Movie Review: Death Takes a Holiday

Death Takes a Holiday (1934)
directed by Mitchell Leisen, starring Fredric March, Evelyn Venable

(Note: This is my entry for the March in March Blogathon, hosted by Jill at Sittin' on a Backyard Fence)

Our film begins on a moonlit night, as a group of reckless, laughing aristocrats race their cars down a winding mountain road. They are on their way to the villa of Duke Lambert (Sir Guy Standing). But as they round the corner, they realize that a dark shadow is following them. And not metaphorically. Trying to escape, they end up crashing into a flower seller's cart and as the petals rain down on them, they realize to their shock that everyone is alive and unharmed.

The guests reach the Duke's villa and go to bed. But then the Duke is awakened by that same mysterious shadow that chased the car. And when the shadow draws near, the Duke realizes that he is talking to the Angel of Death himself (Fredric March). Death tells the Duke how tired he is of being misunderstood and feared. So, in order to find out why men fear him so, he has decided to take human form for three days. He instructs the Duke to present him as Prince Sirki and not to tell the other guests what he really is.

And so, Death's holiday begins. He quickly charms and intrigues the Duke's guests, most especially the three young women, Rhoda (Gail Patrick), Alda (Katharine Alexander), and Grazia (Evelyn Venable). Rhoda and Alda, two sophisticated women of the world, vie for his attention but it's the sensitive, dreamy Grazia who seems most in sympathy with him. However, Grazia is already engaged to the Duke's son Corrado (Kent Taylor). Under the advice of Baron Cesarea (Henry Travers), Death tries his hand at gambling and pleasure-seeking, all without figuring out what life really means. He becomes convinced that love must be the answer to his question. If a woman could love him as he really was, look upon his true face without fear, then he will have what he wants. But is there such a woman? And if there is, does Death have the right to take her?

Well, if you are going to make a movie that posits that the meaning of life can be found by spending three days in the homes of fabulously glamorous aristocrats, Paramount would be the studio to do it. But pithy remarks aside, Death Takes a Holiday is one of the most unusual of that studio's glossy romances. Taken from a 1924 Italian play, the film is a modern-day fairy tale that examines what happens when the Reaper is tempted to put away his scythe. It's little surprise that the play was attractive to a post-World War I audience, still grappling with the question of how to pick up their lives again, with the specter hanging over them. The 1934 film is a little more distanced from this context, but it's still present and gives a lot more weight to the characters and their musings on the Great Beyond. There's an urgency behind all that glitzy partying.

While the film does toy with the fantastic possibilities of Death's vacation (people mysteriously pick themselves up after falling off building, flowers bloom in autumn, armies can no longer battle), it's more interested in how Death learns to interact with people. He is there as a student, finding out why these puny humans cling to life so desperately.  The fact that it's taken Death all of earthly existence to finally get around to answering this question does suggest our fatal angel is a little slow on the uptake, but no matter. It's a fable after all.

Director Mitchell Leisen has been steadily climbing his way up the auteur ladder these past few decades and Death Takes a Holiday makes a strong case for his talents. Leisen has a visual facility that can veer from lushly romantic to whimsical and strange with ease. The film's opening, with the racing cars, the pursuing shadow, and the falling flowers is a fantastic moment and sets the film's tone perfectly. The way Leisen uses that moving shadow (a surprisingly good visual effect for that time), letting it move in and out of the light, is brilliantly unsettling. And the way he films the set-piece of the villa gives it a grandeur and mystery straight out of Midsummer Night's Dream. Anything can happen here. 

Leisen's direction is interesting enough to make me wish he had jettisoned some of the play's more redundant speeches and concentrated even more on the visuals. Compare Death Takes a Holiday to Jean Cocteau's Orphée and it shows clearly how the image of a man stepping through a mirror can say much more than five speeches on the meaning of life and death. But that's a fault of the original script, not Leisen, and it's his talents, both with visuals and with actors, that carry this film.

Death Takes a Holiday  rests on the shoulders of Fredric March, who must convey Death, both as a concept, and as a sympathetic hero. The film's creators must have taken a close look at Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when casting March, because his role here draws on the same elements: the combination of dark, inhuman menace and painful longing. In his first appearance, Death is shown only as a floating black specter; March does a lot here with just his voice and it's surprisingly brilliant. Instead of the deep, booming tones you might expect for the Angel of Death, March sounds surprisingly light and cordial as he explains to Duke Lambert why he want to be human. When he suddenly reminds us of his inhumanity ("What could terror mean to me, who have nothing to fear?"), he's all the more unsettling. 

In fact, I'd have to say that it's March's vocal performance I was struck with the most; he has the ability to switch from imperious to humorous to distant to pleading. Few actors of 1934 could sound so convincing as they argue just why they want to lead a beautiful young woman to her grave. Nobody is as lonely as Death after all. March's physical mannerisms are stiffer and less interesting (I'm going to go on record here that unless you're Erich von Stroheim, a monocle never does an actor any favors) and having to tear through many weighty, philosophical speeches is a stumbling block even for his abilities. But it's still a tribute to March that he manages to make Death a person without turning him into a human being.

As Death takes on the mysteries of life, he asks Henry Travers for a little advice. "I came here looking for a game worth playing," he tells him, "but what you do with yourselves still seems so very futile and empty." "There are only three games," Travers tells him. "Love, money, and war." Is it any surprise to a Hollywood audience that Death decides to find meaning in love? (Although a movie in which Death discovers the meaning of life through winning the stock market or blowing people to bits sounds pretty entertaining as well.) In the quest for that love and in true fairy tale fashion, he tests each of the three young women of the house in turn. It makes the romance feel more distanced and abstract than we might want it to be but it also gives the film a nicely creepy tone. What exactly does it mean for a young woman to fall in love with Death?

Evelyn Venable, whose sweet, regular features look like they came straight out of a Victorian postcard, is best remembered as the voice of The Blue Fairy in Pinocchio. Here, as the love interest Grazia, she's quite convincing as an innocent, dreamy girl who seems to be yearning after something bigger than what life can bring her. She uses that beautiful, fluting voice of hers (a little like Eliza Doolittle, post-education) to great effect in her scenes with March, giving Grazia an out-of-the ordinary quality that makes his interest and her fate believable. Her character's attraction to Death can be taken as a sign that love can cross all boundaries. Or it can be seen, disturbingly, as a metaphor for a beautiful, sensitive girl being slowly drawn to suicide. The film leaves it open to be interpreted either way, but the suggestion of tragedy to the Grazia character gives the film a fascinating new element (not surprisingly, the modern remake made her a much more straightforward love interest).

The film's compressed storyline (only 79 minutes and much of it told through abstract speeches) means that most of the other characters fail to resonate strongly. This is a pity because it's quite a talented cast, including Henry Travers as a loveable mentor, Gail Patrick as a sharp, funny romantic prospect (her battle with Katharine Alexander for March's attention is one of the film's comic high points), and Sir Guy Standing as the world's most harried host. It's really a missed opportunity since if Death is going to spend his precious three days in one place with the same group of people, we want these people to be truly memorable and exciting.

A while back, in my New Year's meme, I asked people to name a classic film that deserved a remake (Judging by most people's response to the question, I might as well have asked if Pearl Harbor was this generation's Casablanca). I make no secret of the fact that I support remakes, when they're done with a spirit of affection and creativity. And Death Takes a Holiday is just the kind of classic I was thinking of when I asked that question. It's an irresistible premise, a modern-day fairy tale that can be taken in whatever comedic, fantastic, or romantic direction its director wants. Here, under Mitchell Leisen's direction, it becomes a fascinating, uneasy blend of stage comedy and dark fantasy, a classic with just enough flaws to warrant reinterpretation. No wonder Martin Brest would lavish three hours on the Brad Pitt remake, Meet Joe Black. And no wonder the original play has been retooled into a musical; the rambling, philosophical characters were halfway to bursting into song already.

So far however, no remake has really come around to knock the original out of first place. The Brest film is more conventionally romantic, the musical is more openly comedic, but the original film remains the most daring and beguiling of the three. Helped in no small part by the commanding performance of Fredric March, it's a movie that lingers in the memory. Right down to a conclusion that is either comforting or horrifying, depending on your point of view. By all means, go check it out.

Favorite Quote: 

"I wish that we may never meet when you are less beautiful and I must be less kind."

Favorite Scene:

For me, the moment which best encapsulates the film is the love scene between Death and Alda. Alda is a smart, attractive woman and her Cheshire Cat grin speaks for a pretty satisfactory life. But the mystery of this handsome, foreign prince has completely overwhelmed her and she goes to him and offers love. Death warns her that she would turn away from him if she knew what he really was. "Try me?" Alda offers. (In spite of her limited screen time, Katharine Alexander manages to convey a sense of real intelligence and yearning in Alda that makes you want her to succeed). "Look into my eyes," Death snaps at her, holding her close. "I will you to know what I am!" March's features darken and blur into something sinister. The love slowly drains from Alda's face and her voice rises in utter terror. "No, no, I want to live!" she screams, running away from him to throw herself into a friend's arms. Alda can't explain what has happened to her but something in her, some instinct of survival, has revolted. With the best intentions in the world, she's still only human. The film never quite answers the question of whether Alda's fear or Grazia's willing surrender is the right response to Death. But we can make up our own minds about that.

Final Six Words: 

Glittering, troubled tale of fantastic redemption

Final image credited to Old Hollywood Tumblr

The 7x7 Link Award

Well, the weather's been cold and wet where I am, but what does that matter when the sun's in my heart and I'm ready for love? The acid bath of disappointments and despair known as Oscar season is finally over (For the record, I had no special horses in that race, but I was pleased to see Christopher Plummer finally get his Oscar). I don't know about you guys, but I know I breathe a little sigh of relief when the Academy Awards are over and movie criticism can go back to being fun again.

But just because the film industry's award season is fraught with more tension than the tape holding up some of those starlets' dresses doesn't mean that awards can't be fun. The brilliant and beautiful Karen over at shadowsandsatin has nominated me for a 7x7 Link Award! Anybody who follows this blog knows that I am shamelessly happy to win anything and to get it from someone like Karen, who writes so beautifully about noir, pre-Codes, and film performance, well, that's a special treat. I would apologize for responding late but since Karen herself took a month, I figure it can't be wrong to follow my hostess' fashionably late lead.

That said, let's take a look at this award.

The rules of this award are as follows:

• Tell everyone something that no one else knows about
• Link to one of my posts that I personally think best fits the following categories: Most Beautiful Piece, Most Helpful Piece, Most Popular Piece, Most Controversial Piece, Most Surprisingly Successful Piece, Most Underrated Piece, and Most Pride-worthy Piece
• Pass this award on to seven other bloggers

Well, I'll do my best.

Something that no one else knows about: And we jump right into Truth or Dare territory. Huh. Well, okay. It took me a full year to work up the courage to start writing my own blog. I lurked around for quite a while, pouring over other people's reviews and discussions before finally saying to myself, "Look, you're already writing this stuff in your head, just go ahead and do it."

Now, for the linking!

Most Beautiful Piece: In terms of visual beauty (which is a whole lot easier to judge than the beauty of the prose), I think my screencap-heavy post on Letter to Three Wives for the Fashion in Film Blogathon wins that prize. That post was an anomaly for me as I usually don't rely so much on images or on plot summary but it was incredibly fun to do. You can't argue with about twenty different views of Linda Darnell, can you?

No you can't.

Most Helpful Piece: Helpful? I'm a little confused. I can't think of much on this blog that's helpful as opposed to simply entertaining. Err, my news posts, I guess.

Most Popular Piece: According to my hit count and by a very wide margin, my hasty and not very planned-out post on Veronica Lake is the one that's pulling in the viewers. That was one of my earlier posts, an attempt to sort out a muddled fascination with an unhappy but unforgettable star. And as always happens, whenever I write about a performer, I always end up feeling incredibly fond of them. I'll have to test the limits of that someday and write about Wallace Beery or Rex Harrison.

Most Controversial Piece: Now, you've really stumped me. I'm a classic film blogger, how much controversy could I possibly attract? I suppose for lack of an alternative, I'll put up my post on Citizen Kane because well, it did heat things up to the level of a polite debate in the comments section.

Most Surprisingly Successful Piece: I was a little surprised at how much response I got for my post on great screen teams that never were. I guess I'm not the only one that enjoys thinking about what might have been.

Most Underrated Piece: It's one of the quirks of blogging that many times the more you say, the less you'll get in response. My review of Pandora and the Flying Dutchman was one of my wordiest and most difficult-to-write movie reviews. Yet reader interest was...lacking. Still, it's a piece I'm proud of.

Most Pride-worthy Piece: I think I will give the nod to my review of I Walked with a Zombie. Not because it's my best piece (not by a long shot) but it was the first post I ever did for this blog. The first step's always the hardest.

And now for the fun part, tagging seven other bloggers! Hopefully, this will lead to more traffic for each of these brilliant blogs. If I tag you and you'd rather not participate, I won't feel offended. My tagging is meant in a spirit of fun and affection, not obligation. If you do accept the award, great! 

Krell Laboratories: I am in continual awe of Vulnavia's ability to write thoughtful, creative posts every time. I've been reading her blog for over a year now and I've yet to catch her ever phoning it in.

Who Can Turn the World Off With Her Smile?: Laura's one of my favorite bloggers. Witty, whimsical, and always original. If you aren't following her, then what are you waiting for?

Forgotten Classics of Yesteryear: Nate, any time you want to organize another blogathon, I'll be there in a shot.

In the Mood: I thought I was a Barbara Stanwyck fan, but Natalie leaves me in the dust. But she's more than a fan, she's also an enthusiastic and generous writer. Always look forward to her thoughts.

Sittin' on a Backyard Fence: It's probably a good sign when you start reading someone's blog and your first response is, "Wow, where have you been all my (blogging) life?"

Tales of the Easily Distracted: Dorian's one of the funniest and smartest reviewers out there, as well as one of the kindest commenters I've ever had.

Garbo Laughs: Welcome back, Caroline! We've missed you.

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)

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)

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:

1. Absolutely no costumes from an Alfred Hitchcock film.
2. No costumes worn by Grace Kelly.
3. 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

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

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