Unbelievable: The Tom Conway Story - Part One

Tom Conway does almost nothing in Blood Orange (1953). He simply arrives in the third minute, asks ‘Are the police still here?’ and then quietly steals every scene he’s in. He gives this noirish crime thriller something that transforms it from a cynical story of greed and murder into a strangely moving fable about fakery, thwarted love and a fool’s ambition. He gives it heart. Without appearing to do a thing, he anchors the whole sordid tragedy in humanity. Tom Conway makes us care, almost without meaning to.

It’s impossible to articulate exactly how he manages such a feat in this, and many other of his other films. But as Blood Orange is restored and released, and hopefully rediscovered, we investigate the career of the man whom one documentary called, ‘Hollywood’s most underrated and unappreciated movie star’, Tom Conway. Paying particular attention to his most famous films, RKO’s Falcon series, we ask the question, ‘O brother, who were you?’

A 3-page feature in the September, 1969 issue of Film Fan Monthly , opens with the line, ‘Tom Conway never quite made it to the top of the show business heap.’ It seems an odd way to preface an article on such a successful actor. If show business is a mountain, only a handful reach its summit in every generation, and Tom Conway sauntered past base camp and got way higher than the vast majority of his predecessors and peers.

It’s by no means a one-off line about the man. Reviewers and film historians have long been strangely sidetracked by what he wasn’t. He wasn’t his brother, George Sanders, for example, but many pieces ostensibly about Conway, seem anxious to focus on his younger sibling instead. When Conway returned to England to shoot (amongst other pictures) Park Plaza 605 (1953) in late 1952, features about his visit in both the Star and Evening News began by mentioning Sanders, as opposed to Conway himself. In the latter’s piece, the photo of Conway is subbed, ‘It’s George Sanders’s brother Tom…’

Tom Conway with Mila Parély and Richard Wattis (right) in a moment from Blood Orange.

And inevitably, this familial connection haunted him even after death, with his obituary in Variety typical. ‘Tom Conway, screen actor and brother of George Sanders, died April 22…’ as if all other details are somehow adjunctive. This deflection is especially odd, considering Conway forged such a remarkable, varied and fascinating career. Born Thomas Charles Sanders in Saint Petersburg, Russia, in September 1904, his family moved to Britain when he turned 13. The stand-out moment of his school days in England seems to have been pulling a gun on one of his teachers, an incident that led, justifiably enough, to his expulsion. After finishing his formal education at Brighton College he moved to Africa to find his fortune, or as it turned out, his misfortune.

If this already makes him sound like a character from a 19^th Century novel by Arthur Conan Doyle, whilst abroad, he quickly doubled down on the stereotype, working in gold and copper mines and even spending time as a rancher. Disillusioned, out of cash and recovering from a bout of malaria, he reportedly borrowed money for his passage home and began making his living as an engineer back in the UK. But the lure of acting had always been present. After a spell in amateur dramatics he wound up joining the Manchester Repertory Company, learning his trade on literally dozens of touring productions and with the odd job in BBC radio shows. Everything changed in 1940 when he signed a deal with MGM (under his new name, Tom Conway) and he began making Hollywood movies.

The striking thing about his early work is that Conway arrived on the silver screen fully formed. Look at Humphery Bogart’s first few films and it’s clear he has little of the confidence and swagger which he later became known for. Similarly, Cary Grant’s fledgling forays into screen acting show a young man yet to refine the charisma and poise that defined his later roles. But even in his first appearances on celluloid, Tom Conway is effortlessly suave and debonair. He can be arguing about treason or attempting to win the love of a ‘leading lady’, but he manages to appear nonchalant whilst doing so, even as the drama that surrounds him reaches boiling point.

Tom Conway (right) made his first feature appearance in Sky Murder (1940), a tale of second chances… and fifth columnists!

His first appearance came in the Nick Carter picture, Sky Murder (1940) playing opposite veteran leading man, Walter Pidgeon. He more than holds his own and tellingly, looks right at home in this fun piece of hokum that can’t quite decide it it’s an espionage thriller or a Boy’s Own style adventure. Conway’s voice is already rich and refined, but not to the point that he sounds like a stuffed shirt. He’s commanding without being overbearing. A man of the world, but slightly at odds with it. He would later bring these qualities to more significant roles, not least the central character of Blood Orange .

In Sky Murder he ostensibly plays one of the bad guys, but there’s so much chicanery and double-dealing going on it’s impossible to be certain. At one point he tries to cajole a young woman into betraying her country, and the way he plays the scene is fascinating. He eschews the pantomime villainy; his eyes are pleading and he never becomes aggressive. He is bent on persuading her to help him; as she assaults him, there’s no sense that he’s holding back when he doesn’t seek to get the better of her physically. He remains the hero of his own story, unwilling to resort to violence against the person whose help he so desperately needs.

It’s easy to feel sorry for his character, and indeed, when he turns up dead after a few memorable scenes, the film is poorer for his absence. Already, Conway was taking dialogue and delivering it in ways which feel authentic and fresh. His next significant part came the following year in The Trial of Mary Dugan (1941). In truth, it could be argued he’s miscast here as Edgar Wayne, a character who appears to be a stolid, colourless figure. But as Wayne is supposed to be less than electric, Conway turns down the twinkle-in-his-eyes and plays him straight. He’s still attractive enough to make his romantic relationships seem believable, but he never stretches for it. As with Sky Murder , his character is murdered and again, the film suffers from his exit.

Italian marketing material for The Trial of Mary Dugan, featuring Conway’s co-star, Laraine Day.

Conway appeared in other more minor roles before his breakout part in 1942, but it’s also worth mentioning his work in Tarzan’s Secret Treasure (1941) playing the leading bad guy, Medford, who has the bright idea of going up against Johnny Weissmuller’s ‘Lord of the Jungle’. Conway’s out-and-out villain comes across as cool and cruel, but always for a purpose. He’s the exact opposite of Tarzan, which make him a terrific enemy, and with his natural charm there’s no credibility crisis when Jane believes Medford over her long-term partner at one crucial point in the proceedings.

Again, Conway’s character ends up getting killed, but at least he survives until pretty much the end this time around. His final scene in the flick is a joy. Tarzan overturns his boat and clinging onto it, he spots an alligator-like creature heading in his direction. Tarzan has already fought and defeated one such monster (a big blighter, roughly the size of a commercial airliner) but it’s clear Medford won’t be as skilled in dealing with the sharp-toothed problem. As the creature nears him, he shrieks and howls, conveying an overwhelm of fear. Other actors may have dialled down the pathos, but Conway completely abandoned any idea of a dignified demise and instead gives us a killer who is terrified of death. His loud, shrill, frantic yells of horror as the gigantic predator nears him makes for one of the most striking moments in any of Weissmuller’s outings as Tarzan.

Tarzan’s Secret Treasure was Weissmuller’s fifth carry on up the jungle and the Motion Picture Herald declared, ‘…the film stacks up as about the best of the Tarzans.’

By 1942 Conway was creating a varied body of work, appearing in rom-coms (such as 1941’s Free and Easy ), crimers, adventure yarns and even broad comedy capers such as the Abbot and Costello vehicle, Rio Rita (1942). More frustratingly, his importance in these movies was becoming wildly inconsistent. Fairly significant roles in The Trial of Mary Dugan and Tarzan’s Secret Treasure sat side-by-side with bit parts, exemplified by his uncredited appearance in the Academy Award winning hit, Mrs. Miniver (1942).

But help was at hand, and from the most unexpected of sources.

Brother George was already a well-established lead by the early 40s, appearing in countless stand-alone movies and RKO’s series of Saint films in which he played Simon Templar. Sanders handed in his halo after The Saint in Palm Springs (1941) and shortly after began playing Gay Laurence in a new RKO series centring on a Saint-like adventurer known as the Falcon. Sanders is undeniably excellent in many movies, including Rebecca (1940), All About Eve (1950) and Village of the Damned (1960). From his wonderful turn as the odious Benjamin Ballon A Shot in the Dark (1964) to his silky, sinister voicing of Shere Khan in The Jungle Book (1967), he often seems perfect for the part he’s playing. And with his experience bringing Templar to life for so long, he should have been an ideal Falcon, except by 1942, he was clearly bored with this type of role and three entries in, he wanted out.

It’s Tom Conway’s brother George… Sanders played Gay ‘Laurence’ (his name was soon changed to Gay Lawrence) in four Falcon movies.

There were no plans for Tom Conway to replace George Sanders as the Falcon, but wanting one last hurrah (and box office bonus) with the latter playing Gay Lawrence, RKO agreed to kill off the lead character in the series’ fourth adventure which would feature his brother, Tom Lawrence. Sanders agreed to this final flight as the Falcon, and Conway happily hopped into the nest.

It’s routinely claimed that Tom takes over as the Falcon in The Falcon’s Brother (1942). He doesn’t. He helps in his sibling’s investigation and is naturally enough, shown to be grieving after Gay is killed. But he never declares he’s donning his brother’s mantel of ‘helper of the innocent’. He’s never called or even referred to as ‘the Falcon’ once in the film and certainly makes no claims (or indicates an aspiration) to seize this crown. Tom Lawrence assists in the central case and then intends to leave town. In the final scene he reveals he’s changed his mind and will stick around, but he gives no indication that he now considers himself the Falcon (and nor do his friends) and he doesn’t even suggest he’ll be staying for any length of time.

The brothers, seen here with Jane Randolph, in a publicity shot for The Falcon’s Brother. It proved to be one of only two movies co-starring Conway and Sanders.

Even the title of the movie refutes it was envisaged as a fresh dawn. The picture isn’t called The New Falcon or Another Falcon (with its attendant shades of 1939’s Another Thin Man ) but instead it emphatically posits Tom Lawrence as the Falcon’s brother, thereby re-enforcing the fact that he himself is not the titular crimefighter.

The film’s producer, Maurice Geraghty, later confirmed that RKO’s top brass had hired Conway simply as a sweetener for Sanders to star in one last Falcon picture, after which the series would end. The novelty of having the brothers starring as brothers must have appealed as a neat marketing card, as well, but one that could only be played once. ‘So it was astonishing to them [ the studio execs ],’ Geraghty recalled, ‘when Tom Conway caught on right away and carried the series on – even outgrossing the pictures George had made.’

In some ways, Conway’s Falcon was similar to the original. Tom Lawrence is another debonair, smooth-voiced man of action. He can out-punch any hoodlum; outthink any diabolical mastermind. He’s driven by a desire for justice, which he dispenses alongside an elegantly raised eyebrow and the bonnest of bon mots , even when under fire. Actually, especially when under fire.

Shot in well under a month, The Falcon’s Brother wrapped 15 July, 1942 and was released in early November of the same year.

But Conway brings an unexpected innocence to the role. Watch the facial expressions Sanders gives us when dealing with the many women who attempt to inveigle their way into ‘his’ Falcon’s life. Gay clearly finds them an inconvenience at best, but more often, an obvious irritation. He tolerates them briefly, it can be inferred, because they’re ‘beautiful’ as he often declares, or due to decorum’s demands.

In contrast, Tom Lawrence invariably seems surprised that a woman should give him a second glance. Although he may occasionally wish to give them the slip, it’s usually because he’s galloping (sometimes literally) into danger and he’s attempting to keep his companion safe. In those situations there’s no mugging to the camera to suggest he finds their presence burdensome. The women he meets become friends and not simply furnishings. In his debut, for example, he does kiss journo Marcia Brooks (Jane Randolph) at one point before being whisked off, but after they next meet he’s happy to have her by his side no matter what perils he’s facing. From that point onwards - the moment of the kiss - they’re a team. Conway ensures his Falcon remains attractive, but his attitude towards female characters is demonstrably fairer.

In The Falcon in Danger (1943) for example, Bonnie Caldwell (played with spirit by Amelita Ward) has decided she’s engaged to Tom because, in an unseen adventure, he rescued her father. Her supposition is clearly nonsense, but the Falcon never gives us an eyeroll or pained expression to reveal any hint of unease at the arrangement. Such devices were Sanders’ stock-in-trade, but Conway plays the situation as if Bonnie is doing Tom a favour, and there’s no mockery of her wide-eyed affection. When he later has to explain why he briefly abandoned her to chase a lead, the conversation is frank, honest and apologetic. Compare the new Falcon’s modus operandi to Gay’s and we find a man more at ease with women and certainly more considerate of other people’s feelings.

A publicity shot for The Falcon in Danger (1943), Conway’s third outing as Tom Lawrence.

It would be piffle to suggest Tom Lawrence is a poster boy for male awareness, but the way Conway plays the character, and the way the new writers soon developed him, ensure that over 75 years after the movies first played, in terms of relationships, ‘his’ Falcon remains eminently more watchable that the original.

And what verve Tom Conway brings to the role!

Writing in the September, 1969 edition of Film Fan Monthly , Karl and Sue Thiede point out, ‘In this film [ The Falcon’s Brother ] Tom Conway… turns in a fine performance. This is in contrast to George’s rather lacklustre attitude.’ Many critics have pointed out that the pep Sanders put into his early Saint movies had evaporated long before Gay Lawrence met his end. Sure, his character is supposed to be cool and unruffled, but there’s blasé, and there’s bored. Sanders definitely falls into the latter category during his later career in falconry. In scenes where urgency is needed, his performance falls strangely flat. Watch him when his character hears Tom Lawrence ringing the bell to warn of the assassins’ attack, for instance, and his reaction is distractingly unconvincing – a surprise for an actor of Sanders’ usual high quality.

But Conway puts pace, flare and nuance into his performance. It’s tempting to suggest he knew this was his big break and therefore raised his game, but that same dynamism is intact for his final outing as Lawrence, opposite Madge Meredith in The Falcon’s Adventure (1946). Some critics were initially sniffy about the rejuvenated Falcon, with the New York Times opining ‘His [ Conway’s ] voice is like Mr Sanders’s, but his manners are not quite so suave.’ Audiences disagreed, however, and immediately warmed to this new bird of prey. Takings were up and everyone was a winner.

After early set-backs, Tom Conway, like the Falcon, was flying. Great success lay ahead, but tragedy also waited in the wings.

In Part Two we’ll be looking at the Conway classics that are now deemed horror masterpieces, plus Blood Orange, his TV work and his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes. In the meantime, you can find out more about Hammer’s release and restoration of Blood Orange and order it at the online shop now!