Poor Gail Patrick (left) thinks she can outwit William Powell (right). Image: Cineplex

Sometimes Hollywood is a bit much, really.

Filmmakers know that we, the masses, enjoy send-ups of rich people. We love it when we can feel intellectually superior to the dim-witted characters on the screen.

The joke is on us, of course. Many of these Hollywood films are made by rich people skewering their own kind, so we can buy tickets to laugh at them – thereby making them even richer.

But once in a while there is a script that makes us forget all of that by offering a deeper message. One such film, for us, is the 1936 screwball comedy, My Man Godfrey.

Godfrey (William Powell) is a “Forgotten” (read: homeless) man who lives with other Forgotten Men in a New York City landfill. One night, limousines arrive and lavishly-dressed rich people, involved in a scavenger hunt, invade the landfill to collect some of these Forgotten Men.

The movie’s not even five minutes old and already the script has smacked us upside the head. It’s significant that homeless people are living in the landfill. (In the landfill. In a first world country!) Even the 1930s term Forgotten Man is cosmetic, intended to mask a societal problem. The phrase is almost quaint and faintly amusing – as though one had left a pair of gloves at the polo club.

One of the rich people (Carole Lombard) quickly realizes the callousness of her mission and apologizes to Powell. He insists he be the Forgotten Man on her Scavenger Hunt List and so, with gratitude, she offers him a job as her family’s butler.

It’s here we get to see a wacky rich family who are alarmingly out of touch with society (i.e. the Depression) and the suffering of others. But they are not without their charm. For example, the father (Eugene Pallette), in summarizing the family’s finances, declares, “[Y]ou people have confused me with the Treasury Department.”

Witty lines, interesting characters, a social message. This is a script that could be nominated for an Oscar.

Which it was.

The morals of the idle rich. Image: tumblr

The script has assigned Powell’s character the voice of reason, the one who tries to keep everyone grounded. We learn this early in the film, when Powell, rumpled and unshaven from landfill living, accepts the job offer from Lombard, all sleek in her Travis Banton gown.

Powell: “Just one question.”

Lombard: “What.”

Powell: “Where do you live?”

Lombard: “1011 Fifth. It’s funny – I never thought of that.”

Powell: [with a sardonic laugh] “No, you didn’t.”

Throughout the film, Powell tries to reconcile his new life as a butler with his former life as a Forgotten Man. Lombard’s older sister (Gail Patrick) discovers Powell has a secret past which she’s determined to uncover. In the meantime, she never lets Powell forget she’s a Superior Being because she has access to more money.

Powell’s character isn’t bedazzled by riches, and he scorns people who are. “I wanted to see how a bunch of empty-headed nitwits conducted themselves,” he says. “My curiosity is satisfied.”

My Man Godfrey was nominated for six Academy Awards, but went home empty-handed. It was beaten by The Story of Louis Pasteur in the categories of Best Picture and Best Screenplay. However, a person can’t blame the Academy; it would be difficult for any film to run against the guy who developed pasteurization.

Yet, we like to think the still-relevant My Man Godfrey was a close second.

My Man Godfrey: starring William Powell, Carole Lombard, Alice Brady. Directed by Gregory La Cava. Written by Morrie Ryskind, Eric Hatch, Robert Presnell, Zoë Akins. Universal Productions Inc., 1936, B&W, 95 mins.

This post is part of the 31 DAYS OF OSCAR Blogathon: The Crafts, hosted by Paula’s Cinema Club, Outspoken & Freckled and Once Upon a Screen. Click HERE for a list of all participants.

Gwen Lee surveys the morons around her.

If there’s anything the movies have taught us, it’s this: Whenever you go on a boat, always wear your best gown and pearls – and bring your fur coat, if you have one.

The movies tell us how exciting ships are. A person is forever running into millionaires or Royalty In Disguise. If you’re really lucky, you’ll become shipwrecked on an uncharted island.

Something even more exciting happens in the 1933 comedy-thriller, The Intruder, and it begins on a dark and stormy night – which, as you know, is the best time for evil-doers to run amok. A cruise ship is knocked off course due to strong winds while a murder is being committed on board. Not only that, the murder victim is robbed of diamonds that were stolen from someone else.

Then the ship crashes and the murder suspects – along with the murderer – are forced into a single lifeboat. They land on a deserted island, where the intrigue continues!

See? If a person had decided on a road trip instead of taking a cruise, they would have missed all the fun.

The Intruder is a campy, pre-code treat recommended to us, in an off-handed way, by our friends at Noirish.

There is a good collection of characters in this film, including the bossy-but-thick-headed detective (William B. Davidson), who offers such insights as, “Well, either they’re alive or they’re not.” There’s also an inebriated passenger (Arthur Housman), who wonders if the rescue ship will feature a well-stocked bar.

The best character in this film is Daisy (Gwen Lee), a mashup of Joan Blondell and Mae West. Daisy is the ultimate Pre-Code Woman: smart, brash and capable. She’s the type of character you want on your side if you’ve been shipwrecked on an uncharted island with:

• a crafty murderer
• an assortment of murder suspects
• a diamond robber
• a stupid detective
• a wisecracking drunkard
• a crazed castaway
• a man in gorilla suit (Don’t ask.)

Daisy shows us how handle this situation and still look as fresh as, well, a daisy.

The key lies in her Alfreda gown, accessorized by a multi-strand pearl necklace, which she wears throughout the ordeal. (Let this be a lesson, Dear Reader: One need not let fashion suffer when dodging murderers on a remote island.)

Gwen Lee (right) tells Lila Lee (no relation) to put on her big girl stockings.

Hollywood costume designer Alfreda enjoyed her greatest popularity in the early 1930s. Her gowns were featured in such pre-code gems as Forgotten Terrors, Officer 13 and  A Shriek in the Night. Not only were her gowns gorgeous, they gave heroines an important quality: courage.

For example, in The Intruder, Daisy never becomes flustered. When she and another female passenger, Miss Wayne (Lila Lee) fall into the clutches of a kidnapper, the women duck into a castaway’s shelter. Here they they discover a human skeleton named “Mary” sitting in a chair. Miss Wayne, understandably, becomes fretful about being killed. Daisy promises she won’t allow the murderer to harm them: “Over my dead body,” she quips.

Alfreda was not one to design a costume without practical features. Daisy’s gown is black, sleek, and durable enough for shipwrecks. But it has an added feature – a handy slip which Daisy tears away and uses as a bandage to save Miss Wayne’s life.

The Intruder seems to draw mixed reviews from audiences. Many people have a “meh” reaction, but we think this pre-code flick is a fun mix of black humour and genuine intrigue.

The Intruder: starring Monte Blue, Lila Lee, William B. Davidson. Directed by Albert Ray. Written by Frances Hyland. Allied Pictures Corp., 1933, B&W, 54 mins.

This post is part of THE PRE-CODE BLOGATHON, hosted by Shadows & Satin and pre-code.com. Click HERE for a list of all the entries.

Billie Burke (left) asks Constance Bennett not to be so sensible. Image: Constance Bennett

Dear Reader, we’ve made our peace with the fact we’ll never be nominated for a screenwriting Oscar. We’re not too broken up about this, just like we’re OK with not being selected for the NASA Aeronautics Academy. We’ll get by.

But if we were to write a screenplay, we would model it after the 1938 screwball comedy Merrily We Live. This is one of those films about a wacky but endearing rich family who employ ex-cons and drifters as their servants. (Note: One has to pretend this scenario hasn’t been done before, à la My Man Godfrey.)

In our opinion, there are three major elements to this lesser-known film that make it a stellar example in screwball-icity. We had thought of plotting these elements on a graph, but were too lazy – a characteristic, incidentally, frowned upon at the Aeronautics Academy.

Brian Aherne embraces his new job. Image: Matinee Moustache

#1 Script
At a glance, the plot seems to be standard 1930’s material: A rich family unknowingly hires a famous writer (Brian Aherne) as a chauffeur, because they believe him to be homeless person. Aherne’s character is having so much fun, he doesn’t wish to disabuse the family of this notion.

However, this film’s script is superior to many other comedies due to the sheer volume of jokes. The jokes are so numerous and delivered so quickly, they practically trip over each other.

For instance, the delightfully spinny family matriarch (Billie Burke) is trying to counsel her Very Smart Daughter (Constance Bennett):

Burke (to Bennett): “My mother always told me children are seen and not heard.”
Bennett: “But your mother was smarter than my mother.”
Burke: “Yes, I know she was, darling.”

Another delightful element is the running gags threaded throughout the film. One such gag is the family’s butler (the perfectly-cast Alan Mowbray), who is forever threatening to quit if the family doesn’t stop hiring ex-cons who steal family heirlooms. (This leads to another scene where the patriarch of the family dryly asks the newly-hired Aherne if he has stolen anything yet.)

“Darling, puffy sleeves are an Investment.” Image: gifsoup.com

#2 Wardrobe & Sets
The best thing about rich people in 1930s screwball comedies is their environment. We love it when art deco sets are nearly overwhelming in their size and shininess. Merrily We Live indulges us in the same way as a chocolate fondue party. Set designer W.L. Stevens has provided a scrumptious buffet filled with lush draperies and highly-collectible furniture; no wonder these people are continually stolen from!

A grand set requires a grand wardrobe. Bennett’s wardrobe (designed by the fab Irene) is chic, elegant, stylish. Burke’s wardrobe, on the other hand, almost competes with her décor – while her clothes are grand and expensive, they’re charmingly out of step with the decade.

Daily affirmations. Image: Matinee Moustache

#3 Engaging Characters
Screwball comedies have outrageous people who outlandishly. In one scene, an annoying, self-absorbed boyfriend (Phillip Reed) drives Bennett home after a date. He leans in to kiss her and she socks him in the jaw.

This film has a wide assortment of charismatic characters, from the no-nonsense Bennett to Mowbray’s disapproving butler to Aherne’s writerly quirkiness.

Oh – and we can’t forget two minor but important players, the family’s two Great Danes named Get Off The Rug, and You Too.

Merrily We Live is an amusing film that is so good, you’ll want to watch it twice in a row. You’ll agree it’s every bit as clever as anything produced by NASA’s Aeronautics Academy.

Merrily We Live: starring Constance Bennett, Brian Aherne, Alan Mowbray. Directed by Norman Z. McLeod. Written by Eddie Moran and Jack Jevene. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1938, B&W, 95 mins.

Spencer Tracy & Katharine Hepburn: Fireworks at first sight. Image: Doctor Macro

We’re torn when it comes to the 1942 romantic comedy Woman of the Year.

This is an early WWII comedy about a slightly rumpled sportswriter (Spencer Tracy) who meets and marries a gonna-liberate-all-women-and-save-the-world journalist (Katharine Hepburn).

After a fast and intense courtship, the two marry, then learn to adjust to each other.

Or not.

Tracy’s character loves an opinionated, high-spirited woman, but he’s woefully unprepared to live with Hepburn’s doggedness. If she’s not rescuing Greek orphans, she’s giving asylum to political refugees or interviewing world leaders. As Canadian humourist Stephen Leacock might say, Hepburn runs “madly off in all directions”.

In this film, director George Stevens uses dialogue as a frame for the more important job of defining the characters. For example, when Tracy first meets Hepburn in person, it is in the newspaper publisher’s office. The publisher, standing in the background, is droning on about Who Knows What: all we see is Tracy’s attraction to Hepburn and the chemistry that’s going to propel the plot.

But not all dialogue acts as wallpaper. When Tracy meets his new father-in-law (Minor Watson) on the day of the wedding, he has a small confession:

Tracy (to Watson): “I’ve been worried about you since yesterday.”
Watson: “I’ve been worried about you for years.”

Tracy’s character is no dummy; neither is Hepburn’s, which makes the script rather frustrating.

Hepburn shows reporters what a hard worker she is. Image: Hot Saas’s Pop Culture Safari

Hepburn’s character is not perfect. She sometimes makes dumb decisions and jumps into situations before thinking them through. (If she weren’t impetuous, though, she might not have married Tracy in the first place.)

She’s persistent in making the world A Better Place, but this isn’t a hobby to pass the time until marriage. This is who she is.

Therefore, it is unfair to ask Hepburn to Stop It. Many influential women who trade domesticity for the greater good feel the push-pull of domestic life. (Read the memoirs of any past or present female world leader – they’ll tell you how it is.)

However, it’s not Tracy who’s asking Hepburn to Stop It. Nay, he admires her energy and determination. We realize this early in the film:

Tracy: “I love you.” …
Hepburn: “Even when I’m sober?”
Tracy: “Even when you’re brilliant.”

It’s the script that’s pressuring Hepburn to Stop It. Other scripts from this period would praise men for doing the very things Hepburn does. But Hepburn is a woman; therefore, the script requires her character to suffer because she’s not feminine enough.

Even if Tracy were the one telling Hepburn to Stop It, he would likely have our sympathy. He is completely in love with Hepburn (both on screen and off), and is not satisfied with scheduling brief meetings between trains and speeches and ball games. Because he’s Spencer Tracy – and therefore gruffly charming and endearing – we want him to be happy.

This is why we’re torn about Woman of the Year. There is no good guy or bad guy; there are two people trying to find their way in a relationship, just like people do in real life.

Still, Woman of the Year is an entertaining Battle of the Sexes, and a Must See for fans of Tracy and Hepburn.

Woman of the Year: starring Spencer Tracy, Katharine Hepburn, Fay Bainter. Directed by George Stevens. Written by Ring Lardner, Jr. and Michael Kanin. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1942, B&W, 112 mins.

This post is part of THE GREAT KATHARINE HEPBURN BLOGATHON, hosted by MargaretPerry.org. Click HERE for a list of all fab entries.

The life of a California teen – “surfin’ all day and swingin’ all night.”  Image: ishareimage.com

Please, no judging.

Here is today’s confession: We are endlessly fascinated by the Frankie + Annette Beach Party movies.

There were a handful of these movies made between 1963-66, each one worse than its predecessor – and that is saying something. These films, made by American International Pictures, were targeted to teenagers and include lots of music, dancing and surfing.

These elements must appeal to us more than we care to admit, because these crazy movies are our ultimate guilty pleasure.

Our favourite is Beach Party (1963), the first of the illustrious series. In this movie, a social anthropologist (a deadpan Robert Cummings), rents a beach house so he can spy on these mad surfing kids and write a book on Post-Adolescent Surf Dwellers.

Cummings sports a voluminous academic beard. Image: Forgotten Actors

Cummings may be a professor and a noted expert in his field, but he’s as thick as day-old gravy when it comes to l’affaire de coeur. No one is more aware of this than his assistant (Dorothy Malone), a savvy, chic woman who’s half in love with her dim-witted boss.

Among the so-called “surf dwellers” are a young couple, teen heartthrob Frankie Avalon and former Mouseketeer Annette Funicello. Avalon has rented a neighbouring beach house so he can spend the weekend alone with his girlfriend. Unbeknownst to him, Funicello has invited half the state of California to share the house with them, because she’s not ready for The Big Step.

As a result, Avalon and Funicello spend most of the movie trying to make each other jealous. Avalon takes up with a waitress from a local hotspot, while Funicello flirts with Cummings.

There’s a bad guy, too!, in the form of Harvey Lembeck, the leader of an inept motorcycle gang. Lembeck calls his minions “You Stupid”, while his dress and mannerisms spoof Marlon Brando in 1953’s The Wild One.

Marlon Brando – er, Eric von Zipper (Harvey Lembeck) is easily defeated. Image: B-Movie Detective

Beach Party doesn’t have a complex plot, but the script is surprisingly funny and self-mocking. Malone delivers some laugh-out-loud punchlines, while Cummings and Funicello share some amusing moments, many of which poke fun at Cummings’ age. In one scene, Cummings takes Funicello for a ride in his twin-engine plane, and she asks how he learned how to fly.

Cummings: “…That was before the war, of course.”
Funicello: “Which one?’
Cummings (wryly): “The Spanish American.”
Funicello: “Oh, you’re teasing. I bet it was World War I.”

One thing this movie never fails to do is remind you of how Hip it is. Scenes incorporate bongo drums and surfing slag as much as possible. The beach fashions are über stylish, and no one appears in the same swimsuit twice. Even the local hangout is hip, featuring poetry as performance art, yoga practitioners and live music by Dick Dale and the Del Tones.

This film also never fails to remind you that teenagers are cool, while the older generation is, well, old. In one scene, Cummings decides to go to the beach in his neck-to-knee 1920s-era bathing suit. Funicello defends the suit by saying tactfully, “I like it. It’s substantial looking.”

Beach Party isn’t cinematic art, nor is it a deep analysis of the human condition. It is, however, an entertaining movie – which makes it a worthy guilty pleasure.

Beach Party: starring Bob Cummings, Dorothy Malone, Frankie Avalon. Directed by Willam Asher. Written by Lou Rusoff. American International Pictures, 1963, Colour, 101 mins.

This post is part of the Beach Party Blogathon co-hosted by Speakeasy and yours truly. Click here to view all the groovy posts in this blogathon.

Greta Garbo, Type “A” communist. Image: More Stars than in the Heavens

A person could go on all day about the delightful 1939 comedy, Ninotchka. What’s not to love about a film with Cedric Gibbons art direction, Adrian gowns, Ernst Lubitsch’s skilled directing (a.k.a. “The Lubitsch Touch“), and a top-notch cast?

What we admire most is the script.

The screenplay was a collaborative effort by Charles Brackett, Walter Reisch and a man who would become one of Hollywood’s most acclaimed directors, Billy Wilder.

To us, the script is like sneaking into your grandmother’s freezer and discovering a cache of baked goods. There are plenty of funny lines, endearing characters, and thoughtful observations on geopolitics.

Ninotchka is set in pre-World War II Paris, where three Russian envoys have arrived with orders to sell Russian jewels on behalf of the Soviet Union. Unfortunately, prices are not ideal because the market has become flooded with such jewels.

There’s a bigger glitch: A Russian Countess in exile (Ina Claire), learns the Soviets have arrived with intentions to sell her family’s confiscated heirlooms.

Moscow then dispatches an Envoy Extraordinary named Ninotcha (Greta Garbo) to Paris to sort out this mess.

Wilder & Co. have created such intriguing characters that even if this film had no plot, it would still be fascinating. Characters reveal, in the first exchange of dialogue, their agenda and their eventual outcome.

For example, the Countess’ courtesan (Melvyn Douglas), is a suave fellow who appears with this introduction: “Remember that platinum watch with the diamond numbers? You’ll be in a position to give it to me now.”

Garbo, at the start of the film, is a dour, industrial-strength communist. She doesn’t suffer fools, and she despises frivolity.

Her adversary, the Countess, is a refined, cultured woman who is equally tough. She despises everything Garbo represents. Our sympathies throughout the movie lie with Garbo, but Claire is not going down without a fight. When the two women finally meet, Claire sharply reminds Garbo of everything the Bolsheviks have taken from her.

Whether as a screenwriter or director, Wilder is as funny as he is cynical. He’s an unflinching observer of human nature. This script incorporates Wilder’s trademark shrewdness, but we also find something unexpected.

Ninotchka, at heart, is overwhelmingly life-affirming.

A tipsy Garbo jokes about being human. Image: britannica.com

Garbo’s character undergoes an incredible transformation in this film. When she first arrives in Paris, she orders her fellow comrades, “Don’t make an issue of my womanhood. We’re here to work.”

When she sees a ridiculous hat in a shop window, she almost can’t express enough displeasure. (“A civilization cannot survive with such hats.”) However, each time she passes the window, her contempt softens. Then, when she opens a carefully-locked drawer in her hotel room and pulls out said hat, we realize she is shedding Soviet rhetoric for a more human existence.

Douglas is drawn to Garbo in spite of (or because of?) her humourless demeanour. He implores her to smile and to laugh at “the whole spectacle” of life. “Thinking about death is so glum,” he says.

After Garbo’s internal human-ness awakens, she gives a poignant speech which must have been acutely felt by audiences in 1939, when the world was on the verge of global war. Her speech is almost a direct plea to world leaders.

“Comrades, people of the world,” she says, “the revolution is on the march. I know, bombs will fall, civilizations will crumble, but not yet. Please – wait. What’s the hurry? Give us our moment. Let us be happy.”

Ninotchka received four Academy Award nominations, including Best Adapted Screenplay. We know you’ll enjoy this clever film co-authored by the great Billy Wilder.

Ninotchka: starring Greta Garbo, Melvyn Douglas, Ina Claire. Written by Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder, Walter Reisch. Directed by Ernst Lubitsch. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, BW, 1939, 110 mins.

This post is part of the BILLY WILDER Blogathon co-hosted by Outspoken and Freckled and Once Upon a Screen. Click HERE to view all the fab posts in this blogathon.

Buying a new arm at the Limb shop. Image: cinecouch.com

We could hardly wait to share an obscure six-minute film with you.

Get this: Here is a film that was made in 1908, during the Nickleodeon period (1905-1915), and it feels as fresh and original as many indie short films produced today.

Some background: Before movies became the blockbuster form of entertainment they were before the pre-gaming era, films were shown as one attraction in a vaudeville (variety) show. However, in 1905, there was a shift in the entertainment industry, when the first Nickelodeon theatre opened in Pittsburg. Price of admission: 5 cents.

Suddenly movies became the dominant form of entertainment. As vaudeville theatres were converted to nickelodeon theatres, the programs changed, too. Instead of the focus on live acts, the focus was now on the films, although singing and some vaudeville acts still accompanied these films. These programs lasted between 10 minutes and an hour.

A lot of films were produced during this period; theatres changed their programs as often as three times a week. Everything about these films were short – production time, run time, and length of time in theatres.

Now, you may think these films were simple and unsophisticated. But we disagree. We like to think audiences were given their nickel’s worth. One example is 1908’s The Thieving Hand.

This movie was filmed in Brooklyn, New York, by the Vitagraph Company of America. This company began by making newsreels, but it graduated to narrative film. It was a prolific company; in 1907, for instance, no other company produced more films than Vitagraph. It was also the first studio to use stop-motion photography.

The Thieving Hand is an excellent example of Vitagraph’s trick cinematography (and black humour) during this era.

The plot involves a one-armed man who peddles cigars on a street corner. He sells a cigar to a rich man who accidentally drops his ring in the street. When the one-armed cigar peddler chases him down and returns the ring, the rich man rewards him by buying him a new arm.

Business is brisk at the Limb shop. Image: Film: Ab Initio

This is where the film leaps into surrealism. The two men go to a Limbs shop where the one-armed man can be outfitted with a new forearm + hand. (The shop’s windows has arms and legs on display, but you can buy an assortment of hands and feet as well. Wooden “peg” legs are available, too, if that’s your style.)

Sadly for the cigar peddler, his new hand has a mind of its own and steals from passersby on the street. The owner, the poor slob, has no idea his fancy new hand is a kleptomaniac and, through a series of events that are not his fault, ends up in the slammer.

It’s an interesting study of a man, who is honest, and his alter-ego, The Hand, which is dishonest.

It’s also a delightful film with a slightly twisted bent, made better by some cheeky special effects, including:

• Forearm + hand crawling around by itself.
• Fitting the man with his new arm by merely shoving it up his shirtsleeve. (If only fitting prosthetics were this easy!)
• The man pulling off the arm when he doesn’t want it any more.
• The hand putting rings on itself, then admiring how it looks.

No CGI or other high-tech tricks here, only clever sleight of hand (ha ha). The result is pure magic.

But don’t take our word for it! We’ve included the full movie below. We think you’ll get a kick out of this little-known Nickelodeon gem.

The Thieving Hand: starring Paul Panzer. Directed by J. Stuart Blackton. Vitagraph Co. of America, 1908, B&W, 6 mins.

This post is part of the Classic Movie History Project Blogathon co-hosted by Movies, Silently, Once Upon a Screen and yours truly, and sponsored by Flicker Alley. Click here to view all the posts for today’s era.

Gordon MacRae’s fully-loaded surrey, with a fringe on top. Image: Los Angeles Times

You would have a skewed view of life if you only watched musicals.

For example, look at the recently-restored Rodgers and Hammerstein western-comedy musical, Oklahoma! (1955). This film is about a group of farmers and ranchers in turn-of-the-20th-century Oklahoma, who hold a box lunch social to raise money for the schoolhouse roof.

This film makes it look like these farmers and ranchers have nothing to do but sing and dance and make merriment. In one scene, a train pulls into the station and everyone on the station platform suddenly – and without warning – leaps into a impromptu hoedown.

The rustic Oklahoma in this film looks gla-mor-ous. Men’s tailored shirts are neatly pressed, and women’s Orry-Kelly gowns dresses are made of sumptuous fabrics. Life is so effortless, folks do their chores while wearing crisp, white clothes. There’s not a drop of sweat in sight.

You’ll notice a lot of dancing in this Oklahoma, even interpretive dance where themes of innocence and exploitation are examined.

The villain in this neck of the woods is played by Rod Steiger, a surly and vaguely creepy man who is the only one in the film with grime on his clothes. He lusts after young Shirley Jones (in her film debut) and resents the cowboy Gordon MacRae for wooing her.

You could be forgiven for thinking these are simple, unsophisticated folk. Indeed, the film opens with MacRae (in a glorious CinemaScope tracking shot) riding his horse along a row of corn, underneath a dazzling blue sky. He sings about the beautiful morning and a “bright golden haze on the meadow”.

Basic, wholesome people living a basic, wholesome life? Not so fast, partner.

The marvels – wholesome and unwholesome – of Kansas City. Image: Dusted Off

What really makes this film, besides the wardrobe and the scenery, is the song lyrics. The clever lyrics easily outpace the script in wit and innuendo.

Notably, the songs seesaw between the conflicted feelings of the characters. For example, a man sings about his visit to Kansas City and, alternating between amazement and disapproval, he describes life in the prosperous, fast-growing burg:

Everything’s up to date in Kansas City
They’ve gone about as far as they can go!
They went and built a skyscraper seven stories high
About as high as a building ought to grow.

He then goes on to detail, with a twinkle in his eye, various other sights including a burlesque show.

In another scene, MacRae confronts the surly Steiger with a song that swings between threats and flattery. MacRae suggests no man will be more highly praised at his own funeral than Steiger himself:

He’s looking oh so pretty and so nice
He looks like he’s asleep.
It’s a shame that he won’t keep,
But it’s summer and we’re running out of ice.

That’s a bit twisted, no? MacRae is taking chances, singing this kind of stuff to the temperamental Steiger.

In another scene, Gene Nelson proposes to his girlfriend (Gloria Grahame), although she doesn’t really want to settle down. After the he proposes, Grahame replies:

But if a wife is wise, she’s gotta realize
That men like you are wild and free …
Stay up late and don’t come home till three
And go right off to sleep if you’re sleepy.
There’s no use waiting up for me!

Oklahoma! won Academy Awards for Best Music and Best Sound, and raked in $6.8 million at the box office that year. We think you’ll enjoy this cheeky, light-hearted tribute to the 46th state of the union.

Oklahoma! starring Gordon MacRae, Gloria Grahame, Gene Nelson. Directed by Fred Zinneman. Written by Sonya Levien & William Ludwig. Magna Theatre Corp., 1955, B&W, 145 mins.

Shirley Temple falls for Cary Grant – and who can blame her? Image: Miss Shirley Temple

In 1947, Shirley Temple was 18 going on 19 and struggling with a difficult marriage.

Her career was faltering, too. She was no longer the winsome child star who had charmed millions of moviegoers during the bleakest years of the Depression. She was now one of many talented young actresses in Hollywood.

But Temple wasn’t a seasoned pro for nothing, and if you watch films from the last years of her movie career, you can’t detect the off-screen pressures she must have faced. She was a hard worker, starring in three (three!) films released in 1947: Honeymoon, That Hagen Girl and, one of our personal favourites, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer. 

Now, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer is one of those films that suggests you leave your critical thinking skills at home. However, it does deliver hearty laughs in return.

The film stars Cary Grant as an affable painter of contemporary American life. He is one of those fellows who’s always in trouble, usually with women. However, his real headaches begin when he gives a lecture at the high school Temple attends, and discovers Temple has developed a sudden, fierce crush on him.

After the rousing lecture, Temple rushes to meet Grant in the school hallway, and introduces herself as a representative of the school newspaper. She fawns over Grant and gushes over the Suffering Of The Artistic Soul. While the uncomfortable Grant tries to make a polite getaway, Temple immediately starts grilling him on his love life. This makes Grant wonder what kind of newspaper the school actually publishes:

Temple: “Oh, all the students read it.”
Grant: “I’ll bet they do!”

Grant is Not Interested in Temple for many reasons, including her age. Yet, their scenes sparkle with on-screen chemistry, the way scenes do between two professional actors.

Myrna Loy also stars as Temple’s accomplished older sister, a judge who is well aware of Grant’s reputation. She considers the remote possibility of Temple dating him as odious: “I’d just as soon my sister were going out with an actor.”

Although the cast includes the ultra-fab Rudy Vallee and Ray Collins, it’s Temple’s charismatic performance that elevates the film and, ironically, makes Grant and Loy even more culturally significant.

Myrna Loy (left) is not amused by Grant’s protestations. Image: Dr. Macro

The term bobby-soxer was popular during the 1940s and 1950s. Bobby socks (short socks that reach just above the ankle) became fashionable during WWII and, after the war, were often worn with saddle shoes. This style was especially popular with teenage girls and young women.

More importantly, the bobby-soxer crowd made big stars out of singers like Frank Sinatra and actors like Van Johnson. Just like today’s teenage girl demographic, these young women could elevate a performer’s status to über-stardom.

By portraying a bobby-soxer, Temple was endorsing the longevity of Grant and Loy. It’s telling that Loy is not cast as Temple’s mother, but her older sister, and Temple’s crush on the 40-something Grant only enhanced his status as a romantic leading man.

The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer was a profitable film for RKO; it tied with The Egg and I as the second-highest grossing film of 1947. It also won a screenwriting Oscar.

Grant and Loy may have gained street cred with the younger set in this charming film, but it did not save Temple’s film career. By 1950, she was out of the movies and her troubled marriage – but had embarked on other challenges in her remarkable life.

The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer: starring Cary Grant, Myrna Loy, Shirley Temple. Directed by Irving Reis. Written by Sidney Sheldon. RKO Radio Pictures, Inc., 1947, B&W, 95 mins.

This post is part of The 1947 Blogathon co-hosted by Shadows & Satin and Speakeasy. Click HERE to see today’s fab entries.

See how John Barrymore labours for The Theatre. Image: YouTube

We (as in, yours truly) have an affinity for outlandish characters – whether in real life on on the screen. One of favourite oversized movie characters is the fictional Broadway producer Oscar Jaffe, as played by the legendary actor John Barrymore.

You’ll find Jaffe in the comedy Twentieth Century (1934), a film adaptation of the play by the same name that was reworked from the unproduced Napoleon of Broadway, a play based on a certain Broadway producer.

Twentieth Century is about a successful, egocentric impresario who discovers a lingerie model (Carole Lombard), and casts her as the lead in his new play. However, after a profitable but tumultuous three-year business/romantic relationship, Lombard suddenly flees to Hollywood to become a movie star.

Without his talented and lucrative leading lady, Barrymore’s productions start to deteriorate, and he realizes he must woo Lombard back to New York if he’s going to become commercially profitable again.

Much of the movie takes place on board the spiffy Twentieth Century, the glam New York-Chicago train service that operated for 65 years, starting in 1902. (Get this: passengers actually walked on freshly-laid red carpet when boarding the train.)

As amusing as the train scenes are, our favourite parts of the movie take place in Barrymore’s theatre, as he prepares his actors for his newest production.

Our introduction to Barrymore’s character is a display board outside the theatre:

Mr. Oscar Jaffe announces a new play
Personally Supervised by Mr. Jaffe
with a typical Jaffe Cast
to be presented at the Jaffe Theatre
The Play: “The Heart of Kentucky”
An Oscar Jaffe Production is a guarantee of wit and genius in the theatre.

With such a build-up, we can’t wait to meet this guy. And when we do, we’re not disappointed.

Barrymore’s Jaffe has affected mannerisms, such as his use of a quill pen and placing a plaid scarf around his neck just so. He walks with a cane even though he doesn’t limp.

It’s worth noting that Barrymore’s hair is almost never under control in this film, which may be symbolic of his unruly nature. But, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Barrymore (right) is unimpressed with Carole Lombard’s new boyfriend. Image: Acidemic

When Barrymore arrives at the stage where his actors are assembled, he delivers a Motivational Speech. In this speech, he tells us everything we need to know about his character.

“Before we begin,” he says solemnly, “I want you all to remember one thing. No matter what I may say, no matter what I may do on this stage, during our work, I love you all. And the people who have been through my battles with me will bear me out in testifying that above everything in the world, I love the theatre and the charming people in it.”

Oh boy. You know you’re dealing with a real piece of work with a speech like that.

His magnanimous stance is short-lived, however. When someone disagrees with him, he pronounces Judgment: “From now on, I close the iron door on you.”

Barrymore plays Jaffe with a straight face, but there’s something about his performance that almost winks at us. You think I’m kidding about this character? he seems to say. I’ve known dozens like him.

Barrymore’s Jaffe is smart and quotable, and makes a monumental display of his Suffering. For instance, when he’s told blackboard chalk is impossible to buy at midnight (!), he grimly closes his eyes as if summoning Inner Strength. “No cooperation from anyone,” he sighs miserably. “Never mind. I’ll carry through alone.”

There is much to admire about Twentieth Century – script, casting, sets – but we guarantee you’ll adore Barrymore’s performance as a self-absorbed egotist. If you’ve never seen a John Barrymore film, you must make time for this one.

Twentieth Century: starring John Barrymore, Carole Lombard, Walter Connolly. Directed by Howard Hawks. Written by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur. Columbia Pictures Corp., 1934, B&W, 91 mins.

This post is part of The Barrymore Trilogy Blogathon hosted by In the Good Old Days of Hollywood. Click HERE to see the schedule.

Alice Guy: Writer, Director, Film Pioneer. Image: Open Culture

They say Alice Guy (Alice Guy-Blaché) made over 600 movies between 1896-1920.

Sure, a lot of these films were under 15 minutes, and she did have her own studio.

Even so. Over six hundred movies.

Although Guy’s work is slowly gaining more recognition through recent publications and a biopic Kickstarter campaign, she remains largely unknown.

Now, we’re not saying Guy should be popular just because she first became a director at the age of 23, or that she was head of production at France’s Gaumont Company for 11 years, or that she emigrated to America with her husband to establish their own studio (The Solax Company) in 1910 at Fort Lee, New Jersey’s fledgling film colony.

We’re also not saying she should be popular because she’s regarded as the first female director, or made movies where women had as much screen time as (if not more than) men, or that she was a filmmaking pioneer who explored the use of colour, special effects and sound.

We think she should be popular because her movies are wonderful.

Happily, Flicker Alley thinks so, too, because they’ve introduced Alice Guy: A Female Pioneer. This newly-mastered collection, streaming on Vimeo, beautifully showcases Guy’s techniques with three touching and amusing films.

Falling Leaves (1912)

The scientific way to prevent winter. Image: YouTube

We’ve reviewed Falling Leaves before, but we want to discuss it again because the newly-mastered version, in our opinion, makes the film fresher. This charming film is about a girl who discovers her older sister is not expected to live through autumn (“When the last leaf falls…”). The girl reasons she can prolong her sister’s life by re-attaching fallen leaves onto trees.

First of all, the mastering on this film is lovely. We can more clearly see the detailed sets, including a window that reveals rapidly falling leaves as the family receives the bad news about their eldest daughter.

This new version also emphasizes the complexity of Guy’s scenes: Characters in the background are frequently involved in a different activity than those in the foreground. This was a pioneering technique for the period, one that is common in Guy’s films.

Canned Harmony (1911)

Who, me? I’m not doing anything. Image: Harpodeon

Canned Harmony is an unrestrained comedy about a young couple who want to get married – BUT! – the girl’s father opposes the engagement. Not only does the musical father disapprove of the boyfriend’s musical ineptness, he deplores the young man’s lack of facial hair and curly locks. (Trademarks of a “real” musician, we assume.)

However, the boyfriend is resourceful. He dons a wig and sticky facial hair, and triumphantly returns to his girlfriend’s house posing as “Signor Tremelo, the great violinist”. He then gives a faux performance on a violin while his girlfriend plays a phonograph hidden under the table.

Tellingly, the disguise changes the young man’s demeanour; he is more flamboyant and confident in the presence of the girl’s beaming father.

Guy proves she’s every bit a comedic master, not unlike a Buster Keaton. She was merrily unafraid to construct an outrageous scenario, then run amok with it.

A House Divided (1913)

Drawing the battle lines. Image: Women Film Pioneers Project

Misunderstandings nearly lead to divorce in the comedy A House Divided. When a husband and wife each suspects the other of having an affair, they hire a lawyer and sign an agreement whereby they “live separately together”. This means they must not communicate with each other, except through notes and letters.

As these notes increase in frequency, they become more ridiculous. For example, the distraught wife, in outlining her unhappy marital state to her mother, pulls out all the notes the pair have written to each other. One of them says, “Please pass the butter.”

During a dinner party, the wife hears someone breaking into the basement. She calmly hands a note to her husband: “There is a burglar in the cellar. You must catch him without disturbing the company.”

A House Divided proves Guy to be a clever and empathetic filmmaker. She doesn’t take sides with these characters; she leaves them to be who they are.

Sadly, Alice Guy’s filmmaking career was short-lived. By the early 1920s, many film studios had moved from New Jersey to California, and Guy returned to France. In 1953, she was awarded the Legion of Honor.

If you would like to see more of Alice Guy’s work in a newly-mastered format, you must see Alice Guy: A Female Pioneer.

Alice Guy: Female Pioneer Presented by Flicker Alley and the Blackhawk Films® Collection (and Ms. Guy herself), B&W, 46 mins.

This post is part of The Anti-Damsel Blogathon co-hosted by The Last Drive-In (Saturday) and Movies, Silently (Sunday).

Lauren Bacall gives William Powell the marriage Sales Pitch. Image: Living in Cinema

How to Marry a Millionaire is our go-to comedy. This 1953 technicolor confection stars Betty Grable, Marilyn Monroe and Lauren Bacall as three models who pool their resources to rent a way-too-expensive Manhattan penthouse.

The women have moved into this upscale residence because they’re hunting millionaires.

We’re aware this film has been accused of being a shallow, spare-no-expense fashion show. So what? It was one of the first feature films made in CinemaScope, which was crucial in showcasing William Travilla‘s stunning wardrobe design.

How to Marry a Millionaire has a witty script, charming characters and first-rate comedic performances by Grable and Monroe. But our favourite character is the tough-talking Bacall.

Bacall’s character is recently returned from Reno where she obtained a divorce from “a gas-pump jockey”. She’s back with a new plan for marriage, one where neither her bank account nor her heart are at risk.

Bacall is smart, skeptical and has learned how to sniff out a rat. For example, when Monroe announces her boyfriend is taking her Atlantic City on a Saturday to meet his mother, Bacall is immediately suspicious.

Bacall: “I think we oughta put a check on that one.”
Monroe: “Why? I don’t know what you mean.”
Bacall: “Nobody’s mother lives in Atlantic City on Saturday.”

Bacall coaches Marilyn Monroe. Image: Fan Pop

The best part about Bacall’s character is that she talks like a gangster. She refers to the penthouse as “a joint like this” and calls their scheme a “racket”. She’s essentially Edward G. Robinson in a designer gown and beaded clutch.

But she can be as smooth as cashmere. When she meets a rich widower from Texas (William Powell), she’s demure and flirtatious. Over a drink at a cozy table, she leans into his conversation, chin in hand, sporting an encouraging smile. Her voice has polished charm, but soon she derails herself, telling Powell she always gets taken in by gas-pump jockeys, most notably her ex-husband.

Bacall: (contemptuously) “This one handled a pump for Standard Oil.” (brightly) “You don’t own that, do you?”
Powell: “No, Standard Oil is one of the interests of a man, I believe, named Rockefeller.”
Bacall: “Is he a friend of yours?”
Powell: (deadpan) “No, I’m afraid not.”

Bacall sees more than a fat wallet in Powell; she also sees a kind-hearted man whom she genuinely admires. Even so, she has a rough time convincing Powell she’s wild about older men and hates the younger set.

She’s lying, of course. Bacall meets a handsome and savvy young man (Cameron Mitchell) who, unlike Powell, talks like he’s never read a book in his life. She’s immediately attracted to him, but because she believes he’s part of the dreaded gas pump crowd, she refuses to associate with him.

Cameron Mitchell romances Bacall with hamburgers.

Mitchell relentlessly pursues her anyway. “The trouble with you,” he tells her bluntly, “is you’re a strictly a hamburger-with-onions dame but you won’t admit it.”

How to Marry a Millionaire is a delightful film that shows Lauren Bacall’s comedic talents. If you haven’t seen this film, beware: You’ll likely find yourself purchasing it to add to your personal library.

How to Marry a Millionaire: starring Lauren Bacall, Betty Grable, Marilyn Monroe. Directed by Jean Negulesco. Written by Nunnally Johnson. Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corp., 1953, glorious Technicolor, 95 mins.

This post is part of The Lauren Bacall Blogathon hosted by In the Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood. Click HERE to see the schedule.

Stan Laurel (left) and Oliver Hardy have gotten into another fine mess. Image: Wikipedia

1939 saw the release of some of the greatest films in Hollywood history.

The Flying Deuces ain’t one of ’em.

Now, that’s not to say it’s a bad film, because it has amusing scenes and great aerial photography. It also features this musical gem, Shine on Harvest Moon:

However, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

In the late 1930s, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy were still working for producer Hal Roach. During a break between films, they made a movie with a lesser-known producer, Borris Morros. (Get this: Rumour has it Morros was an alleged Soviet spy and FBI double agent! Click here for the story.)

The resulting comedy is The Flying Deuces, a film almost as wild as a double agent’s life. In this film, Laurel and Hardy are vacationing in Paris when Hardy meets and falls in love with a beautiful French woman (Jean Parker). When she rejects Hardy’s proposal of marriage, the pair join the ultimate lonely hearts club: the French Foreign Legion.

Laurel and Hardy are their usual charming selves in this film. Laurel is dim-witted but single-minded; Hardy is smart but cursed with bad luck. This is an unfortunate combination for a friendship, as evidenced by their many films. It’s a wonder they manage to stay friends.

It’s also a wonder they manage to stay alive. Because in the Laurel and Hardy universe, systems continually transition from a state of Order to Disorder.

Laurel and Hardy on the lam. Image: The Telegraph

In The Flying Deuces, our first glimpse of the Order → Disorder Paradigm occurs when Hardy is understandably upset that his marriage proposal has been refused. He decides to jump into the Seine with a cement block. Unbeknownst to him, a man-eating shark has escaped from the zoo.

(Note: Since Hardy is planning to End It All anyway, a man-eating shark shouldn’t be of consequence. But we viewers can’t stand the thought of a shark interfering with Hardy’s mournful plans.)

Happily, an officer from the Foreign Legion, played by the fab Reginald Gardiner, arrives on the bank of the Seine just in time, and suggests the pair enlist in the Legion. Order is thus temporarily restored to the L&H Universe.

However, Order quickly collapses into Disorder when the pair, newly arrived at their post in North Africa, are assigned to laundry duty. The laundry is piled as high as a two-storey house, and the clotheslines stretch for miles. The two are unhappy with this volume of work – and the pitifully small compensation – and they decide to quit.

Disorder quickly accelerates. Laurel and Hardy accidentally set the laundry on fire, then, without meaning to, ransack the commandant’s office. They are imprisoned, they escape; they are recaptured, they re-escape.

It’s when they hide in a plane and inadvertently start its engines that we see Disorder run amok, in all its devil-may-care glory. There’s no way Order can be restored now; we just have to hope for the best.

Despite the ever-present Order → Disorder paradigm, Laurel and Hardy are rarely vindictive. As Disorder infects them, they innocently infect others. It’s not deliberate; it’s merely the Way Of All Things in the L&H Universe.

The Flying Deuces may not be Laurel and Hardy’s best film, but it shows us how a seasoned comedy team can elevate the material they’re given. It also reminds us that we can never take an orderly universe for granted.

The Flying Deuces: starring Stan Laurel, Oliver Hardy, Jean Parker. Directed by A. Edward Sutherland. Written by Ralph Spence, Charles Rogers, Alfred Schiller & Harry Langdon. Boris Morros Productions, 1939, B&W, 68 mins.

This post is part of the See You In The Fall Blogathon hosted by Movie Movie Blog Blog. Click HERE to see the schedule.

Rita Wilson describing An Affair to Remember. Image: Buzzfeed

You really can’t beat Rita Wilson’s monologue in the 1993 romantic comedy, Sleepless in Seattle.

In the film, a chagrined Tom Hanks is describing a potential meeting his young son has arranged with a stranger (Meg Ryan) at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day. Wilson immediately recognizes this rendezvous from the 1957 classic film, An Affair to Remember.

But as Wilson describes the touching 1957 movie, she becomes increasingly emotional. Soon she’s sobbing as she re-enacts a famous scene between Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. “It’s so amazing when he comes to see her,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Sleepless is Seattle is, essentially, a love letter to An Affair to Remember. In one scene, Ryan and on-screen friend Rosie O’Donnell are watching the 1957 classic and it’s clear they’ve seen the movie dozens of times. They recite several passages, including Deborah Kerr’s famous line: “Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.”

Rosie O’Donnell (left) and Meg Ryan watching An Affair to Remember. Image: laughterkey.com

O’Donnell quips, “Men never get this movie.”

The film in question, An Affair to Remember, stars Cary Grant as an internationally-famous playboy whose engagement to an American heiress becomes worldwide news. As he sails from Europe to New York to marry his fiancé, he meets a fellow passenger (Deborah Kerr), with whom he falls in love.

Cary Grant romances Deborah Kerr. Image: Dynasty Forever

This romance leads to a messy business once the pair land in New York. Grant needs to sort things out with his fiancé, while Kerr has to decide what to do about her boyfriend. As the ship pulls into port at New York, Grant and Kerr agree to meet in six months (on Valentine’s Day) at the top of the Empire State Building to see if they Have Something Here.

We have a confession to make regarding this film. For years we eschewed it because we feared it would be too schmaltzy. But when we finally watched it, we were charmed by its humour and some of its exquisite moments.

One such moment is the shot of Grant and Kerr walking down the stairs on the ship to New York. As they descend, Kerr suddenly stops and pulls Grant towards her. Look at the gif below, at the teasing way director Leo McCarey frames this intimacy:

A shipboard romance. Image: gifsgallery.com

Grant and Kerr have good chemistry, which is crucial because the film depends on it. They have to make you believe each would turn their world inside out for the other.

Their rapport is so sharp and witty, in fact, it’s almost as delightful as the romance in the original film, starring Charles Boyer and Irene Dunne.

Irene Dunne’s Words to Live By. Image: tumblr

An Affair to Remember is a remake of the Academy Award-winning Love Affair (1939) – and when we say remake, we mean remake. Some of the scenes in the 1957 movie are shot identical with the 1939 film, so a viewer can’t help but make comparisons. However, director McCarey was at the helm of both versions, so you have to respect his pragmatism: If a scene worked well in ’39, why not recycle it in ’57?

We (as in, yours truly) prefer the 1939 movie to the 1957 version. The character of Terry, played by Dunne in the ’39 version, seems to have been written specifically for her. Dunne is especially winsome, and it’s easy to see why Boyer falls for her.

As for Boyer, in the role of the famous playboy, he has an exceptional scene late in the film, where he visits Dunne after a long absence. When he realizes the truth about Dunne’s situation, his performance nearly breaks your heart. You’ll find yourself rewinding this scene, just to study his method.

The themes in these three films are timeless, and they never fail to enchant – even if they are sprinkled with a little schmaltz. They are proof that good casting and witty dialogue make a story feel fresh, even decades later.

This post is part of the They Remade WHAT?! Blogathon hosted by Phyllis Loves Classic Movies. Click HERE to see the other fab entries.

All together now! Just a little dance number à la Busby Berkeley. Image: Things Left Undone

In an effort to be Smarter, we’ve been reading Dancing in the Dark: A Cultural History of the Great Depression by Morris Dickstein.

Dickstein’s book is filled with all sorts of Thoughts and Information on the 1930s. One example is an analysis of Depression-era films, specifically the Oscar-nominated musical, 42nd Street (1933).

Here are Dickstein’s conclusions:

Until [the end]…nothing goes well, but this is just the point. The show does go on, and the show itself is the main success story, embracing the individual triumph of everyone who made it. This is a perfect thirties paradox: success in show business is individual, but the overall triumph…belongs to the ensemble, the collective effort. (p.239)

Now, this description might make it seem like 42nd Street is a thinly-disguised lecture on Getting Along With Others, but it’s not. It’s a real treat to watch. It has interesting characters, witty lines, gorgeous Orry-Kelly costumes and Busby Berkeley choreography.

A perfectly-cast Warner Baxter is Julian Marsh, a gruff and stressed-out director of Broadway plays, whose “home” theatre is the 42nd Street Theatre. However, the term “42 Street” is also a reference to the New York theatre district. Even though the action takes place with one theatre company, we understand this to be symbolic of the industry.

Baxter’s character learns that he has a serious illness, and realizes – for financial reasons – he needs to direct one last Big Show before his health forces him to retire.

Baxter’s determination to have a hit show is propped up by its famous lead actress (Bebe Daniels), who ensures the play’s financial stability by befriending the rich producer (Guy Kibbee) while carrying on a secret romance with her boyfriend (George Brent). But when she breaks her ankle, a rookie cast member (Ruby Keeler) is enlisted to take her place onstage.

Yes, this sounds like a cliché plot, but it feels authentic in 42nd Street because the script never lets us forget how desperate the early 1930s are – or how desperate Baxter himself is.

Warner Baxter (right) begs Ruby Keeler not to fail. Image: indiewire.com

Just before Keeler is to make her first onstage appearance at the premiere, Baxter pulls her aside for some last-minute words. He’s not giving her a pep talk; he’s pleading with her to be triumphant.

“You listen to me, and you listen hard,” he says, fiercely squeezing her arms. “Two hundred people, 200 jobs, $200,000, five weeks of grind and blood and sweat depend on you. It’s the lives of all these people who’ve worked with you… You can’t fall down. You can’t. Because your future’s in this, my future, everything all of us have is staked in you.”

(No pressure!)

It’s an unexpectedly heart-warming film. Competition in the theatre is tough, but a wise-cracking chorus member (Ginger Rogers) takes the novice Keeler under her wing early in the film. “Stick with us, kid,” she says kindly, “and you’ll come in on the tide.” As Dickstein points out, the script promotes a working together for the Greater Good. There is no success unless all succeed.

42nd Street was the first Busby Berkeley musical from Warner Bros., but all is not glamour. The film makes us aware how much work goes into a Broadway production; cast members are actually shown sweating. But this draws us into the narrative, so when Warner Baxter begs Ruby Keeler not to fail, he’s begging for all of us.

If you’re looking for a film that pulls you into the spirit of the early 1930s, you’ll want to check out 42nd Street.

42nd Street: starring Warner Baxter, Bebe Daniels, George Brent. Directed by Lloyd bacon. Written by Rian James & James Seymour. Warner Bros, Pictures and Vitaphone, 1933, B&W, 89 mins.

A trousers tug o’ war. Note the director’s cheeky staging. Image: Silent London

Conventional wisdom tells us the world was a simpler place before the popularity of cars, computers and celebrity culture.

We’re not so sure about this, now that we’ve seen the 1927 silent French comedy The Italian Straw Hat (Un Chapeau de paille d’Italie). This film, adapted from a popular and frequently-produced French play, is set in 1895 and takes place during the course of a single, complicated day.

It’s a truly funny film that makes you fall in love with the characters while it pokes fun at society’s conventions.

The Plot: As a young groom-to-be (Albert Préjean) drives his horse and buggy to his wedding, he encounters an unexpected snag in a thickly-treed lane. While he tends to the problem, his horse wanders ahead and starts eating a woman’s straw hat that has been left on a bush.

Unhappily for everyone, the hat belongs to a married woman (Olga Tschekowa) who is having a… um… tête-à-tête with a solider (Vital Geymond), a man who is not her husband.

The hat is half eaten before anyone realizes what’s happened, which causes A Problem for Tschekowa: She cannot go home to her husband with a half-eaten hat, because there would be too many questions. But she also cannot be seen in Polite Society with no hat at all, because that would be improper.

Geymond, an ill-tempered military man, angrily blames Préjean and demands he replace the hat – Or Else. Préjean, the poor slob, reluctantly agrees.

If buying headwear for another woman on your wedding day weren’t complicated enough, it turns out the stupid thing is practically an endangered species; it’s imported from Italy and hardly anyone in Paris keeps it in stock. Quelle tragédie!

Meanwhile, the bride-to-be (Marise Maia) and her mildly eccentric family prepare for the wedding. As they leave for the ceremony, well-wishers bid them adieu, as captured by director René Clair‘s innovative style:

The bride and her family depart for the wedding. Image: Gartenberg Media

Clair became celebrated in France for his use of avant-garde filmmaking techniques – both in the silent and early sound eras – which are evident in The Italian Straw Hat. For example, in one scene, the distracted Préjean imagines the angry Geymond destroying everything in his house. Clair pushes this scenario to the extreme: Préjean’s overactive imagination has Geymond tearing out windows and doors with his bare hands. If we weren’t laughing so hard, we’d feel quite anxious for the wretched Préjean.

This film scampers through the wedding day (and the city of Paris) at a frantic pace. It’s almost as though Clair’s camera has both eyebrows raised as it races to record events.

The film is also a mischievous wink at the early French film industry. In the companion booklet to the Flicker Alley DVD, Lenny Borger notes the costumes and sets are designed to look as though The Italian Straw Hat were filmed in 1895. “By re-setting the play in 1895,” writes Borger, “Clair…evoke[s] a not-too-distant past that was also the birth of cinema…. [S]cene after scene painstakingly and brilliantly captures the very atmosphere and nostalgia of pictures taken 30 years earlier…”

Pauline Kael, the American film critic, once said, “[It’s one] of the funniest films ever made…so expertly timed and choreographed that farce becomes ballet.”

She’s right, you know. The Italian Straw Hat is a delightful film that reminds us we humans have a remarkable way of making life ridiculously complex.

Note: The only fully complete edition of The Italian Straw Hat available to North American viewers is available from Flicker Alley on DVD here, or you can stream it here.

The Italian Straw Hat: starring Maryse Maia, Yvonneck, Albert Prejean. Written & directed by René Clair. 1927, B&W, 105 mins.

This post is part of The Silent Cinema Blogathon hosted by In the Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood and Lauren Champkin. Click HERE to see the other fab posts.

Dining at Ciro’s in Hollywood. Image: picslist.com

Hooray! It’s time for a Pop Quiz.

What – did you think we were never going to have a Pop Quiz? Where’s the fun in life if you can’t enjoy a surprise test every now and then?

Today’s quiz is based on the Warner Bros. animated short, Hollywood Steps Out. This eight-minute film is a send-up of Hollywood celebrities circa 1941. It has lively music, well-drawn caricatures and lots of funny lines.

The action takes place at a swanky Hollywood hot spot called Ciro’s, which was an actual nightclub on Sunset Boulevard. All the biggest names went to Ciro’s in the 1940s and 50s, including Joan Crawford, Frank Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe.

The palatial Ciro’s in the Merrie Melodies short is remarkably similar to the real Ciro’s, which was established in 1940 by William R. Wickerson, the founder of The Hollywood Reporter and, apparently, discoverer of Lana Turner. (Click HERE for a gallery of vintage Ciro’s photos.)

As the film opens, it’s immediately evident Ciro’s is not a place for regular folk. Animators jokingly point this out to us by providing a sign on the roof that reads:

De Luxe Dinner
$50.00 and Up
Easy Terms
6 Months to Pay
Small Down Payments

(According to the inflation calculator, $50.00 in 1941 would be $832.67 today. You’d have to be a Hollywood star to eat there; otherwise, you really would need six months to pay.)

Ciro’s has a strict dress code. Image: veehd.com

Are you ready for today’s Pop Quiz? Here we go!

Below is a link to Hollywood Steps Out. The quiz involves (a) watching the film, and (b) naming as many celebrities as you can. But, before you start, you should know there are a whack o’ celebs, although not all of them have speaking parts. You’ll have to Be On The Lookout.

Even so, you’ll be surprised at how many stars you’ll recognize. (Yes, you.) In fact, we recommend you keep score, just to prove to everyone what a smarty-pants you are. Give yourself points for correctly identifying the following:

Each A-List Star = 5 Points 
Each Character Actor = 10 Points
Each Famous 1940s Personality (that no one’s heard of since) = 20 Points
Leon Schlesinger = 30 Points
If you know who Leon Schlesinger is = 40 Points
If you liked the film so much you watched it multiple times = 50 Points

Click HERE to watch Hollywood Steps Out free on Vimeo. Have fun!

P.S. If you get stumped and can’t identify all the celebrities, you can find a Cheat Sheet HERE on Wikipedia.

P.P.S. In case you were wondering, Ciro’s became the rock and roll hang-out in the 1960s where The Byrds were discovered. It was sold in 1972 and became The Comedy Store.

Hollywood Steps Out: voiced by Dave Barry, Sara Berner, Mel Blanc. Directed by Tex (Fred) Avery. Written by Melvin Millar. Warner Bros. Pictures Inc. Vitaphone Corp., 1941, Technicolor, 8 mins.

This post is part of the One of My All-Time Favourite Cartoons hosted by Movie Movie Blog Blog. Click HERE to see the other fab entries.

Swashbuckling movies are always lots of fun, but… let’s face it. Sometimes they’re just begging to be spoofed.

Come on – swashbuckling movies revel in men with floppy hair, swishy clothes and impractical footwear. These guys are our first line of defence against evil highwaymen and pirates?

It can be a bit of a stretch, no?

That’s why we enjoy The Princess and the Pirate (1944), a glorious Technicolor affair by MGM. It stars Bob Hope as a self-deluded and unsuccessful impersonator, and Virginia Mayo as a princess draped in record amounts of fabric.

The pair meet on a ship that is sailing to America. (The 16th-century galleon in this movie functions much like a cruise ship, with spacious, well-appointed cabins.) Mayo is bolting to America to escape an arranged marriage. Hope’s reason? “My act is known all over Europe,” he says. “That’s why I’m going to America.”

However! The ship falls under attack by the dreaded pirate, the Hook (a growly Victor McLaglen in a swell beard and gleaming hook). Luckily, Hope and Mayo are able to escape in a small boat.

When the two arrive in the port of the fictional island of Casa Rouge, they discover a rough town full of mean, dodgy characters, and a governor (Walter Slezak), who isn’t quite what he seems. It falls to Hope, and his clever impersonation skills, to outwit the villains and save Mayo from a Fate Worse Than Death.

Bob Hope may seem like an unlikely hero, as he does in all his movies. Here he is, a Grade-A scaredy cat spouting corny jokes and scampering around luscious sets in the swashbuckling tradition of, say, Errol Flynn.

Only more so. Because when you analyze it, Bob Hope’s character is a swashbuckler, in the truest sense of the word.

What’s this? You’re skeptical of Hope’s swashbuckling prowess? We can see why. After all, this is a man who uses Virgina Mayo as a human shield when pirates hijack their 16th-century cruise ship.

But, here, take a look at something interesting we found. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the original meaning for Swashbuckler is:

a swaggering bravo or ruffian;
a noisy braggadocio

Hmmm… a man who endlessly boasts about his accomplishments and his appeal to the ladies? Someone who thinks he’s All That and a piece of cheese, too?

Sound like anybody we know?

Now, we can’t be too dismissive of Hope’s character. He may not be as smart or as brave as he thinks he is but, by the end of the film, he manages to become a Hero. Despite himself, he saves the princess Mayo and outmanoeuvres McLaglen’s burley gang. (Oops – spoiler!)

In the final analysis, Bob Hope really is a Swashbuckler, in the best possible way.

The Princess and the Pirate: starring Bob Hope, Virginia Mayo, Walter Slezak. Directed by David Butler. Written by Don Hartman, Melville Shavelson & Everett Freeman. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1944, Technicolor, 94 mins.

This post is part of the Swashathon! hosted by Movies, Silently. Click HERE to see the other fab entries.

Before Daffy Duck was a Big Star, he was a character actor in Looney Tunes animated shorts. His career began in Porky Pig‘s star vehicles, starting with 1937’s Porky’s Duck Hunt.

Daffy was created by the saucy animators at Leon Schlesinger Productions (later Warner Bros. Cartoons, Inc.) as a colourful but supporting cast member of Porky’s dramatis personae, as outlined in this studio memorandum:

Did you notice Daffy isn’t identified as Porky Pig’s friend in the above memo? As we shall see, frenemy would be a more accurate term.

Here’s the thing: Creating a character like Daffy Duck is like unleashing Frankenstein’s monster, because Daffy doesn’t follow the Character Actor Code of Ethics. The job of the character actor is not to outshine the main character(s) and, to some degree, help drive the story.

But that’s not the way Daffy Duck rolls. When Daffy shows up, he becomes the story. Sooner or later, Looney Tunes films would have to star Daffy or Porky, but not both at the same time.

Animators could see this coming, and they toyed with it in the Looney Tunes short, You Ought to be in Pictures (1944). This clever short features human actors who interact with cartoon characters without a trace of irony.

The film takes place on the Warner Bros. lot. After the animators leave the building for a lunch break, a drawing of Daffy Duck suddenly springs to life and calls to a pen-and-ink sketch of Porky Pig laying on an illustrator’s table.

He begins to tell Porky about a “pip” of a job in feature films. (We’re assuming pip in 1940 means something more positive than it does today.)

It’s apparent the two have had this conversation before. No sooner is the animator out the door than Daffy starts badgering Porky about getting a job in feature films. He then pushes him to the office of the producer (Leon Schlesinger, playing himself) to negotiate a better deal.

Porky, egged on by Daffy, opens negotiations with Schlesinger by asking, “What’s Errol Flynn got that I haven’t got?” He then declares he’s finished with his cartoon contract, and is getting a job in feature films. A deadpan Schlesinger wishes him well by saying, “Don’t forget me when you’re a star.”

As Porky leaves the building, Daffy instructs, “Now you go up to the studio, and tell ’em I sent you” – as though he’s someone of Importance. (It doesn’t occur to Porky that if it’s so easy to be in feature films, Daffy would already be there.)

But as soon as Porky climbs into his little car and drives away, Daffy reveals his strategy. “Now is my chance,” he says, and we realize he’s manoeuvred Porky right out of an acting career.

This is a meta film about animation and the workings of a studio, but it’s also about a sweet, naive actor (Porky) who almost undone by greed and ambition. Yet, in his campaign to become the Big Star on the lot, Daffy paradoxically proves himself to be a good supporting actor after all; his deceptive nature underscores Porky’s goodness.

You Ought to be in Pictures is a rare treat in the world of animation. If you want to see Daffy Duck on the cusp of Stardom, it’s well worth the nine-minute running time.

You can watch You Ought to be in Pictures on Daily Motion (free) by clicking HERE.

You Ought to be in Pictures: starring Leon Schlesinger, Mel Blanc. Directed by I. (Fritz) Freleng. Story by Jack Miller. Warner Bros. Pictures Inc. Vitaphone Corp., 1940, B&W, 9 mins.

This post is part of the What a Character Blogathon hosted by Once Upon a Screen Outspoken & Freckled and Paula’s Cinema Club. Click HERE to see the other fab entries.

Today we’re bringing you a movie with figure skating.

No, wait! Don’t go. Hear us out first.

Sun Valley Serenade is a film starring Sonja Henie who, in the 1930s-40s, was the most famous figure skater in the world. (She was famous because she won 10 world figure skating championships in a row. Plus, she won three gold medals at three different Olympic Games. Also in a row.)

So why wouldn’t she go to Hollywood and make skating pictures? She was photogenic, winsome and ambitious. “I want to do with skates what Fred Astaire is doing with dancing,” she said.

She did. Her movies made piles of money for Twentieth Century-Fox. According to her obituary in the New York Times, her 11 films with the studio grossed $25 million. (That’s over $300 million in today’s dollars, adjusting for inflation.)

Yup, we hear you. It’s hard to imagine films with skating and flimsy plots as Must See Movies. But you might be surprised. Let’s look at today’s example from 1941.

Sun Valley Serenade stars John Payne as a big band musician who is booked, along with his band, for a gig at a fancy-schmancy ski resort in Sun Valley, Idaho. But get this: the band is actually the Glenn Miller Orchestra, a wildly popular group during World War II.

The band is managed by a fast-talking Milton Berle who has the best lines in the film, e.g.: “Money doesn’t mean a thing to me. It’s the last thing I think of – before I go to bed.”

In an attempt to score publicity for the band, Berle arranges for the members to “adopt” a child refugee from war-ravaged Europe. Due to an immigration mix-up, the “child” they collect is Henie, freshly arrived from Norway. She is assigned to Payne’s care and subsequently falls in love with him. Payne, however, is uninterested, having just become involved with the glamorous Lynn Bari.

The rest of the movie is spent with Henie chasing Payne, and employing all sorts of tricks to make the poor slob fall in love with her. (Truthfully, if we were one of the characters in this film, we would be somewhat afraid of Henie and her Stop-At-Nothing-To-Get-My-Man M.O.)

Yet, there’s so much more to this charming film. The witty lines, for one, plus the Travis Banton wardrobe and the enticing exterior shots of picturesque Sun Valley. There’s also exhilarating ski footage, i.e. real skiing on a real mountain.

We haven’t even talked about the cinematography. Director H. Bruce Humberstone has crafted some original shots, especially when it comes to Glenn Miller’s energetic Orchestra. There are heaps of artistic musical performances. It’s MTV for the 1940s!

But it wouldn’t be a Sonja Henie film without this:

Henie in a breathtaking finale. Image: YouTube

Because the movie stars world-renowned Sonja Henie, there must be glamorous figure skating, and we’re not disappointed. Henie provides us with a Grand Skating Finale, and it’s perfect. She performs incredible spins in her routine; it’s a wonder her blades don’t drill a hole through the ice. Her skating is graceful and gorgeous, and when it’s finished you want to watch it all over again.

Notes:
You can watch Sun Valley Serenade free on YouTube.
You can read Vanity Fair‘s fascinating profile of Sonja Henie HERE.

Sun Valley Serenade: starring Sonja Henie, John Payne, Glenn Miller. Directed by H. Bruce Humberstone. Written by Robert Ellis, Helen Logan. Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corp., 1941, B&W, 87 mins.

This post is part of the Winter Sports Blogation hosted by Le Mot du Cinephiliaque. Click HERE to see today’s fab entries.