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His first picture was Days of Glory. Even before it had been released, and had given the moguls a chance to feel the public pulse, Peck had achieved something virtually unheard of in Hollywood: he was signed to star in something like a dozen major productions. (Because of a spinal injury incurred as a college oarsman, he is unlikely to be drafted.) At present he is probably the most drawn-&-quartered property in cinema. His contracts call for one film a year for Fox, one for M.G.M., two each, over a four-year period, for Casey Robinson, Selznick and RKO. He has already finished Selznick's Spellbound with Bergman, directed by Hitchcock, and Metro's Valley of Decision, with Garson, directed by Garnett.
Peck is still audibly surprised to find himself in Hollywood. Says Cinemactor Peck, of cinemacting: "It's like ballplaying. One day your legs give out. People get tired of looking you in the face. When that happens, I'll probably go back to Radio City and the rubbernecks."
Here Come the Waves (Paramount), a musical salute to the women of the Navy, is a minor but pleasant enough vehicle for reliable Bing Crosby and rambunctious Betty Hutton. Mr. Crosby, in a heroic departure from character, plays a crooner whose life is made miserable by the squeals and faints of the bobbysock babies. Miss Hutton plays the double role of a girl who is old enough to know better but doesn't, and her twin sister who does. As the former she is, as usual, endearingly stentorian; as the latter she is startlingly gentle and demure. Nice tunes: Let's Take the Long Way Home, Accent-Tchu-Ate the Positive.
The Unknown Battle (MARCH OF TIME; 20th Century-Fox), one of the best short films of the past year, explains graphically why, on Dday, the Luftwaffe could hardly lift a wing flap. Reason: the incredibly effective U.S. daylight bombings of German aircraft plants which, for the time being, as General "Hap" Arnold says in the film, in one week (Feb. 20-25) broke the back of the Luftwaffe.
The film is a lucid composite of several missions against sources of anything from Heinkels to ball bearings. It gives much the impression of a single day's work. The flight itself, the mortal moment when the bombers, committed to their target, are locked defenseless in their courses, the thick flakiness of flak and the grim-gay dialogue between gunners and pilots—these things have already been paralleled in the memorable Memphis Belle. But the preparation, the aftermath, the cold exactitude and inflexibility of purpose, the extraordinarily various and forceful individuality and professionalism of the men who do the job—these things have never before been made so clear or so casually impressive. Barring occasional awkward bits of reenactment, the scenes of briefing and of interrogation at mission's end were made on the spot.