Kino Lorber's Blu-ray repackaging of three of Tony Curtis' lesser-known titles leans towards the shallower end of the Curtis oeuvre. Don't expect any Defiant Ones or Boston Strangler, just three Universal Studios entertainments from the era when a cartoon Curtis once even appeared in animated caricature on The Flintstones (as 'Stoney Curtis') epitomizing Hollywood charisma. The camera indeed loves him, and vice-versa. The set offers they-don't-make-em-like-that-anymore nostalgia value and a good range of character performers supporting Curtis in background roles.
The Perfect Furlough (1958) paired Curtis with then-wife Janet Leigh. Here, US military brass decides the only way to sate sexual longings of more than 100 male scientists in a lonely Arctic outpost is to select one as a representative to go on an extended Paris date with a glamorous Argentinian-import showbiz bombshell (Linda Crystal). Curtis wins the lottery (having fixed it in his favor, of course), but is frustrated at how chaperoned and supervised the idyll is. He winds up instead melting the icy heart of a blonde, shapely US Army psychologist Leigh, after a ridiculous chain of misunderstandings.
In their disc-commentary track, movie historians David del Valle and C. Courtney Joyner commend young director Blake Edwards, who would work in drama and suspense but become a name-brand filmmaker in the art of comedy. Along with scriptwriter Stanley Shapiro, Edwards got some hot stuff past the censors (note the Freudian champagne-bottle gag especially) and insinuated his famous slapstick, although the farce tends to run out of steam before the finish. Edwards' use of the widescreen full-color Cinemascope process here is noted in the framing, and Blu-ray results look great on the home screen.
Shot in black and white, with a supporting cast of noteworthies (Edmond O'Brien, Karl Malden, Raymond Massey, Frank Gorshin, Dick Sargent) and perhaps the most intrinsically interesting of the trio, The Great Imposter (1960) starred Curtis in a whitewashed take on Robert Crighton's nonfiction book about the Ripley's-Believe-It-Or-Not misdeeds of Ferdinand Waldo Demara, a serial con-artist and compulsive identity thief. The episodic nature of the capers allowed director Richard Mulligan (To Kill a Mockingbird) to move between different genres, variously becoming a service comedy, prison picture, or war drama—depending on whether the charming Curtis hero is passing himself off at the moment as fake officer material, an enlightened prison warden or, a courageous Canadian Navy doctor in the Korean conflict.
Universal's spin-job that Demara is a harmless, brilliant do-gooder rogue just too impatient to earn degrees or go through proper channels may leave viewers hungry for fact-checking (especially over the fanciful ending). Fact-checking is supplied by disc commentary from editor/critic/podcaster Kat Ellinger, who informs that the real-life Demara—an overweight, neurotic, heavy drinker in perpetual fear of being caught at his lies, did not approve of the whimsical Hollywoodized telling, though many incidents depicted in Mulligan's film did indeed happen. Viewers of 2021 might be lured by the resemblance to Steven Spielberg's con-man hit Catch Me If You Can—also a "true story" whose facts have lately been called into serious question, maybe even more so than The Great Imposter.
The debut of future Oscar-bait journeyman director Norman Jewison, 40 Pounds of Trouble (1962) was the lone effort from an ill-fated attempt by Tony Curtis to start his own production company. Inspired loosely by the Damon Runyon warhorse Little Miss Marker, it's a mix of sophisticated farce, family fluff, silly chase scenes, and travelogue, with a veritable early-1960s postcard (aye, there are even JFK jokes) of Lake Tahoe gaming and getaways. Curtis plays Steve McCluskey, flamboyant casino-hotel manager/cardsharp fighting a running battle with a bitter ex-wife over alimony. When a little girl (Claire Wilcox) is abandoned at his hotel, caring for the innocent tyke amusingly brings out nurturing impulses in the hard-charging McCluskey and the louche, mildly Mafia types (Phil Silvers, Larry Storch, Edward Andrews, Suzanne Pleshette) around the gaming floor.
For many modern viewers, the film's jackpot isn't the slots but an extended silent-comedy-style chase through Disneyland. This was a rare occasion when Walt Disney allowed his masterpiece utilized by outsiders as a film set. On the commentary track, movie authority Kat Ellinger is joined by Disneyphile Mike McPadden, who gives play-by-play of now-vanished features of the iconic amusement park captured by Jewison's cameras. Skimpy box-office returns for 40 Pounds of Trouble meant many have not seen this time-capsule of Disneyana/gangsteriana (key scenes, we're told, were shot at a lodge co-owned by Frank Sinatra and Sam Giancana).
Kino Lorber's omnibus is separately packaged Blu-ray discs in a larger box; libraries can easily circulate the three features independently. Not top Tony Curtis, but recommended nonetheless. Aud: P.