The Other Jimmy Stewart
Born James Stewart on May 6, 1913, Stewart Granger (who died at age 80 in 1993) would have turned 100 today. A London native, he made a solid career for himself (after the necessary name change) in the British film industry during the middle and late 1940s. (The most notable of his English films is the 1945 Caesar and Cleopatra, in which he played Apollodorus.) Whisked away to Hollywood, and specifically to MGM, Granger was soon the Errol Flynn of the 1950s, spearheading a resurgence of popularity for swashbuckling costume pictures, the best being his altogether wonderful Scaramouche (1952), opposite a never-better Eleanor Parker. Meanwhile, English actress Jean Simmons, Granger’s wife between 1950 and 1960, was steadily becoming one of Hollywood’s more gifted and versatile leading ladies of the decade. By the late ’50s, Granger’s stardom had faded considerably, but, for at least the first half of the decade, he was good box office and immensely good onscreen company. No, he wasn’t as handsome as Errol Flynn, but he had the requisite rakish charm and self-deprecating wit to effortlessly carry Technicolor escapist adventures and send you happily to other worlds. Besides, Flynn himself was looking haggard and bloated by 1950, meaning that Granger’s timing couldn’t have been better. So, with the essential charisma, humor, and physicality (to look good in tights), Granger sealed his fate as a big new film star for America.
The movie that made him a U.S. star was King Solomon’s Mines (1950), ironically in a role reportedly turned down by Flynn himself. It was a massive hit for MGM, and a surprising Best Picture Oscar nominee. (Though an often exciting entertainment, its characters and situations are fairly stock.) With two directors credited—Andrew Marton replaced an ill Compton Bennett—and boasting eventually Oscar-winning color cinematography and film editing, this was a Grade A production of B-ish material. And it really does deliver the goods, putting on quite a show. More than either Granger or his lovely redheaded leading lady, Deborah Kerr, the star here is the on-location footage, a dazzling assortment of images capturing the animals and tribes of Africa. At its core, King Solomon’s Mines is a beautiful and exotic travelogue complete with virtually nonstop animal gazing.
Set in 1897, the film features Kerr (top billed) as a prim but feisty British woman who hires Granger—a fellow Brit and safari guide and big-game hunter—to take her into uncharted African territory in search of her missing husband. Their first scene together sets up their relationship, one of antagonism and sexual attraction, always a good combo at the movies. Granger is a widower with a 7-year-old son. Kerr is wealthy and offers him a bundle. Along the way, most of the animals go right for Kerr (tarantula, snake, tiger, etc.); she even steps on an alligator. Eventually Granger and Kerr kiss; it turns out she doesn’t love her husband. Throughout, Granger is properly roguish and appealing, but neither he nor Kerr can compete with a thrilling stampede, a desert trek, or a Watusi dance.
The climactic scene in the mines is disappointing, not at all impressive-looking and much too brief in screen time. But all this movie really asks of you is that you have a good time. And how could you not? It’s got Africa, color, wildlife, not to mention thrills and romance, the entrancing Kerr, and the arrival of Stewart Granger, firmly staking his claim as a leading man both elegant and macho, funny and no-nonsense, and fully equipped to take on all kinds of adventures for the next half-decade or so.
Footnote: Granger and Kerr were reteamed for The Prisoner of Zenda (1952) and Young Bess (1953), two costume pictures, the latter starring Jean Simmons in the title role.
