Music & entertainment

From here to infamy ... and back

I've always enjoyed Robert Osborne's movie introductions on TCM, but he really missed the boat when recently previewing "From Here to Eternity."

It's true the James Jones novel presented a cinematic challenge because of its deeply textured characters and liberal use of 4-letter words. And yes, the film featured wonderful performances from Burt Lancaster, Deborah Kerr and Montgomery Clift (among others), and was expertly directed by Fred Zinnemann.

But any "Eternity" story that doesn't explain how Frank Sinatra got the part of Pvt. Angelo Maggio and turned it into an Oscar-winning revival of his career is incomplete at best. So we'll complete it for you now.

It's almost impossible to describe just how dormant was Sinatra's career before Eternity began production in early 1953. In rapid succession, he'd lost his movie contract at MGM, recording deal with Columbia Records and artist representation at MCA.

His very public affair with Ava Gardner and frequent spats with the paparazzi made him a very public enemy of his once-adoring fans, who'd long since abandoned their bobby sox and ear-splitting shrieks for a quiet home and respectable life in the newly minted suburbs.

He actually had to borrow money to buy Christmas presents for his 3 estranged children a few months earlier. His career was, for all intents and purposes, dead. Morte.

Fortunately, his tumultous, love/hate marriage to femme fatale Gardner had one shining moment: As a top-tier star at Columbia Pictures, she beseeched studio boss Harry Cohn to give Frank a screen test after his months of begging went ignored. Sullen and depressed on location in Africa while Gardner filmed "Mogambo" with Clark Gable and Grace Kelly, Sinatra sent daily telegrams to Cohn signed "Maggio" as proof he was the man for the job. He frequently offered to work for nothing if given the part.

"I knew hundreds of guys like him growing up (in Hoboken, N.J.)," he recalled later. "I was him."

Cohn didn't think so at first, thinking Sinatra was by then box-office poison and a drag on his No. 1 starlet. Even after Sinatra's impressive screen test, Zinnemann still offered to the part to Eli Wallach, then known for playing a variety of ethnic roles. But when Wallach declined the offer to appear on Broadway, Sinatra finally got the part he knew would get him back in the entertainment game.

Incidentally, the screen test -- where an obviously drunk Maggio plays dice on the bar with the pair of cocktail olives -- appeared intact in the final film cut. Just as Frank knew hundreds of Maggios back home, he'd also seen thousands of inebriated patrons in countless nightclub engagements and obviously didn't forget.

This casting mambo was the basis for the famed horse's head scene in The Godfather, where studio boss Jack Waltz (Cohn) refuses to cast Johnny Fontaine (Sinatra) in his new war picture (Eternity) because he's ruining the life of his top draw (Gardner, who in fact had an abortion in England while Frank was filming Eternity in the states). Waltz finally relents after waking in bed to a bloodbath caused by the dismembered head of his prized horse Khartoum (Mr. Ed).

Sinatra seethed for years over this fable as yet another glorified inference his career was aided by La Cosa Nostra. Ironically, Wallach later played Don Altobello in Godfather Part III, completing the trilogy Frank so detested because of all the Mob innuendo.

Once filming started, Sinatra thrived in the role and became great friends with costars Lancaster and Clift. He drank martinis into the wee small hours with the former while learning much about scene-stealing from the latter -- one of the first great American method actors along with Marlon Brando and James Dean. Sinatra later became a notorious one-take wonder on the movie set, but his hard work and keen eye for detail on the Eternity set paid off when he needed it most.

When Frank lept onstage at the RKO Pantages Theatre to accept his Oscar for Best Supporting Actor on March 26, 1954, it completed one of the greatest comebacks in show business history. A noticeably moved Sinatra was humble in thanks, but couldn't resist a barb at his many fair-weather friends when commenting that "they're singing alot of songs tonight ... I wish someone had asked me."

Many (including yours truly) feel his death scene in Eternity became a public penance for -- and subsequent resurrection from -- the sins many felt he'd committed in the 5 or so years preceding the film. He had to suffer alone before being forgiven, a familiar theme for public figures seeking redemption.

Frank probably thought so too. Asked later if he had anyone to thank for the amazing turnaround, Sinatra simply said, "No. I did it all on my own."

Gardner's assistance notwithstanding, it's hard to argue. His way then, his way thereafter, his way for ... eternity.

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