Escape Artist: The Life and Films of John Sturges

By Glenn A. Lovell

Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, December 2008. Cloth: ISBN 978-0299228309, $60; paper: ISBN 978-0299228347, $26.95.

Review by Laurence Raw, Başkent University, Ankara, Turkey

By the time John Sturges died in 1992, he had largely dropped out of the public gaze, in spite of films such as Bad Day at Black Rock (1955), The Magnificent Seven (1960), and The Great Escape (1963). In one of his obituaries, Variety described him as “one of the last of Hollywood’s old-time action directors,” while People damned him with faint praise as someone who helped “many tough guy actors” to become stars (295). Although Sturges’s style of filmmaking has since come back into vogue, thanks to Jerry Bruckheimer’s blockbusters and the chic thrillers of Quentin Tarantino, Sturges himself remains a shadowy figure. His colleague John Carpenter described him as “the most underrated filmmaker of the postwar era” (296).

Glenn A. Lovell’s meticulously researched biography, drawing on extensive interviews with Sturges and members of his family, goes a long way toward restoring the director’s reputation. Adopting a chronological approach, it begins by focusing on his early life in Illinois and California. Sturges majored in science and did a little stage-management on the side before joining RKO as an assistant art director in 1932. He quickly acquired a reputation as a problem-solver, which secured rapid promotion to set-designer on The Garden of Allah (1936), with Marlene Dietrich and Charles Boyer. From there Sturges moved on to an apprenticeship in RKO’s editing department, working his way up to full editor. His later films for the studio included Gunga Din (1939) and They Knew What They Wanted (1940). By the time Sturges joined the army in 1942, he had acquired sufficient confidence to make his own films: “I knew I didn’t have literary merit, and I’d never been a deal maker or hustler. But I understood cutting. And if you know how to cut pictures, you know how to make ‘em” (24).

Sturges’s wartime experiences brought him into contact with William Wyler; the two collaborated on the war documentary Thunderbolt, recording the Allies’ triumphant arrival in Rome. His directorial debut came in 1946 with Columbia’s The Man Who Dared; and thereafter he made several undistinguished thrillers while acquiring a reputation for enthusiasm and gentility. The actress Terri Moore described him as “British” in attitude: “eloquent, a real gentleman” (39).

Although he was uncomfortable directing actors (several of them complained of his apparent lack of interest in them), Sturges was an exceptionally gifted technician. Bad Day at Black Rock was an experiment in montage, focusing on “reacting, not acting” (113-14); Gunfight at the OK Corral (1957) flamboyantly celebrated the west with “stampeding horses, a burning wagon, and thunderous shotgun blasts as Wyatt Earp [Burt Lancaster] and his brothers dive for cover” (152). The Magnificent Seven bombed on its New York opening, but gradually became “required viewing for adrenalin junkies [….] [on account of] Sturges’ near seamless fusion of music, location photography, more liberal-than-usual language and bloodletting” (215).

However Lovell is not blind to Sturges’s faults, arguing with some justification that the director’s new-found freedom as an independent from the early 1960s onwards proved a mixed blessing. While producing classics such as The Great Escape, Sturges passed on Patton, Earthquake, and Papillon, opting instead to make turkeys such as The Hallelujah Trail (1965). While this film contained excellent camerawork, it was released at a time when “edgy adult fare” such as Schlesinger’s Darling was in vogue. Producer Walter Mirisch described Hallelujah Trail’s box-office performance thus: “I guess we learned that Western fans don’t like fables” (255).

Despite his reputation, Sturges failed to adjust to changing cinematic tastes. His last works such as McQ (1973) received a lukewarm reception, with John Wayne proving far too old for an action hero. After the British-made The Eagle Has Landed (1976) bombed, Sturges retired from filmmaking: while new projects were proposed, they failed to materialize owing to lack of funds. Sturges’s son Michael believed that no one wanted to work with a director who “beat World War II to death [….] Dad was trying to tell war stories without waking up to the fact that the new war movies […] were about the tragedy of war, the screw-up of war” (292).

Escape Artist is a consistently entertaining account of the lifetime of a cinematic craftsperson that refused to compromise his standards, even if that meant going over budget. While remaining unfailingly courteous, this sometimes made him appear remote – particularly for actors or other creative personnel who sought advice from him. This aspect of his character renders him a difficult subject for biographers – despite Lovell’s enthusiasm, I never felt I understood what drove Sturges to make the kind of films he did. Perhaps this was deliberate: Lovell himself claims that Sturges was never a great director, but rather a yarn-spinner with at least three seminal films to his credit. To suggest otherwise “would do him a disservice and raise false expectations” (6).