Mister Harrys

It is a thrill to finally share the latest addition to the collection: an original 1964 promotional still from the Universal Pictures fantasy-comedy, The Brass Bottle. This black-and-white gloss captures a moment of classic mid-century tension, featuring the legendary Tony Randall, the formidable Ann Doran, and the incomparable Barbara Eden. There is something uniquely tactile about holding a piece of physical cinema history—a "Property of National Screen Service Corp" artifact that once sat in a theater lobby, inviting audiences into a world of magic and mishaps.

The Brass Bottle is a delightful time capsule of 1960s screwball fantasy. Based on the 1900 novel by F. Anstey, the film follows Harold Ventimore (Randall), an architect who inadvertently releases a long-imprisoned Jinnee (Burl Ives) from an antique brass bottle. Unlike the benevolent magic we often see, this genie’s attempts to "help" Harold usually result in chaotic social disasters, particularly involving Harold’s fiancée, Sylvia (Eden). It is a film that leans heavily into the "fish out of water" trope, buoyed by the impeccable comedic timing of its cast.

Historically, this film holds a fascinating place in television lore. In a "weird way," as many fans note, The Brass Bottle served as the spiritual precursor and literal audition for one of TV’s most iconic roles. Writer Sidney Sheldon watched Barbara Eden’s performance in this film and saw the perfect blend of charm, comedic wit, and ethereal beauty. It was this very performance that convinced him she was the only choice to play the lead in his upcoming series, I Dream of Jeannie. Interestingly, in the film, Barbara plays the "mortal" frustrated by magic, but just one year later, she would be the one inhabiting the bottle herself.

Of course, we cannot discuss this photo without mentioning how absolutely radiant Barbara Eden is. Even in a still frame, her presence is luminous. Dressed in the chic, structured elegance of the early 60s—seen here in a beautifully textured suit—she embodies the "girl next door" with an undeniable cinematic spark. Her expressive eyes and effortless poise steal every scene, proving why she became a timeless fashion icon and one of the most beloved faces in Hollywood history.

There is a specific kind of magic found in silver gelatin prints, especially those that captured the birth of cinematic surrealism. I am thrilled to share the latest addition to my collection: an original on-set production still of Josette Day as Belle.

This isn't just a photograph; it's a piece of history. The reverse side bears the typed provenance of London Film Productions Ltd., marking the film's arrival at the Rialto on Coventry Street for its premiere on Friday, October 31st. Imagine sitting in a darkened London theater on Halloween night in the 1940s, watching Jean Cocteau’s dreamscape unfold for the first time.

In this photo, Josette Day embodies the "Beauty" that Cocteau sought: a face that looked as though it belonged in a 17th-century painting. Born in Paris, Day was a child prodigy of the theater, but it was her role as Belle that immortalized her.

Her performance is a masterclass in stillness. While the Beast (played by Jean Marais) is all movement and fur and anguish, Day provides the calm, luminous center. She didn't just play a fairy tale character; she gave Belle a sense of agency and quiet strength that was rare for the era.

To speak of this film is to speak of the genius of Jean Cocteau. A poet, playwright, artist, and filmmaker, Cocteau didn't use CGI—he used imagination. He famously told his crew that he wanted to achieve "the beauty of the everyday."

He used simple tricks—running film backward to make "magic" happen, using real human arms as candelabras, and relying on the incredible costumes by Christian Bérard. Cocteau’s La Belle et la Bête remains the gold standard for fairy tale adaptations because it feels like a dream that you can actually touch.

Released in 1946, the film served as a much-needed escape for a post-war Europe. It is a visual poem about the transformative power of love and the thin line between the monstrous and the divine. This photo, with Day’s upward gaze and the soft, directional lighting, captures that "Cocteau glow" perfectly. It is a centerpiece in my collection that reminds me why we fall in love with the movies in the first place.

Holding this photo, one can almost feel the texture of the "dream" Cocteau sought to film. It serves as a reminder of a time when cinema was a tool for magic, turning a simple fairy tale into a profound exploration of the soul. Adding this to the collection doesn't just preserve a face; it preserves the moment when London first witnessed one of the most beautiful films ever made.

This evocative photograph captures Nadia Gray on January 19, 1950—the very moment she prepared to leave the cobblestones of Paris for the neon lights of Hollywood. In the image, we see a woman of quiet intensity, but the text beneath it reveals a much louder reality: she was departing as "Princess Cantacuzino," a title that carried the weight of a vanishing European aristocracy and a life marked by a narrow escape from the iron grip of history.

Nadia’s journey began in Bucharest, but her life truly transformed when she married Prince Constantin "Bâzu" Cantacuzino, Romania’s most celebrated fighter ace. When the political landscape of Eastern Europe shifted following the war, the couple found themselves in the crosshairs of a new regime. In a move straight out of a Cold War thriller, they managed to flee to the West, leaving behind titles and treasures to reinvent themselves in the creative sanctuary of Paris. It was this background—one of high-stakes escapes and navigating the corridors of power—that lent her an air of mystery, leading many to view her as the ultimate "spy" of the social circuit.

By 1950, as noted in the French clipping, Nadia had conquered the Parisian stage at the Théâtre Antoine. She was no longer just a displaced royal; she was a rising star. The text highlights her recruitment by director Anatole Litvak for a role in Hollywood, marking the start of a career that would bridge the gap between classic European theater and global cinema. She possessed a rare ability to blend aristocratic poise with a modern, almost dangerous edge, which caught the eye of the world’s most visionary directors.

Her legacy was eventually immortalized in Federico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita (1960). In one of cinema's most famous sequences, Nadia played a character who mirrored her own social standing—a wealthy socialite who performs a scandalous striptease. It was a performance that shocked the world and defined the "sweet life" of the era. From her beginnings as a princess in flight to her status as a cabaret icon in New York later in life, Nadia Gray lived a narrative that few could imagine and even fewer could survive with such grace.

The addition of these specific photographs to the collection is more than just the acquisition of vintage prints; it is the preservation of a "crossroads" moment. These artifacts capture Nadia Gray as she transitioned from a princess in flight to a global icon. They serve as a tangible link to a time when the glamour of the silver screen was inextricably linked to the high-stakes drama of history. By archiving these pieces, we document the literal and artistic movement of a star, fueled by the rare primary evidence of the attached French press clipping and the raw energy of a Fellini set.