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I am fifteen years old and have seen thirty-three of Sinatra's films (not counting videos of TV shows and documentaries) and have been unimpressed by only two of them. ''Till the Clouds Roll By," and "The Miracle of the Bells" don't really count, however, considering that in the first all he does is sing a magnificent "Ol' Man River," and in the latter he's not half bad-only the picture is pathetic. My favorite records, radio shows, TV shows, and movies concerning Sinatra change virtually every day-everything taking on a different connotation at each viewing and occasionally seeming the best thing he ever did and occasionally the worst until the cycle comes around again, but there are a couple things that are beyond comparison. When it comes to movies, "The Man with the Golden Arm" heads that list. Everybody who knows anything about Sinatra knows he thought this was his best-ever performance; he was Oscar-nominated; it was the first serious look at drug addiction; etc.,etc. The jazz score is unforgettable, Kim Novak's likable despite a ludicrous accent, Eleanor Parker is annoying and waaaay too dramatic, the turtle-like Arnold Stang is amusing the first time but more embarrassing every time out, and Darren McGavin makes a wonderfully slimy drug dealer, the sets are unconvincing - at first glance it seems a peculiar mixed bag tossed together by the great Otto Preminger with an off-center charm.
Then you come to Sinatra. Like everything else in his life - other than music - reports of his acting are alway divided in half. Directors like Fred Zinnemann, Frank Capra, Billy Wilder, Stanley Kramer, Martin Scorsese, Peter Bogdanovich, and Otto Preminger, all agreed that had Sinatra worked as hard on his films as he did on singing, he'd have been among the greatest actors in the world - if not THE greatest. Humphrey Bogart even said,"This guy has the most natural acting talent I've ever seen." Not bad for a man who never took an acting lesson in his life, was at the same time producing the discography that would make him "the greatest singer of the 20th Century," and did almost all his scenes in one take.
In direct conflict with all of this are those other reviews and biographies that sniff haughtily about what a lousy actor was this Mr.Sinatra, and how many "bad" movies he made. The question will never be answered to everyone's satisfaction because controversy was among Sinatra's greatest assets, and both arguments were in a sense playing into his hand. In any case, at this time, in this role, Sinatra is magnificent. A reviewer said in the late fifties,"Sinatra may not be the greatest actor in the world, but there is none more fascinating to watch." No matter what Sinatra is doing in a film, it's hard to take your eyes off him. This, of course, is a "charisma," that I've only seen in a handful of other people-Orson Welles, Richard Burton, Marlon Brando, Montgomery Clift-perhaps James Cagney. There's no real definition for it and it often makes it hard to figure out whether you're really enjoying a performance or just spellbound, but that quality on display here is what makes the movie. Sinatra is downright riveting, real, intense - transcending decades and thousands of paper-doll pop stars with something called quality. Like it or not, this is a one-man show with a few character actors hanging around in the background. He covers every emotion with remarkable subtlety, from sweet, lonely tenderness with Kim Novak to the terrifying shock of Frank Sinatra (Frank Sinatra!) whimpering and screaming in the agony of "cold turkey." Sinatra was right - this is his best performance. No question.
I was eight when Frank Sinatra died. I wasn't around for all the years of bobby-soxers and ''Anchors Aweigh,'' Mr. Ava Gardner and ''From Here to Eternity," albums with lamp posts and ''swingin' lovers," Kennedy, Vegas, ring-a- ding ding. Basie and Mia and Reagan and concerts from Madison Square Garden to South Africa to the White House to the Sands. I can't say I like Sinatra because I heard him at the Paramount or because I hear "September of My Years" autobiographically-the usual excuses. And my excuse? When I was eleven I watched a movie called "On the Town"...


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