The Masculine World of Ocean’s 11

The world of the film Ocean’s 11 (and no, not the George Clooney version) is one ripe with money, risk-taking, beautiful women on the fringes, male activities like cards and billiards, and strong male friendships and loyalty.

The entire movie is centered in male-dominated or masculine spaces. The first space we enter is a barbershop, following immediately by a bachelor pad, where Mr. Foster is being massaged by a woman who disappears and we never see her again. The decor of a number of the residences of the 11 are sleek and modern, in red and grey colors, with pianos and modern artwork, and – of course – bars. These could be pads taken directly from the imaginary ones described in playboy discourse.

Like in many of Sinatra’s other films, he (and his buddies) are returned war vets. But rather than being emotionally crippled or traumatized by the war experience, they decide to use their Army skills to their advantage to rob five Las Vegas casinos. This film does not portray men in the home life much (for what kind of domesticated, white collar guy would rob casinos?) Even when men are linked to wives and families, they are completely dysfunctional. First off is Sinatra’s character, Danny Ocean. He is married, but Mrs. Ocean has left him, because of his lifestyle, or as she refers to it, “a floating crap game.” Money schemes do not coincide with the happy, homey married lifestyle, because of the instability (and because men who partake in these schemes also seem to heavily partake in drinking and women). In fact, Danny has a mistress who tries to make things worse between him and his wife.

Tony (Richard Conte) is married with a son, but he is recently released from prison and his wife wants nothing to do with him. A released convict doesn’t make for an upstanding husband figure. His son is, however, the motivation for him joining Ocean’s 11 – to help put his son through college. It is fatherhood – not marriage – that is the motivating factor for Tony.

Jimmy Foster (Peter Lawford) is another character with some kind of home life: Mother. A rich mama’s boy who never grew up, Jimmy gets all of his income from his mother, and the only way to detach from her – to fully become a man – is to join Ocean and “make” money of his own.

Ultimately, what keeps these men together is their loyalty for each other; loyalty that blossomed during WWII. This film is a prime example of male bonding and brotherhood – the commitment men have to their male friends. All men can partake of this masculinity – the playboys, the failed husbands, the mama’s boys, white and black men, rich and working class men (think of the number of men who work in the casinos, in the service industry), convicts, performers. It is their loyalty that keeps them together, even when the scheme doesn’t work out.

The 11 demonstrating their loyalty (to the casino scheme and to each other)

Masculinity in Some Came Running

Some Came Running is definitely not the first film we have seen where Sinatra portrays a returning soldier, and like The Manchurian Candidate, Sinatra is a troubled soldier, though rather than struggling with the past, he is struggling with his future. Sinatra’s character, Dave Hirsch, represents a model of masculinity that competes with the playboy masculinities of this era in a way that The Manchurian Candidate Sinatra did not. In The Manchurian Candidate, Sinatra was constantly haunted by his past in the army, but Dave undergoes no such trauma. Other than wearing the uniform, the solider persona is just an image, an excuse for him having been away all of those years. His masculinity, then, is not directly tied up in the soldier image.

Like the playboy, Dave is a single guy, staying in the nicest hotel room of Parkman. Not quite the bachelor pad (and he doesn’t stay there for long), but a temporary place, similar to the bachelor pad (for one can’t quite stay a bachelor forever). As in The Manchurian Candidate, Dave is a guy who likes to read, and the first thing he pulls from his duffle bag are books, great books by Faulkner, Steinbeck and Wolfe, these are also signifiers of culture, which is fitting for a playboy. As discussed in the playboy discourse of our class, playboys were typically writers and artist-types, and Dave happens to be a writer. Though a bitter writer who has published in a great while.

Dave has the usual interests – drinking, women, cards – but it is one particular woman who causes problems (Ginny) and one particular woman who helps him pursue his writing again (Gwen), though Dave’s main interest is in pursuing Gwen. Dave pulls all the moves on her – dancing, buying her a drink, asking her to come by his place, but she is resistant to his charms. In a sense, he is the ineffectual playboy. Dave could have Ginny at the drop of a hat, but it’s the chase that makes Gwen alluring (and though it might seem like her intellect would be the attraction, it is actually her classiness and disinterest that makes Dave fall in love with her). And – unlike the playboy type – Dave wants to marry Gwen, who resists. When Dave declares that he loves Gwen, she remarks that he says that statement with an ease, as though he has been with many women. Part of anyone’s identity  (and in this case, Dave’s masculine identity) is created by others’ perceptions. Therefore, Gwen perceives him as the playboy type, giving the playboy aspect of Dave’s identity some merit. Unlike the playboy, Dave sincerely wants to be married, and in the end, marries Ginny out of anger at Gwen. However, the marriage ends abruptly when Ginny is shot, emphasizing how Dave’s masculine image (the troubled writer, who drinks too much and pines for a cultured woman, the vulnerable tough-guy, we could say) cannot properly be linked to marriage.

Dave (Sinatra) and Ginny (Shirley MacLaine) getting married

Sinatra as Showman

In the movie, The Joker is Wild, Sinatra portrays friend and fellow performer, Joe E. Lewis, a singer turned comedian after a vicious, near-fatal attack by mobsters. Though Sinatra maintains his own ability to command the stage with performance and a dynamic voice as the character of Lewis, there are some notable differences in the performance of Sinatra in his live shows and the performance of Sinatra as Lewis: the interaction with the audience, the comedic routine, and finally, the attachment to the pianist/backup dancers.

Sinatra as Lewis sings to the audience, connecting with members through his gaze, and their gaze upon him. This gaze might not always be welcomed (think of Coogan’s gaze on Lewis’ opening night), but the gaze directs Lewis’ focus and priority, and gives emphasis to the songs and jokes he sings/says. At the very end, he sings “All the Way,” and his gaze is on Letty, so the song takes on new meaning. During Sinatra’s live shows, the gaze is often at the camera recording his performance, and we don’t see who he looks – if he looks at anyone – out in the audience. In addition, Lewis’ character gets catcalled by audience members, and responds with jokes directed at these audience members. His performance in these clubs is so near the audience, that the audience becomes part of the act.

In Sinatra’s live shows, there is comedy, but it often involves other comedians/actors, whereas Lewis is THE comedian. Telling joke after joke, quick on his feet (though not literally, as he is oftentimes drunk), and as the movie progresses, it is the comedy that is central, not the singing (until the return of “All the Way.”)

Finally,  a large difference between the two performances, is that when Sinatra appears as Lewis, Lewis acknowledges and depends upon the musicians and dancers who back him up. Mainly, he relies on his friend, Austin Mack, the pianist, and this relationship is visible on stage, underlining how much Lewis relies on people to help him create and maintain his stardom. When Sinatra performs, the focus is solely on him, perhaps falsely representing that his star image is entirely a self-creation.

Regardless of the differences in performance, Sinatra was a radiant, comical, sad Joe E. Lewis whose heartfelt performance and dynamic voice really lent itself to this story.

 

Sinatra as brand

If being a star translates to having your image – your sense of style, music, lifestyle – repackaged and branded to sell everything from hats to trips, then Frank Sinatra is most definitely the epitome of a star.

The Sinatra Family website updates all Sinatra-related news, as well as features products, from Sinatra-inspired fedoras that you can buy on Amazon to a dance performance of his music choreographed by Twyla Tharp to a limited edition of his holiday CD. The most recent news is the Sinatra Birthday Celebration Package, a $2000 weekend trip that includes a dinner inspired by Sinatra, a CD, a dance performance and a screening of a Sinatra film. And did I mention that it takes place in Las Vegas? The very idea of Sinatra’s image was used to create this weekend get-away (a man who liked to wine and dine and dance late into the Las Vegas night… er, morning).

In a post on the website by “Nancy,” Sinatra is described as having “authenticity” and “permanence” and that he has lasted this long as an iconic pop star because he was a “man of real achievement, real spirit and real style… all on his own terms.” This definition of Sinatra’s appeal particularly strikes me as I begin to write my final paper for this Sinatra course, which is a comparison of the star images of Sinatra and Justin Timberlake, both who shifted from more feminized, crooning singers with a teeny-bopper audience to a more authentic, masculinized image that sustained their careers. One could easily say about JT that he has achievement, spirit and style, and perhaps in fifty years the Timberlake family will commemorate him through a blog and mass-marketed JT-hats or wigs.

How Spaces Trap in “The Tender Trap”

Frank Sinatra’s character Charlie in The Tender Trap (1955) is both a mature growth from the earlier musicals, a smoother ladies’ man than the war films, yet recognizable in that Charlie draws from Sinatra’s recording persona. I will also look at how the gaze and the spaces in the film form Charlie’s character and respond to Sinatra’s recording persona.

There is a very present male gaze in this film. Joe gazes at all of the women who waft in and out of Charlie’s apartment. Then they gaze at the TV screen to catch a glimpse of Sylvia, who is, in Charlie’s words, “special.” The TV becomes a key component of times when characters need to avert their gaze, especially in sexually tense moments (like in Julie’s parents’ apartment). When Charlie begins to fall for Julie, it is because he is gazing at her on stage from below. There is a lack of female gaze, except for when Charlie sings “The Tender Trap,” to show Julie how the song should be sung. But even then, we don’t get a close-up of her gaze, though we can tell from her body language that she is infatuated, because she sits down close to the piano.

What is more important than the gaze for establishing relationships are the spaces within the movie, particularly the bachelor pad and the “single girl’s” apartment. The layout of Charlie’s apartment screams bachelor – the first thing when you enter the apartment is a well-stocked bar. The decor, compared to that of the model home that Julie admires, is sleek and masculine, with a big desk, grey sofa with mussed-up pillows, a TV, green plants (no flowers), big floor-to-ceiling windows, and a shaggy dog who hides in the kitchen.

Sinatra and Debbie Reynolds in the single girl's apartment

Who enters the space changes the space, or changes how the space is viewed, which in turn changes the feelings of characters and the direction of the plot. Julie is dissatisfied with the chair in the model living room at the home show, until Charlie sits in that chair. His presence in this domestic space changes her view of the space, and ultimately Julie’s view of Charlie as a potential husband, which he know becomes in her eyes. Unlike the other women Charlie has spent time with, Julie refuses to come to his bachelor pad until they are engaged, so she never enters his personal space, so Charlie is not allowed to perform the role as the playboy, in the way he could with other women.

One final space that I want to reflect upon, and mainly for my own personal interest, is the bathroom space. In a previous paper I wrote for a different class, I explored the use of bathroom space in the novel The Women’s Room, so I was struck by how bathroom space was inhabited by men in The Tender Trap. Joe follows Charlie into Charlie’s bathroom,  while Charlie cleans himself up for a date that night. Charlie uses the bathroom for grooming/more functional purposes – shaving and showering – though it is also like a closet-space in that he dresses, too. These activities in the bathroom are less about changing his image than cleaning it up. It is within this space though that Joe expresses his frustrations, and Charlie describes the life of a bachelor. A possibility for a new life unfolds for Joe in the bathroom -it is also the space in which they can open up to each other.

The different spaces in this film respond to different aspects of Sinatra’s recording persona – the bachelor pad, the theatre, his behavior in Julie’s apartment. A former crooner, who was considered more of a playboy in his later years (what with his celebrity girlfriends Ava Gardner, for instance), Sinatra well embodies the character of Charlie, who is also a playboy. He has the apartment in the city, the artsy/theatrical job, the line of women going out his door, the good guy friend, not unlike Sinatra and the persona he projected. Both Charlie and Sinatra take care of their appearance, have a bit of swagger, and can sing (Charlie only shares this at one moment – on stage with Julie – but his deep, rumbly voice makes you believe that Charlie is a man who can woo the ladies with a heart-felt song).

Frank as Frankie, the (anti)hero in “The Man With the Golden Arm”

Frankie Machine gets off the bus in the urban neighborhood where he is from, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, carrying a drum. He walks down the street, greeted by a woman from her second-story window, and peers through a bar window, over the letters B-E-E-R, at a scene that must be familiar to him – the crowd of men at the bar – because of the smirk and knowing look we see through the audience. When Frankie returns home, his wife is there to greet him, a cake and Welcome Home sign awaiting him. This scenario could be the welcome home scene for a soldier, but Frankie (played by Frank Sinatra) is coming home from war of a different sort. Rehab.

Frankie is treated like a hero in the opening scene, but this is a story without much of a hero. Frankie, then, is the antihero, and is characterized through several frameworks of masculinity. Frankie is a flawed man on a personal journey to get a job as a drummer, support Zash – his wife – and to stay off of heroin. He is simultameously 1) the domesticated breadwinner; 2) the idealistic can-doer; 3) the brooding, troubled loner. In the first scenes with Zash, Frankie caresses her lovingly, massages her legs, keeps reiterating that he is going to get a good job to send her to a good doctor. His feelings to Zash are more more paternal, and as is explored in Steven Cohan’s article, “The ‘Paradox’ of Hegemonic Masculinity,” sometimes it is “fatherhood” that keeps the domesticated breadwinner masculine. Zash’s clinginess usurps Frankie’s dream of becoming a drummer, and ultimately challenges his ability to make a new life for them. In a bizarre sense, this is similar to the dilemma of the returning veteran in the 1950s. They were expected to pick right up with a domestic, white-collar life. Frankie can’t pick up his old, “standard” way of living again – the dealing (which, though not the white-collar life, does mirror how he can’t quite fit in with what is expected of him of others). He played the drums in rehab, and though rehab isn’t quite like war, it has the same effect on him. Frankie returns home and what kept him sane – what gave him purpose in the “war” of rehab – is no longer considered useful or appropriate at home.

Because Frankie doesn’t want to be a dealer anymore, and can’t make a real place for himself in the musical world, he is alone. In order to fully get over his addiction, he has to be locked in a room by himself, which Molly helps him do. He needs to suffer alone to overcome it. However, Molly is there throughout the film, supporting his drumming (she lets him store the drums in her apartment), helping him recover by hiding the metal objects and locking him in her closet, and at the end, when he crouches over Zash’s dead body. But there is still an alienation with Frankie, and the ending of the film leaves us with this disjunction between alone and not alone: Molly walks next to Frankie as he drifts away from Zash’s accident scene, but Frankie looks ahead, resolute, in some sort of internal world, not acknowledging Molly by his side.

Sinatra portraying Frankie Machine in a thoughtful, interior moment

This internal struggle – that is evident through Sinatra’s acting – calls to mind aspects of The Method. Frankie Machine has a backstory, and Sinatra draws from that backstory to conjure moments of tension, desire for a fix, temptation, anguish. Oftentimes, Sinatra looks deep in thought, he looks away from the people he speaks to, furrows his brow, wipes a hand across his mouth. There is this inner turmoil that he projects outward through his actions and behaviors. One of the finest moments of Sinatra’s acting, is the recovery scene in Molly’s bedroom. He curls up in the fetal position, clenches his fists, groans, rolls off of the bed, twitching and jerking. He embodies the pain of Frankie and plays it believably. The intensity of this scene is foreshadowed in a much earlier, subtler scene in the jail cell. One of Frankie’s cellmates – also a junkie – flips out and asks for a fix, grabbing onto the cell bars like a monkey. Frankie reacts strongly, burying his mouth into the crook of his elbow, until finally he turns away and there are tears in his eyes, expressing his empathy for the junkie.

The part of Frankie Machine was also considered for Marlon Brando, and I could see Brando playing this role – the internal struggle for a fix that both motivates and hinders him, the far-off look that Frankie has, the antihero masculinity, coupled with the black and white film and the brassy jazz music that sweeps through the scenes. And yet, Sinatra pulls the part off magnificently, with the same credibility as a Method actor like Brando.

Sinatra as Soldier: The Manchurian Candidate vs. the musicals

Sinatra may never have fought in combat, but he is able to express both a realistic version of a soldier, as well as a romanticized, musically-inclined one. In The Manchurian Candidate, Sinatra portrays a soldier that is all at once traumatized, political, conflicted and loyal, which is in sharp contrast to the naive, clean-uniformed soldiers he plays in musicals such as It Happened in Brooklyn and Anchors Aweigh.

All of these films respond to the idea of coming home (whether from combat or on leave), but there is greater implication for the soldiers in The Manchurian Candidate. In previous musicals we have seen, Sinatra concerns himself with finding women or seeing the sites of NYC. When he does try to make a new life for himself, as in It Happened in Brooklyn, it is still revolved around a woman (though it may also include finding a place to live and a job). But when the soldiers return home in The Manchurian Candidate it is to suffer over two years of nightmares, compounded by screaming in bed with your wife, working for a controversial newspaperman or being surrounded by dozens of books and booze, like Sinatra.

We get the sense in the musicals that being part of the Army is about wearing a uniform, not carrying a gun; seeking pretty women, not confronting the enemy. Do we even get the sense that the musical soldiers have witnessed combat? In The Manchurian Candidate, the men suffer nightmares, induced by the horrific reality of post-traumatic stress disorder that often plagues men of war. This film exposes the dark underbelly of being a solider, in a way that would seem ill-fitting for the musical genre.

Since The Manchurian Candidate was made in the 60s, Sinatra is a more mature actor, and portrays a more seasoned soldier than in the earlier musicals.The serious subject matter compliments the seriousness of his acting and age. One can’t imagine characters like Clarence or Danny being captured in war and brainwashed. Indeed, one can’t quite imagine the “enemy” at all. The war is still going on and even seems to follow the soliders home. The overt political tones of The Manchurian Candidate reflect a shifting perception of war; no longer the inertia for patriotic unity, war is something fought on one’s own soil, in which the enemy may even be your own mother.

Women figure differently in the musicals than in the later, suspenseful film, morphing from the object to be wooed to more of the wooer. Eugenia and Josie are the two female characters that are attached to men in The Manchurian Candidate. Both come to the aid of the men they are attached to – Eugenia helps Sinatra light his cigarette, and then later picks him up at the police station; Josie first meets Raymond when she tends to his snakebite. And even though both men “get the girl,” Raymond murders Josie, a shocking moment that would be inconceivable in the scope of a musical. The girl is the object of the soldier’s quest in the musical, after all, but in The Manchurian Candidate, truth and transparency seem to be the greater quest.

One woman they don't wish to see... the Queen of Diamonds

Sinatra Abroad

In my attempts to learn more about Sinatra’s appearance in South Africa in 1981 that caused a lot of criticism, I am reading about how he has been received outside of the United States through the years. Through some random research, I came across this article published in September in the South African Times. The Catholic Church in Melbourne is banning the playing of popular songs during funerals, and “My Way” was cited as one of these popular songs that’s getting the boot. Even after his death, Sinatra’s songs still make an impact (and cause controversy).

None But the Brave

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“I’m not a great catch” – Sinatra in war films

Sinatra as Sam in "Kings Go Forth"

We have seen Sinatra in plenty of roles donning a uniform: “Anchors Aweigh;” “On the Town;” “From Here to Eternity.” But in “Kings Go Forth,” Sinatra is a more confident, authoritative soldier, and one who actually gets to fight. Though he is now an officer and gets the girl in the end, he does share some similarities with Maggio in “From Here to Eternity.” Both Maggio and Sam (his character in “Kings Go Forth”) are commanding presences, loyal men, and from similar, low-class backgrounds.

Maggio has a fighting spirit, one that gets him in the Stockade and leads to his eventual death. Sam appears to be a seasoned soldier, who is not afraid to fight, and is shown killing Nazis in close comabt. Though he is not as reckless and “brave” as Britt (the young soldier played by Tony Curtis in “Kings Go Forth”), who runs into a field of landmines, Sam is passionate when it comes to defending Monique’s honor. Both Maggio and Sam are physically battered (Maggio in the Stockade by Fatso, Sam in the war withhis lost arm) that represent their tenacity and strength.

Though Maggio is a commanding presence, he is still a supporting actor, whereas Sam is more obviously in command of the screen in “Kings Go Forth.” A large part of the film is narrated by Sinatra, which adds a more overt authority to Sam’s character. He is the one who gets to tell the story. He first learns about Monique’s father, privy to information that he then shares with Britt.

Part of the tension between Sam and Britt is their vast differences in upbringing. Sam is self-described as “born poor and not handsome,” and gives Britt a hard time for being a college-educated son of a mill owner. Like Maggio, he is a New Yorker and he possesses an understanding for Monique and a tolerance for her true racial identity that we can assume Maggio would also possess (since he was so indignant about being stereotyped himself). 

Finally, both of these characters express a sincere amount of loyalty: to their friends and to the Army. Sam is willing to let Monique go with Britt, because he loves her and wants to remain loyal to her (as she asked him to be friends). He is also a loyal soldier, and this film emphasizes comraderie in the Army (how Sam and Britt fight together, even though they have personal differences). “From Here to Eternity,” on the other hand, struggles with the divide between loyalty to the Army and individualism, which is not fully reconciled. “Kings Go Forth” almost glides into the camp that if one is loyal to friends and loyal to one’s country, then they will come out alive, with their love waiting for them. Though Maggio’s outcomes is definite (he dies), Sam’s outcome is ambiguous. He survives, and it can perhaps be safely assumed that he and Monique will get married, though that is never properly discussed.

Sinatra proves that he can maintain aspects of the soldier character that he did well with his award-winning Maggio, while also maturing and expanding upon them in roles like Sam.