Treasure Island
Before Depp's Jack Sparrow, there was Beery's Long John Silver
The latest Pirates of the Caribbean sequel spawns memories of an old gem, the 1934 version of Treasure Island
Thanks to the surprise box office smash of Pirates of the Caribbean a few years back, summer now brings with it more than beach balls and baseball scores. Who doesn't look forward to a busy boatload of blowsy buccaneers, as Johnny Depp and company storm the theatres with sequel after sequel after sequel.
And with each new installment comes memories of pirate pictures past, visions of Flynn, Laughton, Newton, even Bob Hope - at least for the Classic Film fan.
This summer, the mind is awash with scenes from Victor Fleming's 1934 adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island, featuring the mangiest cast of cutthroats ever committed to the screen.
The film had its impetus in 1931's The Champ, the smash Depression-era tearjerker that teamed teddy bear Wallace Beery with Shirley Temple's male counterpart, ten year old Jackie Cooper. Realizing they had created a prize pairing, producers looked frantically for a follow-up. They first tried The Bowery before realizing that Stevenson's beloved tale of a boy lured into a quest for gold contained an even better man-boy dynamic.
A compact version of the novel was produced, perfectly suited to the theatrical style of director Fleming, with its long scenes in single sets and its over-the-top cast of characters (despite Depp's best modern intentions, pirates are not subtle.)
Wisely, the film, like the novel, insists on seeing the pirate world through the eyes of a child, thus necessitating exaggeration of character. And so the greatest over-actors of the time were cast: sourly snarling Lionel Barrymore as the visitor who gets the plot going, stopping in at the inn for a couple of pints and a large bite of scenery; Wallace Beery as the fabled Long John Silver, who mugs like a country comic and makes condescending cadences with his bellicose baritone; and a grubby invasion of supporting guttersnipes, full of rotgut rum, tall tales and dashed desires.
Keeping up with them all is Cooper, with his perennially pouty style. Much in the mold of Temple, Little Orphan Annie and other child icons of the age, the smaller you were, the bigger your expressions. This is not the Stanislavsky school of acting; it's the Gloryosky school.
And yet, the film is largely enjoyable: a mawkish cartoon of a classic, delivered with discount panache.
So do your seasonal duty and set sail for the nearest theatre hosting Depp and crew. But then, back paddle through the back catalogue of your local video store, and plunder its shelves for the original Treasure Island.
