audrey Hepburn to take over should the worst come to pass. Fortunately, Taylor made a full recovery, albeit a slow one that delayed filming for months.

So many wooden ships were built to film the climactic Battle of Actium scene that it was said 20th Century Fox had the world's 3rd largest navy.

After taking over as director, one of the first decisions that Mankiewicz made was to move the production from England to Italy, requiring all of the elaborate (and expensive) sets to be constructed a second time. By the time filming resumed, daily production costs were exceeding $70k. Expansive scenes such as Cleopatra's grand parade into Rome and the naval Battle of Actium drained studio accounts, necessitating an "all hands on deck" effort by 20th Century Fox. All other studio productions were paused while all available resources were reallocated into Cleopatra to get it across the finish line.

With almost 6 hours of footage on hand at the end of filming, Mankiewicz intended to split Cleopatra into two separate features, called Caesar and Cleopatra and Antony and Cleopatra. However, 20th Century Fox objected to this plan, as star Richard Burton, whose adulterous affair with Taylor was now making tabloid headlines worldwide, would not appear in the first installment. Fearing that without Burton the first movie would be a flop (the thought being that the publicity surrounding the Burton-Taylor affair would help ticket sales), the studio ordered Mankiewicz to edit the footage into a single feature. This decision necessitated extensive re-shoots to get the film down to an appropriate length, further exacerbating the film's financial issues.

By the time Cleopatra was released in theaters in June 1963, the total cost of the production stood at a staggering $44 million (approximately $370 million today). While the film was the top earning release of 1963, its $40 million take at the box office was not enough to cover its costs. Like The Alamo, this is the reason that Cleopatra is often remembered as a failure.

Once again, it would be small screen that would save the biggest Hollywood production up to that time. In 1966, 20th Century Fox sold the television rights to Cleopatra to ABC for $5 million (then a record amount for a single film), allowing the studio to finally recoup its investment.

Delayed Gratification

Do either of these films deserve to be remembered as failures? Personally, I don't think so. Profitability isn't the only measure of a film's success (even though these two troubled productions were profitable in the end). People today (and generations to come) aren't going to judge these films by how profitable they were, but rather by how good they are. Both The Alamo and Cleopatra were received well by audiences, and that should be the lasting legacy of these films, as they'll continue to be seen and enjoyed by movie fans (like myself) long after the books have been closed.

A Night at the Nexus

I've always been a fan of the theater. Growing up, my brother, father, and I would typically go to the movies at least once every couple of weeks, and it made quite an impression on me from an early age. The smell of popcorn, the dim lights, the big screen, and (of course) the movie itself... to a young me, it was a magical experience.

My love for the cinema continued throughout my formative years and well into my professional life. Two years out of college and into my first job, I was still attending the theater quite regularly (The Grand 18 in Hattiesburg was basically my second home). Then, in August of 2014, I moved to Mobile, Alabama, and things began to change.

With a population well over 300,000, the Mobile area didn't exactly lack for movie theaters, but what it did lack were theaters that people actually wanted to go to. On the west side of Mobile (where I lived), moviegoers had exactly two options: The run-down Carmike Wynnsong on Schillenger Rd (now an AMC), or the ghost town-like Regal Stadium over on Government St (which I had been advised to avoid). To a devoted moviegoer like myself who was also excited about living on a new metro, this was quite a disappointment.

In retrospect, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Even discounting the two lackluster options in West Mobile, traditional theaters overall were becoming increasingly low-rent. The crowds were dying off, theaters were not as well staffed or maintained, and cinema complexes were steadily acquiring a dubious distinction as havens for wondering teenagers and other sketchy characters to congregate and loiter. Call me what you will, but that's a big turn-off for me.

At the same time, my home movie-viewing experience had improved significantly. My father (with whom I was living at the time) had a theater of his own in the upper floor of his house. Complete with a large screen, surround sound system, leather recliners, and even a snack bar, there was little reason for me to venture out in search of the "theater experience". That, coupled with the new 65" 4K TV of my own that I had situated in my room downstairs, afforded me ultra-convenient viewing options at home that made the argument for going out to the theater much harder of a sell.

As a result, my theater attendance dropped off significantly. Rather than darkening the door of my local movie house every other weekend, I found myself showing up only for the occasional blockbuster release (like the latest Star Wars film).

All of that changed after my first night at the Nexus.

Nexus Cinema Dining (or simply "The Nexus") is a new "dine-in" theater that opened this past spring in Mobile. Nestled deep in the suburbs of West Mobile and containing only two screens (and a total of 117 seats), you can be forgiven if you drove past it without taking notice. However, the establishment's unimposing size stands in stark contrast to the exquisite experience that greets anyone who stops by for a visit.

First off, all ticketing for the Nexus is done online through their website. Rather than the split matinée/regular showtime pricing at traditional theaters, all tickets are priced at a premium $16.58 apiece. Seating is also reserved, so you pick your seat when you order your tickets, which is really handy for securing the best seats when you purchase your tickets early. And speaking of early purchasing, be sure to do it whenever you can. Since seating at the Nexus is limited, prime showtimes of major releases tend to sell out as much as a week in advance.

The Nexus main lobby

When you first enter the Nexus, the first thing you'll notice is the unique layout of the lobby. In addition to being a theater, the Nexus is also a full-service restaurant and bar, and the lobby serves as the dining area. In addition, the second floor of the Nexus includes an upstairs dining room that serves as a sports event viewing area, and is a popular hangout for those who want to catch a game and a movie.

The Nexus sports bar

Located at the rear of the building, the Nexus' two theater rooms, the primary "Main Stage" and the secondary "Theater", serve as the main attraction.

Main stage room seating

Theater room seating

As you can see, each room is equipped with multiple rows of plush, motorized leather recliners for seating, as well as 1-2 rows of table seating near the back. Now, it may seem odd that the Nexus elected to mix recliner and table seating in the theater, but I tried the table seating in the "Main Stage" during my first visit and it wasn't all that bad. Indeed, the extra room to spread out a bit that the table provides comes in handy during the dining experience (more on that later), but overall, I still much prefer the recliners.

The video and audio technology employed by the Nexus is top-notch. Each theater utilizes a 4K laser projection system (as opposed to the traditional bulb projectors used by most theaters) which not only provides a sharper image, but also better color saturation and contrast. In addition, the Nexus is also equipped with a full Dolby Atmos sound system, which features object-based sound and over 100 distinct audio channels. Before each film, a short tech demo is played for the audience that showcases these technologies. To put it plainly, the Nexus spared no expense in this area.

Now, the dining areas, seats, theaters, and technology are all well and good, but what about the dining experience? I mean, that's the main attraction, right? After all, it's in the name. Well, I can proudly report that the Nexus succeeds on that level as well.

Recliners with fold-out trays and tablets running the Nexus in-house app

Every seat in the theaters and the dining areas includes a tablet running the Nexus Dining App that you use to order food. You simply scroll through the menu, pick out the items you want, hit "Order", and a member of the staff will bring them out to you promptly.

Me during my second visit

I found the dining experience to be the most impressive part of the Nexus. Not only was the service prompt and the servers courteous, but the food was excellent and the menu was quite extensive. Now, you are going to pay a bit of a premium for the food (my personal favorite, the VooDoo Shrimp, comes in at about $10), but I found everything delicious. With a good variety of appetizers, entrees, sides, and desserts (including Old Dutch ice cream!), there's something for everyone, even the pickiest of eaters. And of course, if you're not in the mood for a full meal, you can always just stick with the traditional popcorn and soda (each reasonably priced at about $3).

When describing the dining system to others, there's one question that I get a lot: Is the shuffling of servers in and out of the theater during the movie a distraction? It's a good question and an honest concern, but I'm happy to say that it's not a problem at all. The staff is very good at discretely and quickly making runs into the theater without causing a commotion. The aisles between the rows are wide enough for them to walk past without disturbing anyone, and they have a habit of ducking when serving during the movie so that they don't get in the way of the picture. Honestly, after the first few minutes of the movie, you're fixated enough that you don't really notice the staff bustling about.

Now, there is one other thing to note: The Nexus does leave the overhead lights in the theater on during the movie, though they do dim them significantly. This may seem strange to those who have only ever been to a traditional theater where all of the lights are completely extinguished for the feature presentation, but some degree of light is needed for the patrons to dine and for the staff to move about without incident. But like the previous concern, it really isn't much of an issue. Once you're 5 minutes into the movie, I guarantee that you'll stop noticing it.

Needless to say, after my first visit to the Nexus, I was hooked. I've been back several times since and have not been disappointed. Without a doubt, the Nexus has rekindled my love for the theater, and that means a lot to me.

If you're ever in the Mobile area and feel the hankering to see a movie, or even if you've never experienced a dining cinema and want to see what the fuss is about, I would highly recommend that you stop by and enjoy your own night at the Nexus.

Ball of Fire

During its Golden Age, Hollywood had no shortage of talented and versatile actresses. However, few of them could light up the screen quite like Barbara Stanwyck. With a screen presence that burned brighter than most and a tough-as-nails constitution to match, Stanwyck was undoubtedly one of the silver screen's all-time greats.

Barbara Stanwyck

Publicity photo c. 1930

Early Life

Ruby Catherine Stevens was born on July 16, 1907 in Brooklyn, New York to Byron and Catherine Stevens. When Ruby was only 4 years old, her mother was killed in a street car accident. Grief-stricken, her father abandoned the family two weeks later to join a Panama Canal work crew and was never seen again. Suddenly an orphan, Ruby was raised in a series of foster homes until about age 10, when she moved in with her older sister who was working as a night club showgirl. Growing up backstage in New York's speakeasy's, Ruby watched her sister's performances and taught herself the dance routines. Because of her early exposure to show business, Ruby developed an appreciation for the stage and committed herself to pursuing a career in entertainment from childhood. At around 16, Ruby dropped out of school and found work as both a model and a dancer, performing at various theaters and clubs in and around New York City.

Broadway Career

Stanwyck during her short-lived modeling career, c. 1924

In 1922, Ruby was discovered by a Broadway talent scout. She was given a small role in a play called The Noose, which proved to be quite successful. At the suggestion of the play's director, Ruby adopted a stage name, combining the first name of her character with the last name of a co-star to form Barbara Stanwyck. Due to the success of The Noose, Stanwyck was soon given the lead role in another Broadway production, Burlesque. The play proved to be another success, but it would also mark the end of her Broadway career. Noticed by a Hollywood scout, she was given a screen test for a lead role in a new film, Broadway Nights. Unable to cry on command during the test, Stanwyck saw her offer reduced to a bit part. Still, the allure of Hollywood was strong, and Stanwyck eagerly accepted the opportunity to start a film career.

Early Hollywood Career

A young Stanwyck stares down Clark Gable in Night Nurse (1931)

Unlike her experience on Broadway, Stanwyck's start in Hollywood would prove rocky. Her first three films were failures, and in 1930 she was on the verge of leaving Hollywood for good when up-and-coming director Frank Capra selected her for a lead role in his new film, Ladies of Leisure. One of the first widely successful sound films, Ladies proved to be a commercial success and critics praised Stanwyck's emotional, heartfelt performance.

Stanwyck followed up Ladies with another prominent role in 1931, that of a heroic nurse rescuing two children from a devious Clark Gable in Night Nurse. Despite concerns over the film's dark subject matter, the production was a success and Stanwyck solidified herself as one of Hollywood's up-and-coming talents.

In addition to her newfound fame following her first successes, Stanwyck acquired a reputation of being one of the most professional and hardworking players in Hollywood. At a time when big names with even bigger egos dominated the set and made life difficult for directors, producers, and stage crews alike, Stanwyck stood out as someone who could be counted on to deliver a quality performance with minimal difficulty, regardless of what was asked of her. In addition, while petty rivalries between top actors were the stuff of legend, Stanwyck made it a point to be warm and inviting to her co-stars, regardless of their status or experience. Hollywood took notice, and Stanwyck quickly became one of the most popular actresses among both casts and crews alike.

Rise to Stardom

Over the next 6 years, Stanwyck starred in a number of productions with varying levels of success. While some of these films were successful (the most notable of which being His Brother's Wife in 1936) and helped build her profile, Stanwyck had yet to find her true breakout role. That would change in 1937 when she signed on to play the title role in the drama Stella Dallas.

Stella Dallas (1937)

Production still from Stella Dallas (1937)

The second screen adaptation of a popular novel, Stella Dallas proved to be Stanwyck's vehicle to superstardom. The film cast Stanwyck as the poor girl Stella, who is determined to make a better life for herself by marrying into the upper class. Once she weds her beau (an up-and-coming businessman), she finds that she has trouble fitting in with high society and struggles to manage her life and relationships. Stanwyck's heartfelt portrayal of Dallas (inspired in part by her own rags-to-riches story) resonated with audiences and critics alike, and earned her an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress.

Peak Years

Now unquestionably one of Hollywood's top stars, Stanwyck found herself under consideration for virtually every top role that came by. Several prominent films followed, including the hits Union Pacific (1939) and Remember the Night (1940). Eventually, this popularity would see Stanwyck put together one of the all-time best single-year runs in Hollywood history in 1941.

The Lady Eve (1941)

Publicity photo for The Lady Eve (1941), alongside Henry Fonda

To kick off this remarkable run, Stanwyck starred in one of the greatest screwball comedy roles of all time in The Lady Eve, in which she plays a crafty card shark who ends up falling in love with her latest mark, a bumbling Ophidiologist played by Henry Fonda.

Hailed as one of the greatest comedies of all time, The Lady Eve was a smash hit. The on-screen chemistry between Stanwyck and Fonda was excellent, so much so that they reunited for another film later in the year (You Belong to Me), which would also be a hit.

Meet John Doe (1941)

Stanwyck and Gary Cooper in Meet John Doe (1941)

Shortly after wrapping up Eve, Stanwyck reunited with director Frank Capra to star alongside Gary Cooper in Meet John Doe. The film marked Stanwyck's fourth collaboration with Capra, but her first with Cooper, one of the top actors in Hollywood at the time. Cooper himself was eager to work with Stanwyck after having seen her recent work.

In Meet John Doe, Stanwyck plays the role of a sly reporter who, to keep from being laid off, publishes a sensational protest manifesto under the auspices of "John Doe" and unwittingly starts a political movement. Once word of the piece spreads, Stanwyck's character convinces her bosses to hire a bum (Cooper) to pose as "John Doe" and serve as a figurehead for the movement.

Meet John Doe was an instant hit. The film's timely narrative was well-received, and both Cooper and Stanwyck's performances were praised. For Stanwyck, the pairing with Cooper (her highest-profile co-star to date) was a boost for her career, and the two players would quickly reunite for another hit film.

Ball of Fire (1941)

Cooper and Stanwyck in a publicity still for Ball of Fire (1941)

Later in 1941, Gray Cooper signed on for the lead role in the comedy Ball of Fire, directed by Howard Hawks. While Cooper was a shoe-in for the male lead, the female lead was tougher to cast. Lucille Ball, Carole Lombard, Ginger Rogers, and Jean Arthur were all contacted about the role, but for one reason or another, they all turned it down. Cooper then suggested Stanwyck, with whom he had worked in Meet John Doe.

A screwball adaptation of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Ball of Fire sees Stanwyck play the part of a showgirl on the run from the police who want her to testify against her mobster boyfriend. She eventually hides out with a team of professors (led by Cooper) who are working on a new encyclopedia. Intrigued by her worldliness, Cooper allows her to stay with him so that he can learn the ins-and-outs of modern slang, which he intends to include in his volume.

Like their previous collaboration, Ball of Fire proved to be a hit for both Cooper and Stanwyck. Stanwyck in particular received praise for her performance (inspired in part by her past experience working as a showgirl), which secured her a second nomination for Best Actress.

Double Indemnity (1943)

Still from Double Indemnity (1943) with Fred MacMurray

After a hugely successful run in 1941, Stanwyck solidified her position as one of Hollywood's top actresses. However, her next big hit would not be until 1943 when she would star in one of the most iconic film noir roles of all time in Double Indemnity.

Adapted from a novella that was based a real 1927 case, Double Indemnity sees Stanwyck play the part of a femme fatale who convinces an insurance salesman to murder her husband. Though she was director Billy Wilder's first and only choice for the part, Stanwyck was quite hesitant to take the role; not only was it unfamiliar territory for her professionally, she worried that the nature of the part could damage her image.

In addition, Stanwyck was known for being particularly kind and approachable: This made it particularly difficult for Stanwyck (and others) to believe that she could convincingly portray a cold murderess. However, Wilder was sure that she was perfect for the role, and eventually convinced her to take it. Ultimately, the decision paid off for Stanwyck: Not only did she end up collecting her third nomination for Best Actress, but she put on a performance that is universally considered the best of her career.

Late Career

Christmas in Connecticut (1945)

Still from Christmas in Connecticut (1945) with Dennis Morgan

While Double Indemnity was a rip-roaring success, Stanwyck was eager to return to her roots a light and warm comedy (as she wanted to avoid being typecast). 1945's Christmas in Connecticut fit the bill: The script sees Stanwyck play an unmarried writer who must deceive her boss into believing that she is a perfect housewife when he invites himself and a war veteran over to her house for Christmas.

Christmas in Connecticut did well at the box office and would go on to become a holiday classic. For Stanwyck, the return to comedy was a success, but at 38 years old, her age was slowly becoming more of a liability. The more prominent roles in Hollywood were starting to shift toward younger actresses, and it would be 3 years before Stanwyck would have another unqualified hit.

Sorry, Wrong Number (1948)

Publicity still for Sorry, Wrong Number (1948)

The next few years saw Stanwyck's career slow down appreciably; her films over this span were generally poorly received, and Stanwyck herself wasn't getting any younger. Also, Stanwyck increasingly delved into film noir, spurred in part by her success in Double Indemnity and because the genre was more accommodating to older actresses (like herself) than comedy or traditional drama. While she may have entered the final phase of her film career, Stanwyck had one last Oscar-caliber performance to put on in the film noir thriller Sorry, Wrong Number.

In Sorry, Wrong Number, Stanwyck plays a bedridden wife who overhears a murder plot over her phone line and rushes to solve it before it's too late. Sorry, Wrong Number was a challenge for Stanwyck, as the script saw her character confined to a bed for most of the film. In addition, her scenes were shot over a grueling 12-day period, an taxing task for the aging actress. Nevertheless, Stanwyck's legendary work ethic prevailed; the film was a success and Stanwyck's performance earned her a fourth (and final) nomination for Best Actress.

Later Years

Publicity photo for The Big Valley, c. 1965

After Sorry, Wrong Number, Stanwyck's film career would begin to decline for good. While she established herself well in film noir in the second half of her career (including starring in successful productions like The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, Clash by Night, Jeopardy, and Crime of Passion), her major hit roles were well behind her.

Late in her film career, Stanwyck began to explore opportunities on TV, beginning with The Barbara Stanwyck Show in 1960, which ran for a single season. After having been nominated for four Oscars for Best Actress and losing out each time, 1961 saw Stanwyck finally take home a major award when she won the Emmy for Best Actress for her performance in The Barbara Stanwyck Show.

In 1964, Stanwyck left the silver screen for good, and started a new role on TV in the Western series The Big Valley, which ran from 1965-1968 (it's this role for which she is best remembered by modern audiences). Stanwyck's performance in The Big Valley would earn her an additional Emmy win in 1966 and two more nominations, one each in 1967 and 1968.

Years later, Stanwyck would return to TV for what would essentially be the swan song for her long and illustrious career in show business. In 1983, at the age of 76, Stanwyck starred in the hit TV miniseries The Thorn Birds, for which she would win her final Emmy. In 1985, Stanwyck retired from public life for good. 

In 1990, Barbara Stanwyck died of heart failure caused by COPD (she had been a heavy smoker throughout her life) at Saint John's Health Center in Santa Monica, California. By her wishes, no funeral service was held and her remains were cremated and scattered over Lone Pine, California.

Legacy

Publicity photo c. 1930s

Barbara Stanwyck's legacy ranks among the all-time Hollywood greats. A 38-year Hollywood career (not to mention an additional 22 years on television, for an astounding 60 total years in show business) that saw her make 85 films and score 4 Oscar nominations is one that cannot be easily overlooked. Her success was due in no small part to her captivating screen presence, which was remarkable even among the Hollywood elite. And yet, acknowledging that alone just doesn't do her legacy justice.

Hollywood has always been a place where large egos and a culture of selfishness has abounded. To an extent, Stanwyck was an exception to that rule. For sure, she wielded a larger-than-life persona and allowed nothing to stand in the way of her career, but it's the care and professionalism with which she practiced her craft that I believe is the other enduring side to her legacy. Whether it was taking the time to learn the names of the families of the crew and asking about them regularly, pushing through brutal shooting schedules without complaint, or even performing elaborate stunts that hardened daredevils refused to attempt, Stanwyck exercised a work ethic second to none.

All things considered, Stanwyck was an exceptional actress. Though a woman of humble origins, she exhibited a complexity that defies easy classification. That said, if I had to ascribe a moniker to her, I would choose no other than the title of the production that earned her a second Oscar nomination... a true Ball of Fire.

Man of the West

Throughout Hollywood's Golden Age, few actors proved as versatile or memorable as Gary Cooper. Cooper's humble, authentic style of acting resonated with audiences far and wide, and ultimately helped establish him as one of the silver screen's finest players. Throughout his career, Cooper starred in over 80 films, including classics such as The Virginian, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Sergeant York, The Pride of the Yankees, and his definitive work, High Noon. While he grew up the quintessential cowboy and is perhaps best remembered for his westerns, Cooper excelled in many different kinds of roles. That said, the one common thread seen in all of Cooper's performances was that of a genuine, natural performer to whom audiences could almost relate. It was this quality that led to Cooper being called "The champion of the common man", a new type of hero in a time that desperately needed one. Whether he was portraying the charming Longfellow Deeds, the folksy Alvin York, or the downtrodden yet determined Marshal Kane, Cooper brought each of his characters alive in a way that audiences cherished both then and now.

Gary Cooper

Publicity photo c. 1936

Early Life

Gary Cooper was born as Frank James Cooper on May 5th, 1901 in Helena, Montana. Cooper's parents, Alice and Charles Cooper, were English immigrants. After arriving in America, Charles Cooper worked as a lawyer, rancher, and eventually a Supreme Court Justice.

Cooper grew up at his family's ranch, working to help raise their cattle like a true cowboy. While attending high school, Cooper developed a profound interest in the arts. He decided to pursue a career as an artist, and spent time working in both Chicago and Helena. In 1924, Cooper's parents moved to Los Angeles and Cooper, who had yet to find steady employment in his chosen field, decided to move with them.

After a few weeks without any gainful employment, a couple of Cooper's friends invited him to audition for a job as a stunt rider at a small movie studio while he waited on his art career to pick up. Cooper, an experienced rider from his days working at his family's ranch, agreed to give it a try.

Early Career

Cooper started out appearing in several low-budget westerns alongside some of the stars of the day. However, Cooper found the work arduous and risky, and sought to move into the easier and safer work of acting. On the advice of his agent, he changed his first name to "Gary", which he liked and kept for the rest of his life.

Cooper slowly worked his way up the ladder by first landing an assortment of bit parts followed by some minor credited roles. Eventually, with help from his then-girlfriend and Hollywood superstar Clara Bow (with whom he had appeared in the hit film It), Cooper landed leading roles in several successful movies, including Children of Divorce, Wings, and Lilic Time. Cooper's popularity rose with each film and he quickly became one of Hollywood's rising stars.

Rise to Stardom

Gary Cooper in The Virginian (1929)

In 1929, Cooper landed the lead role in his first sound picture, The Virginian. The film was a major hit, and helped define the western genre for years to come. Cooper's performance as the honest, honor-bound protagonist established the image of the ideal western hero that persists to the present day. The film also made Cooper an instant star, and his resident studio, Paramount, decided to capitalize on his newfound popularity by thrusting him into filming ten films over the next two years; of these films, the most noteworthy was the drama Morocco, where Cooper starred alongside Marlene Dietrich in her Hollywood debut. While Cooper's popularity soared over this period, the stress of making so many films so quickly left him both physically and emotionally drained. At the conclusion of this ten-film run, Cooper decided to take a year-long vacation to Europe to recuperate.

Upon returning to Hollywood in 1932, Cooper resumed his acting career, albeit at a more sensible pace. While his films over the next few years were hit-or-miss, Cooper did star in several critical and box office hits, including A Farewell to Arms (the first of two Hemingway adaptations in which he would star), Now and Forever (where he appeared alongside Shirley Temple), and The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (one of the 1930s biggest adventure films).

Peak Years

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936)

Publicity photo for Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) with Jean Arthur.

1936 was the start of the peak of Cooper's Hollywood career. Early that year, Cooper was selected by director Frank Capra for the title role in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, for which Cooper earned his first Academy Award nomination for Best Actor. Cooper excelled in the role of the folksy and down-to-earth Longfellow Deeds, a character with whom he shared many personality similarities. Combined with the charming performance of co-star Jean Arthur and an excellent script courtesy of writer Robert Riskin, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town easily became Cooper's biggest hit at the time. Indeed, his performance crafted the image of the new American "folk hero" with which Cooper would be associated for the rest of his career.

The Plainsman (1936)

Cooper in The Plainsman (1936), again alongside Arthur.

Later in 1936, Cooper reunited with Arthur and returned to his roots in the western epic The Plainsman. Under the direction of the legendary Cecil B. DeMille, Cooper delivered another iconic Cooper-esque performance as Wild Bill Hickok and the film was a smash hit. The combined successes of Cooper in both Mr. Deeds and The Plainsman catapulted Cooper to the top of the list of actors under consideration for the vaulted role of Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind. Producer David O. Selznick tried several times to convince Cooper to take the role, but after reading the script, Cooper felt that he was ill-suited for it. After witnessing Clark Gable's performance in the role in 1938, Cooper felt his earlier assessment was accurate.

Meet John Doe (1941)

Cooper in Meet John Doe (1941) with Barbara Stanwyck

Cooper took most of 1937 off from filmmaking, and his return in 1938 was marked by several box-office failures. However, Cooper returned to form beginning in 1939, during which he filmed the adventure epics Beau Geste and The Real Glory, which were in turn followed by The Westerner and North West Mounted Police in 1940. While each of these films were box-office successes, none quite matched the dazzling heights of Cooper's 1936 hits. However, in 1941, Frank Capra offered to reunite with Cooper for the comedy Meet John Doe. Without even reading the script, Cooper accepted, trusting Capra implicitly after their success with Mr. Deeds. Cooper's faith in Capra proved to be well-founded; Meet John Doe opened to rave reviews for both Cooper and co-star Barbara Stanwyck, with whom Cooper shared a delightful on-screen chemistry. Meet John Doe was also a commercial hit, and Cooper was back on top of Hollywood.

Sergeant York (1941)

Cooper in Sergeant York (1941)

Later that year, Cooper teamed up with director Howard Hawks to film perhaps his most memorable picture, Sergeant York. Cooper initially turned down the role, but was convinced to take it when contacted personally by Alvin York. Immediately upon meeting, Cooper and York established a good rapport and, while nervous about portraying a living hero, Cooper agreed to accept the role. Upon release, Sergeant York was a mega-hit, and easily became 1941's top-grossing movie. Critics raved over Cooper's performance, and for his efforts, Cooper earned his second nomination and first win for the Academy Award for Best Actor.

The Pride of the Yankees (1942)

Cooper and Babe Ruth in The Pride of the Yankees (1942)

Due to the outbreak of World War II, Cooper made only one film in 1942, The Pride of the Yankees. However, the film would be considered one of his finest. For the second time in as many years, Cooper found himself portraying a real-life hero in a biographical picture. Cooper felt he wasn't right for the role, as he knew nothing of baseball and was not left-handed like Lou Gehrig (a critical point of consideration for the batting sequences). However, Gehrig's widow, Eleanor Gehrig, insisted that Cooper play her husband and Cooper, under pressure from the studio, relented.

The studio in question, Samuel Goldwyn Productions, was nervous about the film's prospects; sports movies were not particularly popular at the time, so it was hoped that the inclusion of a high-profile star (Cooper, in this case) would serve as a hedge against a possible box-office flop. Ultimately, The Pride of the Yankees was a hit, receiving an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture and a third nomination for Cooper for Best Actor.

For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943)

Cooper and Ingrid Bergman in For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943)

In 1943, Cooper returned to the screen for his second Hemingway adaptation, For Whom the Bell Tolls. Starring alongside Ingrid Bergman (a new star in her own right after appearing in the surprise hit Casablanca a year earlier), Cooper delivered another fine performance and earned another Academy Award nomination for Best Actor, his fourth. Afterwards, Cooper would spend the rest of World War II on tour, visiting military hospitals and meeting the servicemen and women. Cooper would later call his adventures visiting with the military "the greatest emotional experience" of his life.

Late Career

Following World War II, Cooper's career fell into a bit of a rut. While he remained a major star, his films over the next few years underperformed. Along Came Jones (1945), Saratoga Trunk (1945), and Cloak and Dagger (1946) all contributed to this downturn; 1947's Unconquered proved to be Cooper's only appreciable success over this period.

The Fountainhead (1949)

Cooper in The Fountainhead (1949)

The low point of Cooper's career coincided with the release of The Fountainhead (1949). An adaptation of a novel by famed philosopher Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead was a highly-anticipated production. However, the film proved to be a colossal failure; a weak script which saw Cooper placed in a decidedly nontraditional role (a selfish anti-hero, diametrically opposed to the folksy "champion of the common man" which had defined his career) ultimately doomed the production.

Several explanations have been offered for Cooper's sudden downturn during this period. The first concerns the quality of the productions in which he starred; none of the films Cooper appeared in during this time were particularly well-executed. In addition, it's been suggested that the public's taste in movies evolved in the years after World War II, and Cooper's image as the "everyman's hero" simply wasn't that popular. Lastly, Cooper was simply getting old. In his mid-40s coming out of World War II, Cooper had been working in Hollywood for quite some time and his age was beginning to show. With each film, it was becoming increasingly difficult for audiences to embrace Cooper as a dashing young hero.

High Noon (1952)

Cooper with Grace Kelly in High Noon (1952)

In 1952, Cooper's fortunes began to turn back around when he starred in the suspenseful western High Noon. An allegory of the practice of blacklisting, High Noon featured Cooper's portrayal of the weary yet dutiful Marshal Kane. Combined with Grace Kelly's performance as his young bride, Cooper once again excelled in the role of the honor-bound hero. While the production was not without controversy, High Noon was a hit and led Cooper to his second Academy Award win for Best Actor.

Friendly Persuasion (1956)

Cooper and Dorothy McGuire in Friendly Persuasion (1956)

In 1956, Cooper again found himself in an unfamiliar role; that of an aging patriarch in Friendly Persuasion. While the part was decidedly new territory for Cooper (who had traditionally played bachelor roles), the film's theme of pacifism vs duty was becoming quite familiar to Cooper (Sergeant York and High Noon had tread much of the same ground) and he put on what was arguably one of his best performances. Cooper's ability to play to both the comedy and moral conflict of the story captivated audiences, and the picture was both a critical and commercial hit.

Man of the West (1958)

Cooper in Man of the West (1958)

In the mid-1950s, it was obvious that Cooper was nearing the end of his career. Cooper's health had been deteriorating for years, and his hit films were becoming fewer and farther between. In 1958, Cooper appeared in the dark western drama Man of the West, a production which would essentially serve as the swan song for his career. In the film, Cooper plays the role of a former outlaw who ends up battling his former gang. Many of the themes of moral conflicts that had marked the latter part of Cooper's career are present in Man of the West, and once again, Cooper played to them quite well. While Man of the West was not a critical or commercial success at the time of its release, the film and Cooper's performance have been re-evaluated in modern times and are now widely regarded as being among his best.

Later Years

Cooper appeared in only four films after completing Man of the West, none of which drew much attention. In 1961, Cooper retired for good. By that point, Cooper's health had seriously deteriorated; he had undergone operations for both prostate and intestinal cancer and was plagued by stomach ulcers. In February of that year, Cooper learned that he had inoperable cancer in his lungs and bones. On May 13, 1961, Gary Cooper passed away at his home in Holmby Hills (outside of Los Angeles), shortly after his 60th birthday.

Legacy

Gary Cooper, a Hollywood legend

Working professionally in Hollywood for 36 years and leading in over 80 films, Cooper had a long and varied career. For the most part, Cooper usually found himself in the role of a hero, and while that role evolved over the course of his career, I believe that it was during his peak years in the late 30s and early 40s, the time during which he mastered the part of the "homespun hero", that Cooper really shined brightest.

For me, Cooper's performance in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town is easily one of my all-time favorites. While the popular image of the "perfect American hero" has changed over the years, I think that Cooper's role as the "common man's hero" will endure as a testament not only to the times in which he lived, but of the man himself.