While arranging the stills for this post into chronological order, it occurred to me that, all things considered, Kernan Cripps had a pretty good world war two.
As an ageing bit-part player, he wasn't exactly active in the traditional, military sense, but he did what he could to keep spirits up on the home front. For instance, in 1942, as the battle of Midway raged in the Pacific, he spent about 30 seconds being accosted and strangled by beefy ex-wrestler Ward Bond in the first ever Raymond Chandler adaptation, The Falcon Takes Over:
The adaptation involved the bold -- and undeniably ill-advised -- decision to remove Philip Marlowe from a Philip Marlowe story ("Farewell, My Lovely"), but Kernan's doorman character isn't in the book, so he, at least, benefited from the screenwriters' somewhat free approach to the source material.
Then, in 1943, as the allied troops fought their way into Italy and were cut down on the beaches of the South Pacific, he delivered some luggage to Basil Rathbone in Sherlock Homes in Washington:
There's a dead body in that trunk, but Kernan didn't know that. One of the advantages of bit-part work is that you're often spared the more gruesome plot details.
The next year, in 1944, as his fellow Americans invaded France and liberated Paris, and the number of US war dead marched up to around 400,000, Kernan stood around beside a train, writing in his notebook while Barbara Stanwyck smuggled Fred MacMurray onboard in Double Indemnity:
Like I said: all in all, a pretty good war.
I assume Kernan's favourite role from this period was his brief appearance in Alfred Hitchcock's Saboteur (1942), in which he played an innocent movie-goer, just minding his own business and watching a silly comedy drama while, unknown to him and the rest of the audience, an evil Nazi spy runs around the theater, pursued by the feds. Kernan's on screen for about a second, just long enough for a cop to enter the shot, fire his gun at the spy and run off. It might not be Hitchcock's most memorable scene, but it's quite beautiful.
First, as the cop runs up behind him and aims at the fleeing spy, Kernan's having a great time watching the film, in which an enraged husband has pulled a gun on his wife's lover and threatened to shoot him. It's hilarious!
Then, POW, two guns go off -- one on screen, in the movie, and one right behind Kernan's ear!
The next instant, he's caught between his previously happy state and a tremendous feeling of shock -- it's as if the movie suddenly came to life!
A split second later, the cop's run off and Kernan's left staring with annoyance at nothing but a puff of smoke:
The reason I assume it would have been his favourite bit-part is that I reckon it would have reminded him of something that happened to him decades before, back when he was a handsome leading man on the stage, as he appears in this clipping from 1910:
(1)
I know it says Kerman Cripps, but newspaper guys never get anything right. He used to travel around the country, appearing in spectacular Wild West plays with thrilling pyrotechnics and real horses right up there on the stage. In 1907, the company took their latest show, "The Gambler of the West", to the Central Theater in San Francisco. Kernan was the star of the production, which was described as "a wonder of scenic novelty" in which "no expense has been spared to make the play scenically one of the finest ever presented." As the gambler, he helped a young girl "through many thrilling and narrow escapes from the villains, including attempted burning at the stake and throwing bowie knives at her while bound to a tree [and] a great prairie fire scene accomplished by electrical effects".(2)
One of the escapes involved Kernan surprising a gang of murderous red Indians by riding a horse into the middle of the camp where they had tied up the young girl. All did not go according to plan, however. Here's what the San Francisco Chronicle reported the next day:
"The animal had just swept into view of an Indian campfire, Gordon [played by Kernan] was about to draw his howitzer and disperse the howling mob. The chief had pursed his lips to hiss, 'Curse you, Jack Gordon.' But, as steady Jack dashes up to the camp, his steed refuses to rein. The maiden tied to a stake takes hope. Rescue is at hand. Or is it? On dashes the hero -- and over the footlights he goes."
Kernan's horse cleared the orchestra pit and landed in the central aisle, causing great panic and confusion among the cast and audience. According to the Chronicle, "Considering the extent of his jump, he sat his horse well." With Kernan struggling to regain control of the situation, the horse charged towards the exit doors while the Indians jumped from the stage and gave chase, trying to prevent the audience from being trampled beneath its hooves. The Chronicle continued:
"Even the villain could not have been as evil as painted, for he, too, helped subdue the steed. With the assistance of a score of supers, the contrary beast was boosted back onstage and the Gambler of the West lived out his thrilling career."(3)
Look again at this face, and ask yourself whether this isn't exactly the same wide-eyed expression of shock and wonder that Kernan would have seen frozen on the faces of the audience as he sailed over the orchestra astride 1,000lbs of out-of-control horse flesh:
Kernan died in 1953, at the age of 67.
Sources: imdb.com; newspaperarchive.com ((1)Reno Evening Gazette, 13 Aug 1910; (2)Trenton Evening Times, Sep 26, 1907; (3)San Francisco Chronicle, Jan 7, 1907)
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