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Archive for the ‘New Articles’ Category

Charge at the Electric

02 Jan

110 years ago – on December 27, 1909 – the “Electric Cinema” was born in Birmingham, England. 38 years later. it was enlarged with an uptairs gallery to 399-seats and renamed the Tatler News Theater, featuring Errol Flynn in Charge of the Light Brigade. It is the oldest working cinema in the UK.

www-birminghammail-co-uk.cdn.ampproject.org…

(Please pay no attention to the oddball in uniform at the very end of this video. He apparently was not permitted to attend the premier.)

— Gentleman Tim

 

Ain’t Santa. Not Sinatra. Bogus Bogie.

25 Dec

From Forgotten Christmas Films

“Not your typical Christmas film, but you see Errol Flynn dressed up like Santa Claus! Phil (Errol) and Ellen (Eleanor Parker) Gayley are divorced. Their daughter Flip (Patti Brady) and Phil aren’t very happy about the divorce and hope to win Ellen back from her new boyfriend, Rex (Donald Woods). All of this takes place during Christmas as Phil and Rex both dress up like Santa and a comedic mix-up occurs. To review: A cute movie that really takes place during Christmas by chance, but still shows the importance of family. This is actually one of my favorite Errol Flynn movies, because we get to see him in a comedic, husband type role in New York, rather than a swashbuckling role in Spain.”

— Gentleman Tim

 

Livin’ Like Flynn — Up Above Ciro’s

23 Dec

www-latimes-com.cdn.ampproject.org…

Above what, since 1972, has been The Comedy Club;

And before it was Ciro’s, it was the Club Seville:

— Gentleman Tim

 

Hark! ‘The Errol’ Moonbeams Shine!

21 Dec

America calling, PW …

Just in time for Christmastime – Our Lady in London – publishes Errol’s secret recipe!

“The Spectator magazine’s Christmas special is doubly festive this year, [including] an entry from journalist and high-society member Petronella Wyatt revealing details … of her favourite seasonal cocktail, “The Errol”, named after its inventor Errol Flynn.” [The Irish Times]

The Spectator Christmas Special

“My favoured cocktail for the Christmas alcoholiday is an invention of Errol Flynn’s. Flynn taught it to my late friend Diana, Countess of Wilton, back in the 1950s. Diana was a perfected presence, a swan among swans, and Flynn, who was living in Rome at the time, used to take her to lunch. Far from being a vulgar seducer, he liked to talk about Socrates and had wanted to become a writer. He was a tragic man, trapped by his own physical beauty. His eyes, the colour of Anatolian waters, had a terrible sadness. But he taught her to make a cocktail of such subtlety that it is like drinking moonbeams.”

“‘The Errol’ is a variation on a White Lady and I publish the recipe here for the first time. Into a cocktail shaker, pour 1 part gin, 1 part Cointreau and 1 part freshly squeezed lemon juice. Add a teaspoon of white rum. Shake with ice and serve in martini glasses.”

Thank you, Petronella, and Erroltime tidings!

— Gentleman Tim

 

An Instant Christmas Quiz

19 Dec

Who is he? Who is he?

Here are some roundabout clues:

¤ He played drums for Beatles.

¤ Yes he did.

¤ Imagine that.

¤ Was in with a Flynn

¤ All Things Must Pass

¤ Played one of the coolest drum parts in rock hstory:

— Gentleman Tim

 

Hamilton

05 Dec

A new movie about Sean?

“I want things to give my life gravitas, and that’s the movie about Sean Flynn.”

Errol takes Sean and the Tan Man to ELMO

“We met as teenagers in Palm Beach. One night when we were about 15 and both at boarding school, Errol Flynn showed up in New York and took us to dinner. To El Morocco, which wasn’t even a place to go to dinner, it was a nightclub. Sean and I showed up in our best Brooks Brothers blazers,”

www.townandcountrymag.com…

— Gentleman Tim

 

Tribute to Gentleman Jim – Round 1

12 Nov

77th Anniversary Tribute

This week marks the 77th Anniversary of Gentleman Jim, which was released on November 14, 1942. In tribute to this Errol Flynn-Raoul Walsh masterpiece, I will attempt to present two or three posts involving the film’s history.

This first post contains a review of “Fight to the Finish: The Barge Battle of 1889”, a book on the history of the landmark waterfront battle between Jim Corbett and Joe Choynsky that was prominently featured in the film, with a clip in the gif below. It was “The Fight That Launched Boxing’s Modern Era.”

Though not widely remembered now, Joe Choynsky was one of the toughest and hardest-hitting prize fighters ever, having shellacked some of the ring’s greatest heavyweights (even knocking out Jack Johnson, one of only two men to ever do so.)

FIGHT TO THE FINISH: THE BARGE BATTLE OF 1889

“A thrilling account of one of the most brutal fights in boxing history.”

See, also: Tribute to Gentleman Jim – Round 2

— Gentleman Tim

 

Sean’s “unWILLing” Will

08 Nov

“unWILLingly … If me so bad, medivac’acked immediately” and “If cool-aid, celestially unredeemable”.

Edited extracts from the new book,The Bite of the Lotus: An Intimate Memoir of the Vietnam War, by Sean’s friend and photojournalist colleague, Carl Robinson

I’d arrived in South Vietnam in early 1964 as an idealistic 20-year-old who grew up in the Belgian Congo and had spent most of my life as an expat. I’d become enchanted with South Vietnam as a visiting university student from Hong Kong and returned to a job in the US-run pacification program, or winning hearts and minds. Quitting in protest after the Tet ’68 Offensive, I drifted into journalism to stay on with the Mekong Delta maiden who’d captured my heart. I’d seen a lot and my initial idealism was a fast-receding memory.

I’d also met a lot of people. Foreigners and Vietnamese. Military, spooks and aid workers. And now a band of reporters and photographers looking for fame, if not fortune, covering a war that had already turned into a seemingly endless quagmire.

Over at the quieter end of the room, by a large open window, I saw someone about my age sitting quietly and alone in a high-backed rattan chair, observing the scene. Tall and handsome with a thin moustache, he was Sean Flynn, son of the actor Errol Flynn. I wandered over to introduce myself.

We found that we had a lot in common. We were both fluent French-speakers, life-long expatriates and comfortable drifting between different cultures, as well as being constantly curious and well read. Sean had spent time in Africa and wore an elephant hair bracelet.

By April 1969 it seemed like things were starting to unravel. I’d just returned from a memorable motorbike trip with Sean through Laos – in which we’d narrowly avoided the Communists and deepened our friendship in the process – when I rode my bike into a barbed wire barrier strung across a Saigon street.

The incident would mark the start of a string of departures and other mishaps in my circle of friends. Most shockingly, (photojournalist/friend) Tim Page was badly wounded by a booby-trapped US-made 105-mm artillery shell west of Saigon. The right side of his brain was blown away, and he was now at the 24th Evacuation Hospital at the huge US base of Long Binh, north-east of Saigon.

Sean heard the news in Vientiane and rushed back to Saigon. Sitting together in the rumble seat of the yellow Citroen convertible of David Sulzberger, son of New York Times columnist Clive, on our way out to Long Binh, Sean was quieter than usual. But when we got there, he purposefully made light of what happened, saying: “You’re crazy, Page, what’d you do that for?” Touchingly, Sean gave Tim a wooden statue from the Cave of One Thousand Buddhas, just upriver from Luang Prabang in Laos, which he’d visited after I left to come back to Saigon.

Clearly, something had happened to our old gang. Just Sean and I were left. He was clearly shaken, and several days later presented me with a handwritten note beginning with the word “unWILLingly”, and including instructions for if he was wounded or killed: “If me so bad, medivac’acked immediately” and “If cool-aid, celestially unredeemable”.

He also noted addresses and to whom I should send his belongings. Sadly, Sean said nothing about what to do if he just disappeared.

Perhaps thinking of our experience in Vietnam and Laos, Sean rented motorbikes for himself and Dana and, along with other journalists in four-wheeled vehicles, headed south-east of Phnom Penh down Route 1, across the Neak Luong ferry over the Mekong River, and then east into the Parrot’s Beak, where the Cambodian border pokes like an arrow into southern Vietnam.

But the Communists, unsure of what would happen next, quickly sealed off the border region and erected roadblocks to halt normal traffic. Just west of a roadblock only a dozen kilometres into Cambodia, correspondents saw a stopped sedan with its doors open. Only the previous day, two French photographers, including my friend Claude Arpin, had disappeared near here, probably a bit further down the road.

What happened next, on that early April day of 1970, is now the stuff of legend – and personal anguish. Eyewitnesses had seen my two friends arguing in a cafe, with Sean trying to talk a reluctant Dana into pushing further down the road. Finally, they hopped on their bikes and, with only a few words, rode past the other waiting journalists straight towards that roadblock.

They were never seen again. Missing, presumably captured.

As reports of their disappearance came into the AP office the next morning, I couldn’t help smiling as I recalled how often Sean and I had fantasized about slipping over to cover the elusive “other side”. It was the holy grail. We’d be welcomed with open arms, take pictures, do interviews and come out with the scoop of the Vietnam War. Sure, I thought, they’ll make it. Just give ’em a few days.

But as days turned to weeks with no news, I was filled with foreboding and despair. And guilt, too. What if I hadn’t been caught and expelled trying to sneak into Cambodia only three weeks before?

It’s certain I would’ve been there too on that fateful day on my own rented motorbike. Would I have backed Dana and refused to go any further? Or would I have followed Sean? I have lived with that torment ever since.

Sean had given me that handwritten will in case he was killed or wounded, but he’d said nothing about what to do if he just disappeared. I was stunned and felt helpless.

— Gentleman Tim

 

Coronado Remembers Rory, Rio & Errol in Advance of Veterans Day Film Festival

06 Nov

“In addition to the many screenings, [the Coronado Film Festival] hosted appearances that have delighted film festival audiences including Errol Flynn’s daughter sharing memories of her father.”

Rio, Rory & Richard Rush (photo taken from seat next to Leonard Maltin)

2019 Coronado Film Festival

“Coronado’s world-class beaches, perfect weather, and proximity to Hollywood have made it a favorite go-to spot for the stars since those halcyon days when Errol Flynn, Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin strolled the Avenue. That same avenue, with its unique shops, blooming gardens and alfresco dining, has been named one of America’s five “Most Romantic Main Streets” by the National Trust for Historic Places.”

Rory & Sean in Coronado!

— Gentleman Tim

 

Have They Gone Bananas?

03 Nov

Is the Bombshell from Brazil Bigger Than The Baron of Mulholland?

“The Most Famous Person Born in 1909”

“From presidents and royals to musicians and movie stars, we’ve identified the most famous person born every year of the 20th century, as well as some honorable mentions.”

“Honorable mention Errol Flynn may have been the bigger star of the day, but Miranda’s fruity fashion sense has made her an enduring icon in a way unparalleled by others.”

Is the Baron Not King?

— Gentleman Tim