The Girl with the White Parasol

The Auteur's Guide to Romance

2012-02-15T18:08:00.000-08:00

Happy (belated) Valentine's Day, everyone!

I know it's a bit late for Valentine's posts but the idea came to me and I just couldn't resist it. I've been thinking lately that what we classic film geeks could really use (you know aside from money for film preservation and more big-screen venues for classic film showings and more DVD releases, etc.) is a personality quiz tailored to our needs. I'm a sucker for personality quizzes, but sadly, most of them are along the lines of "What Elemental Dragon Are You" and while that's cute and all, it gets old fast.

So, because it was Valentine's, I had the idea to just write up my own quiz, asking film geeks a series of romantic questions, geared at finding out which classic film director's movies best describe their romantic personality. I would have preferred to just post it up here on the blog but for now, Quizilla is still the most convenient host for personality quizzes. So, if you're interested, here's a link and here's the quiz description:

The Auteur's Guide to Romance

Here's a personality quiz for classic film lovers (and lovers in general). Which classic film director's movies best describe your romantic personality? Are your dark, twisted romances like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock film? (For your sake, we hope not.) Or are you more like a fast-talking, flirty Howard Hawks character? For the relatively few people who have ever pondered this question, this quiz is for you. (Note: This quiz is meant in fun. Any hasty generalizations were made intentionally.)

If you do take the quiz, by all means come by and post your result. And yes, I did take the quiz myself and it turns out I'm a Hawks-Romantic. Huh. Wasn't expecting that one.

Happy Valentine's, you guys! And rest assured that I will be getting back to the land of in-depth reviews and discussions soon. I don't plan on hanging out in meme-land forever, nice and fluffy as it is.

The Classic Film Survey (from Frankly, My Dear)

2012-02-09T21:04:00.000-08:00

I know I'm incredibly late on this one, but the fantastic Rianna over at Frankly, My Dear has come up with a new fifteen-question movie meme. Rianna's always been a thoughtful and generous commenter for this blog and I love reading about her own cinematic enthusiasms. So, I'm just going to push up my sleeves and answer this one, tardiness be damned. Anyone who's interested, go over to Rianna's blog and give a link to your answers as well.

1. Favorite classic Disney?

Looking back on it, it's a toss-up between Fantasia and Sleeping Beauty. I haven't seen Fantasia in ages but it was the film that really got me started on classic music as a kid and I loved it even then. It's ambitious and complicated and it lets you see the best animators in the world just feeling their way through some of the greatest scores ever written. But Sleeping Beauty just has such an elegant animation style and the use of Tchaikovsky is perfect and the villainess is unforgettable. Granted that our main heroine has no personality (even by classic Disney heroine standards) but she has the beautiful voice of Mary Costa to make up for it.

2. Favorite film from the year 1939?

Surprisingly, this one didn't take me that long to decide. Ninotchka, definitely. How can you resist Garbo laughing? And getting drunk on champagne? And buying hats that look like this? And falling for Melvyn Douglas while he rambles on about snail sex (I'm not kidding about that one)? But aside from Garbo's magnificence, it's witty, it's romantic and it gives me a high every time I watch it.

3. Favorite Carole Lombard screwball role?

I know I should give the nod to My Man Godfrey or To Be Or Not to Be, as the high water marks of Lombard's comic brilliance. But my heart belongs to Nothing Sacred and Lombard and March circling each other for a knockout punch. And Carole looks heart-stopping in Technicolor.

4. Favorite off-screen couple? (It's ok if it ended in divorce.)

It's the rule of Hollywood romance that the best marriages are the ones you hear least about (with the obvious exception of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward). Being of a house cat temperament myself, I tend to like the stable, long-lived romances like Frances Dee and Joel McCrea or James and Gloria Stewart. But to my own astonishment, after reading Lee Server's excellent Ava Gardner biography, I got really caught up in the romance of Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner. In real life, I would have been scared to get within a hundred feet of their plate-throwing romance. But on the page, they broke my heart. Those crazy, mixed-up kids, they really loved each other rotten.

5. Favorite pair of best friends (i.e: Barbara Stanwyck and Joan Crawford)

I don't like to poach on Laura's territory, but for me, the friendship between Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee just warms my not-so-frostbitten heart. I'll let Christopher Lee sum it up:

"I don't want to sound gloomy, but, at some point of your lives, every one of you will notice that you have in your life one person, one friend whom you love and care for very much. That person is so close to you that you are able to share some things only with him. For example, you can call that friend, and from the very first maniacal laugh or some other joke you will know who it is at the other end of that line. We used to do that with him so often. And then when that person is gone, there will be nothing like that in your life ever again."

6. Favorite actor with a mustache?

Well there's Clark Gable of course and Vincent Price and Don Ameche and others. But since I already mentioned Ninotchka, I can't resist slipping Melvyn Douglas into this slot. Hardly anyone's idea of a cult actor but the man deserves more respect. Dry-humored, intelligent, and quite the gentleman in real life. He also gave us Illeana Douglas, an actress who follows the family tradition of being quietly excellent wherever she is.

7. Favorite blonde actress?

Dammit, all these favorite actor/actress questions are going to have me waking up at 3AM in a cold sweat, muttering to myself. So please bear in mind that my answers are subject to change and whim. Honorable mentions go to Meryl Streep, Simone Signoret, Jean Harlow, Angela Lansbury, and Veronica Lake. And Joan Bennett, even if she technically becomes a favorite once she hits her brunette stage. But today, I'll give the honors to Kathleen Turner. The woman who gave one of my all-time favorite performances in Romancing the Stone. Still sexy, still ballsy, and still completely unlike anyone else.

8. Favorite pre-code?

Actual favorite pre-code is It Happened One Night but I'm going to say The Bitter Tea of General Yen in the hopes that more people will see it. Bizarre, beautiful, and unique film.

9. Which studio would you have liked to join?

This really depends on era for me. If we're talking early 30s, then it's glitzy, ditzy Paramount all the way. In the 1940s, I think my sentimental fondness is for that ambitious upstart 20th Century Fox. By the 1950s though, I'm hightailing it to United Artists (well before Heaven's Gate appears on the horizon). One thing's for sure, I'm staying far, far away from Columbia and the dreaded Harry Cohn.

10. Favorite common on-screen pairing that SHOULD have gotten married?

I don't know about "should," but I sometimes wonder if Henry Fonda and Barbara Stanwyck might have been better for each other than the people they actually married.

11. Favorite I Love Lucy episode?

I'm really, really tempted to lie here but I never watched it enough to really bother with favorites. Let me recompense you with a picture of Lucille Ball looking gorgeous.

12. Lucille Ball, Audrey Hepburn, Katharine Hepburn, Natalie Wood, Grace Kelly, Ingrid Bergman and Greer Garson - which one do you like best?

What a line-up! I'm imagining it sort of like the Kentucky Derby now, with the two Hepburns and Bergman battling it out in front of the pack. A tough race to call, but ultimately, I think my loyalty lies with Miss Katharine Hepburn. The most maddening of them all, in every sense of the word.

13. Shadowy film noir from the 1940's or splashy colorful musicals from the 1950's?

There's some musicals I'd hate to give up but for me, film noir is, to co-opt Humphrey Bogart's words, "the stuff that dreams are made of."

14. Actor or actress with the best autograph (photo preferred)

I never pay much attention to classic film star signatures (except to pause and mourn the slow death of beautiful cursive writing), but I have to say, I love Gloria Grahame's looping G's.

15. A baby (or childhood, or teenage) photo of either your favorite actress or actor (or both, if you'd like.)

Here, have a picture of Jimmy Stewart on a tricycle.

Thanks so much for the meme, Rianna! I enjoyed this a lot.

5 Movie Costumes I Love (Winter '12 Edition)

2012-02-02T16:14:00.000-08:00

It's that time again. Time to lace up the corsets, roll up the measuring tapes, and sketch my five movie costume favorites for this winter. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, I have a tradition on this blog. For each season, I pick five random movie costumes to talk about. I started this tradition because I love analyzing costume on film and making it a seasonal event allows me to give time to some less-famous ensembles. Sometimes I succumb to glamor and pick a dress that wows me but other times, I just want to talk about something that suits the character. None of my five picks today are appropriate for winter wear but oh well, it will be spring soon.

One last thing to mention. As before, my three cardinal rules for this list are as follows:

Absolutely no costumes from an Alfred Hitchcock film.
No costumes worn by Grace Kelly.
No costumes worn by Audrey Hepburn.

And now, let us begin.

1. Lana Turner in The Bad and the Beautiful

Costume Design by Helen Rose

("The Pajamas")

(photo credited to Film Noir Photos)

I know that singling out the pajamas in a Helen Rose/Lana Turner collaboration is a little like going to a gourmet restaurant and then raving about the after-dinner mints. But for me, one of the most thrilling moments in The Bad and the Beautiful is when Lana Turner, our Lady of Platinum and Plenty, emerges from a darkened room in these plain, ordinary pajamas. We've already been prepped that Turner's character, the tormented Georgia Lorrison, is a sexy lush and so we'd expect her to sleep in something more like this. Instead, we get the unforgettable image of Turner as an unhappy little girl in loose pajamas, huddled in a shabby room while Kirk Douglas tears her pretensions apart and her father's voice blares out poetry on the gramophone. Normally, I find Lana Turner's acting about as interesting as unsalted butter, but for that scene, I'm hers completely.

2. Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
Costume Design by Travilla
("The Blue Suit")

I really should have made a rule against posting Marilyn Monroe costumes too, since she's every bit as iconic as Hepburn or Kelly. But for now, I'm going to take advantage of my own loophole to mention my personal favorite, this bright blue-violet number from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. It's one of the few costumes of hers that I could actually imagine wearing myself. Sure it's sexy (how many Marilyn costumes can you name that aren't?) but it's got that sharp snap to the collar and sleek skirt and form-fitting jacket. Nothing soft or cuddly about this; Monroe looks positively like a business woman. Watch how she dispatches her fiance's father with one cool, self-possessed speech. "I'm not trying to fool you. But I bet I could, though." Hell yeah, she could.

3. Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. in The Prisoner of Zenda
Costume Design by Ernest Dryden
("The Uniform")

Nobody does it better than Rupert of Hentzau, probably the best role Douglas Fairbanks Jr. ever had. Rupert is one of the most enjoyable villains of all time. Always laughing, always disloyal, and always teetering on the edge of sanity. Our hero Ronald Colman trades him quip for quip, but he's still no match for Fairbanks' cool. And lucky for Fairbanks, he got to play one of his best roles in this dashing uniform, complete with a black silk shirt and a pair of ever-present gloves. It's easy for a man to look smart in uniform, but Fairbanks just wears the hell out of this thing. Slanting his cap to give his leer that extra special touch. And the way he giggles into his gloves, almost biting his own fingers. And when he strips down to the black shirt, he looks like the most stylish man in the room, easily outpacing Colman. Sorry guys, but evil wins this round.

4. Gloria Grahame in In a Lonely Place
Costume Design by Jean Louis
("The Buttoned-Up Outfit")

(Screencap credited to xoxoxo e blog)

"She's not coy or cute or corny. She's a good guy, I'm glad she's on my side." So says Humphrey Bogart, as he admires the cool, composed Gloria Grahame. First impressions are everything and watching the way Grahame strides down the walk in that straight-lined skirt and turtleneck, it's hard not to agree with Bogart's assessment. But in spite of the costume's simplicity, it gives us clues to Grahame's whole character. There's the marching line of buttons down the side. Stylish yes, but closed off, controlled. Barely an inch of skin showing. And the way Grahame moves in it; no Violet Bick-style wiggling here. If Bogart had looked a little more closely, he might have realized that here was a woman who's not going to give herself away so easily. Watching the movie again, I was struck by just how many of Grahame's costumes cover her up, right down to the fur-cuffed robe that hides the restless motions of her fingers. The tragedy of In a Lonely Place is that Grahame and Bogart really believe that they have control, that they are covered-up. But in the end, they don't just surrender to their feelings. They're crushed by them.

5. Maureen O'Hara in The Quiet Man
Costume Design by Adele Palmer
("The Red and Blue")

Call it a triple victory for director John Ford, cinematographer Winton C. Hoch, and costumer Adele Palmer. Nobody ever forgets that moment when John Wayne sees Maureen O'Hara for the first time. Ford gives us only a brief flash of blue and red before he cuts to O'Hara's radiant face, staring back at Wayne with complete wonder. The emotion of the moment belongs to Ford and the actors. But it's Palmer who gives us those graceful lines and that brilliant blaze of primary color. It's more than just showing off O'Hara's beauty; she's become a living symbol of Ireland itself. Blame The Quiet Man for convincing so many generations of Americans that if they went to Ireland, they'd find Maureen O'Hara waiting for them.

The Yvonne de Carlo photo at top is credited to the wonderful Dsata at Pictures Blog. Go visit her, she's one of the best sources for actress photos on the web and she organizes everything by theme, from "women bathing their feet" to "stars eating grapes." You can find everything there.

The Classic Movie Blog Association

2012-01-31T20:41:00.000-08:00

My friends, I come bearing some happy news. I've just joined the Classic Movie Blog Association! For those who don't know, that means I've just been elevated to the shining ranks of a group of very talented, dedicated classic movie bloggers. I get a nice new button to put up on my blog, I get to participate in the CMBA's official blogathons, and I get to spend more time with some of the coolest people online (or off it for that matter). By the way, the CMBA is still accepting new members until May 31st so if anyone's considering joining up, I highly recommend it. No membership dues required, just love of classic film and a blog that's at least 3 months old.

Thanks to everybody who's been sending me their congratulations! I've got some posts brewing for February so stay tuned, my beloved readers.

Movie Review: The Gunfighter

2012-01-26T20:53:00.000-08:00

The Gunfighter (1950)
directed by Henry King, starring Gregory Peck, Helen Westcott

Jimmy Ringo (Gregory Peck) may be the fastest gun in the West but even he can't shoot fast enough to keep up with his own deadly reputation. Everywhere he goes, some itchy gunfighter is just dying to challenge him and earn a name for themselves. But Ringo is tired of the fighting and the killing. After disposing of one overeager young buck (Richard Jaeckel), Ringo is forced to skip town early, with the boy's three angry brothers on his tail.

He makes his way to the small, quiet town of Cayenne, hoping to reunite with his old sweetheart Peggy Walsh (Helen Westcott) and their young son. But the town soon finds out that the notorious gunman is in town and they all crowd around the local saloon, from the little boys to the local barflies, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The local sheriff Mark Strett (Millard Mitchell), an old friend of Ringo's, has his hands full trying to keep the peace and begs Ringo to leave. But Ringo won't leave until he talks to Peggy, even as she swears up and down that she'll have nothing to do with him.

Meanwhile, the local tough, Hunt Bromley (Skip Homeier), is hanging around, hoping to take a shot at Ringo himself, and a grieving father (Cliff Clark) is out for Ringo's blood too. The clock keeps on ticking and Ringo's enemies are drawing closer but the gunfighter refuses to leave town. Peggy and his son are his last shot at freedom and he's got to try. Just five more minutes and then he'll go...

I realized that I hadn't reviewed a Western on this site yet and decided to start making up for it with The Gunfighter, a much-respected but relatively lesser-known classic. It's a story with elements that feels achingly familiar to even a casual Western fan. A tough and weary gunman wants to retire, his enemies are after him, there's the promise of revenge and love and death in a small, dusty town. But in 1950, when the film first came out, it made the critics sit up in surprise at its cold-sober approach to the mythical gunslingers of the West.

It begins at the end, after the glamor and violence have taken their toll. Our hero is a dusty, depressed man (with a period-appropriate mustache no less), hanging out in saloons and back rooms. He can't even order a drink without some cocky kid trying to pull a gun on him. There's no noble cause for him to fight, not even a worthy villain to take down. Just the grim and unpleasant business of survival. Other later Westerns would take similar tacks. We would get the unhappy, underpaid gunmen of The Magnificent Seven, the lonely Shane, the bloody bandits of The Wild Bunch, and the secretly sadistic Will Munny of Unforgiven. But The Gunfighter still stands apart, even today, for its cool simplicity. There are no heroes or anti-heroes or even villains. There are men with guns.

The Gunfighter came to life from a chance remark made by Jack Dempsey, at a dinner with screenwriter William Bowers. The former heavyweight told him that everybody always wanted to take a punch at him, because he was the champ. This sparked something and Bowers, with the help of writer-director Andre de Toth, spun the tale of a Western gunslinger cursed by his own fame. Originally, The Gunfighter was intended to be a John Wayne picture. There are conflicting stories as to what happened (Greenbriar Pictures has an excellent rundown of the film's history) but ultimately, Wayne was left nursing a grudge and the role went to Gregory Peck at Twentieth Century Fox.

Darryl F. Zanuck had already seen one "thinking man's Western" crash and burn at the box office with The Ox-Bow Incident and he saw similar danger signs in The Gunfighter. "It is unquestionably a minor classic, but...it violates so many true Western traditions that it goes over the heads of the type of people who patronize Westerns," he said in a memo. "But on the other hand," shrugged Zanuck, "there was no formula mold about The Snake Pit and look what it did."

Putting Gregory Peck in the John Wayne role is the kind of casting choice that could give you whiplash. "He don't look so tough to me," is a constant refrain throughout The Gunfighter and you can imagine a disgruntled Wayne saying the same thing. But Peck uses that to his advantage here because of course, Ringo's reputation has grown far larger than the man can possibly sustain. He may be "tough" in the way he shoots a gun and stares down a bullet, but he's been reduced to popping off the pipsqueak kids who get in his way. Peck conveys much of that through his body language; he walks stiffly, he sits with his back hunched over and his arms held tight to his body, as if trying futilely to make his long limbs look smaller.

As Jimmy Ringo, Peck is more than just credible. He's heartbreaking. It's a portrait of a man whose life has essentially been whittled down to saloons and pointless fights, without even a drinking problem to keep him company. The only thing he has to hold onto is the promise of a new life with his love Peggy. When Ringo and Peggy finally meet, all Peck's tough-guy talk evaporates and he babbles on excitedly about running away to South America together. "We can make it, honey, we can make it," he says to her, clutching her like she's a life preserver. But in his face, we can see the truth.

Even better is the moment when Peck confronts an outraged citizen of Cayenne, who tries in vain to shoot him. "You killed my son--Roy Marlowe, remember?" the man tells him. Ringo doesn't recognize the name and the man sneers at him. "You killed him all right, but you don't even remember it." Peck denies it, stone-faced, but his eyes flicker for a split second. He hustles the man into a spare jail cell, telling him, "you're not safe running around loose." Peck voice sounds reasonable and sincere enough, but he shades his reaction just enough to show Ringo's fear at the thought that he can no longer keep track of the men he's murdered.

The film's biggest asset though, even more than Peck, is its claustrophobic and near-flawless screenplay. The screenwriters are canny enough to insert a ticking clock almost as perfect as the one in High Noon: Ringo can only stay in Cayenne for so long before three vengeful brothers catch up with him. His friends beg him to leave in a hurry but Ringo delays, hoping to see Peggy. Forced to hide from the town, he is consigned to bare dusty rooms and empty hallways, while the townsfolk eye him from the windows. Westerns are usually synonymous with open space and expansion but The Gunfighter refuses to give its hero (or its audience) any breathing room.

Later Westerns like Shane and The Magnificent Seven would follow The Gunfighter's portrayal of gunslinging as a cruel, lonely life. But few Westerns are as willing to be so resolutely anti-glamorous as this film. Even Unforgiven was kind enough to give its antihero a thunderously evil villain to fight against. Here, Jimmy Ringo must content with a series of idiot kids who constantly want to challenge him, like the ridiculously weaselly Skip Homeier (looking like a former member of the Dead End Kids). We see these numskulls in Western films all the time but usually they get picked off in the first five minutes. Here, they just keep coming. It makes gunslinging look about as much fun as being a professional fly-swatter.

Prior to this, I only knew Millard Mitchell as the blustering R.F. from Singin in the Rain, the world's most understanding studio head. But he's unexpectedly marvelous here as the wise and weary Marshal Mark Strett. Mark takes one look at Ringo and knows exactly what kind of trouble has walked into his town. Ringo assures him, smiling, that he isn't going to start anything. Mark studies his old friend coolly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You sure?" Mitchell doesn't look much like a former tough guy, but he makes up for it with the simple, understated intelligence he gives to Mark. This is a man who can square the local toughs and pacify the village matrons, all without raising his voice. Next to him, Peck looks like an anxious, eager kid.

In addition to Mitchell, we have the ever-welcome presence of Karl Malden, as the grinning, fawning barkeeper Mac. Mac remembers Jimmy Ringo from the old days and he's happy to reminisce, fussing over him and offering him favors. Compared to the rest of the would-be alpha males in the film, Mac seems practically emasculated. He always walks around in a white apron, the little boys in town jeer and throw things at him. Even a skinny tough like Skip Homeier is enough to intimidate him. Malden retreats, eager to smile and pacify. But there's a darker side to all Mac's niceness. As Ringo gets ready to leave, Mac tells him that from now on, "this place'll be famous, it'll be like a shrine." Ringo jokes that maybe he should get money for that. Mac stares back at him, dead serious. "Why not? You're the one that's done it." Mac might like Ringo well enough as a person, but he likes him even more as publicity.

Unfortunately, two of the film's most crucial characters, Peggy Walsh and her son Jimmy, are played to lackluster effect by Helen Westcott and B.G. Norman. Westcott is young and pretty and she certainly carries herself like a prim schoolmarm. She rejects Ringo, not with anger but with blank weariness, and you sense that the defects in her husband's nature are as familiar to her as the multiplication table. But she's a little too stiff and cool; she doesn't act like a woman who ever had much passion to smother. When she and Ringo finally meet, there's no sense of the history crackling between them. How did she ever wind up as a gunman's girl?

B.G. Norman, playing the small but vital role of Ringo's kid Jimmy, is worse. He's like a transplant from 1950s suburbia, all "gosh" and "huh" and "aw shucks." Norman can't help the dialogue he's being asked to play but it's clear that little was expected from him outside of generic cuteness. In the pivotal meeting between Ringo and his son, it's Gregory Peck who has to carry all the emotional weight. Which he does, tremendously. He looks at Norman with barely concealed wonder and longing even as he gruffly tries to give the boy a few life lessons. Don't bust into a room, don't draw on an unarmed man, don't tangle with the tough guys. For all Peck's stentorian wisdom, there's very little of Atticus Finch in this performance. This is a man fumbling to fill a decade's worth of fathering in the space of five minutes.

Western heroes, like their distant cousins in film noir, always seem to know that they live on borrowed time. When death finally catches up to them, it carries the ring of inevitable. For Jimmy Ringo, the only question is who will finally be the one to do for him. But, as The Gunfighter makes clear, sometimes the answer to that question doesn't mean a damn thing. Gunfighters die but the game goes on.

Favorite Quote:

"Here I am, thirty-five years old and I ain't even got a good watch."

Favorite Scene:

The Gunfighter is a film wound as tightly as the watch Gregory Peck doesn't have. Trying to pick it apart to find a favorite scene is difficult but I'll try. Jimmy Ringo is in Mac's saloon, waiting impatiently for news of Peggy. Peck rocks back and forth in his chair, barely able to keep his composure. From outside, we can hear the chatter and giggles of children. Mac comes over to him, chatting jovially over a fresh bottle. Then one little boy peeks his head from under the door of the saloon, grinning openly at Ringo. The camera pans to two more boys glued to the window. "Somebody chase those kids out of there! Haven't you got a school for 'em?" Peck barks, jumping to his feet. Mac assures him that he can make the kids leave and rushes out, shooing them away. We see that it's not just little boys, but grown men too, laughing and jeering, unable to keep away.

A few of the boys retreat, only to throw snow at the anxious mother hen Mac. One of the ladies of the town grabs the instigator (Ringo's son, it turns out). "Just you wait 'til your mother hears about this!" she snaps. The boy responds with one of the standard answers, "We're not hurting anybody." He's not defensive, he's completely sincere. And you realize that none of these people, from the boys to the men, understand what they want from Ringo. They don't think they're there to hurt him, but they can't keep away from him. The crowd continues to fishbowl Ringo and even after the scene ends, there is never a moment in the film where you don't feel their presence. Their attraction and aggression to Ringo just draws them in. The language of The Gunfighter is serious and civilized, but the image of those people crowding mindlessly around the saloon, staring longingly in at Ringo, is a slap in the face to anyone who thinks we're that far removed from the animals.

Final Six Words:

No heroes here, only dead dreamers

News on the March

2012-01-17T04:52:00.000-08:00

"Are you one of those talkers or would you be interested in a little action--I mean, blogging?"

Well, the holiday season is truly over. My bank account's been razed, the winter winds are howling at my door, and right now I feel like following Judy Holliday's example and just snuggling in bed with something to read. And William Holden's invited too, provided he keeps the glasses on. But while I may be fighting my own lazy instincts at the moment, that doesn't mean that other people haven't been keeping busy. Here's some news that should be enough to warm any classic movie lover's heart, whether they're fighting the weather, fighting the blues, or fighting the urge to argue over whether the Golden Globes mean anything.

A Month of Vertigo Blogathon (January 1-31st), Hosted by The Lady Eve's Reel Life

"Arriving with 2012 will be this blog’s first major event, A Month of VERTIGO. The month will feature 10 bloggers and one ‘vlogger' reflecting on facets of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958). Unpopular with critics and audiences when it was released, Vertigo has endured. Today it is generally considered the great auteur's masterpiece of masterpieces and is one of the most highly regarded films in movie history. Vertigo is an ambitious work of grand scale and reputation - a staggering review subject for the lone blogger. And so, we eleven have joined together to contemplate this masterwork from many angles."

I'm assuming most of you have already heard by now of A Month of Vertigo over at The Lady Eve's Reel Life. But that isn't going to stop me from telling you about it. The first time I heard about this, I thought it was an incredibly brilliant idea. To devote one month to a single film, looking at it from every possible direction, bringing in a talented group of commentators...I have to admit, I'm a little jealous the Lady Eve thought of it first. And it's Vertigo, one of my most cherished cinematic obsessions (well, Vertigo is a film you just can't be casual about). I've been happily basking in the entries thus far and there's still plenty to go, as A Month of Vertigo continues. Go check it out!

The Comedy Classics Blogathon (January 22nd-27th, 2012), Hosted by the Classic Movie Blog Association

The ever-diligent, ever-witty members of CMBA are at it again with another great blogathon, a salute to their favorite comedic films and the masterminds behind them. I've been going over the list of participants and already I can't wait. Hey, did you see that Dorian from Tales of the Easily Distracted is going to write about Ball of Fire? And the gals over at True Classics are going to tackle The Great McGinty? And hey look, Dawn from Noir and Chick Flicks is taking a look at Gene Tierney's romantic comedies and Monty's going to write about His Girl Friday and okay, I'm not going to type up the whole list. But seriously. I'm going to be glued to this blogathon and so should you be.

Movies from an Alternate Universe, from Peter Stults's Portfolio

Many thanks to Brian Phelan over at the wonderful blog The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of for linking me to this. Behold, an artist's reimagining of contemporary films with classic casts, complete with posters. Some of his choices are smack-your-head-and-shout-of-course obvious (James Dean in Drive) and some have a kind of gonzo inspiration to them (I particularly like the idea of Ken Russell directing The Big Lebowski). Hell, some of his choices sound preferable to the real films. I'm not familiar with Peter Stults's work, but I notice he also has a nice little entry of Classics Gone B-Movies. Anyone who can dream up a poster like this is a man after my own heart.

And coming to bookstores in February 2012, Dan Callahan's biography, "Barbara Stanwyck: The Miracle Woman"

I love entertainment biographies. Well, no scratch that, I love good entertainment biographies. And 2011 sure was a banner year for them wasn't it? Roger Ebert, Pauline Kael, Spencer Tracy, Myrna Loy, Steve McQueen, James Garner, Piper Laurie, Jane Fonda, and many others I'm sure I've overlooked. But the biography I've been looking forward to for awhile (seriously it's been sitting on my Amazon wishlist for the last few months) is Dan Callahan's upcoming biography of Barbara Stanwyck. I can't tell you how I've been pining for a in-depth, well-researched biography of my favorite actress. Considering the weight and longevity of Stanwyck's career, her flourishing fan base, and the many mysteries of her personal life, it amazes me that Stanwyck bios are few and far between. So, I'm really excited about this upcoming book and I could wish no better writer for it than Dan Callahan. This is a man who knows film, knows it and loves it and writes about it marvelously. I don't normally advertise books I haven't read yet, but in this case? I'm going to take a chance and say that this one's going to be a great read.

Fun times ahead, guys! Now if I could just work up the energy to leave my nice, warm apartment but like Judy, I just feel too darn comfortable. Here's wishing a few lazy days in your direction.

The New Year's Movie Meme

2011-12-28T03:31:00.000-08:00

The Girl with the White Parasol has just hit 50 followers! Guys, I'm so thrilled. I mean, I know I shouldn't wax rhapsodic over my follower count. After all, blogging is a serious creative endeavor and I'm only in it for the art and...and...ah, screw it, I love having followers. I love knowing that people are reading this blog and thinking about it. I want you to know how much I appreciate having such smart, funny, and kind readers. You're the best.

I thought a lot about what I'd do to mark this special occasion. Normally, I might just post pictures of people throwing confetti but you know, I wanted to do a little more. And I realized that what I've been missing lately is a good movie meme. I love movie memes; it's so much fun for me to read people's answers and find out about their tastes. And now that I have more readers, I'm eager to find out more about them.

So, I've decided to roll up my sleeves and just send my own little meme out into the blogosphere. 12 random movie-related questions for any out there who want to post their answers. If you do decide to answer, please post the meme on your blog, with a link back. And if you'd like to respond but don't have a blog, I invite you to give your answers in the comment section. Feel free to tag as many people as you wish.

Here it is, The New Year's Movie Meme. Yes, I know it's a little early for New Year's but I had to think of something for the title. I couldn't just call it Random Movie Meme.

1. What is your all-time favorite Grace Kelly costume?

2. What classic film would you nominate for a remake?

3. Name your favorite femme fatale.

4. Name the best movie with the word "heaven" in its title.

5. Describe the worst performance by a child actor that you’ve ever seen (since Laura gave me the idea).

6. Who gets your vote for most tragic movie monster?

7. What is the one Western that you would recommend to anybody?

8. Who is your ideal movie-viewing partner?

9. Has a film ever made you want to change your life? If so, what was the film?

10. Think of one performer that you truly love. Now think of one scene/movie/performance of theirs that is too uncomfortable for you to watch.

11. On the flip side, think of one really good scene/performance/movie from a performer that you truly loathe.

12. And finally, since it will be New Year's soon, do you have any movie or blogging-related resolutions for 2012?

Have fun, guys! Hope to see you in 2012!

Merry Christmas to All

2011-12-23T20:16:00.000-08:00

Christmas hath a darkness
Brighter than the blazing noon,
Christmas hath a chillness
Warmer than the heat of June

Well my friends, the time has come. The holiday season is here. Whether you're flying many miles away or driving over ice or cuddling in front of a fire or cursing out last-minute shoppers, I wish you the very best. Whether and whatever you celebrate this time of year, I hope that everything is joyful and bright. I'll be back after Christmas. See you then.

Love,
Rachel

Lines from Christina Rosetti. Image taken from an illustration by Harold Von Schmidt. Did I mention that Today's Inspiration has become my latest obsession?

Movie Review: The Wicked Lady

2011-12-21T06:34:00.000-08:00

The Wicked Lady (1945)
directed by Leslie Arliss, starring Margaret Lockwood, Patricia Roc, James Mason

We open upon the sweet, chaste, 17th-century courtship of Caroline (Patricia Roc) and Sir Ralph Skelton (Griffith Jones) as they ride through his estates, singing and laughing. Caroline is especially eager for Ralph to meet her exciting and beautiful cousin Barbara (Margaret Lockwood), who's coming to visit before their wedding. When Barbara arrives, however, she quickly proves to be a far more exciting guest than Caroline expected. In short order, Barbara seduces Ralph away from her cousin, forcing the heartbroken Caroline to be her maid of honor.

But Barbara can't enjoy her victory for long. On her wedding night, she meets the dashing Kit Locksby (Michael Rennie) and it's love at first sight--right before Barbara is dragged off to her waiting husband. Her nighttime duties aside, Barbara has no interest in all the boring responsibility that comes with being Lady Skelton. She leaves all the housekeeping to the ever-masochistic Caroline, while she sighs and frets and dreams of London.

One night, while playing cards with Sir Ralph's catty sister Henrietta (Enid Stamp-Taylor), Barbara impulsively bets it all and loses her dead mother's brooch. Determined to get it back, Barbara poses as the notorious highwayman Captain Jerry Jackson and robs Henrietta on the road. The adrenaline rush of robbery turns out to be just what Barbara was craving and she takes to the roads again. Only this time, Barbara meets the real Jerry Jackson (James Mason). Jackson is taken aback, but is quickly won over her beauty, spirit and black little heart. They become partners in crime...and in the bedroom. Finally, it seems like Barbara has found her true place in life.

But, as wicked and wily as Barbara is, she soon becomes reckless. She wants more gold, more thrills and even Jackson thinks she's taking it too far. Then one night, a high-stakes robbery turns into murder. And that murder soon necessitates another murder. Barbara's schemes spiral out of control and she finds herself in a fight, not for money or a man, but for her very life.

Imagine those tired British audiences of 1945, piling into movie theaters to escape from the horrors they had lived through and the long rebuilding that would follow. Life was harsh and they wanted something to help them through it. But what?

Well, if the runaway box-office success of The Wicked Lady is any indication, what they wanted was kinky sex. Lots of kink. They wanted to see Margaret Lockwood in corsets so tight they had to be censored for U.S. audiences. They wanted to watch her do wicked, awful things like shooting people and poisoning them and sleeping with James Mason outside on the grass. They wanted to see Patricia Roc and Margaret Lockwood get into a slap-fight. They wanted to see cross-dressing and secret passages and noblewomen seducing robbers. The Wicked Lady was the box-office smash of 1946, outdoing its more serious competition by a mile. Critics hated it, audiences loved it. And looking at it now, over 60 years later, I have to side with the audiences. This movie is pure fun from start to finish.

The Wicked Lady was based on a novel called The Life and Death of the Wicked Lady Skelton. (You have to wonder why the author didn't just go all the way and call it "The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy"). The novel was itself inspired by an old English legend about a noblewoman who secretly spent her nights as a highway robber. That was the hook of the story; from there, it spiraled into a melodrama about a treacherous woman, her outlaw lover, and their bloody romance. Considering its plot elements, The Wicked Lady should play as pure camp. And yet, thanks to the deft hand of the Gainsborough studios and a talented cast, the film somehow avoids this. It's sharp, funny, fast-paced, and not above winking at its own silliness.

A strong share of the credit must be given to Leslie Arliss, who both wrote and directed the film. In 1943, he had directed the smash hit The Man in Grey, cited as the first of the Gainsborough melodramas. For The Wicked Lady, Arliss repeated many of the same elements that had made The Man in Grey a success: period setting, a sexy and violent plot, alluring costumes, and a witty, unpretentious screenplay. It was a critic-proof, audience-friendly formula. And to cap it all off, he had the benefit of two great stars, both of whom had seen their careers skyrocket after The Man in Grey: James Mason and Margaret Lockwood.

Margaret Lockwood delivers a knockout performance here as the evil but irresistible Barbara. It's all but impossible to watch her sailing through this film, merrily breaking hearts and bodies and bank accounts and not root for her to get away with it. Just watch her in the scene where she convinces her cousin Caroline to give up the man she's engaged to so that he can marry Barbara instead. Barbara plays on her cousin's sense of honor until the tearful girl has promised, not just to give up Ralph, but to be Barbara's maid of honor. "And you can have my wedding dress, too, if you like," Caroline tells her, fleeing the scene in tears. At this, Barbara's back straightens and her eyes twinkle. "Wear that? I wouldn't be be buried in it."

Barbara may not be the most threatening or subtle of 40's femme fatales, but few actresses seemed to take so much sheer sensual pleasure out of their own wickedness as Margaret Lockwood does here. She devours each scene with such glee you half expect her to be licking her fingers after each take. And she isn't shy about playing up the sexual nature of the character either. In a scene where Barbara must convince a suspicious old man that she has found religion, Lockwood kneels and looks up at him through her lashes in a way that suggests, not repentance, but bedroom roleplay. And in the scenes when Lockwood struts around in male attire, brandishing a pistol, it's hard not to look at her and think that Barbara is indulging her inner dominatrix.

With the exception of James Mason, the other actors have the unenviable task of playing clueless pawns in Barbara's schemes. And considering just how obvious Barbara's bad intentions are, that's really clueless. Griffith Jones, as the unhappy Sir Ralph and Michael Rennie, as the dashing Kit, are both effective in their small roles as men who are all too easily enraptured by Barbara (At times, Jones looks like a nervous schoolboy who got caught sneaking a peek down a girl's blouse). But it's Patricia Roc, as the requisite good girl Caroline, who gets the best moments.

Like Margaret Lockwood and Jameson Mason, Patricia Roc was one of the stalwarts of the Gainsborough studios. In spite of her own sensual beauty, Roc has to play the good girl here and she does some interesting things with it. Even though her character is written as sweet and innocent, Roc projects a kind of brisk intelligence and discomfort . She understands what's happening pretty early on, but keeps trying to pretend that everything is fine. And in the scene where Caroline, as Barbara's maid of honor, has to invite the man she loves into another woman's bed, Roc's heartbreak is utterly convincing. For a moment, Barbara's cruelty doesn't seem so fun.

However, the machinations of the plot mean that Roc has to act pretty spineless for a good part of the movie and sympathy shifts back to Lockwood. Still, at least Roc gets one good scene where she gets to slap the husband-stealing bitch right across the face (a moment that no doubt thrilled the 1940s audiences). In real life, Roc and Lockwood were great friends. And, as often happens, cinema inverted reality as it was Lockwood who was the reclusive, maternal teetotaler and Roc who was the sexually voracious good-time girl (her numerous affairs with married men earned her the nickname "Bed Roc").

The major scene-stealer to watch out for here is James Mason as the roguish bandit Jerry Jackson. Well, perhaps scene-stealing isn't the correct word as it's fairly clear that Gainsborough Studios were counting on Mason being the prime attraction for female moviegoers. Mason was fresh off his success in The Man in Grey as a cruel but dashing gentleman; a scene in which he beat Margaret Lockwood with a horsewhip had electrified audiences. His dark and brooding appeal had made him the most popular male star in Britain. The Wicked Lady even pokes fun at Mason's image with his character here. The female aristocrats gossip excitedly about what it would be like to be Jerry Jackson's next "victim." ("Is he very dashing? Did he make any ungentlemanly advances?" they ask one woman eagerly ) When Jackson is sentenced to hang, he's surrounded, not by jeering crowds, but by adoring female fans.

It's a shame that Mason's only around for part of the movie because he's got crackling chemistry with Lockwood, far better than any of the other characters. His character Jackson is the only one who truly understands Barbara. He knows she's no good and will probably ruin him, but hell, at least they'll have a good time while it lasts. The headlong sexual relationship between Lady Barbara and Jackson was pretty risque by 1940s standards. "Do you always take women by the throat?" Barbara asks him, after one rough encounter. "No, I just take 'em," Mason replies, deadpan.

Halfway through this film, I had an epiphany: "Great shades of Scarlett O'Hara, I'm watching Gone with the Wind!" Well, Gone with the Wind if you kicked it back two hundred years and smushed it together with "The Highwayman." You have the bitchy, green-eyed brunette (Scarlett/Barbara), who loathes her sweet, smiling friend (Melanie/Caroline) and angles to steal her man (Ashley/Sir Ralph). The man is weak and even though he loves the good girl, still helplessly lusts after the bad one. But the bad girl is the one we root for and the more outrageously she acts, the more enjoyable she becomes. However, The Wicked Lady splits up the Rhett role between Michael Rennie as Barbara's true love and James Mason as the one who truly understands her. Which was a mistake since Michael Rennie has less screentime with Margaret Lockwood than anybody else and yet the film would keep insisting that he and Lockwood were star-crossed lovers, that he was the only one who could change her nature. Very strange.

In one sense though, Gone with the Wind and The Wicked Lady are polar opposites. Because while Gone with the Wind's characters are intractable, stubbornly clinging to their ideas until the final reel, The Wicked Lady cast seems to change motivations with every breeze. Oh, Barbara saw Jackson with another woman so she betrays him. Whoops, five minutes later, she realizes he will now go after her so she is sorry. Oh, Ralph and Caroline have confessed their love. Wait, they can't be together. So Caroline's going to marry Kit. Oh no, she's going to marry Ralph after he divorces Barbara. Which is weird because five minutes ago Ralph was telling Kit he would kill him if he ran off with Barbara. Whew. See what I mean? It's the one glaring weakness of The Wicked Lady; it rounds the plot twists so quickly that sometimes things like character and common sense are left by the wayside. And yet, the film is so witty and fun that you have to forgive it.

I've heard some reviewers argue that The Wicked Lady is in fact a a hidden social commentary on the roles of British women. After all, we have a strong female character who merrily breaks every rule of the male-dominated society which tries (and fails) to control her. But for me, the social commentary of The Wicked Lady, especially when compared to films like Jezebel and Leave Her to Heaven, is about as incisive as an Archie comic. That's not a criticism. The Wicked Lady is smart because it knows what kind of story it is and it works to make that story as entertaining as possible. And it doesn't feel like a movie made by bored, indifferent people. Watching this film, you just know the cast and crew were having a blast.

Some films are so bad, they're good. But in this case, the lady is so very wicked that the film is very good indeed.

Favorite Quote:

"He's very lucky with the weather. Must be depressing to be hanged on a damp day."

Favorite Scene:

In a film with so many outsized dramatic moments, it's odd that my favorite scene is relatively normal. But I absolutely love the card game between Barbara Skelton and her most hated rival, Sir Ralph's sister Henrietta. These two are a delight in every scene they share, because they can't resist throwing jibes at each other, all the while keeping up the sweetest-possible smiles. It's like watching two Bengal tigers at a tea party. Example below:

Henrietta: "It’s hard to believe that six months could have changed you so much. You know, I used to quite envy you. You used to look so young and lovely.”
Barbara: “Oh, is it only six months? Then it must be the journey that tired you out. Traveling makes one look so bedraggled.”

And back and forth. But Henrietta's cleverest and darkest moment comes when she plays Barbara at cards. The impulsive Barbara is fast losing everything to her rival and, true to her nature, bets her most prized possession on a single turn of the cards. She loses and Henrietta smiles at her softly, with an expression a cat might give to the canary between its claws. She picks up her prize, a ruby brooch, and asks Barbara, "Your mother's wasn't it?" Barbara stiffens and you can see the light going out of her eyes. And right then and there, you know that Barbara will turn completely to evil. It's that look in her eyes. She would murder that woman for a brooch. Nothing Barbara does later, whether it's robbery or shooting or slow, cold-blooded poisoning, comes as a surprise after that moment.

Final Six Words:

A wicked, rollicking ride to hell

The Great Citizen Kane Debate Comes to a Thrilling Conclusion

2011-11-30T15:47:00.000-08:00

So, The Great Citizen Kane Debate is over and the wonderful ladies over at True Classics have tallied the results. As follows:

First Place: The Mythical Monkey, from A Mythical Monkey Writes About the Movies, for his entry Citizen Kane: Best Ever?
Second Place: Rachel, from The Girl with the White Parasol, for her entry Citizen Kane Takes the Stand
Third Place: Jill, from Sittin' on a Backyard Fence, for her entry Wait a Minute, There's No Cane in Citizen Kane

Wow! I got second place, guys! That is, I mean to say, this is such an honor and...oh, just think of something really eloquent and pretend that I said it. It feels pretty special to stand up there along with two such talented and insightful bloggers as the Honorable Mr. Monkey and Jill. They both wrote excellent entries, so please, if you haven't already, go over and read them. And while you're at it, just go back to the list of entries for this debate and read them all. I was amazed by the effort and ability that went into this event and the way that everyone rose to the challenge. And for everyone who came over here to comment and debate, I just want to thank you all. You guys hold me to a high standard and I wouldn't have it any other way.

There's a reason my blog is littered with blogathons and contests and it isn't because I like getting shiny awards (well, I do like getting awards but I promise that isn't the main reason). It's because I can't resist the chance to connect with other bloggers and when the topic on hand is as rich and divided as Citizen Kane, it's a double treat. I know I walked away from this event with a whole new perspective on this film and its audience. When I watch it again (which probably won't be for at least eight months--I need my Citizen Kane hiatus), I'll be thinking about this debate and the varied but brilliant ideas that people brought to the table.

In short, thank you, fellow bloggers. Since I was watching The Great Man's Lady last night, I'll let Joel McCrea sum up the rest of my feelings.

Citizen Kane Takes the Stand

2011-11-13T20:47:00.000-08:00

"Citizen Kane is perhaps the one American talking picture that seems as fresh now as the day it opened. It may seem even fresher. A great deal in the movie that was conventional and almost banal in 1941 is so far in the past as to have been forgotten and become new."

~Pauline Kael, Raising Kane

"For me (Orson Welles) is just a hoax. It's empty. It's not interesting. It's dead. Citizen Kane, which I have a copy of — is all the critics' darling, always at the top of every poll taken, but I think it's a total bore. Above all, the performances are worthless. The amount of respect that movie's got is absolutely unbelievable."

~Ingmar Bergman, interview with Jan Aghed

Well, a challenge has been extended. Those three fine ladies, Brandie, Carrie, and Nikki over at True Classics have thrown down the gauntlet to the blogosphere: Make your case for Citizen Kane. Is is the greatest film of all time or the most overrated? And if it is "just a hoax," as Ingmar Bergman would have it, is there a film out there that can take its place as Greatest Film Ever Made?

My own position on the matter can be stated in two parts. And the first is this: any attempt to rank a single film above all others is a complete crock. For one thing, nobody's ever been able to see every movie ever made. Even if by some miracle, a person could sit around for the rest of their life, doing nothing but watching movies and carefully ranking them according to cinematic value, they would never be able to even come close to seeing every film. The Internet Movie Database, for example, lists over 400,00 films, a number which doesn't even take amateur productions into account. Let's say this miracle person watched 5 movies a day, every day of the year, for 80 years. Then they would have seen a mere 146,000 by the end of their lifetime. Most cinephiles eventually come to terms with the fact that not only will they not get to see every movie ever made, they won't even get to see every great movie.

The deeper problem with ranking films is, even if you make the assumption that you've seen every worthwhile piece of celluloid out there and are now free to hand out merit badges, is that art just can't be assigned value that way. I know that we movie lovers have an obsession with making lists. And then arguing about the lists. And then rewriting the lists.

But while those lists do have plenty of value for sparking controversy and discussion, they have no power to assess a movie's worth. If you believe that both The Lady Eve and Strangers on a Train are great movies, how do you go about deciding which one should be ranked higher? How much weight are we supposed to give to technical and visual merit versus story and content? Does the beauty of something like Triumph of the Will make up for its appalling purpose? Do we have to ration out how much space we give to John Ford on our list so that Douglas Sirk can have room? Actually, I enjoy pondering these questions because they force me to think deeply about the films I love. I think list-making is good exercise but then again, so is jogging on a treadmill. In either case, you shouldn't expect to get anywhere.

But here we come to my second point which is a little more complicated. Citizen Kane is not the Greatest Movie of All Time, but if we do have to arbitrarily assign a movie this title, then I think Citizen Kane makes as good a case as any and better than most. Birth of a Nation was more technically innovative, Gone with the Wind was a bigger movie event, and Rashomon redefined our ideas of how a story is told, but Citizen Kane is, for me, one of those rare movies that combines all the elements we look for in a film. Visual mastery, an exciting story, a talented cast, and most importantly, the ability to be rediscovered. Every time I see Citizen Kane (and I ration out my viewings), it feels like I'm seeing it for the first time.

On my last Citizen Kane re-watch, I was struck by what a strange, strange film it is. Even in just those first few moments. The establishing shot of Xanadu, the light that flashes in the window, the snowglobe, those monstrous lips uttering the word "Rosebud"...some people compare Citizen Kane to a horror film but for me, the opening owes more to the Surrealists. The story is set up as a relatively straightforward mystery: what is the meaning of Kane's dying word, "Rosebud?" The telling, however, is anything but straightforward. We are handed off to various narrators (Kane's loyal employee Mr. Bernstein, his embittered friend Jed Leland, his second wife Susan, his butler, his banker) but even as the facts pile up, nothing is really explained. The narrators are bitter and biased, their stories roam beyond what they themselves witnessed, and they never come close to answering the real question of the film: Who was Charles Foster Kane?

I once had the pleasure of watching Citizen Kane with a friend who had never, ever been told about the ending. When we finally reached the secret of Rosebud, my friend gasped, jumped up in his chair, and proceeded to complain for ten minutes about what a crap ending this was. Rosebud was the sled? What a cop-out. As fun as it was to watch my friend flip out over a sixty-odd-year spoiler, it did make me think that if you take it as a mystery, Citizen Kane is an utter failure. It's a mystery that tells you flat out that all its clues lead nowhere. It's an end with no beginning.

I've had a theory for a while that Citizen Kane is the cinematic equivalent to Hamlet. Both works stand at the head of their respective canons, whether people believe they deserve it or not. Everyone who loves movies has to deal with Citizen Kane and everyone who loves English literature has to make their terms with Hamlet. Both works are essentially shaggy dog stories that purport to be about one thing (Hamlet's revenge against Claudius, the mystery of Kane's last word) and resolve in a way that makes this one thing seem incredibly hollow. Both stories center on one very powerful and mysterious person and their slow descent into self-destruction. And both works seem to attract a lot of the same criticisms, that they're boring, the protagonist is unlikable, that nothing gets resolved. But I believe that both Hamlet and Citizen Kane have something of the same irresistible appeal for people: they force the audience to question themselves. The mystery is not in the events of the plot, but in pondering the question of what lies at the heart of a human being.

And I think that emphasis on the individual is also part of the reason why Citizen Kane is so often ranked higher than its American competition, higher than Casablanca or Gone With the Wind. It strikes at the great American fascination with the self-made man, a myth that's dominated our culture from The Great Gatsby to The Social Network. Like The Great Gatsby, Citizen Kane is essentially a demolition of that myth. Charles Foster Kane doesn't "make" himself; his fortune is thrust upon him. His fantasies of using that money to do good prove weak, his patriotism is exposed as war-mongering, and even the simple right of telling his own story is taken out of his hands. While this kind of story isn't necessarily more valid or worthy than any other narrative, nevertheless, it's the kind of story that Americans tend to claim as being most, well, American. And tied in with Citizen Kane's search for success is of course, the story of its own creator, Orson Welles, his blazes of glory, his failures and thwarted endeavors. Casablanca is the ultimate cinematic escape and Gone with the Wind is the ultimate cinematic event, but Citizen Kane is the ultimate cinematic quest.

I've dwelt more on Citizen Kane's story more than its visuals, probably because I find it easier to go after narrative than I do picking apart Welles' gorgeous, fascinating camera work. When I watch Citizen Kane, I'm always in danger of losing myself in one particularly weird or beautiful shot. Just look at the way Welles and Toland light those reporters in the newsroom, with beams of light echoing around their faces and hands. Or the Thatcher Library, which looks like it should be the set for a medieval miracle play. Susan Alexander's jigsaw puzzles, the sharply angled ceilings, Kane thunderously clapping into empty space. This is the reason why I don't watch Citizen Kane very often; I don't ever want to reach the point where its images fail to shock me.

Citizen Kane is often touted as a cinematic pioneer, blazing new trails and techniques in creative filmmaking. Welles and Toland's use of deep focus, their experiments with camera angles, wipes, montages, matte paintings, and animation all play a part in making Citizen Kane's reputation as one of the most technically innovative movies of all time. But what makes me marvel isn't that these filmmakers pioneered so many new methods, but that even now, Citizen Kane still looks exciting and new. So many times, a work of art that was once fresh and ingenious turns stale after those same innovations are recycled a thousand times over. It isn't just that Citizen Kane looks different from every movie that came before it. It looks different from every movie that came after it.

I'm going to end my commentary on Citizen Kane with a personal confession. The reason why I named my blog, "The Girl with the White Parasol." Anyone familiar with Citizen Kane knows Mr. Bernstein's famous speech in which he remembers one fleeting glimpse of a girl with a parasol, years and years ago. "I only saw her for one second. She didn't see me at all, but I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of that girl." When I chose that quote and title for my blog, I worried for a long time that people might think I was calling myself after that long-lost girl. And wouldn't that seem like the height of arrogance? No one ever questioned me on the subject but here is my chance to set the record straight. The girl with the white parasol isn't me. For me, the girl represents a brief flash of beauty in a person's life. One of those brief moments that stay with us forever, no matter where we end up or what we do. The reason I watch films is so that I can find those moments of beauty, whether they come from a Technicolor image or from the throb in an actor's voice or from a string chorus. That's why I named my blog, "The Girl with the White Parasol." That's why I love film. And that's why I love Citizen Kane.

5 Movie Costumes I Love (Fall '11 Edition)

2011-11-10T12:26:00.000-08:00

So...dear readers. It's been three weeks since my last post and for me, it feels like three years. My absence had nothing to do with my feelings about blogging, classic movies, or my fellow bloggers. It had everything to do with my personal life, my family, and some major upheavals that have been going on (and are still going on) throughout these last few weeks. Even if I'd had the time, I'm afraid I had little spirit for blogging.

I can't promise that it will be smooth sailing from here on in. Quite frankly, I think my participation in the blogosphere is going to be somewhat erratic for awhile. Never fear though. I have no plans to desert this blog. It means a lot to me to have this as my escape from everything else right now. I still love talking about movies and I still love talking to all of you.

With that explanation out of the way, I thought that now would be a good time for another edition of my Favorite Movie Costumes list. This is an ongoing series where I gush over five of my favorite costumes from classic film. I'm doing it in the same format as last time, with the same three restrictions.

Absolutely no costumes from an Alfred Hitchcock film.
No costumes worn by Grace Kelly.
No costumes worn by Audrey Hepburn.

Get it? Got it? Good. Let's begin.

1. Bette Davis in The Letter
Costume Design by Orry-Kelly
("The Lace Veil")

I'm not sure who had the idea to put Bette Davis in a veil for one of The Letter's most memorable scenes (Orry-Kelly? William Wyler? Davis herself?), but it was a brilliant touch. During one unnerving, near-silent sequence, Davis' character Leslie goes to buy back the crucial letter from the Eurasian wife (played by Gale Sondergaard) of Leslie's former lover. The same lover that Leslie had killed. The women meet face to face in a standoff as cold and tense as any Western shootout. The addition of the veil makes an already mesmerizing scene even more heavy with meaning. There's the mocking evocation of a bridal veil (note that Davis kneels before Sondergaard). It's a bitter joke of course; Leslie is the illicit lover and far from innocent. There's the way the deceptive and repressed Leslie is veiled while the openly enraged Sondergaard appears with her hair scraped back and every muscle in her face visible. There's the connection to Leslie's character and her own obsessive lace making. But above all else, it makes for a beautiful image in one of Wyler's most visually stunning films.

2. Joan Bennett in Scarlet Street
Costume Design by Travis Banton
("The Raincoat" and "The Black Gown")

Okay, I'm cheating here and listing two costumes from the same movie. But I can't help it. I absolutely love the first sight we get of Joan Bennett in that transparent raincoat. It's cheap and sexy, exactly right for the character of Kitty "Lazy Legs" March. Kitty, a masochistic prostitute with little brains and no heart, is one of the most wonderfully nasty femme fatales ever put to film. Appropriate then, that she first appears to us in an outfit that puts everything on display, without being too overt about the nature of her profession. And I dig her little striped handbag; it looks like a giant bonbon (a reference to her character's love of candy). However, while the raincoat is a more iconic image, I can't leave Scarlet Street, without putting in a word for Joan Bennett's black gown. That one wins for sheer sex appeal. Hell, just check out how closely Travis Banton skirted the lines of Code-approval with that bodice. And that slit skirt. Every femme fatale deserves at least one dress this seductive.

3. Barbara Stanwyck in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers
Costume Design by Edith Head
("The White and the Black")

(second photo credited to Dial V for Vintage Blog)

And speaking of femme fatales (I guess I'm in a film noir mood this week), I want to put in a mention for one of my favorite Barbara Stanwyck characters, the complex and conflicted Martha Ivers. Martha's one of the more unusual femme fatales out there because we actually get to know her backstory and why she acts the way she does. She's a vamp, sure, but she's also tormented by guilt and the lust for power. She longs to return to her more innocent past (as personified by her childhood love Van Heflin), but it's clear she doesn't know how to be that girl anymore. She's the Lady Macbeth of femme fatales.

Edith Head designed Stanwyck's wardrobe for this film and Stanwyck looks smashing throughout but there's one moment that just makes me catch my breath every time. And that's the scene where Martha, encased in this smart black and white outfit, arrives at Van Heflin's hotel room. Lizabeth Scott (as his girlfriend Toni) is playfully showing off her figure for her man, but the minute Martha appears, the air is sucked from the room. Stanwyck appears almost snakelike here, her hands covered in long black gloves, her neck hidden, a hood over her hair; she looks every inch the predator. And the way that black detail marches up and down the lines of her dress, like a line of factory-approved rivets (Martha controls the town's industry). It's dramatic, it's stylish and it proves that a lady can walk in, all covered up, and still steal your man.

4. Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember
Costume Design by Charles Le Maire
("The Orange and White Chiffon")

Anyone remember all those times in the Anne of Green Gables books where Anne Shirley would go into a fit of melancholy because she was a redhead and couldn't wear pink? Too bad she never got to take a look at An Affair to Remember because in this film, Deborah Kerr breaks all these so-called redhead rules and blazes out gloriously in pink, red, and orange. And don't we love her for it! (Although for my money, she should have steered clear of the taupe. But nobody's perfect). My personal favorite is this gorgeous orange and white chiffon gown. The unusual work on the bodice, the elegant drape of the fabric, the striking color...it all combines to make one fascinating dress. I'm not sure what budget Terry McKay the singer is supposed to be working with, but who could question a woman so stunning?

5. Susan Harrison in Sweet Smell of Success
Costume Design by Mary Grant
("The Fur Coat")

"This coat is your brother. I've always hated this coat."

Poor Susie Hunsecker, trapped by her sadistic, controlling brother, just as she's trapped by this luxurious, oversized fur coat. As the night runs long in New York City, Susie walks around town in a coat that makes her look like a little girl playing dress-up. This is a case not just of what a character wears but how they wear it. In Susie's case, you only have to watch how Susan Harrison buries herself in that fur, the way it slips off her shoulders. All Susie wants is her independence and her love, but she'll have to fight for it. This is one bit of costuming where you can instantly imagine the backstory. No doubt J.J. Hunsecker gave his sister this coat after she told him she was tired of being treated like a little kid. Ostensibly to prove that he knew she was an adult, but really because he enjoyed watching her struggle with something that didn't fit her, making her look more like a child than ever. The moment when Susie finally, decisively, gets rid of this coat is one of the most triumphant costume changes on film.

P.S. Five points for anyone who spots the Danny Kaye reference.

"I think it would be fun to run a newspaper..."

2011-10-17T18:56:00.000-07:00

I'm no Charles Foster Kane, nor do I own a newspaper, but I come bearing blog-relevant news. The weather may be getting colder, but it looks like the blogosphere will be heating up in the next few months with some promising new events. Orson Welles is almost as excited as I am. (P.S. It did take me a few extra minutes to realize he's brandishing a pipe in that still, not a gun.)

The Great Citizen Kane Debate (November 2011), Hosted by Brandie, Carrie, and Nikki at True Classics

"Here’s your chance to either defend Kane’s position as King of the Cinematic Mountain, or to knock it off its storied pedestal. At some point during the next month (until November 13th), put up a post on your blog either explaining why Kane deserves to be numero uno, or lay out your reasons why it is overrated. And if you are among those who feel that Kane is not the best movie of all time, tell us which film really IS, in your opinion, and defend your choice!

The entries will be judged by Carrie, Nikki, myself, and a couple of guest judges whom we haven’t determined yet. We’ll be looking at several factors, but first and foremost, we’re looking for enthusiastic, informative, and entertaining entries that will engage us–and your readers–in lively discussion. And we will award prizes to our top three favorites entries!"

I knew I was committed to this contest before I even finished reading the rules. It's a debate about Citizen Kane! The film for which my blog was named! It's going to be a challenge to come up with something intelligent to say about one of the most discussed films of all time, but that's what makes it so fun. Judging by all the creative and talented folks I've met hanging out at the True Classics blog, I know that my fellow bloggers are going to meet this challenge and then some.

The For the Boys Blogathon (November 19th-20th, 2011), Hosted by Katie and Hilary at The Scarlett Olive Podcast

"There’s a staggering amount of estrogen in our blogs and podcasts. We’d like to shake the content up a bit and expand our masculine audience. Many classic films fall under the manly umbrella: shoot-‘em-up westerns, shadowy noir, timeless war tales, and action-filled gangster ploys. Females are capable of enjoying these types of films, but we feel they were primarily geared towards men. So, here is what we ask of you:

Think about the quintessential films in these genres

Reflect upon why these films appeal to men

Guidelines/Rules:

Write a blog (or podcast) regarding the masculine gender in film, genres that appeal to men, films in these genres*, or a combination of any of the above. If you are male or female and disagree with this completely … write about that!"

This is probably the opportune moment to admit that The Magnificent Seven is my holiday film of choice. Something about that thumping Elmer Bernstein score just gets me in the right shopping/decorating/snuggling mood. So I'm really looking forward to this manly blogathon. I have the feeling that this one's going to generate a lot of conversation and debate.

The Dueling Divas Marathon (December 20th-23rd, 2011), Hosted by Lara at Backlots

"I am hosting the Dueling Divas Blogathon, which I have scheduled to take place between December 20-23. It’s a ways off, so as to leave enough time to plan your blogging schedules accordingly. Participants may blog about any of the following types of Dueling Divas:
Those who had a rivalry in real life, either over a particular film role or over a personality clash, ie Bette Davis and Joan Crawford
Those who had a rivalry on the screen, ie Mildred and Veda from Mildred Pierce
Any dual role (see what I did there? Duel? Dual? Be proud.) played by an actor or actress in a classic film, ie Hayley Mills in The Parent Trap.
It’s totally free reign, you can write about the divas themselves, compare and contrast one of each of their films, and if you’re going to write about dual roles, you can talk about the differences in their characters or the actor’s technique in portraying them…you get the idea."

I think this wins my vote for the Best Blogathon Name this year; it just rolls off the tongue. There's a lot of exciting possibilities for this one: evil twins, backstage feuds, hair-pulling fights. How can you resist?

The Humphrey Bogart Blogathon (December 23rd-25th, 2011), Hosted by Meredith at Forever Classics

"As most of you probably know by now, Humphrey Bogart is my favorite actor. In honor of his 112th birthday on December 25th, I've decided to host my first blogathon, which will run from December 23-December 25th. I realize that's it's three months away, but if you'd like to participate, I ask that you let me know by December 22nd. Your post can be about his films, his life or anything else Bogie-related."

Bogie really is the best medicine for those holiday blues and chills. What better way to celebrate the birth of Christ than to re-watch Bogart pistol-whipping a few bad guys? Is there a better hymn to brotherly love than The Treasure of the Sierra Madre? I don't think so. Let's set aside some time this holiday season to celebrate one of cinema's greatest actors.

Great Screen Teams That Never Were

2011-10-15T16:24:00.000-07:00

Today, I'm going to jump into my What If Machine and ask the Matchmaker's Question: What are the great screen teams that never happened? Two talented actors who never paired up, two great tastes that seem like they would have tasted great together, but were never given a real chance. I know that acting chemistry is hard to predict (Who would have guessed that a nervous nineteen-year-old model would become Humphrey Bogart's perfect match?), but it's still fun to speculate. And so, I present to you, a list of Eight Great What Ifs.

1. William Powell and Claudette Colbert

When you think about it, these two had a lot in common. Both of them hit their peak in 1934 (Colbert with It Happened One Night, Powell with The Thin Man). They had two of the most knowing glances in all of '30s cinema, Powell with his arched brows, and Colbert with her sidelong smile. They wore their elegance like it was some grand joke on themselves and the audience. They were clever, they were amazingly classy, but nobody could ever resent them for it; it was just too much fun to be around them. While it's impossible to beat the team of William Powell and Myrna Loy, it's a real shame that Claudette Colbert never got the chance to try.

2. James Cagney and Barbara Stanwyck

These were two of the toughest customers in cinema. While Cagney was pumping his enemies full of lead, Stanwyck was lying and cheating her way to the top. Watch the moment in Baby Face when Stanwyck hits a guy with a beer bottle before casually taking a swig from it; no way would Cagney get away with pushing grapefruit into her face. But Stanwyck and Cagney had more in common than onscreen violence. Both of them had made their way into show business as vaudeville hoofers, dancing in clubs and revues. They were sharp, strong New Yorkers who'd been working their whole lives. And yet Hollywood ignored this potential partnering right up until 1956. Cagney and Stanwyck were finally teamed up for These Wilder Years, which was...a sentimental drama about a millionaire and an adoption agency worker. Way to miss your big chance, casting directors. For what it's worth, Stanwyck and Cagney got along well offscreen and even entertained the film crew with an impromptu dance number.

3. Clifton Webb and Thelma Ritter

Like the previous pair, Ritter and Webb did share time in one film, the 1953 version of Titanic. But their interaction wasn't played for its full comic potential and I think that's a crying shame. I've always wanted to see these two square off. Could Webb's talent for the poisonous one-liner compete with Ritter's homespun put downs? I don't know, but I think it would be one hell of a match. A true collision of matter and antimatter.

4. Lena Horne and Paul Robeson

It's always a shock to me to look back and realize just how few films Paul Robeson and Lena Horne made. The extreme racial strictures of Hollywood meant that these two enormously talented performers had to find most of their applause off, rather than on, the screen. But just imagine if these two had ever gotten a chance to be together in a film. Their star power, their confidence, and their tremendous musical gifts would have made them into one hell of a pairing. Unfortunately for us, it never happened. In real life though, the two were great friends and Lena Horne credited Paul Robeson with being a mentor to her. In an interview, she said, "Paul taught me about being proud because I was Negro ... he sat down for hours, and he told me about Negro people…. And he didn’t talk to me as a symbol of a pretty Negro chick singing in a club. He talked to me about my heritage. And that’s why I always loved him."

5. Carole Lombard and Myrna Loy

Hollywood has a painfully long history of ignoring female friendship. The very fact that Thelma and Louise is still cited as the female buddy movie, twenty years after its release...yeah, that pretty much sums it up. But let's ignore Hollywood's bad record on this subject and imagine an alternate universe where Loy and Lombard were paired together. Loy had the dry-humored poise, Lombard had the dizzy energy; together they would have been unstoppable. They would have been like Redford and Newman, except in satin gowns and heels. We may have missed our chance to see these ladies together, but I'm sure they're up there in Heaven, making the joint a whole lot more fun.

6. Robert Mitchum and Veronica Lake

Ladd and Lake may be tops but the temptation to pair the sleepy talents of Lake and Mitchum is just irresistible. It would be like a contest to see who could act more unconcerned and detached (Mitchum would win of course, Lake never could stay on her pedestal for long). They were like the two opposing sides of film noir. Mitchum embodied the rough-hewn masculinity and stoic silence of the noir genre, while Lake was the most playful and stylized of femme fatales. Neither of them seemed very real. But when they were onscreen, it was hard to look away.

7. Laird Cregar and Dan Duryea

I love villainous team-ups. Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing-- these were men who combined vile deeds with effortless panache. I thought for a while about pairing Laird Cregar with Vincent Price but quickly decided those two were too similar. What better match for the looming, beautifully-spoken Cregar than the rail-bodied, nasally Duryea? Cregar had the courtly manners, Duryea had the streetwise sneer. Their unusual looks and sinister talents relegated them to the ranks of villainy (Cregar would eventually destroy himself in his quest to become a romantic leading man), but few actors could make it all look so enjoyable.

8. Barbara Stanwyck and James Stewart

As I've said before on this site, Barbara Stanwyck is my favorite actress and Jimmy Stewart is my favorite actor. They were two of the most talented and versatile performers of all time and anyone who wants to argue with me on that point can just go home and collect their dueling pistols. So why oh why didn't these two ever make a movie together? Barbara Stanwyck spent half her career seducing good guys (Gary Cooper and Henry Fonda seemed particularly susceptible) so the omission of Stewart is really baffling. They could have done a comedy, they could have done drama, they could have done romance. In the end, they did it all but not together.

Movie Review: The Princess Comes Across

2011-10-09T12:55:00.000-07:00

The Princess Comes Across (1936)
directed by William K. Howard, starring Carole Lombard, Fred MacMurrray

(Note: This is my entry for the Carole-tennial (+3) Blogathon, hosted by Vincent at Carole and Co.)

Every reporter, radio announcer, and columnist in town is talking about only one thing: the arrival of Princess Olga of Sweden (Carole Lombard). The princess is on board the prestigious ocean liner Mammoth, on her way to begin a lucrative Hollywood career. Everyone on the ship is instantly captivated by this elegant Swedish royal. And the most infatuated of them all is King Mantell (Fred MacMurray), a concertina-playing bandleader, who is determined to shake this princess down from her ivory tower. But Olga and Mantell aren't the only notable passengers. Five celebrated detectives are also on board, en route to an international police detectives' conference. But before these gentlemen can even finish introductions, they are informed that an escaped convict has stowed away on the ocean liner. He could be anywhere or anyone.

As if princesses, concertinas, and convicts weren't enough, a fourth complication arrives in the form of Robert Darcy (Porter Hall), a shifty-eyed blackmailer, who says he's got the goods on three people. He knows that Mantell did a stretch in jail. He also knows that Princess Olga is no princess at all--she's Wanda Nash from Brooklyn, trying to pass herself off as royalty in order to get a film career. He puts the squeeze on King and Wanda, but before he can reveal his third victim, Darcy ends up murdered.

Now, it's up to the quintet of detectives, as well as a concertina player and a fake princess, to solve the mystery and find out the killer. But can King and Wanda find the killer, keep their secrets, and manage to avoid falling in love? It's going to be quite a voyage.

To co-opt a line from The Sound of Music, how do you solve a problem like The Princess Comes Across? Here's a film that is mildly funny, mildly romantic, has a very mild murder mystery that takes over the second act, and ends on a note of mild abandon. Trying to review it is like fighting your way through a sea of tapioca. It's never bad and occasionally it's quite good, but that's about all that can be said for it. However, no self-respecting film critic ever let mediocrity stand in the way of verbosity, so I'm going to tackle it anyway.

The Princess Comes Across stands out from the rest of Carole Lombard's Paramount comedies by virtue of not being a pure comedy. It was a deliberate attempt at a genre mash-up: a cross between those giddy Paramount romances and the classics 30s whodunnits. The filmmakers opt for some jarring shifts in tone. The beginning of the film is pure screwball, with Lombard doing a killer Greta Garbo parody as the counterfeit Swedish princess. But halfway through the film, the murder mystery angle takes center stage and Lombard's antics quiet down (her discovery of the dead body is played dead serious, with the camera zooming in on her shadowed, horrified face). Compared to another comedy-mystery like The Thin Man, The Princess Comes Across is much more serious in tone. When Nick and Nora are threatened, they laugh it off. When Lombard and MacMurray are threatened, they are genuinely scared.

I have a weakness for films that combine different genres. When done right, they're exciting in their unpredictability. Unfortunately, The Princess Comes Across never manages to combine its disparate elements and so ultimately it feels like two different films that were hastily stitched together. It might have been a case of too many cooks; the film had at least six screenwriters on board. A strong director could have guided the film to consistency but The Princess Comes Across was left in the hands of William K. Howard, a dependable but hardly illustrious craftsman (his most significant directing credit was The Power and the Glory, often cited as an influence on Citizen Kane). A director like Raoul Walsh would have relished the tonal shifts, a screenwriter like Preston Sturges would have cranked up the screwball insanity, but as it is, the film never jells.

The main reason to see The Princess Comes Across is for Carole Lombard's performance. From the very first moment she appears, swathed in furs, her eyes glazed with her own importance, she owns the movie. The whole "pretend Swedish princess" plotline is merely an excuse for Lombard to parody Greta Garbo and she pulls it off brilliantly, nailing every far-off stare and trilling laugh. In her first scene, a reporter asks her, "Princess, who is your favorite movie star?" Lombard gazes right through him and answers with regal dignity, "Ve tell you, Mickey Moosey."

The real glory of Carole Lombard's performance isn't the Garbodegook she keeps spouting, but the way she can snap back and forth from elegant Swedish princess to Brooklyn gal in a millisecond. In one scene, she barks at MacMurray to "scram." "What did you say?" he asks. "Oh," she fumbles, "scrom, it means, in Svedish, de interview is ended." In another scene, MacMurray asks her "what a princess fish would do if she ever ran into a concertina player fish" (it makes sense in context). "She would probably svim by him every other time," Lombard answers with a glint in her eye and even through the Swedish mannerisms, you can see her character's sarcasm peeking out.

It's Lombard's intelligence and humor that make Wanda Nash into anything close to a likable character because otherwise, she's a complete twit. Masquerading as a Swedish princess in order to land a Hollywood contract is a spectacularly ludicrous scheme even by romantic comedy standards. Even in the 1930s, it wouldn't have taken more than half an hour for someone to unmask her. In a pure screwball comedy, like the vastly superior Nothing Sacred, Wanda would have been trapped into the deception by a misunderstanding and the lunacy would have spiraled out of her control. Here, we're supposed to accept her as a street-smart gal who apparently never heard of things like "false identity," "lawsuits," or "criminal charges."

Fred MacMurray and Carole Lombard had been paired before, in Mitchell Leisen's Hands Across the Table and they would be paired for a total of four films. When MacMurray first fell into Lombard's capable hands, he was a very, very green leading man, with no idea of how to play comedy. Both Leisen and Lombard had struggled with getting MacMurray to find his inner comic. According to one account, Lombard actually sat on MacMurray's chest at one point, pounding him with her fists and yelling, "Now Uncle Fred, you be funny or I'll pluck your eyebrows out!" Whatever Carole Lombard's methods were, she succeeded in carrying MacMurray along and for the rest of his life, he credited her with being his favorite leading lady.

In The Princess Comes Across, Fred MacMurray seems more comfortable than he did in Hands Across the Table; his reactions feel more natural and are timed better. As the concertina-playing bandleader King Mantell, MacMurray is anything but kingly. Here, he's a cocky, boyish smart aleck, who sees nothing wrong in trying to proposition a princess. Hell, he's young and she's blonde and they're on a boat together so why not?

Unfortunately, Lombard and MacMurray can't generate enough heat in The Princess Comes Across to offset the no-sugar, no-salt approach of William K. Howard's direction. He puts them into position and lets them banter--that's about it. Without those long, lustrous Mitchell Leisen closeups, the Lombard-MacMurray chemisty suffers. They're still cute together and the way Lombard openly sizes him up as a potential partner is delicious ("Did you notice those shoulders?" she muses to her horrified companion Lady Gertrude), but there's no urgency to their pairing up. It's a pigtail-pulling kind of romance.

Whenever the film switches focus from Lombard and MacMurray to the five famous detectives, my interest level dropped below freezing. Mainly because the five detectives don't do much to distinguish themselves beyond playing into a few national stereotypes (the Japanese one is very polite, the German is professorial etc.). The only one of real interest is Mischa Auer as the Russian detective, whose sardonic, gallows-humor delivery manages to steal scene after scene. In one such moment, Lombard (as Princess Olga) is telling the detectives about her "uncle" Rudolf. "Poor Uncle Rudy, somebody was always shooting at him," Lombard sighs and Auer tops it with, "In my country, they shoot at everybody's uncle." It's Auer's sheer pop-eyed relish of the line that makes it funny.

The only other character actor to note is Alison Skipworth as Lady Gertrude Allwyn, Lombard's worldly-wise partner in crime. She is pure delight as a woman who keeps up a public front as a grande dame (think Margaret Dumont on Casual Friday), but who, in private, shows her true con-artist colors. Whenever King gets within ten feet of her princess protege, she gives him a laser glare so fierce it could fry eggs. She gets nearly all the good lines, too.

"A concertina. And very vulgar. A definite symbol of the lower classes. Put the thing on the floor and it crawls."

"You enjoyed the cocktails, didn't you?" (Lombard)
"Well the first five or six, but after that I was bored."

"I don't mind people stepping on my feet, but I do object to them lodging there."

Even with this talented cast, The Princess Comes Across is a slow steady slide from glamorous Paramount comedy to a C-grade murder mystery. Watching this movie is like drinking a glass of champagne only to realize, halfway through, that you were really drinking grape juice. And then as you're draining the bottom, you realize you weren't drinking grape juice, you were really drinking tap water. It's a real shame because there are so many moments where you can feel a better, sharper story bubbling under the surface. Or maybe that's just a mirage.

Carole Lombard is the main reason to see this film. It's her humor, her gestures, and her star power that really make The Princess Comes Across into something worth watching. She may not have been a Swedish princess, but she was truly a princess of comedy.

Favorite Quote:

"The story is from a novel entitled Lavender and Old Lace, but the name of the cinema has been changed to... um... She Done Him Plenty."

Favorite Scene:

The best moment, in my opinion, would have to be Carole Lombard dining with the five detectives. It's the last place she wants to be, of course, and you can see the wheels in her head turning as she tries to keep pace with her own deceptions. One of the detectives tells her proudly that he had the honor of meeting one of her grandfathers. "But I have two grandfathers!" Lombard says, trying to stall him. "The one I mean, has the beard," he replies. "Oh that one!" she cries out. "And such a looong beard, ven ve vere children, ve used to sving from it!" Somehow, Lombard delivers the line in a way that is both queenly and ridiculous at the same time. Even when she's cornered, she can't resist having a little fun.

Final Six Words:

Lombard floats, but the film fizzles

Here I acknowledge my profound debt to Dr. Macro and his trove of Lombard photos.

Fashion in Film Blogathon: A Letter to Three Wives

2011-09-24T11:05:00.000-07:00

Fashion Spotlight on A Letter to Three Wives

Have I lured you all in with that gorgeous Jeanne Crain photo? Well, the Fashion in Film Blogathon has arrived, courtesy of the lovely and stylish Angela over at The Hollywood Revue. In honor of the day, I'm going to try something a little different from my usual list-making and movie-reviewing habits. I'm going to do a scene-by-scene fashion analysis of one of my favorite movies, Joseph L. Mankiewicz's A Letter to Three Wives.

I love this movie for many reasons. Its witty script, the talented cast, the biting social commentary, I could go on. But I also love the way it uses costume. Even though the film is about three beautiful, upper-class women, the costuming isn't used just as a glamor assault (although that would be fun), but as a way to subtly comment on class and character differences. Each of our three main protagonists has her own look and her own place on the social ladder.

For those who are unfamiliar with the plot of A Letter to Three Wives, I'll do my best to give the context for each scene. While I normally avoid recapping films, I think in this case, a little plot summary is required. Now, on to your irregularly scheduled fashion spotlight.

Let's start with two of our protagonists: Rita Phipps (Ann Sothern) and Deborah Bishop (Jeanne Crain). Rita, on the left, is married to a schoolteacher and brings in some much-needed money for the family with her radio writing. She is the mother of twins. Deborah, on the right, is a farmer's daughter who met her wealthy husband while they were both in the Navy during World War II. They're on their way to a charity event (taking underprivileged children on a riverboat ride and picnic). Rita and Deborah both belong to the country club set and their clothes reflect that. They're not overdressed but they still care enough to wear jewelry and white gloves, along with their sharply tailored jackets. Could you guess that these two were on their way to a picnic?

Enter our third wife, Lora Mae Hollingway (Linda Darnell). She's the young wife of wealthy businessman Porter Hollingsway, the richest man in town. Lora Mae is even more dramatically dressed than her friends, befitting her status. That jacket is more blindingly white than sunshine glinting off the polar ice caps. Personally, I would worry about some kid putting their sticky hands all over it, but I'm not the wealthiest woman in town.

The plot thickens. Their absent fourth friend Addie Ross has left them a note, telling them she's run off with one of their husbands. But she doesn't tell them which husband. This shot has nothing to do with costume but I have to say, I love Addie's handwriting.

This is a superb example of what I'd call "costume choreography." When the wives huddle together, we suddenly see how perfectly their outfits complement each other. Notice how Ann Sothern, with her dark jacket, white blouse, and blond hair is an almost perfect photo-negative of Linda Darnell's white jacket, dark scarf, and brunette hair. Jeanne Crain would be odd woman out, except that her polka-dotted scarf ties her visually to the other two, as well as contrasting with Sothern's striped collar. It makes complete sense for the wives to be visually linked because at this moment, they're all thinking the same thing. "Is it my husband?"

We flashback to Deborah as a new bride, on the night of her first country club dance. Deborah is practically tearing her hair out with anxiety because she has no experience with this kind of crowd. Her husband Brad tries in vain to console her. Here she is in her robe. Note the floral pattern and girlish ruffle. This robe probably comes from back home on the farm; she hasn't had time to get any new things.

After knocking back way too many martinis, Deborah comes downstairs in the only party dress she owns. And I have to say, this is the dress that made me pick A Letter to Three Wives for my blogathon entry. This thing is a genuine miracle of costuming, a valentine to bad taste. The bunchy sleeves, the big flounce at the bottom, those giant fake flowers that look like a space alien attack...it's so great. As much fun as it is to see Hollywood designers dress a woman beautifully, it can be equally fun to see them dress her horribly. This dress is a smacking visual reminder of the huge gaping difference between Deborah's simple farming background and the glittering social set she's married into.

The first meeting of Deborah and Rita. While Deborah collapses in despair, let's take a look at Rita. I'm not wild about this dress: it's sort of giving me a "Little-Miss-Muffet-Sat-On-Her-Tuffet" vibe. But it does provide a strong contrast to Deborah's floral disaster; unlike Deborah, Rita is an experienced wife and mother. Her dress is black, in a sober, conservative style that the country club set would find age-appropriate. By 1940s standards, Rita is moving into the "matronly" category.

Rita and Deborah bond as they attempt to improve Deborah's dress. Incidentally, the husbands are waiting outside, completely oblivious to the costuming turmoil.

We arrive at the country club dance to meet Lora Mae and her husband Porter (Paul Douglas). The gruff and tough Porter looks on as his wife dances with another man. "If she was dancing with a tramp, she'd look like a tramp, got no class of her own. I like class." This is our first hint that Lora Mae and her husband aren't exactly the silver spoon type. We get another, much subtler, hint with Lora Mae's dress. Unlike Rita, Lora Mae has gone for a much more striking and sexy look, with bared shoulders and glittering collar and cuffs. While it keeps well within the bounds of taste, there's something about all the sparkle and skin. Rita seems to be hiding. Lora Mae is displaying herself.

Brad (Jeffrey Lynn) drags his wife Deborah onto the dance floor, failing to realize that she's completely drunk. As she tries to plead with him, Brad goes for a spin, only to rip the remaining flower off Deborah's dress. The flower lands on someone's plate, there's a hole in the dress, and Brad can't understand what just happened.

As Deborah's flashback ends, she reflects on how the mysterious Addie Ross would never have blundered in such a way. Unlike Deborah, Addie comes from Brad's social class.

We leave Deborah and enter Rita's backstory. Rita is planning a big dinner party to impress her employer, the formidable Mrs. Manleigh. Unlike the other two couples, Rita and her husband George (Kirk Douglas) belong to the upper class only by birth, not by money. They have to scrimp and save to support a family on his teaching income and her radio writing money. But Rita is ambitious and eager to succeed in her career. Here she is getting ready with her maid Sadie (Thelma Ritter). Got to love that Lucy Ricardo-esque hairdo that Ann Sothern's sporting.

When we get to the party, Rita's pretensions become painfully obvious. In her desire to impress the Manleighs, she appears in this glittering white dress, trying to act as if this is normal dinner wear for her. It's beautiful and flattering, but there's something a little off about it too. Rita's the mother of twins, she's a career woman, she's smart and sophisticated and yet this dress is so demure, so innocent. It's a fake.

Get a load of Sadie's formal outfit here. Rita is trying so hard to act as if her income was three times what it is.

A brief shot of Mrs. Manleigh (Florence Bates). Not much to point out here as Mrs. Manleigh is dressed respectably for a middle-aged woman, but you can see at a glance that she probably didn't take much time at all to get dressed for this party. It's a huge deal for Rita but it means very little to her. In the next scene, Mrs. Manleigh will end up breaking George's classical record, a birthday gift from Addie Ross.

And we can see that Lora Mae is just amused by the goings-on. This shot doesn't give the full effect of Lora Mae's dress which is simple enough except for the floor-length overskirt that ties in the middle. It's an unusual enough style that I tried to find out if Lora Mae is showing off some 1940s trend, but my research yielded nothing. Still, look how she's comfortably sprawled, while Rita, in her dainty white dress, has to sit with perfect china-doll posture.

Rita's party ends in disaster when George, fed up with Mrs. Manleigh's constant rudeness the whole night long, tells her exactly what he thinks about schlocky radio writing. George and Rita have a fight. As George storms off, Rita thinks bitterly about Addie Ross. Addie who remembered George's birthday when Rita didn't. Addie wouldn't have been caught in this mess.

Rita's flashback ends and we're back in the present. Rita confronts Lora Mae about their problem, but Lora Mae insists that it doesn't matter whether or not her husband ran off with Addie Ross. She's got Porter's money and that's all that matters. Apparently Lora Mae is the only woman who thought to bring along pants and boots to this picnic. Oddly appropriate for a scene in which she's talking about how she doesn't need a man.

Sadie: "If I was you, I'd show more o' what I got. Maybe wear somethin' with beads."

Lora Mae: "What I got don't need beads."

Now, we come to the third segment of our program: Lora Mae and her gold digging past. She didn't just come from the wrong side of the tracks, she came from a house right next to the tracks (in a running gag, the house shakes like mad with every passing train). Poor but gorgeous Lora Mae has snagged a date with her boss, the wealthy Porter Hollingsway. While her family frets over the indecency of it, in strolls Lora Mae, cool as a cucumber, in this elegant little black dress. The neckline's low without showing a hint of inappropriate cleavage and it hugs her figure without clinging. Unlike the stereotypical gold digger, Lora Mae subverts expectations by showing us (and Porter) that she's got "class."

Lora Mae has grabbed Porter's attention, but she's angling for more than that. After finding a portrait of Addie Ross adorning Porter's piano, she tells him what she wants. "I want to be in a silver frame on a piano. My own piano in my own home." Note Lora Mae's look here, just a simple blouse and a skirt. Again, she's not going for anything flashy, but she's doing her best to look attractive and respectable. It's all to show Porter that she's no cheap girl on the side.

Having made her point, Lora Mae puts on a plain coat and striped scarf that undermine the sophisticated, "woman-of-the-world" attitude she was going for earlier. It's a quick reminder that Lora Mae, for all her attempts to dress well, is still poor. She's probably had that scarf since high school.

Porter is infatuated with Lora Mae but refuses to marry her. We cut to New Years at Lora Mae's house. Her sister, Babe (Barbara Lawrence), is borrowing Lora Mae's best dress for a date. And here, the costumers made a grave error. No way was that fussy little dress, with those puffed sleeves and cheap, crinkly material, Lora Mae's best dress. When she was fourteen, maybe.

Lora Mae has stayed home to mope. And she's put on her moping clothes, a big-buttoned cardigan, a white blouse, and a scarf to tie back her hair. I love this costuming detail, really I do. Classic movies often chose to ignore the fact that beautiful women didn't always lounge at home in perfectly pressed skirts and pearl necklaces. So it's jarring and rather wonderful to see Linda Darnell appear in something so ordinary. Stripped of her armor, so to speak. So of course, this is the moment when Porter barges in to tell Lora Mae that he can't bear to let her go. "Okay you win, I'll marry you."

Our flashback ends and we cut back to the present. The wives have all gone home, frantic to see if they've lost their husbands. Rita rushes home and finds her husband waiting. Turns out he's been helping his students rehearse for the school play. Thrilled, Rita calls up Mrs. Manleigh to tell her that while she likes her work, she's not going to be bossed around anymore. No costume changes although Rita's jacket and George's robe match up well together. They're now in sync.

Deborah comes home and discovers that Brad has stayed away overnight. She is now convinced that her husband has run off with Addie. Note that the color of Deborah's jacket almost exactly matches the wall. She's disappearing into her big, expensive, and empty house.

Lora Mae, trying to act unconcerned, comes home and tells her mother that Porter probably won't come back, only to have her grumpy husband stroll through the door. The two snipe at each other.

Lora Mae has switched her outfit and now appears in a dramatic two-tone dress, with a sash at the waist and those Mildred Pierce shoulder pads. I could make an elaborate metaphor here about the contrasting colors and how it represents Lora Mae's divided nature, but you know, I just think the 40s really liked two-tone dresses.

It's the night of the country club dance. Rita and George go to Deborah's house where the icily controlled Deborah informs them that Brad isn't coming. And just look at Deborah! She's gone from looking like a hayride hallucination to an elegant society woman in this black evening gown. The glittering metallic detail adds to the frosty impression that Deborah is giving off. She's also trailing what looks like a very expensive fur. In a way, this costume is a moment of triumph for Deborah, proving that she can play the society game. But there's a sting in it. As we found out in an earlier scene, Brad picked this dress for her...because it was one that Addie wore once.

Rita on the other hand, has gone in an opposite direction. She looks almost too casual in a white buttoned-up blouse and long skirt. However, while it makes me a little sad that Ann Sothern won't be glammed up for the finale, it does make sense for the character. Now that Rita has given up the fawning, socially pretentious attitude she put on for Mrs. Manleigh, she's not going to pretend to be any wealthier than she is.

We get to the dance and meet Porter and Lora Mae. Porter looks over at his wife dancing with another man and grumbles. Deborah tells him off. "Have you any idea how much Lora Mae's in love with you? So much, she's afraid to tell you. Afraid you'd laugh at her." Tired of pretending everything's alright, Deborah stands up and tells them all, in a perfectly calm voice, that her husband has just ran off with Addie Ross.

As Lora Mae and Porter look on in disbelief, let's look at Lora Mae's dress. It's very similar to her earlier party dress except that she's gone for a statelier look with a rolled collar and cuffs, looser sleeves, and no metallic detail on the dress. Her one extravagance is that long, dangling necklace. Fittingly, it stops right at her heart. Porter is convinced that Lora Mae is in love with his money. Does her heart belong to the jewelry or to him?

Porter reveals the truth. Brad didn't run away with Addie Ross. Porter did...until he changed his mind. He turns to his wife. "They all heard me say I ran away with another woman. You've got everything you need, you can take me for everything you'll ever want."

But Lora Mae won't have it. "If you said anything, I just didn't hear it." Porter looks over at her, realizing for the first time how they really feel about each other. Lora Mae's bare shoulders, instead of playing up her sexuality, now seem to make her more vulnerable to Porter's searching gaze.

Our comedy ends. Deborah goes home to wait for Brad and our other two couples begin to dance. Addie Ross is gone and suddenly the future seems a whole lot brighter.

The prolific Charles Le Maire was the wardrobe director for A Letter to Three Wives, while the underrated Kay Nelson (Oscar-nominated for Mother is a Freshman) designed the costumes. While her designs here aren't the kind of bravura work that wins awards, they are an excellent example of classic Hollywood costuming that works at every level to enhance the story. Each of our three protagonists has her own style, her own concerns, and her own budget to work with. And by the end of the film, Rita, Deborah, and Lora Mae have all gone through a journey that is perfectly visible through their costume changes. A great bit of costuming from a great and fun film.

Have a happy Fashion in Film Blogathon, everybody!

The lovely Jeanne Crain image is credited to a link from Dr. Macro.

Dior J'adore: Reliving Hollywood Glamor

2011-09-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

So, I've watched the new Dior ad about five times now and I'm still not sure what to think about it. For those who haven't seen it, Dior's ad for J'adore perfume features not only the actress Charlize Theron, stalking proudly through the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, but the images of Grace Kelly, Marlene Dietrich, and Marilyn Monroe, brought to life through CGI. The living actress kisses Kelly on the cheek, glances over at the tuxedo-ed Dietrich, and, in the ad's most surreal moment, hands Monroe a bottle of perfume, as Marilyn whispers in a breathlessly worshipful tone, "Dior...J'adore." The ad ends on an image of Theron strutting down the catwalk, her sparkling gold figure turning into the Dior bottle.

My first reaction was a full-body shudder of, "Oh God, they're using dead women to hawk their perfume." Somehow, the thought of CGi-ed, reanimated actresses giving their seal of approval to a current product is frightening. The ad even seems to acknowledge this by hitting a "scare chord" at the moment when Grace Kelly first turns around. But I have to admit, there was an element of pleasure to the ad as well, in seeing these iconic legends again. When I showed the ad to my mom, she had fun picking out the actresses and told me afterward, "It's much more respectful than I thought it would be."

And she has a point. Except for the deeply jarring moment when Marilyn speaks (and wasn't she a Chanel woman anyway?), the ad can be taken as a simple homage to old-style Hollywood glamor. Which is a pretty clever choice for an ad campaign and a perfect association for a perfume. Scent evokes memory, after all. A great perfume can do more than attract a mate or match an outfit, it can trigger something deeply personal in our minds. Because of the way the ad is staged, the sense I got from it was not so much "Wear our perfume and be like Marilyn," but "The glamor of the past gives way to the glamor of the future."

Of course, just because the ad has a good thesis doesn't mean it's a successful one. Charlize Theron is a stunning woman who, on the basis of her looks alone, could go toe to toe with any of these actresses. But in terms of iconic glamor and star power? They leave her completely in the dust. This isn't Theron's fault. I think it would be the same problem whether the ad featured Anne Hathaway, Halle Berry, or Mary-Kate Olsen. The star system is gone and with it, the idea that actresses could be goddesses. This ad doesn't just remind us of classic Hollywood glamor, it reminds us of how completely it's gone extinct.

The ad raises interesting questions for me. How far is it acceptable to go in using these iconic images? Can loving nostalgia co-exist with such an eerie use of our current technology? And why, in an ode to the past, did they choose a song with the lyrics, "If it's already been done, undo it?"

Miscastings in Classic Film

2011-09-12T17:33:00.000-07:00

It's time for a list. And today, my chosen topic is:

If I could go back in time and change just one casting choice from one classic movie.

Now I must preface this list by saying that I'm mainly criticizing the casting, not the actors themselves. With perhaps one exception, my feelings for the actors listed below range from indifference to heartfelt love. I just don't believe they were suited for these particular roles. And I chose to go after films I consider true classics. There's little point in going after, say, Victor Mature in Samson and Delilah. And, even though I couldn't resist using the photo of John Wayne as Genghis Khan, I'm not going to go after Hollywood's long history of racial miscastings in this post. Mickey Rooney's portrayal of Mr. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany's may be an epically horrible stain on an enjoyable film, but the character would have been a racist caricature no matter who was playing him. For this list I want to talk about good characters, good movies, good actors and bad casting. So let's begin.

1. Valerie Hobson in Great Expectations

I have to confess a bias here: Estella is one of my favorite Dickens characters. She's that rarity: a Dickens heroine who isn't innocent and wholesome. Instead, Estella is an icy, damaged character, the Catwoman amongst the pigeons. She has humor and honesty and she feels something for Pip, but because of her upbringing, she can't be normal. Maybe she never will be. Because I love Estella, I had high hopes for Valerie Hobson's portrayal. Alas. Hobson is pretty enough but she's so prim and proper. She tries to sound like a heartless femme fatale and ends up sounding pert. Hobson would have made a fine Gwendolyn Fairfax, but as Estella? No. It's a pity because Jean Simmons as the younger Estella is so perfect. If only she could have played both parts.

2. Humphrey Bogart in Sabrina

Bogart's casting, as the harried workaholic Linus Larrabee, isn't so much a disaster as it is a collection of small annoyances. There's his age for one thing, a common problem with Hepburn's costars. There's the fact that he's playing a privileged businessman. Bogart always seemed more comfortable sneering at the upper crust than in playing their games. But the biggest problem, for me, is that he never strikes sparks against Hepburn. Bogart's best leading ladies were as flinty and fearful of surrender as he was, from the high-toned, scheming Mary Astor to the romantically tormented Ingrid Bergman. Hepburn is too elfin, too warm, to play ball with him. For her part, Audrey Hepburn needed leading men who were willing to be charmed, even if it meant letting her steal the light. Bogart was not that man. You can feel his discomfort. This is the itchy wool sweater of romantic comedy performances.

3. Cecil Kellaway in The Postman Always Rings Twice

Cecil Kellaway as the gruff, Greek husband of Lana Turner--I've already ranted about this one at some length. It still makes no sense to me.

4. Nora Gregor in La Règle du jeu

Jean Renoir's masterpiece about the boredoms and manipulations of France's upper class needed a strong leading lady to stand at the center, someone who could be both shallow and seductive. This character, Christine de la Chesnaye, is an aristocrat's wife, mired in the romantic gamesmanship of her class and too weak to break free from it. She is the object of many men's obsessions, but she can't hold on to her husband. She has the chance for escape but it eludes her. There's silliness to her, but tragedy too. For that kind of role, you need a talented and charismatic actress (I'm thinking of Arletty in Les Enfants du Paradis). Instead, we have Nora Gregor, who is just inadequate. She flutters, she pouts, she trembles. She has the mannerisms of a custard pudding. Gregor's Austrian background does allow Renoir to make a clever reference to Marie Antoinette and she gets more tolerable as the movie goes on. But the emotional weight of her character is left up to Renoir. Gregor doesn't spoil the movie but still, I ache for what Danielle Darrieux could have done with this role.

5. James Stewart in Rope

If you put me in front of the firing squad and told me to name my favorite actor, Jimmy Stewart would be it. I very rarely have a problem with Stewart's casting in anything. And Stewart and Hitchcock brought out the best in each other. So it's odd that his portrayal of the sharp-tongued, suspicious, possibly-gay Rupert Cadell in Rope does so little for me. On the surface, it seems like a fine choice. Stewart could spout witticisms about murder without losing audience sympathy and he didn't shy away from darker characters. But Stewart never seems comfortable in the role of this erudite shithead and quickly escapes into playing Rupert the detective. He talks about his own culpability in the murder, but it rings hollow. Properly, this role should have gone to George Sanders or James Mason.

6. Marlene Dietrich in Witness for the Prosecution

It's hard to talk about this one without giving away plot details, but Marlene Dietrich is an awkward fit for the role of Tyrone's Power's devoted wife. Christine Vole. In the original Agatha Christie story, Mrs. Vole was quiet, calm, and mysteriously "foreign," which made her completely unknowable to the stolid British men who dealt with her. Understandably, for the film version, Billy Wilder wanted to expand the character and make her funnier, more exciting. However, Marlene Dietrich is a little too far in the other direction. She's funny, melodramatic and larger than life. There's no mystery about her, everything she does is outsize. Which makes it impossible for her to fool anyone. I can't deny that Dietrich is a lot of fun in the part, though.

7. Leslie Howard in Gone with the Wind

This one's been argued to death but it's true. Leslie Howard is the weakest link in Gone with the Wind. Howard himself didn't want to play the milquetoast Ashley Wilkes and complained bitterly about the role ("I look like that sissy doorman at the Beverly Wilshire," "I'm not nearly young or beautiful enough for Ashley"). Actually, Howard's a little harsh; his portrayal of Ashley was dignified and intelligent and he had good chemistry with both his actresses. But it isn't enough to disguise the fact that Howard lacks believability as the personification of Scarlett's white-knight desires. He's too old and stiff, more like Scarlett's schoolmaster than her contemporary. Next to the pitch-perfect performances of Leigh, Gable, and de Havilland, Howard sticks out all the more.

Well, that's enough negativity for now. Maybe for my next list, I'll tackle the many great against-type casting choices. That'd be fun.

Farewell, Cliff Robertson

2011-09-11T14:43:00.000-07:00

That, that is, is. That, that is not, is not. Is that it? It is.

Cliff Robertson (1923-2011)

The Girl is Boarding a Plane...

2011-08-30T19:09:00.000-07:00

My blog has been languishing in silence for the past week and I'm afraid it's going to be silent for one week more. I've been readying for a trip (one I've been looking forward to for some time) and tomorrow, I leave. I'm a little disappointed that I wasn't able to squeeze in a few more posts before the end of August. I could offer you my excuses. There's one I've been dying to use...

C'est la vie. August was quiet but September should be a veritable blitzkrieg, considering the slew of blogathons I see on the horizon. And I just know that someone's going to announce something new and wonderful the minute I turn my back. A Warner Archive sale, a tell-all interview with Deanna Durbin, a contest for the best Cary Grant-themed villanelle...

Bye for now, guys. I promise to be back soon. With more reviews, more lists, and more movie-related obsessions. I could never resist this place for long.

Grace Kelly photo is credited to Pictures

Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award and Seven Things About Me

2011-08-21T16:31:00.000-07:00

So it turns out I've had the great honor of being nominated for an Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award. Four times actually; Monty (All Good Things), Clara (Via Margutta 51), Dawn (Noir and Chick Flicks), and Dorian (Tales of the Easily Distracted) all ganged up on me. You guys. To be nominated by such a cool crowd of bloggers is truly overwhelming. Unfortunately, I can't talk about how sweet you all are without making horrible puns and I've used up all my jokes from The Oscar so I'll just say thank you. Thank you and thank you and thank you.

The stated rules of this award are that you have to pass it on to 12 of your fellow bloggers. Normally I would do just that, but this time, I'm going to forgo that step. This particular award has been making the rounds for a while now, so I think most of my would-be honorees have already been named. Therefore, in lieu of naming 12 blogs, I'm going to direct all my readers to turn their attention to my blog roll, pick out a few blogs they don't know, and do some exploring. I have a very long, very wonderful blog roll.

The other rule of the award is to give seven random facts about yourself. So, for those who are interested...

1. I was born in a town with a population of 2,500. Although I've lived in bigger cities since, I'm a small-town girl at heart. My hometown is so cute, it was once used as the setting for a Hallmark Christmas movie.

2. As a little girl, I longed to wear glasses since all the rest of my family did, with the exception of my mom who wore contacts. Although my eyesight stubbornly remained good, I would occasionally steal my dad's glasses and wear them perched on my nose while I tried to play Tetris on our old Nintendo.

3. I taught myself Gregg shorthand during my free moments at my work-study job in college. I've forgotten most of it, but I keep meaning to go back and re-learn. Call it a personal resolution.

4. My favorite food in the world is beef stew.

5. I'm a stickler for spelling and grammar and I inevitably dissolve into a puddle of mortification whenever I catch any obvious mistakes on my blog entries.

6. My childhood loves include Disney, Beethoven, Faerie Tale Theatre, the American Girl series (before it got sold to Mattel), encyclopedias, Oregon Trail, cross-stitching, craft kits, and Panati's Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things.

7. I started this blog because I love talking about classic film, and I rarely got the chance to do it in my everyday life. It was a good decision.

...You know what this post is missing? James Cagney and puppies!

Cagney and the puppies are credited to Dahlia Delilah.

Movie Review: Pandora and the Flying Dutchman

2011-08-17T21:41:00.000-07:00

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951)
directed by Albert Lewin, starring Ava Gardner, James Mason

Pandora Reynolds (Ava Gardner), a beautiful, bored singer, lives amongst the expatriates that flit along the European coastline in the 1930s. No man can resist Pandora's charms--one even commits suicide over her--but she remains unmoved. One night, one of her suitors (Nigel Patrick) decides to prove his love by pushing his beloved racing car off a cliff. Pandora is impressed by his sacrifice and agrees to marry him. In the words of her friend Geoffrey Fielding (Harold Warrender), "The measure of love is what one is willing to give up for it."

But fate has other plans for Pandora. On the night of her engagement, Pandora spots a yacht out in the harbor and impulsively swims out to it (stark naked). There she meets Hendrik van der Zee (James Mason), mysteriously the only man on board. He is completely unsurprised by her entrance, turning away from her so that he can finish painting a portrait. But when Pandora goes to look at the painting, she finds out that it looks exactly like her. How can that be, when she has never met this man, and he claims not to know her?

Intrigued, for probably the first time in her life, Pandora draws this mysterious stranger into her circle of friends. The attraction between Hendrik and Pandora is obvious to everyone, even as the date of Pandora's wedding draws closer. But Pandora's friend Geoffrey starts to suspect that there is something extraordinary about Hendrik van der Zee.

On a hunch, he asks Hendrik to translate an old Dutch manuscript for him. Hendrik obeys, reciting the dark, strange tale of a sea captain who killed his wife for her infidelity. Arrested for her murder, the captain swore to the heavens that no man could ever find a truly faithful woman, if he sailed the seas for all eternity. That night, the captain found his cell door unlocked and a voice whispered to him the truth: his wife had never been unfaithful. Heartbroken, the man stumbled back to his ship and discovered that it now sailed by itself, manned by a crew he could neither see nor hear. Soon, the captain discovered the true nature of his punishment: he would sail until the end of time, looking for a woman who loved him enough to die for him. Every seven years, he would be allowed to go ashore and spend six months there, looking for such a woman. If he did not find her, he would be cursed to wander, immortal and alone, forever.

The emotion in Hendrik's voice as he reads the story convinces Geoffrey that this is the very same sea captain, the Flying Dutchman of the story. He also suspects that the captain has fallen truly in love with Pandora, that she might be the one to rescue him from his bondage. But even if Pandora were willing to sacrifice herself, how could the Dutchman ever allow her to do it?

Albert Lewin, the man behind Pandora and the Flying Dutchman, was one of the most unusual directors to come out of mid-century filmmaking. He only directed six films, all of which he wrote and produced himself. In defiance of mainstream tastes, his films were erudite, highbrow, and fiercely intellectual. Lewin was also an art collector, with a taste for the surreal (his friends included Man Ray and Max Ernst) and his films frequently reflected this fascination. Pandora and the Flying Dutchman was his fourth film and many consider it the culmination of Lewin's obsessions: a proudly romantic, visually fascinating attempt to bring his love for myths and art to cinematic life.

Talk about an embarrassment of riches--Pandora and the Flying Dutchman might be considered an embarrassment of references. The film takes the original legend of the Flying Dutchman and combines it with the Greek legend of Pandora, the fabled "darling of the gods." The name of the village in which the film is set is Esperanza ("hope"), famously the only thing Pandora had left after she opened the box. And the Dutchman is given a backstory straight out of Othello, with a chance at redemption that hails from Heinrich Heine's classic opera.

Lewin threads the film with other, smaller details. The film opens with lines from the Rubaiyat. Hendrik the Dutchman recites Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach" at one point. Hendrik's painting of Pandora is an actual painting by Man Ray, who also designed a chess set for the film. The cast roams over beaches strewn with broken statuary. This last detail leads to one of the film's more memorable setpieces, as a crowd of partygoers dance and laugh amidst the statues, the new merrily tramping all over the old. It's like a sequence straight out of La Dolce Vita.

As if to complicates matters further, Lewin sets the whole film back in the 1930s and then promptly disregards his chosen time period in order to dress his cast of expats in the latest fashions. The 1930s time period only makes sense as a reference to Hemingway and Fitzgerald's crowd. The way Lewin lingers over a car racing scene and a bullfighting sequence leaves little room for doubt that he had Hemingway in mind. Within this confusion of time and place, Lewin sets the impossible love story of the Dutchman and the nightclub singer.

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman is a film that announces from the very first scene that this will be an epic love story, a tale of delirious and sacrificial love that lasts beyond death. Unfortunately, all the delirium exists within Lewin's frenzy of art and myth; when it comes to the real emotional heart of the story, the film falters. The love story between Ava Gardner's Pandora and James Mason's Hendrik is incredibly, epically dull. How can such an ambitious film, beautifully lensed by the legendary Jack Cardiff, fail so miserably on its most important point?

Well for starters, Gardner and Mason have almost no chemistry together. But that's the least of the love story's problems. For reasons best known to himself, Albert Lewin decided to keep the development of Pandora and Hendrik's relationship mostly off-screen. We rack up more minutes on Hendrik's backstory and the shallow lives of Pandora's friends than we do on the lovers themselves. If not for a stray comment by Pandora's friend Geoffrey (who seems to exist for no other reason than to be our narrator, a kind of bargain basement Morgan Freeman), you would never know that Hendrik and Pandora were falling in love. The only hypothesis I can make for this is that Lewin thought the grandeur of their love was best left to the imagination. Unfortunately, this tactic means that the audience doesn't have any emotional stake in their love. We don't know what they talk about, what they're like together, or why they love each other.

In the few moments where they do interact with each other, Lewin saddles the actors with very flat, portentous dialogue. For example:

Hendrik: Perhaps you haven't found what you want yet, perhaps you're unfulfilled. Perhaps you don't even know what you want, perhaps you're discontented. Discontentment often finds vent through fury and destruction.

Pandora: Fury and destruction, is that what you think? Well perhaps I can find something here to destroy...Would you like me to destroy your painting?

Hendrik: If it would help to quiet your soul.

(a few lines later)

Pandora: You've made me feel ashamed of myself. It's a new emotion, I'm not sure I like it.

Here's another example:

Pandora: It's as if everything that happened before I met you didn't happen to me at all but to someone else. And in a way that's true. I've changed so since I've known you. I'm not cruel and hateful as I used to be, hurting people because I was so unhappy myself. I know now what destructiveness comes from, it's a lack of love.

These aren't characters talking, these are concepts. It makes me feel like the Robot Devil from Futurama. "You can't just have your characters announce how they feel! That makes me feel angry!" It's flat enough on paper, but in the mouths of actors it's just painful. What makes it even worse is that Lewin doesn't bother to leaven it with any humor or uncertainty. It's all formal declarations in tones of deadly seriousness. In his attempt to impress on us the importance of his ideas, Lewin bypasses both realism and poetry and comes up with something that's neither. Mason and Gardner do their best, but you can feel the wheels grinding.

Ava Gardner is heart-stoppingly beautiful in this film; she seems to glow from every angle. It's her beauty more than anything that makes Pandora's La Belle Dame Sans Merci reputation seem utterly plausible. Who wouldn't be tempted to throw their racing car off a cliff for that face? Unfortunately her personality doesn't match up to her looks. Pandora the person is cold, distant, and callous; you have to wonder if her suitors ever bother to actually listen to anything she says. When one of her smitten gentlemen friends offs himself in her presence, Pandora's response is little more than a shrug ("Reggie was always talking about suicide...it's over now and I'm not sorry").

I can't help wondering, given Lewin's choice of setting, if he wasn't influenced by the Zelda Fitzgeralds and Duff Twysdens that haunt Jazz Age literature. If he was, he forgot to give his protagonist the charm and lust for life that made these women so unforgettable. It's bold of him to make his heroine so unlikable, but the expected payoff of the selfish Pandora being reformed by love isn't convincing. We aren't given any indication that Pandora has the deeper feelings that would make such a transformation possible.

Gardner's performance doesn't smooth the transition any. She floats through most of this film, speaking her lines in a hypnotized monotone. The few times she struggles for more emotion, she just sounds petulant. This isn't entirely her fault, as Lewin's script doesn't give her many chances to explore her character. Too much is given to exposition and grandeur. Gardner ends up looking lost, unable to find a foothold in her own film.

James Mason fares somewhat better than Gardner if only because he can deliver Lewin's granite-faced dialogue with complete conviction. Hendrik van der Zee is a man out of his time, haunted by past regrets. He is drawn to Pandora, but his tormented face and demeanor don't exactly fit in with her party-loving crowd. Faced with both long stretches of exposition and long stretches of silent glowering, Mason does both admirably.

It's funny, though. Mason cut his teeth on dark, romantic roles (the Gainsborough melodramas and his string of Ophuls films come to mind). If anybody could unlock the swoon-worthy, Gothic-hero potential in Hendrik van der Zee, you'd think Mason could. Instead, he comes across as rather stiff and remote. Lines like, "I was angry once, I can never be angry again," make him seem less like Heathcliff and more like Bruce Banner. If the studio executives were hoping they could market this film on Mason's appeal to women, then this was a serious misfire.

With all the charges I've laid against Pandora and the Flying Dutchman, what could redeem it? Answer: the visuals. This is one of the most stunning Technicolor films I've ever seen. The nighttime scenes glow sapphire blue, purely unreal, while the daytime colors blaze hot. The shadows soften the actor's faces until they seem to shimmer in and out of the fantasy dreamscape that Jack Cardiff crafts from the Spanish coast. Cardiff's cinematography here could stand up alongside any of the films he made with Powell and Pressburger. And when you consider that Cardiff helmed both the on-location photography of Pandora and the Flying Dutchman and the largely setbound camerawork of Black Narcissus, well, the time has come to throw up your hands and declare Jack Cardiff the master of all.

This is not to discount Lewin's hand in the visuals. Lewin directs with a painter's eye; he has the ability to wed small details to strong, dynamic lines. Look back to that still of the musician leaning up against the statue, the line of his trombone against the diagonal of the column. Or the one of Mason being held by guards as the floor pattern stretches beyond him to infinity. Actually most of the Dutchman's backstory is cleverly photographed by Lewin and Cardiff to look like a series of Baroque paintings. Lewin wasn't afraid to reach for the obscure or the strange in his visual work and it works greatly to the film's advantage.

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman is a film about timeless passion, the kind that would make a man kill the wife he loves, that would make a faithless woman risk death. And it was a film driven by the passion of one man, Albert Lewin, who wrote, directed, and produced it. How odd then, that the film ultimately feels so empty of passion or feeling. Jack Cardiff's color cinematography is a gift from heaven, but that isn't enough to keep the fires burning. I watched it with clinical, Pandora-like detachment, all through the two-hour running length.

And yet, somehow I can't call it a waste of time. It's a strange mixture of the sublime and the dull. It reaches astonishing heights of beauty through Cardiff's colors, Lewin's compositions and Ava Gardner's genetics. But they're laid at the service of a self-important, humorless script and pacing that just plods along. Still, if Lewin doesn't succeed in making a masterpiece, he does create a memorable and utterly unique film. How can you help but tip your hat to Albert Lewin, the man of many dreams?

Favorite Quote:

"No work of art is complete until the element of chance is entered into it."

Favorite Scene:

The film's most magical moment comes when Pandora decides to swim to the Dutchman's empty ship. Leaving her bewildered companion behind on the crumbling steps, she slips out of her clothes into the shimmering blue water. When she reaches the ship, she calls out her hellos. Confident, as always, of her welcome. Confused at the lack of response, she swims to the side, peeking her head over and looking, for all the world, like a mermaid. Pandora looks in vain for crew members, but sees only the moonlight glinting off the railings and boards. But then, she sees a light from one doorway. Too curious to back down, Pandora wraps herself in a sail and looks through the window. She sees a man painting, his back to her. A normal woman would leave then and there, but Pandora isn't normal. She saunters through the doorway, only to find the painter, his back to her. He doesn't acknowledge her. She doesn't know what's happening, we don't know what's happening. And in that moment, the film vibrates on the edge of the extraordinary.

Final Six Words:

This sleeping beauty never wakes up

Note: Astute viewers will note that five of my screencaps come from the DVDBeaver website. Normally, I wouldn't use so many, but I did want to give a sense of Cardiff's visuals and on this occasion, I wasn't able to use my own screencaps.

Dance of the Seven Blogathons

2011-08-12T21:22:00.000-07:00

Is it just me or is the summer just racing by? It seems like only yesterday, I was posting on my "Blogathon Round-Up" and now, I'm back with even more blogathon updates. The floodgates have opened and now everyone's getting in the blogathon spirit. I'm almost tempted to hold one myself...nah, I think I'll hold that thought. I'm really excited about some of the upcoming events and I hope my readers will be tempted to sign up for at least one of them. C'mon, Rita Hayworth would want you to!

Blogathons Past But Not Forgotten

The Monster Mash Blogathon (July 28th-August 2nd 2011), Hosted by Nathanael at Forgotten Classics of Yesteryear

"Now...some of you may be thinking that monster movies aren't worth your time...that monster movies were never good. You'd be WRONG. Monster movies in the 50s were some of the most interpretively rich in film history. Monsters represented everything from fears concerning Communism...nuclear radiation....to...whatever the hell this is."

By now, I've participated in two blogathons hosted by Nathanael and each time was fantastic. This foray into the world of '50s movie monsters was rich, varied, and surprising. The discussion ranged from the scriptwriting of Ed Wood to the talents of John Agar. I had a wonderful time both writing my entry and reading others. And most of all, I loved getting to meet and talk to new bloggers, who always had suggestions for what movie I should watch next. It's like getting your homework assigned by the coolest kids in class!

(Note: I do want to slip in here briefly and say thanks to everybody again, for your enthusiastic response to my Night of the Demon Review. To co-opt Lee Marvin's Oscar speech, I think half of my award belongs to a demon somewhere out there in the British countryside.)

The Lucille Ball Blogathon (August 6th, 2011), Hosted by Brandie, Carrie, and Nikki at True Classics

"We called it the “Loving Lucy” blogathon because the act of loving Lucy is something that comes almost as naturally as breathing to those of us who’ve been touched by her work. We love her for the way she makes us laugh, the way she makes us empathize with her … even the way she makes us cry. She was gorgeous and genuine and strong and relatable. She shared her gift with the world and, in the process, made the world a more beautiful place simply for her having been in it."

What else is there to say about Lucille Ball? Well, as it turns out, quite a lot. This was one hell of a blogathon; the outpouring of love and admiration for America's one true redhead was a sight to see. Brandie, Carrie, and Nikki did an incredible hosting job and the bloggers responded with some great, great writing.

Blogathons of the Near Future

The Nicholas Ray Blogathon (September 5th-8th, 2011), Hosted by Tony Dayoub at the Cinema Viewfinder

"I'd like to invite anyone and everyone to participate in my third annual Labor Day blogathon, running September 5 - 8. In years past many contributors have made this annual tradition a resounding success, first in 2009 when we celebrated the work of Brian De Palma and last year when we praised David Cronenberg. This year's featured director, Nicholas Ray, would have celebrated his centennial today. First recognized by the auteurists who launched the French New Wave, Ray's body of work is one of the most influential in all of cinema."

Judging by Cinema Viewfinder's past blogathons, I predict this one will be a real firecracker. And considering the subject and his work (a career that included Bigger than Life, Rebel Without a Cause, Johnny Guitar, In a Lonely Place, They Live By Night), I'm really looking forward to it.

The Margaret Lockwood 95th Birthday Blogathon (September 15th, 2011), Hosted by Mercurie at A Shroud of Thoughts

"15 September 2011 will be be the 95th birthday of legendary British actress Margaret Lockwood CBE. Miss Lockwood appeared in such classic films as The Lady Vanishes (1938), Night Train to Munich (1940), and The Wicked Lady (1945). On television she was the star of the Yorkshire Television series Justice, which ran from 1971 to 1974. Given Miss Lockwood's position in British film and television, I thought it would be fitting to hold a blogathon in honour of her 95th birthday."

I've long had a soft spot for Margaret Lockwood. She was one of Hitchcock's most charming heroines (and a brunette to boot) in The Lady Vanishes and she played the wicked stepmother in one of my childhood favorites, The Slipper and the Rose. But that's only a small part of this talented actress's career. I'm hoping a lot of people go sign up for this one.

The Fashion in Film Blogathon (September 24th, 2011), Hosted by Angela at the Hollywood Revue

"On Saturday, September 24th, I would like to host a Fashion in Film blogathon! I’m looking for articles on:
Costume designers

Costumes in a particular movie

Movies that influenced the way people dress

Actresses who became style icons because of their movie wardrobes

Analyses of what a character’s wardrobe says about who they are (I recommend checking out Tom and Lorenzo’s Mad Style articles for inspiration on that).

Anything else you can think of that deals with movie costumes and design is also welcome. Even though this is a classic film blog, bloggers who write about modern movies are absolutely welcome and encouraged to join in! "

As my more frequent readers could guess, I love talking about costume on film; lack of expertise never stops me. So the thought of a whole blogathon on the subject makes me feel like doing a Snoopy Dance. Go forth and write, bloggers, in the names of Adrian and Edith Head and Givenchy and Orry-Kelly! In the names of Walter Plunkett, Jean Louis, Charles LeMaire and Helen Rose! And for so many others.

The Dick Van Dyke Show Blogathon (October 3rd, 2011), Hosted by Ivan G. Shreve of the Thrilling Days of Yesteryear

"October 3, 2011 will mark the fiftieth birthday of the debut of The Dick Van Dyke Show, and while I’ve already been tapped to do a write-up at ECOF....I decided to go the extra mile and see if this might not be the perfect vehicle for TDOY’s very first blogathon. The Dick Van Dyke Show is my favorite situation comedy of all time, hands down—and so I’m pleased as the proverbial Hawaiian Punch to announce that Thrilling Days of Yesteryear is going to host a ‘thon in honor of this timeless classic."

Ivan's long been one of the best and most tireless bloggers around; whenever I see his name on a list of blogathon contributors, I know he's going to have something good. So when I heard that he was hosting his own blogathon, I immediately jumped at the chance to write up an entry. Whether you grew up watching The Dick Van Dyke Show or Diagnosis: Murder or Mary Poppins, you owe it to yourself to at least stop by Ivan's blog on October 3rd. Let's throw some confetti for Rob and Laura Petrie! And for Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore, one of television's best onscreen couples.

The Carole Lombard Blogathon, also known as The Carole-tennial (+3) (October 6th-9th, 2011), Hosted by Vincent at at Carole-and-Co Livejournal

"The big news is this: "Carole & Co." is planning its first-ever blogathon! We're calling it the "Carole-tennial(+3)" in honor of the 103rd anniversary of Lombard's birth Oct. 6. This year, that date falls on a Thursday, so to give everyone an opportunity to contribute, the blogathon will run from Oct. 6 to Sunday, Oct. 9."

Considering Carole Lombard could still quite handily win a popularity contest amongst classic film buffs, it's kind of amazing that it's taken this long for a major blogathon in her honor. Unless there was one and I was busy sorting my stamp collection that day. No matter, Carole will have her party! Let's all put aside our knitting and our golf clubs and our term papers to pay homage to the First Lady of Screwball Comedy. The queen of our hearts.

Whew! That's a pretty full blogathon schedule! For my sanity, people, please don't rush out and announce an Alfred Hitchock or a Gloria Grahame blogathon tomorrow, I can't keep up with it. Nevertheless, blogathons are my Internet ice cream and I think we've got a lot to look forward to in the coming months. In these troubled times, let us unite over our love of Lombard and Lockwood, of Ray and robot monsters, of Dick and Lucy and Scarlett O'Hara's crinolines.

Second Hayworth picture credited to VintageGal

Like a Junkie Shooting Pure Quicksilver Into His Veins--The Liebster Award

2011-08-08T19:06:00.000-07:00

"Like a junkie shooting pure quicksilver into his veins, ~~Frankie~~ Rachel got turned on by the wildest narcotic known to man: success!"

Well, Tony Bennett said it best. I've just been awarded The Liebster Blog Award by the fabulous and fascinating FlickChick over at A Person in the Dark. Since I've long been a fan of her work, this is a special delight. If you aren't a follower of her classic film blog, you should be. Her writing is funny, insightful, and her affection for the Golden Age stars shines like a beacon.

I have to admit that I'm unfamiliar with the history of this particular award (other than the fact that it means "beloved"), but it's been circulating for the past few days. There are two official rules. I must link back to the blog that gave me the award (already done and happily so). And I must now send the Liebster Award to 5 other blogs that I consider worthy of the honor.

Before I name my 5 blogs, I do want to make it clear that my awards are meant in good fun and in the spirit of spreading love. For me personally, I like telling people about the blogs I enjoy and so, I consider this an opportunity to share my enthusiasm. I understand that some people prefer not to mess with these blogging awards, for various reasons, and I'll respect it if you'd rather not accept the award. Also, please forgive me if I accidentally award someone who's already received one. Consider yourself doubly blessed.

And now for my five honorees. Believe me, it was a tough decision.

Who Can Turn the World Off With Her Smile? Laura is one of the more versatile bloggers I know. Who else can go from a heartfelt explanation of why the Mummy is the most romantic movie monster to an exploration of early Vivien Leigh to an in-depth analysis of the Joker? I love that when I go to her blog, I'm never sure what to expect. Except that I know it'll give me something to think about when I leave.

Immortal Ephemera Every so often, I say to myself, "You know what's awesome? Cliff over at Immortal Ephemera, that's what's awesome!" He's incredibly knowledgeable about all things classic-film related (as well as many things that aren't) and his treasury of memorabilia is amazing. Added to that, he's always willing to strike up a friendly conversation.

All Good Things I was glued to Monty's Classic Movie Actor Tournament this summer and I would occasionally come up to my friends with random non sequiturs like, "Hah, did you know that Alec Guinness is beating Marlon Brando?" (They were very confused, I must say.) But aside from that, Monty's blog is a haven for sharing enthusiasm over stars of the past and the films that made them great. It's like hot chocolate in blog form.

50 Westerns from the 50s I haven't really gotten around to discussing Westerns much on this blog. I do watch them, I swear. But it's lucky I have Toby's fine blog around to remind me of the many treasures to be found in the genre, as well as some of its more oddball offerings. Whether you love Westerns or hate them, you have to stop by this blog.

Comet Over Hollywood Where else could I find out the secret beauty tips of Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn? But aside from old-school Hollywood glamor, Jnpickens is a thoughtful and sympathetic writer, always willing to dig through gossip and rumor without getting mired down in it. That's a rare gift, no matter what you're writing about.

"Bye, ~~Frankie~~ Rachel! And I hope the ~~Oscar~~ Liebster Award keeps you warm on cold nights!"

Well, Elke Sommer, maybe it won't. But who could feel cold with such wonderful bloggers around? This is Rachel, signing off.

My apologies for all the shameless references to The Oscar. But hey, would you pass up the chance to quote from that movie?

Movie Review: Night of the Demon/Curse of the Demon

2011-07-30T00:02:00.000-07:00

Night of the Demon/Curse of the Demon* (1957)

directed by Jacques Tourneur, starring Dana Andrews, Peggy Cummins, Niall MacGinnis

*Night of the Demon was the original British title. For the American release, the film was edited and re-titled Curse of the Demon. For clarity's sake, I'll refer to the film in my review as Night of the Demon since I chose to view the original, uncut British version.

(Note: This is my entry for the '50s Monster Mash Blogathon, hosted by Forgotten Classics of Yesteryear.)

The renowned Dr. John Holden (Dana Andrews), an expert on hypnotism and superstition, flies to England to attend a symposium on the supernatural. Holden plans to participate in an investigation of a mysterious devil-worshiping cult and their eccentric leader Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis). However, when Holden arrives, he finds out that one of his colleagues, Professor Harrington (Maurice Denham), has died under mysterious circumstances. Karswell appears to Holden and warns him away from proceeding with the investigation, but Holden laughs it off. His skepticism is challenged by the arrival of Joanna Harrington (Peggy Cummins), Professor Harrington's niece, who believes her uncle was killed by something supernatural, something to do with Karswell's cult. The two team up to find out the truth.

Holden refuses to admit the existence of the supernatural, but how does he explain the strange events happening around them? Why does he feels chilled when the weather is hot, why does he see visions of living smoke, and how does Karswell appear to summon wind storms and wild cats? Holden is further puzzled by finding a scrap of paper slipped in amongst his things, with runic inscriptions on it. Holden and Joanna discover that Professor Harrington received a similar paper, three days before he died. With the furtive help of Karswell's elderly mother, (Athene Seyler), the pair find evidence to suggest that Holden too is doomed to die in three days. Unless he can find out the secret of the runes before it's too late. Before he is caught by Karswell's curse. The curse of the demon.

Night of the Demon was based on M.R. James' classic story, "The Casting of the Runes," often acclaimed as one of the greatest scary stories of all time. In James' original tale, the focus was on a mild-mannered academic named Dunning, who becomes the target of the mad and bad Mr. Karswell, after Dunning rejects Karswell's rather incoherent paper on alchemy. Mysterious things begin to happen to Dunning. He sees cryptic messages, he feels nervous all the time, his servants mysteriously develop poisoning symptoms. It's only after he encounters John Harrington, brother of the late Henry Harrington, that he begins to understand what happens to the enemies of Mr. Karswell. And what may happen to him. The power of James' story comes from the dry, understated way these unsettling details begin to pile up, the way the darkness peeks out between the cracks of the maddeningly deliberate prose.

Jacques Tourneur's film takes this story and manages to craft a great horror film that honors its original source material while managing to deepen and enrich the story's themes. Night of the Demon changes the protagonist from a conventional British academic to a hard-headed American scientist named John Holden, whose journey to England results in a clash not just of culture, but of science against superstition. As one of his colleagues tells him, "Take it kind of easy on our ghosts. We English are sort of fond of them." The John Harrington of the story becomes Joanna Harrington, the niece of the mysteriously dead Professor Harrington. She helps Holden try to uncover the mystery of Mr. Karswell, who has been promoted from the frustrated academic of the James story into a powerful cult leader. James' story clung to the ordinary trappings of English life; the action was confined to railway cars, hotels, and small private rooms. Tourneur's film ranges all over, taking Holden from apartment buildings to isolated farmhouses to a spooky manor house, even to Stonehenge. And unlike the original story, which plays as an exercise in "is it or isn't it," Night of the Demon boldly opens with the gambit of actually showing the reality of its supernatural threat, as personified by the demon.

The question of the demon has plagued fans of this film since the very beginning. There is one camp, let's call them Anti-Demon, who swear up and down that Jacques Tourneur never planned to actually show the demon in the movie and that its actual appearance is a serious letdown from a subtle psychological horror film. For the record, Tourneur himself was in the Anti-Demon camp and remarked in interviews that the creature's appearance was forced on him by producer Hal E. Chester. But there's also a Pro-Demon camp, who insist that the demon is genuinely frightening and that the movie wouldn't be nearly as satisfying without it. Author Tony Earnshaw, in his book Beating the Devil: The Making of the Night of the Demon, claims that the demon's appearance was planned from early on, rather than shoehorned in at the last minute.

For myself, I have to stand in the Anti-Demon camp. It isn't because I think the monster shouldn't have been shown, it's because of how it's shown. At first when we see the demon, it always appears from a distance, shrouded in smoke and slightly blurry, so that it could be mistaken for an illusion. In those moments, it's genuinely unsettling, this strange black something that's coming closer and closer. Tourneur, quite craftily, always places the demon in settings where its appearance echoes something more ordinary. There's not much difference between a monster and the flash and smoke of an oncoming train. Or much difference between a demon and the sparks of a crashing telegraph pole.

It's only when the film suddenly zooms into a close-up of our monster, as in the still above, that all mystery vanishes and it becomes just another '50s movie monster. And it's not bad by '50s movie monster standards, it's just that it seems so out of place with the almost subliminal glimpses we were getting before. There's one lingering shot of the demon shaking a man like a rag doll that veers straight into comedy. It doesn't feel organic to the film, it feels like a money shot, like the filmmakers are telling us we got our money's worth in special effects horror. There's a similarly silly moment earlier in the film, when Dana Andrews is attacked by a cat that morphs into a leopard (call-back to Lewton and Tourneur's Cat People?) and the camera lingers long enough for us to realize that Andrews is fighting a stuffed cat. And I think these problems aren't because of bad special effects (Modern CGI would be just as much of a let-down), it's because these shots don't fit with an otherwise suggestive film. Night of the Demon ends on the words, "Maybe it's better not to know," and in this case, the film should have taken its own advice.

That complaint over with, I am free to linger over the many strengths of this film. Aside from the demon itself, Night of the Demon's production design is gorgeous; each set we see is carefully detailed and feels exactly right for the character that inhabits it. The strange geometrics of Karswell's mansion with its spiral staircases, Holden's cramped apartment, Joanna's striped wallpaper in the firelight, it's all fantastic. I kept wanting to pause the movie to linger over the details and I'm sure there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than in trying to parse the visuals of this film.

Jacques Tourneur's direction here is on par with his best work. Night of the Demon creates a mesmerizing, disquieting world, in which every shot seems designed to constrict your breathing. You can spot a lesser horror film by the way the movie deflates in between shock moments, as if the director doesn't know what to do when there's no big scary thing to shake in your face. Here though, Tourneur never loosens his grip. The echoing corridors, the barren countrysides, everything reflects back the fear and paranoia that slowly begins to grip our protagonists. Even a library becomes a horrifying labyrinth straight out of Crete. Tourneur mainly eschews "gotcha" tricks in favor of a suffocating sense of unease that occasionally veers into the hallucinatory. The way Holden's point-of-view sometimes blurs; is it a sign that he's losing his hold on reality? The way a hand appears on a balustrade, seemingly out of nowhere. In Night of the Demon, there's no easy distinction between the ordinary and the supernatural. They exist together.

At this point in his career, Dana Andrews was very much a sideliner, his alcoholism having relegated him to B-parts. In her brilliant essay on the career of the fascinating and vastly underrated Andrews, Imogen Sara Smith writes, concerning his work in Night of the Demon, that "the slur in his voice and uneasiness in his manner make him intriguing in a role that could have been played by Kent Smith." There was always that unease to Andrews, that lurking discomfort underneath the surface, so it's interesting here to see him play a character who is so determined not to look beneath the surface. The hyper-rationalist character of John Holden is, in fact, so stubborn, so smug and self-assured, that the film's sympathy often shifts away from him to the side characters. Even a group of daffy seance-seekers singing "Cherry Ripe" seem more reasonable. It's only by admitting his fears and doubts, however, that Holden can find a way to fight Karswell. And their battle of wits is something to see, indeed.

It's always a treat to see the talented Peggy Cummins although she doesn't really get to stretch herself as the "horribly bright" Joanna Harrington. Joanna, the professor's niece, is a bit of a stock character. B-movie scientists always seem to have a surplus of beautiful nieces/daughters/granddaughters that pop up out of nowhere, carrying research notes and ready to risk their lives. Still, Cummins adds some spark to the character and Joanna's willingness to accept the supernatural is the necessary foil to Holden's skepticism. Her best moment is when she snaps at the perpetually condescending Holden, "Please don't treat me like a mental patient who has to be humored. I also majored in psychology."

But the real treasure of this cast is Niall MacGinnis as the charming but sinister Julian Karswell. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that this has to be one of the great horror movie villains of all time. At first glance, he's like a cross between Clarence the Angel and Mephistopheles. He threatens, but with a smile and a joke. He's fond of children and his mother, but he also summons demons from hell. He seems confident in his dark powers but to his mother, he confesses the terrible cycle he's caught in. "My followers who pay for this do it out of fear. And I do what I do out of fear also. It's part of the price." Unlike the Karswell of the original short story, a "horrible man" who combines the evils of devil worship with the evils of badly written papers and whose only actions are malignant and petty, the movie Karswell is more fascinating. He's unpredictable, which makes him all the more powerful as an enemy. But there's also a shred of sympathy for his character, who must continually find new victims or else become a victim himself. Ironically, our hero Holden has to find that same ruthlessness within himself by the finale, if he plans to survive.

It's hard to write a review for a film like this without feeling you've only barely scraped at the surface; it's just that fascinating. You could watch it solely for the beauty of Tourneur's visuals. Or you could watch it for the sly humor of Charles Bennett's script. Or for the moment when Dana Andrews stands next to Stonehenge, utterly dwarfed by the mysteries he knows not. Or watch it so that you and your friends can have a rousing debate of Pro-Demon/Anti-Demon. It's a fine horror film and eminently worthy of its cult status.

Favorite Quote:

"How can you give back life? I can't stop it. I can't give it back. I can't let anyone destroy this thing. I must protect myself. Because if it's not someone else's life, it'll be mine. Do you understand, Mother? It'll be mine."

Favorite Scene:

For my money, the party scene at Karswell's house is just about perfect. Holden and Joanna go to Karswell's property to question him and are taken aback by the luxury and size of the place, hardly appropriate for the home of some crackpot con artist. And when they find Karswell, what is this master of dark magic doing? Why, he's dressed up as a clown and doing magic tricks for the local children ("A magic puppy! Now, who'd like to stroke a magic puppy?"). And his mother's even making ice cream. This is one instance of the film completely reversing a scene from the original story. In "Casting the Runes," Karswell is a sadist, who gives the local children a gruesome slide show in order to terrify them. Here, Karswell is genuinely sweet to them, which makes the underlying menace of his character all the more interesting. As he and Holden pass by a pair of kids playing a game of Snakes and Ladders, Karswell remarks whimsically that he always preferred sliding down the snakes to climbing up ladders. Holden responds that maybe it means Karswell's a good loser. Karswell turns to him, coldly serious. "I'm not, you know. Not a bit of it."

Final Six Words:

It's in the trees! It's coming!

Tough Guy Names

2011-07-20T15:28:00.000-07:00

So I was reading Tom Shone's post about the reported return of Kevin Costner's dark side in Django Unchained and suddenly I was filled with joy and anticipation. Not because Costner is acting again but because he would be playing the character of Ace Woody. If there's one thing that current cinema is missing, it's tough guy names like Ace Woody. And that got me thinking about the many Golden Age films (mainly Westerns and Warner Bros. flicks) that weren't afraid to name their heroes things like Cole Harden. I miss that. Here's hoping that Tarantino can bring the tradition back.

And now, here's a sample of Golden Age actors and their manly, manly names:

Gary Cooper

Cole Harden in The Westerner

Blayde Hollister in Dallas

Clark Gable

Ace Wilfong in A Free Soul
Big John McMasters in Boom Town

Humphrey Bogart

Whip McCord in The Oklahoma Kid

Gloves Donahue in All Through the Night

Rip Murdock in Dark Reckoning

Dixon Steele in In a Lonely Place

John Wayne

Duke Slade in Adventure's End

Wedge Donovan in The Fighting Seabees

Chance Buckman in Hellfighters

Randolph Scott

Brazos Kane in Gunfighters

Ransome Callicut in The Man Behind the Gun

Buck Devlin in Shoot-Out at Medicine Bend

Ben Brigade in Ride Lonesome

Alan Ladd

Salty O'Rourke in Salty O'Rourke

Whispering Smith in Whispering Smith

Hugh Tallant in Botany Bay

Ronald Reagan

Brass Bancroft in Secret Service of the Air, Code of the Secret Service, Smashing the Money Ring, and Murder in the Air

Vance Britten in The Last Outpost

Webb Sloane in Prisoner of War

5 Movie Costumes I Love (Summer '11 Edition)

2011-07-19T14:30:00.000-07:00

Ever since the Siren's great post about film fashion, I've been itching to post my own list of my favorite movie costumes. I make no claims to being a knowledgeable fashion blogger (psst, go visit The Silver Screen Modiste's excellent blog). This is just for my own personal enjoyment, a way for me to talk about how much I enjoy costume on film. Rather than try to fit all my favorites into one epic post, I decided to make it a regular series on this blog. That way, I can be as slapdash as I like, without fretting over what I've missed.

However, in order to make the lists more interesting, I gave myself three restrictions:

Absolutely no costumes from an Alfred Hitchcock film.
No costumes worn by Grace Kelly.
No costumes worn by Audrey Hepburn.

With that said, here are a few of my personal favorites.

1. Katharine Hepburn in Bringing up Baby
Costume Design by Howard Greer

("The Nightclub Dress")

Of course, everyone remembers the scene where this dress gets ripped, but what about the brilliance of the dress itself? In many ways, it's the epitome of 1930s elegance, gold lamé, floor-length, hugging Hepburn's form beautifully. But it's also completely ridiculous. Look at the way that ribbon appears to float around Hepburn's head. It's like the costume equivalent of someone drawing circles around her head as if to say, "Yeah, this dame's completely dizzy." And watch how Hepburn moves in it. She doesn't mince or pose, she strides. She has total confidence. She's comfortable in this dress. Which makes it all the funnier when she has to shuffle out with Cary Grant blocking the view of her ass. Still, it's a perfect example of a costume that gives you the entire character in one moment. Beautiful, cuckoo-crazy Susan Vance. Bless her.

2. Leslie Caron in Gigi

Costume Design by Cecil Beaton
("The Maxim's Dress")

Cecil Beaton won an Oscar for his work on Gigi and deservedly so. The film's climax is a classic moment of the awkward girl suddenly revealed as the beautiful woman and it still packs a punch. The film builds us up to it gradually, we begin to see Leslie Caron in longer dresses, higher collars. But her costumes are still pretty demure and girlish until the moment when she enters wearing this. Forget "Thank Heaven for Little Girls," forget the title song, it's this dress that shows us how girls can grow up.

3. Barbara Rush in Bigger than Life
Executive Wardrobe Design by Charles Le Maire, Costume Design by Mary Wills
("The Orange Dress")

I'm convinced that Alfred Hitchcock was somewhere in the theater for Bigger than Life taking notes for Vertigo. In one queasily brilliant scene, James Mason's character, Ed Avery, is fully in the grips of a manic episode brought on by cortisone, and insists on dragging his wife Lou (Barbara Rush) through the most expensive dress store in town. His act of generosity becomes one of ruthless control, as he forces his reluctant wife to take home far more dresses than she wants. The only one she does want is this orange number that reappears to great effect in the film's finale. And what a dress it is. It's shockingly bright, like a flashing neon sign in the couple's cramped suburban home. It's a sophisticated style, but it overwhelms poor Lou. The flaring collar, the swirling skirt, the stiff material--it's like the dress is choking her. Her character may be suffering in silence but there's nothing silent about that dress.

4. Gene Tierney in The Ghost and Mrs Muir
Costume Design for Gene Tierney by Oleg Cassini

("The White Beach Dress")

Gene Tierney's parents tried pretty near every trick in the book to stop her from marrying dress designer Oleg Cassini. But Tierney's movies prove that, in one respect at least, Cassini was a savvy choice. Because damn if that man didn't know how to dress his wife. It didn't matter whether she was in contemporary or period fashion, Tierney still looked great. While The Ghost and Mrs. Muir isn't her most dramatic onscreen look (she is supposed to be playing a poor widow at the turn of the century), it shows the progression of her character just perfectly. In the first few scenes, the widowed Mrs. Muir is swathed in black. Then, as her character begins to feel freer and more confident, she progresses to lighter colors and patterns. But when Mrs. Muir suddenly appears at the film's midpoint in this floaty white beach dress, the breeze ruffling her hair and brushing her bare arms, it's a striking moment of a character's romantic yearnings come to visual life. Her movements are looser and as Bernard Hermann's dreamy score follows her up the road, she looks like she's in a fairy tale. And when she meets George Sanders on that road and begins to fall for his charm, it feels inevitable. No woman could wear that dress, looking like Tierney does, and not feel romantic.

5. Norma Shearer and Herbert Marshall in Riptide
Costume Design by Adrian
("The Insect Man and Lady Skybug Costumes")

Okay, I'll admit it, I haven't actually seen this movie, other than the brilliant opening sequence posted on Youtube. But c'mon. Are these not the most fantastic costumes in the history of Meet Cutes? When an Insect Man meets a Lady Skybug, what else can they do but fall in love?

Note: The Bigger than Life screencap is credited to Brandon's Movie Memory and the Ghost and Mrs. Muir one was taken from This Island Rod.

Who Died it Better?

2011-07-09T21:10:00.000-07:00

"Ali MacGraw's Disease: Movie illness in which the only symptom is that the sufferer grows more beautiful as death approaches. (This disease claimed many screen victims, often including Greta Garbo.)" --Roger Ebert

So I ask you, readers, in the art of dying, who was the fairest of them all?

Blogathon Round-Up

2011-06-30T12:21:00.000-07:00

So, the Roger Corman Blogathon has wrapped it up. With a grand total of 21 entries, each on a different Corman film. This was an incredibly fun blogathon and I think Corman himself would have been impressed with the creativity, humor, and smarts of all those who participated. And of course, the enthusiasm of our host Nathanael, the man behind Forgotten Classics of Yesteryear, was an inspiration.

On a different corner of the blogosphere, Caroline over at Garbo Laughs, brought us the Queer Film Blogathon on June 27th. And damn, I knew it was going to be good, but it wasn't until I started digging through the entries, that I realized just how brilliant my fellow bloggers are. There were over 60 entries and although I still haven't shoveled my way through all of them, I haven't found a weak entry in the bunch. And Caroline led the way with her own excellent analysis and insight.

I think my favorite part of blogathons, even more than the writing or the reading, is meeting people from all corners of the blogosphere. Experts in horror film, classic film, foreign film, independent film. And then people who weren't film bloggers at all, but ventured out anyway. I got to chat with so many different people. Smart, talented, funny people. It's amazing and kind of awe-inspiring. I know that by the time the next blogathon rolls around, I'll be working furiously to up my game.

Oh, did I say next blogathon? 'Cause there's another one coming up.

The inexhaustible Nathanael, fresh from conquering the Worlds of Corman, has declared a new blogathon: Monster Movie Mania!

From July 27th through August 3rd, he'll be hosting a celebration of 1950s monster movies. Nate can explain it better than I can, but basically, participants choose a movie that was made from 1950 to 1959 that features some kind of monster. That includes aliens, demons, robots, mutated humans, mummies, vampires, anything so long as it's from the 50s. The film can be from any country, so you're not limited to Hollywood. Anyone who's interested can pop over to his blog and choose a film to review. It's first-come, first-served, so better hurry over and pick your flick. Nate is also promising awards and prizes, as he did for the Corman blogathon (Nate, if you're reading this, I think you spoil your bloggers), so if you need a little incentive...

I'm looking at this list right now and I notice nobody's picked The Fly yet. Or The Incredible Shrinking Man. And I Married a Monster from Outer Space is still available. Grab 'em while you can, people.

And if you need some help getting in the mood, Where Danger Lives is starting a Countdown of the 50 Greatest Classic Sci-Fi Posters. Not to be missed.

Movie Review: Sylvia Scarlett

2011-06-27T10:57:00.000-07:00

Sylvia Scarlett (1935)

directed by George Cukor, starring Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant

(Note: This is my entry for the Queer Film Blogathon, hosted by Garbo Laughs.)

One day, young Sylvia Scarlett (Katharine Hepburn) gets an unpleasant shock: her father Henry (Edmund Gwenn) has embezzled from the lace factory and now, there is nothing to do but go on the run. Sylvia convinces her father that the police won't be on the lookout for an embezzler and his son, and with one twist of the scissors, Sylvia becomes Sylvester.

However, just as Sylvia is becoming comfortable in her new identity, her father bumbles into the path of Jimmy Monkley (Cary Grant), a Cockney con artist. Fortunately or unfortunately for the hapless Scarletts, Monkley takes a shine to them and enlists them as his new partners. To Monkley's disappointment, the Scarletts are more of a hindrance than a help until Sylvia gets the bright idea for them to form a traveling player troupe, with the help of a ditzy housemaid named Maudie (Dennie Moore).

While performing, they make the acquaintance of aristocratic artist Michael Fane (Brian Aherne) and his snooty girlfriend Lily (Natalie Paley). Sylvia quickly falls for Michael, who's quite taken with this hot-tempered, free-speaking boy. From there, it becomes a romp of Shakespearean proportions, as Sylvia and her cohorts are quickly entangled in deceptions both romantic and criminal.

Sylvia Scarlett was one of the more notorious flops of the 1930s. At the time, audiences did not know what to make of the film's strange plot or of Katharine Hepburn in drag. Nowadays, Sylvia Scarlett stands as one of Hollywood's early and more interesting experiments in examining gender roles.

In the film's opening scene, Sylvia, after learning of her father's embezzlement, suddenly decides to pass herself off as a boy. She removes her long braids and switches her luggage label from Sylvia to Sylvester and that is that. The speed of her decision, as well as the enthusiasm with which she goes about it, is the film's first hint that Sylvia's cross-dressing might not be for the reasons she says it is. Her flimsy justification that the police will be thrown off if her father Henry is traveling with a boy and not a girl doesn't really hold water (Henry, it should be mentioned, doesn't make any attempt to disguise himself). And as the film wears on, well after it becomes clear that the police aren't going to catch up with them, Sylvia remains in her masculine identity.

Katharine Hepburn is nobody's idea of a convincing boy, but this is not a film where realism is paramount or even wanted. Hepburn makes some attempt to distinguish the two personalities by speaking in a high-pitched, trembling voice for her scenes as the girl Sylvia. Interestingly, the voice and mannerisms she uses for the boy Sylvester feel a lot more like authentic Hepburn than the girlish ones do; Hepburn's opening scene as the tearful, pigtailed young girl (with an on-again, off-again French accent) plays like parody. It's only when Sylvia dons drag that she feels relaxed and free.

As a boy, Hepburn's movements become easier, her laugh more open. Her attitude changes as well; the timorous heroine of the opening scene becomes a pugnacious, spirited young man, who's more than willing to take a sock at anyone. Sylvia's performance of being male is clearly tied to her ideas of what being male means. The idea of a woman posing as a man in order to find freedom is nothing new (Shakespeare's heroines are a big believer in it), but Cukor's film adds another dimension to the idea: Sylvia is not only more comfortable as a boy, but doesn't know how to be a girl. This becomes obvious in the second half of the film when Sylvia, having fallen in love with the rakish artist Michael Fane, finally discards her boyish identity in order to woo him.

George Cukor later went on record as saying that the film loses interest in its second half when Sylvia goes back to being a girl again. He's right in saying this, but it isn't because the plot becomes weaker or because the character becomes less interesting, it's because Hepburn's performance goes seriously downhill. Her movements are fluttery and exaggerated, she mugs for the camera, and always seems to be on the verge of breaking out in a sobbing or giggling fit. Sylvia the cross-dresser is interesting, but Sylvia the girl is a ninny.

And I don't think this was due to the script, since the character's actions aren't necessarily weaker; she retains the decisiveness and independence of her boy persona (even jumping into the ocean to rescue her romantic rival). It's Hepburn's performance that weakens her. Considering how well Cukor and Hepburn would work together on other occasions, as well as Cukor's reputation as one of the great directors of actors, it's hard to believe that the acting choices weren't intentional. But they made a mistake. After all her experiences, Sylvia should be stronger as a character, not weaker. And considering that the film's other two main female characters are, respectively, the foolish, unfaithful housemaid Maudie, and the snooty, unfaithful society girl Lily, the implications of Hepburn's performance become a little uncomfortable.

I realize that I've spent most of this review not talking about the plot but in the case of Sylvia Scarlett, the plot is incidental to the antics. Sylvia and her father Henry go from being outlaws on the run to con artists to theatrical troupers, without much difficulty. In spite of the fuss about Henry's embezzlement, there's very little urgency to their renegade lifestyle (the law enforcement doesn't seem to be interested in following them) and much of the action seems to take place on a cloud of pink champagne and gaiety. The characters play a lot of their scenes either drunk or wishing they were. Whenever a new deception is unmasked, the characters respond not with anger, but with delight.

But George Cukor isn't trying to make a serious film about criminals. The fluidity of the way Sylvia can switch gender roles is matched by the way other characters can switch their identities, from criminal to theatrical. In that respect, Sylvia Scarlett might be taken as one of Cukor's more personal films. As more than one critic has noted, Cukor was fascinated by performance and theater, and his films reflect that fascination. Many of them are about the lives of people who perform for a living, as in What Price Hollywood?, Dinner at Eight, Camille, A Double Life, The Actress, A Star is Born, and Les Girls. The cleverness of this film is the way Cukor hints that every role in society is a kind of performance, whether it's your gender or your social class.

Sylvia Scarlett began life as a book by Compton MacKenzie, The Early Life and Adventures of Sylvia Scarlett. Possibly that is why this film, unlike Cukor's more polished adaptations of popular plays, feels rambling and unfocused. Characters switch their minds on a whim, romantic attachments are made and broken with ease, and the atmosphere swings from brightly cheerful to dark and even tragic at times. But it's that same quality that gives Sylvia Scarlett its charm; it's like a traveling companion that can't resist pulling you off the path to come look at whatever new shiny thing happens to catch their eye.

Aside from its examination of gender roles, Sylvia Scarlett is known as arguably the first film where Cary Grant's star persona really began to take shape. Here, he plays a charming, amoral Cockney con man Jimmy Monkley, annoyed by Sylvia but also amused by her. In one of the film's funnier scenes, Grant strips off his shirt and invites "Sylvester" to join a bed with him in the caravan, telling her, "You'll make a proper hot water bottle tonight." But there's an element of menace to Grant's character; Monkley's introduction is straight out of film noir, standing in the fog, his face lit but his body in shadow, staring silently at the frightened Scarletts. After a few altercations, he joins forces with Sylvia and Henry, but makes it clear that he's not going to be bound by any ethical constraints. Even when his con games fail (usually because Sylvia bungles something), Monkley still carries on. Towards the end of the film, Monkley even manages to resolve a love triangle by kidnapping an unconscious woman.

While his Cockney accent is less than convincing, Cary Grant brings all of his talents to the role of Monkley. His charm, his theatrical and acrobatic training, and the ability to make a cad look charismatic. And since it wasn't yet de facto that Cary Grant would get the girl, it allows Grant to play a friendly (and suggestively homoerotic) role in relation to Hepburn. It's certainly their most unusual pairing together.

The failure of Sylvia Scarlett at the box office is a shame, because the film is one of the most interesting of its decade. There were other films of the 30s that explored the potential of cross-dressing (Queen Christina and Marlene Dietrich's tuxedos come to mind), but Sylvia Scarlett really does take the premise in fascinating directions. At times, it almost seems like Cukor was drawing on some obscure Shakespeare play. And if the film does start to lose some of its sparkle and energy by the end, it remains as a brilliantly subversive and funny examination of the role-playing inherent in gender, crime, and art. As Shakespeare would have it, "All the world's a stage and all the men and women, merely players."

Favorite Quote:

"Well, we're all fools sometimes. Only you choose such awkward times."

Favorite Scene:

I'm going to cheat a little here, since my favorite scene is more like two scenes melting together. Sylvia, Henry, and Monkley are in the mansion of Maudie's employers. Maudie believes that Henry is a theatrical impresario, ready to sign her on and flirtatiously consents to put on her mistress's jewels for the big audition. But Sylvia, due to a sudden attack of drunken honesty, forces Monkley to reveal to Maudie that they were planning to rob the place, using her. Maudie is shocked and Monkley is about ready to knock Sylvia's block off. But then, just as Maudie is bemoaning her bad luck ("Now, I shall have to stay here, slaving away, instead of performing by the sea") a light bulb goes off in Sylvia's head. "But we must perform by the sea!" she shouts. They could be real performers, they could get a caravan...Monkley shakes her off but Sylvia persists. And then Henry and Maudie join in. Maudie tells them to take her savings. Monkley turns away, trying to resist, and then finally gives in to the carnival spirit. Henry starts up a round of "I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside." The con artists and their erstwhile victim end up jigging on the staircase because, oh well, why not? The great joy of this film is its upside-down logic. In this world, deception doesn't drive people apart. It brings them together.

Final Six Words:

Sparkling, rambling celebration of crossing boundaries

Farewell, Peter Falk

2011-06-24T15:01:00.000-07:00

As you wish.

Peter Falk (1927-2011)

Movie Review: The Haunted Palace

2011-06-18T00:09:00.000-07:00

The Haunted Palace (1963)

directed by Roger Corman, starring Vincent Price, Debra Paget, Lon Chaney Jr.

(Note: This is my entry for The Roger Corman Blogathon, hosted by Forgotten Classics of Yesteryear.)

Charles Dexter Ward (Vincent Price) and his wife Ann (Debra Paget) have arrived at the isolated New England town of Arkham. Ward has come to claim his inheritance, the "haunted palace" that belonged to his ancestor Joseph Curwen (Vincent Price). The townsfolk are surly and mistrustful of these newcomers and it isn't until the Wards meet the helpful Doctor Willet (Frank Maxwell) that they understand why.

Over a century ago, Joseph Curwen was known as an evil warlock that lured young girls over to his castle to fulfill his twisted scheme: to bring back the power of the old gods by mating them to human women. Because of Curwen's actions, the town is now haunted by the presence of misshapen "mutations," creatures not entirely human. Finally, the townsfolk had enough of Curwen and burned him to death outside his castle, but his evil influence is still felt in the village, especially when they look at those mutations. And now his descendant has come to take possession of the castle, his descendant who looks so exactly like Curwen...

Ward and his wife Ann are naturally spooked by these tales but well, they have to find somewhere to spend the night, so why not spend it in Curwen's castle? There's even a helpful caretaker named Simon (Lon Chaney Jr.), who's there to settle them in. But once inside, Ward begins to fall under the spell of the place and of his dead ancestor, who takes over Ward's body in order to carry out his two missions. First, to resurrect his beloved dead mistress Hester (Cathie Merchant). Next, to take vengeance on the descendants of all those who betrayed him. Fiery vengeance.

The Haunted Palace takes a title from Edgar Allan Poe, a story from H.P. Lovecraft, and a screenplay by Charles Beaumont, so it's surprising that the finished product doesn't, in the end, feel like it really belongs to any of these three men. In spite of the borrowed title, Poe has nothing to do with this story. The plotline comes from Lovecraft's novella "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward," but the film's Gothic, grandly clanking atmosphere doesn't feel particularly Lovecraftian. It belongs far more to Roger Corman and Vincent Price than it does to its literary origins. In interviews, Corman was frank about his displeasure with the Poe references that were forced on him by the studio (in an attempt to make this movie seem like another entry in the Price/Poe series of horror films) since he was very excited about adapting Lovecraft.

In its opening stretches, the film takes pretty near every horror trope you can possibly think of and sets them to an operatic high C. Haunted castle? Check. Vaguely Satanic character who endangers women? Check. Angry village mob? All-encompassing mist? Ominous crashes of lightning? You'd better believe that's a check. For someone like me, who isn't a horror connoisseur, the flood of cinematic cliches in the opening was a little daunting and I started to wonder if maybe I'd made a mistake in choosing The Haunted Palace for my blogathon entry.

Fortunately, as the movie wore on, I gradually became transfixed by its artistry. For one thing, it's quite beautiful to look at, combining the hypnotic blues and grays of Floyd Crosby's cinematography with the leering angles of Roger Corman's camera. According to the TCM database, Corman deliberately chose a "somewhat starker lighting pattern" than for his Poe pictures, wanting to stress the difference between the two artists. The sets were small, but Corman used forced perspective and sweeping camera movements to create the illusion of size. The ultimate effect manages to be both grand and claustrophobic, as characters race down staircases and in and out of blue mists, always seeming to end up right back where they started.

The crux of the story is Joseph Curwen's return and his possession of his innocent descendant Charles Dexter Ward. In spite of the borrowed Poe title, Corman's film is far more interested in the destructive rampage of the Curwen character than of his haunted house. And Curwen is plenty dark, drawing women to the house in order to chain them up and let some unknown monster rape them. We don't get a good look at the creature but Corman shows us how the women are raised up in chains, legs and arms splayed. Then they suddenly look down to see something coming up from the depths below, right between their legs. The film's advertising would capitalize on the psychosexual horror: "What was the terrifying thing in the pit that wanted women?"

This is Vincent Price's movie and he carries it off proudly, in a performance that combines courtliness and evil. Price has to play the dual role of the demonic Joseph Curwen and the innocent Charles Dexter Ward and it's to his credit that you're never in any doubt which persona is in control of Ward's body. The actor gets some help from Corman's makeup and lighting, but he mostly communicates the switches with his eyes, his voice, and the small shifts of his face. Except for a few big moments, Price avoids chewing the scenery and opts for a quiet malevolence. Appropriate, since for most of the movie, Curwen is trying to pretend that he is Ward.

Unfortunately, the character of Charles Dexter Ward (the screenplay has a lot of fun with that name, having characters chant the whole thing all the time) doesn't feel fully fleshed out so that when his personality is finally submerged under Curwen, there's no sense of loss. Compare it to something like The Shining in which we get to know Jack Torrance intimately before his soul is drained away by the Overlook Hotel, and you get a sense of what The Haunted Palace is missing. The tragedy underneath the surface frights.

Vincent Price is backed up by a great supporting cast in this film, including screen heavy Leo Gordon, everyone's favorite gunsel Elisha Cook Jr., and of course, Lon Chaney Jr., as Joseph Curwen's evil servant Simon. Corman uses every crag and crevice of Chaney's face for maximum spookiness, slathering him in gray-green make-up and letting him pop out of shadows without warning. Chaney's character Simon never makes much sense since we don't know what he is, why he's at the castle waiting for Curwen, or why he serves him. Even Simon doesn't seem to know. At one point, in one of the film's unintentionally funny moments, he asks Curwen to give up this mad idea of resurrecting his dead mistress Hester. 'Cause you know, possessing people, burning them alive, playing with the Necronomicon, and mating unwilling women to monsters, that's all in a day's work, but getting hung up on a girl? That's just not on.

Sadly, this would be the final film for the regal, slightly feline Debra Paget, who was only thirty years old when she stopped making movies. She gives an intelligent and sympathetic performance here, as the frightened, unhappy Ann Ward, determined to stick by her husband no matter how horrible things become. She's also completely gorgeous, so it isn't too much of a surprise when Joseph Curwen takes a momentary pause from his necromantic doings to look lustfully in her direction. In a clever little touch, Corman casts another dark-haired beauty, Cathie Merchant, as Curwen's long-dead mistress, Hester Tillinghast. The two women look enough alike that I was briefly convinced it was the same actress until I checked the billing. Merchant has some nice memories of filming this movie, posted here.

The doubling of Ward's wife and Curwen's mistress doesn't stop with their physical similarities. Corman also links them symbolically in several different shots. In the film's opening, we see the mistress Hester struggling to get to her lover as he is tied and burned at the tree and in the finale, we see Ann throwing herself on her husband at the very same tree, as the flames rise up behind them. There are other, subtler touches. A scene where Hester's gray, decaying corpse rises slowly from her deathbed, Curwen's arms around her, cuts to Ann bolting upright in bed; her wifely instinct is aroused by her husband's touching another woman. Even if it's not really her husband.

One of the film's creepier and more brilliantly suggestive themes is the gradual switching of roles between the two women. As the film begins, Ann is the happy, lawful wife of Charles Dexter Ward; they discuss things with each other, they're affectionate. Gradually, as Ward becomes submerged by Curwen, Ann finds herself confronted by someone who looks like her husband but isn't, who shouts at her, dismisses her, and frightens her. Curwen initially is disgusted with Ann, longing only to get back to his dead love, but as his efforts to revive Hester continue to fail, he starts to eye her with a little interest. The more Ann shrinks from him, the more he delights in asking for his "rights" as a husband. One scene of Curwen gloatingly demanding a kiss from Ann is more frightening than all of the film's cobwebs and creaky doors put together. It's clear that for Curwen, it's the dead Hester who deserves the rights of the wife and Ann that should be treated like a mistress. While he's using Ward's body, why not use Ann's? All of this climaxes in a you-could-see-it-coming-but-it's-still-brilliant finale with Curwen, whom Ann still believes is her husband, dragging her down to be chained and raped.

The product of these rapes of woman by monster, the aforementioned "mutations" are one of the film's more confusing and fascinating subplots. There's a brief mention of Curwen wanting to use them to bring back the power of the old gods, but we don't get any insight into just how the mutations are supposed to do that and although we see them in the village, sometimes walking around, sometimes being chained in basements, we don't know if they're demented, evil, or even sentient. Even with the lack of explanation and the rather cheap makeup job on them, I found the mutations extremely creepy. I think it's the facelessness of some of them, I always get creeped out by faceless monsters no matter how cheesy the makeup or CGI work. I'll have to go back and read the original Lovecraft story to find out whether these creatures come from Beaumont or Lovecraft.

Charles Beaumont and H.P. Lovecraft are an unlikely marriage of scriptwriter and source material. In his fiction, Lovecraft was obsessed with the undefinable, with horror on the mythic and cosmic scale. His stories frequently harped on the dread of the unnatural and for Lovecraft, the unnatural included any hint of miscegenation, of hereditary taint. The Haunted Palace echoes that theme with its voiceless, mindless mutations, the zombie-like beings that Curwen brought to life through his unholy mating of Arkham's women to demonic entities.

Beaumont on the other hand, known as one of the great Twilight Zone scribes as well as a prolific short-story writer, often had a fascinated sympathy for the misfits and outsiders. His Twilight scripts are peppered with lonely protagonists caught in a world they don't belong in, from the timid bachelor in "Miniature," who finds love with a museum doll, to the ranting prisoner of "Shadow Play," trying hopelessly to convince people that they are stuck in his recurring nightmare. One of Beaumont's more famous short stories, "The Crooked Man," portrayed a dystopian future where heterosexuality is forbidden and a straight couple try furtively to hide their love in a gay bar. Lovecraft hated and feared the deviant; Beaumont reached out to it. Perhaps that is why The Haunted Palace feels a little uncertain of where the greatest horror lies, in Curwen or in his creations.

The film unfortunately loses steam by the climax and even its final "gotcha" moment is dissatisfying, since it implies that any answers we got about Curwen's powers and the extent of his power over the village weren't really answers at all. Even though Corman does give us a grand set piece of the castle going up in flames, it wasn't enough to dispel my feeling that I had been waltzed right into a Plot Hole Pile-Up. Let's consider a few of these plot holes:

1. We never find out the truth about the mutations and whether or not they are evil or why they keep popping up in the village even during the years when no maidens were being mated to devil gods.

2. We never find out what Curwen's henchmen are and what ties them to Curwen (in fact they disappear at the end of the film).

3. We never get much understanding of what the curse on the village really means.

4. And finally, why are all the villagers just standing there at the end? Why don't they just skewer Curwen? C'mon, the mob from Beauty and the Beast had more moxie than these clowns.

All of these plot holes unfortunately put some dents in an otherwise stylish film. We expect some unanswered questions in horror films, but when they pile up in this fashion, it starts to look like laziness, not mystery. It's a pity, because Corman shoots a grand, fiery climax, perfectly book-ending the beginning, and Price is so good in the ending, flipping between the horrified Charles Dexter Ward and the diabolical Joseph Curwen right up until the very last moment.

The Haunted Palace is a strange meeting of minds, a movie that pays homage to Lovecraft but ultimately feels entirely like a Corman and Price creation. It's frequently stunning, in spite of its clumsy moments, like a good dancing partner that every so often feels the need to just stamp on your toes. The confidence of Corman's camera work, the thundering Ronald Stein score, the beauty of Debra Paget and the wily charm of Vincent Price will probably stay with me far longer than my plot complaints so overall, I have to say, the film works. It's a worthy entry in Roger Corman's long, creative career.

Favorite Quote:

"I advise you, Mr. Ward, to leave this village. I advise you to flee it as you would from a madman with a knife, who feels compelled to destroy you before you can destroy him."

Favorite Scene:

Hands down, the film's creepiest, most flesh-crawling scene is the moment where the mutations converge on Charles Dexter Ward and Ann. It starts slowly, with Ward and Ann walking through the streets of Arkham, shrouded in that ever-present mist, when suddenly they come upon one of the faceless mutations, shuffling silently towards them . They whirl away as suddenly another starts coming towards them. The camera whirls with the hapless Wards as more and more mutations arrive until suddenly the couple find themselves trapped, as these beings corral them for...who knows what purpose? Then suddenly, in the distance, the church bells start to ring. Church bells, even in Arkham. And then, with no explanation, the mutations turn and limp away. Driven away by God, fear, we don't know. We never find out. But in this case, explanations didn't matter to me. It was still chilling.

Final Six Words:

Conventional yet compelling, stylish Corman horror

Reminder: The Roger Corman Blogathon Starts Tomorrow

2011-06-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

This is your friendly neighborhood blog, The Girl with the White Parasol, stopping by to spread the word that Nathanael, over at Forgotten Classics of Yesteryear, is hosting the Roger Corman Blogathon. Starting tomorrow, from June 17 through June 19th, film bloggers will be posting their Corman film reviews. It looks like we've got a good line-up going, ranging from the stylish Poe thrillers right up to the offbeat exploitation films like Boxcar Bertha. Although I can't figure out why nobody pounced on It Conquered the World--maybe next time.

I've pledged to post my review of The Haunted Palace on the 18th. See you then.

Movie Review: Angel

2011-06-16T15:49:00.000-07:00

Angel (1937)
directed by Ernst Lubitsch, starring Marlene Dietrich, Herbert Marshall, Melvyn Douglas

In the salons of the Grand Duchess Anna Dmitrievna (Laura Hope Crews), two people meet by chance. Diplomat Anthony "Tony" Halton (Melvyn Douglas), who's looking for an attractive escort to show him around Paris, and a beautiful, mysterious woman (Marlene Dietrich), who excites his imagination. Because she refuses to tell him her name, he knows her only as "Angel." After a dreamlike interlude in the park, she runs away from him and while he searches for his elusive Angel, a woman known as Maria returns to her husband, the illustrious British diplomat, Sir Frederick Barker (Herbert Marshall). Frederick and Maria are widely acknowledged as the perfect couple. As they like to joke to each other, they can't even find anything to quarrel about. But their marriage faces its test when Tony Halton discovers that his heart's ideal and Sir Frederick's ideal wife are the same woman.

Angel marks an ending point in the careers of both Marlene Dietrich and Ernst Lubitsch. It was Dietrich's last role before Destry Rides Again permanently changed her onscreen image. 1937 was not a happy year for Dietrich's career; both Angel and the Korda epic Knight Without Armor flopped. In 1937, Ernst Lubitsch was nearing the end of his Paramount years and the unenthusiastic reception of Angel and the following year's Bluebeard's Eighth Wife showed that the master's golden touch was looking a little coppery. He would come back and how with Ninotchka in 1939, but Angel shows both he and Dietrich trying fitfully to adjust to the cinematic standards of Post-Code Hollywood.

At first glance, the plot seems like it's heading in the same fun, frothy direction of Lubitsch's Pre-Code classics, Trouble in Paradise and Design for Living. In Trouble in Paradise, the dashing thief Gaston has to choose between his partner in crime and the lovely victim of his con game. He goes for the fellow thief, but the film doesn't make an issue of Gaston's infidelity; he's simply responding to the attractions of both women. Design for Living goes even further by having the love triangle resolve into a happy ménage à trois. Both films suggest that monogamy is pretty much unimportant in the quest for romantic happiness. Angel starts out as yet another variation on the Lubitsch triangle, with Marlene Dietrich navigating what appears to be the beginning of a bedroom farce.

However, Angel has something a little more serious in mind. In other Lubitsch films, infidelity was more of a game. It was also something relegated entirely to bedrooms and parlors and the sophisticated, private worlds of elegant people. Here, there is no question of privacy; Maria Barker's very public role as the perfect wife means that she can't act only to please herself. Her choice between two lovers is made even more uneasy by the fact that both of them are diplomats and whichever she chooses, she will be subjected to the same scrutiny. This point is hammered home in a scene where her husband's servant natters on about how the Barkers' marriage has been his own romantic ideal. Lubitsch carries the point further in a later moment at a horse race. Just as the servant and his fiance are watching her through binoculars, Maria looks through her own pair and sees the man she met in Paris. There is no possibility of escape for Maria; her public and private worlds are inextricably linked.

Lubitsch does some beautiful visual work in this film. I love the way his camera sweeps leisurely through each room of the Grand Duchess' salons and the way it slides smoothly down the length of a musician's violin to the lovers he is serenading, connecting them both in one serenely romantic moment. The grace of his Paris sequences is sharply contrasted with his introduction to Marshall in one brusque pan across the windows of a moving train, Marshall's back to the camera as a furiously upbeat march pounds away in the background. Whenever Marshall makes an appearance in the film, the editing turns staccato, highlighting his character's busy, distracted nature. There are also some moments of great visual shorthand; Maria's anxiety is masterfully sketched out in a brief shot of a maid carrying away an overflowing ashtray in the early hours of the morning.

It's hard to admit, with all the intelligence and craft put into this picture that, "Well, it just isn't much fun." For one thing, the pace lags, which is not a typical problem for a Lubitsch film. After two grand introductions to Marlene's character, first as the reluctant lover and then as the gentle wife, we are treated to scene after scene of the Barkers' stifling marriage. These scenes don't build on each other but rather seem to sleepwalk. The couple make polite chitchat, Dietrich looks uncomfortable, Marshall oblivious, and then back to square one. After a while it all becomes a snooze, especially when both actors are obviously not at their best.

Marlene Dietrich is fine in her early scenes, flirting with Melvyn Douglas, but when she has to start playing the trophy wife, it becomes clear that she has absolutely no clue how to play demure. You can almost gauge her uncertainty by how much she bats her eyelashes per scene. The more stilted her acting, the more she butterflies those lashes. As for Herbert Marshall, it pains me to say this, since I've loved him in other roles, but he is completely colorless here. In order for the story to work, there has to be some sense that Marshall's workaholic diplomat is capable of the same ardent passion as his rival. But there isn't and during Marshall's scenes, my mind wandered to more interesting concerns, like wondering if this film's thesis was that European diplomats in the 1930s were spending way too much time on their work.

Melvyn Douglas (one of my favorites) is polished in an underwritten role. His role here can be considered a dry run for Ninotchka: the suave, callow gentleman that reacts with happy bewilderment to the screen goddess who's wandered into his path. In Angel, however, Douglas doesn't have a crackling Brackett and Wilder script to buoy him up. His tendency to underplay, combined with an uneasy Dietrich and somnolent Marshall, makes the love triangle feel less important than it needs to be. And considering the film's reluctance to implicate Dietrich in any adultery, his character's lovelorn obsession feels pretty one-sided. That's post-Code romance for you; one kiss on a moonlit park bench is enough to turn a man into a transcontinental stalker.

And that ultimately is Angel's problem: the demands of the Code. The film feels like an uneasy transition from the giddy Paramount comedies of the early 30s into Post-Code morality, where marriage is sacrosanct. Angel is too sober, too cautious, too coy about the realities of sex or marriage and as a result, it doesn't manage to say much about anything. There are touches of wit here and there (for example, Douglas and Marshall bonding over their shared memories of the same French prostitute), but the film is ultimately more interesting as a way station in the careers of Dietrich and Lubitsch than it is as a story. It's most worthwhile for the beauty of its visuals, for the elegance of its camera work. The final shot is a lovely, wordless moment of reconciliation that feels exactly right. Or would, if Angel had earned it.

Favorite Quote:

"I don't want to know your name. Whatever it is, it wouldn't suit you."

Favorite Scene:

Maria's recounting of an erotic dream to her bemused husband Sir Frederick. First, she describes her arrival at the League of Nations, dressed to the nines, while her husband drones on and on. The dream-Maria escapes, goes to Egypt, Arabia, circling the globe, only to come back and find her husband still talking. So she drags him away and they return home. "The next thing I remember, we were here at home and you were beating me...I'm afraid to tell you, I liked it. Then you started to kiss me." Frederick responds to this epic confession of Maria's desires with a slight smile and asks, "Did you like that, too?" Maria smiles back. "Better than ever before. And then you carried me upstairs." The dream ends there, but Dietrich's flirtatious delivery of this speech will certainly linger in my memory.

Final Six Words:

Elegant, unhappy story of love lost