The combination of the title of this film with the name "Constance Bennett" (sophisticated cosmopolitanism personified) is mildly startling but all is well. Basically it's a standard action-packed, fast-paced feature along the lines of Universal's 1942 remake of "The Spoilers," wherein a glamorous chanteuse accompanied by an African-American maid relocates to a dirty frontier town and finds herself caught between a bad guy and a good guy, in this case Warren William as a crooked city slicker and Bruce Cabot as the legendary titular character. Bennett dominates every scene she's in because the camera loves her and she shines in her feisty no-nonsense role, inhabiting Orry-Kelly's costumes to a tee and doing justice to a song called "The Lady Got a Shady Deal" by M. K. Jerome and Charles Newman. The supporting cast includes familiar old reliables such as Ward Bond, Walter Catlett, Howard Da Silva and J. Farrell MacDonald, with Betty Brewer excellent as the young daughter of a rancher up against the outlaws. The scenes alternate between fast-talking dialogues bursting with plot points to raucous crowd scenes, shoot-outs, and horse gallopings ranging from the Chicago fire of 1871 (which sets the plot in motion) to a lynch mob, a dam burst and a cattle stampede. A breezy old fashioned entertainment.
Reviews
316 Reviews
Strange Illusion
(1945)
late-career Warren William among the attractions
18 April 2024
"Strange Illusion," reminiscent of Shakespeare's "Hamlet" and also director Edgar G. Ulmer's own stylish 1934 effort, "The Black Cat," is so full of holes and contrivances one can hardly take it seriously. It's worth a look, however, for a quartet of captivating performances: a slick and scheming Warren William, past his prime but as solid a screen presence as he was in the early 30s; Jimmy Lydon, the epitome of wholesome, fresh-faced adolescent idealistic innocence as a young man suffering disturbing dreams about the recent suspicious death of his highly-placed politician father; Sally Eilers, also past her prime but ever so competent and fetching as Lydon's widowed mother and Charles Arnt as a weasely psychiatrist in cahoots with William. Besides this quartet, we have the wooden Regis Toomey, a sort of run-of-the-mill "B"-actor during the studio era who ended up playing supporting roles in 1960s TV shows, as a family friend who is gradually convinced by Lydon that William is, to say the least, not to be trusted. The low budget is evident throughout but it doesn't prevent the viewer from rooting for Lydon.
The Road to Singapore
(1931)
oh, the heat
23 May 2023
Based on a novel aptly entitled "Heat Wave," and a stage adaptation which was a 1929 London success starring Herbert Marshall and a 1931 Broadway flop with Basil Rathbone, "Road to Singapore" is the type of story one would usually associate with W. Somerset Maugham: British rubber planters in southeast Asia (in this case the fictional outpost of "Khota") and their social rivalries, served up with cocktails, cigarettes, and card games, along with bungalow and club room banter and the inevitable gun shot or stabbing. And of course the heat, not to mention native drums stirring passions in the night.
The above-the-title star is William Powell, with a "mid-lantic" accent, in the Marshall-Rathbone role as a local cad with a fondness for other men's wives (and, like his "Thin Man" character, for prodigious quantities of hard liquor that seems to have little or no degenerative effect on his looks or bearing). Supporting him are Louis Calhern, with his own "mid-lantic" accent, as an absurdly stuffy local doctor and Doris Kenyon as Calhern's new wife who immediately regrets her marriage to the workaholic martinet in the suffocating backwater. Marian Marsh is Calhern's younger sister who develops an adolescent crush on Powell.
Colin Campbell and Douglas Gerrard provide silly comic relief, strolling through the proceedings at intervals as veddy British stereotypes named "Reginald" and "Simpson," respectively, who constantly argue about the real meaning of what they've just said to each other. Tyrell Davis, so memorable as "Ernest" in the 1933 film version of Maugham's "Our Betters," despite billing in the opening credits, is wasted, appearing in only two or three group scenes and speaking one minor line. Ethel Griffies also gets practically nothing to do. Alison Skipworth as an overbearing matron has a couple of heavy-handed flirtations with both Powell and Calhern.
Most of the male characters spend a good deal of time mopping sweat from their faces, which is no surprise given the suits and ties most of them wear; Powell dresses as if he's on his way to the opera at the height of the fall season in London and Calhern sleeps in full length pajamas under blankets no less. The females are better off in this regard and occasionally wear loose dresses with short sleeves while daintily fanning themselves.
The producers went to some length to provide convincing atmospherics. When bride-to-be Kenyon arrives at Khota, she is greeted by a downpour that turns the dirt road into a river of mud through which she trudges until Powell, whose linen suit is drenched through, rescues her by giving her a lift on his native-driven rickshaw. (Needless to say, not a trace of dirt can be seen on her footwear, nor a wrinkle in his garments, afterward.) There is a celebrated tracking sequence through the jungle that separates Kenyon's house from Powell's, which starts at her face in closeup and ends on his in closeup and then alternates between the two, all to the rhythmic pounding of drums in honor of the local "love goddess."
As for the "natives," Calhern slaps one of them for drinking on the job and another, gleaming with sweat, is seen puffing a cigar while leering at the newly-arrived Kenyon, who is the real star here, always convincing, despite being a bit long in the tooth for the type of innocent-young-thing role she's playing, and magnetic from every angle. At different moments this barely remembered holdover from the silent era evokes Constance Bennett, Tallulah Bankhead, Thelma Todd and even Marlene Dietrich in her "Shanghai Express" period, even though she predates them all.
The above-the-title star is William Powell, with a "mid-lantic" accent, in the Marshall-Rathbone role as a local cad with a fondness for other men's wives (and, like his "Thin Man" character, for prodigious quantities of hard liquor that seems to have little or no degenerative effect on his looks or bearing). Supporting him are Louis Calhern, with his own "mid-lantic" accent, as an absurdly stuffy local doctor and Doris Kenyon as Calhern's new wife who immediately regrets her marriage to the workaholic martinet in the suffocating backwater. Marian Marsh is Calhern's younger sister who develops an adolescent crush on Powell.
Colin Campbell and Douglas Gerrard provide silly comic relief, strolling through the proceedings at intervals as veddy British stereotypes named "Reginald" and "Simpson," respectively, who constantly argue about the real meaning of what they've just said to each other. Tyrell Davis, so memorable as "Ernest" in the 1933 film version of Maugham's "Our Betters," despite billing in the opening credits, is wasted, appearing in only two or three group scenes and speaking one minor line. Ethel Griffies also gets practically nothing to do. Alison Skipworth as an overbearing matron has a couple of heavy-handed flirtations with both Powell and Calhern.
Most of the male characters spend a good deal of time mopping sweat from their faces, which is no surprise given the suits and ties most of them wear; Powell dresses as if he's on his way to the opera at the height of the fall season in London and Calhern sleeps in full length pajamas under blankets no less. The females are better off in this regard and occasionally wear loose dresses with short sleeves while daintily fanning themselves.
The producers went to some length to provide convincing atmospherics. When bride-to-be Kenyon arrives at Khota, she is greeted by a downpour that turns the dirt road into a river of mud through which she trudges until Powell, whose linen suit is drenched through, rescues her by giving her a lift on his native-driven rickshaw. (Needless to say, not a trace of dirt can be seen on her footwear, nor a wrinkle in his garments, afterward.) There is a celebrated tracking sequence through the jungle that separates Kenyon's house from Powell's, which starts at her face in closeup and ends on his in closeup and then alternates between the two, all to the rhythmic pounding of drums in honor of the local "love goddess."
As for the "natives," Calhern slaps one of them for drinking on the job and another, gleaming with sweat, is seen puffing a cigar while leering at the newly-arrived Kenyon, who is the real star here, always convincing, despite being a bit long in the tooth for the type of innocent-young-thing role she's playing, and magnetic from every angle. At different moments this barely remembered holdover from the silent era evokes Constance Bennett, Tallulah Bankhead, Thelma Todd and even Marlene Dietrich in her "Shanghai Express" period, even though she predates them all.
Tonight or Never
(1931)
the eyes have it
19 March 2023
From the opening credits (a montage of bird's-eye views of Venice) it's clear that this film about the artistic and romantic ups and downs of a famed opera diva during a career crisis will be a cut above the usual. In addition to Gloria Swanson as the star, we have Samuel Goldwyn producing, a strong supporting cast, Gregg Toland as cinematographer, and costuming by Chanel.
The style and dialogue are sometimes Lubitschian, as if director Mervyn LeRoy had studied "The Love Parade" before shooting. Toland's camera swoops and pans from spot to spot, sometimes in tandem with dialogue and actions relayed from one character to another across the frame. The generally brisk pace sags in places when there is too much talk without wit.
Swanson is beautifully made up and photographed throughout but some of the skimpier Chanel outfits make her look somewhat matronly; she looks best in long shots with the more layered ensembles. The camera makes the most of her closeups, particularly the use of her large eyes. Douglas, repeating his role from the stage, seems to have effortlessly stepped into the role of sophisticated screen star.
Among the visual delights is an extended sequence in which Douglas tosses a bouquet with a note from the street through Swanson's second story window, which provokes conflicting emotions in her character as she retrieves it and then debates within herself whether or how to respond, all without speech. The sequence would have worked perfectly in the silent cinema.
For fans of "Grand Hotel," which post-dates this production, here is a chance to see Ferdinand Gottschalk and Greta Meyer (Garbo's manager and the hotel's housekeeper, respectively) in similar but meatier roles. Gottschalk especially shines. And Alison Skipworth contributes her customary & welcome dash of vinegar.
The style and dialogue are sometimes Lubitschian, as if director Mervyn LeRoy had studied "The Love Parade" before shooting. Toland's camera swoops and pans from spot to spot, sometimes in tandem with dialogue and actions relayed from one character to another across the frame. The generally brisk pace sags in places when there is too much talk without wit.
Swanson is beautifully made up and photographed throughout but some of the skimpier Chanel outfits make her look somewhat matronly; she looks best in long shots with the more layered ensembles. The camera makes the most of her closeups, particularly the use of her large eyes. Douglas, repeating his role from the stage, seems to have effortlessly stepped into the role of sophisticated screen star.
Among the visual delights is an extended sequence in which Douglas tosses a bouquet with a note from the street through Swanson's second story window, which provokes conflicting emotions in her character as she retrieves it and then debates within herself whether or how to respond, all without speech. The sequence would have worked perfectly in the silent cinema.
For fans of "Grand Hotel," which post-dates this production, here is a chance to see Ferdinand Gottschalk and Greta Meyer (Garbo's manager and the hotel's housekeeper, respectively) in similar but meatier roles. Gottschalk especially shines. And Alison Skipworth contributes her customary & welcome dash of vinegar.
The Adventures of Mark Twain
(1944)
reverence for the irreverent
30 September 2022
Warning: Spoilers
Fredric March was one of the best and most prolific actors of his era but this pompous and stately treatment of the life of the celebrated writer Mark Twain too often suffocates his efforts. The tone shifts back and forth interminably between solemnity and frenzy. March's lines are more like aphorisms than real dialogue and he delivers them accordingly. The supporting cast includes Alexis Smith, who provides prettiness as his devoted wife; Alan Hale as a good-naturedly raucous companion in some of the early steamboat and mining town scenes before he vanishes from the scenario; Donald Crisp as a conveyor of plot points in the last two-thirds; and toward the end an affecting C. Aubrey Smith summing up Twain's life and legacy at an Oxford University event. Scenes tend to be long and drawn out, particularly those involving the young Twain's daredevil riverboat navigation and a very elaborate frog jumping contest that was the basis for one of Twain's first literary successes. Several scenes depict Twain uttering mildly amusing quips followed by extended guffawing from rapt audiences. What was funny in the 19th century may have still been funny in 1944 but not now.
Three Little Words
(1950)
mild mix
20 July 2022
The songwriting team of Kalmar and Ruby contributed a handful of lasting standards to the American Songbook. Some of them (including "Nevertheless," "Thinking of You" and of course the title song) are included in this fast-paced but mostly unexciting movie about their decades-long collaboration. Chronology and basic facts, not to mention period clothing styles and musical arrangements are barely considered, as was typical of mid-century songwriter biopics. The hook here is the fact that the two tolerated each other even though their main interests lay elsewhere (Ruby was a wannabe baseball player and Kalmar a playwright and magician at heart).
In any case, there is plenty of dancing given the casting of Fred Astaire as lyricist Bert Kalmar, here partnered with Vera-Ellen, so the pair get to show their impressive footwork in several unspectacular but charming routines in candy-colored sets. Red Skelton as composer Ruby is given a measure of physical shtick in baseball field scenes but generally his tendency to mug is kept in check by the strictures of the boilerplate "and-then-they-wrote-this"-style narrative.
A brunette Debbie Reynolds (in a costume that actually resembles something from the Twenties) pops up in Helen Kane-ish mode as a passerby who just happens to notice the team working through "I Wanna Be Loved by You" on a piano near a moving truck and spontaneously injects the well-known "boop-boop-a-doop" at the appropriate pauses; cut to a marquee with "Helen Kane in 'Good Boy'" and a fully orchestrated stage performance with Reynolds performing the whole song while teasing the young Carleton Carpenter. The ever-elegant Arlene Dahl is on hand playing Ruby's wife Eileen Percy; she sings "I Love You So Much" in the only really lavish number, a Ziegfeld-style affair on a staircase flanked by a tuxedoed male ensemble.
"Three Little Words" is mostly for hardcore film musical buffs or those seeking pure escapism.
In any case, there is plenty of dancing given the casting of Fred Astaire as lyricist Bert Kalmar, here partnered with Vera-Ellen, so the pair get to show their impressive footwork in several unspectacular but charming routines in candy-colored sets. Red Skelton as composer Ruby is given a measure of physical shtick in baseball field scenes but generally his tendency to mug is kept in check by the strictures of the boilerplate "and-then-they-wrote-this"-style narrative.
A brunette Debbie Reynolds (in a costume that actually resembles something from the Twenties) pops up in Helen Kane-ish mode as a passerby who just happens to notice the team working through "I Wanna Be Loved by You" on a piano near a moving truck and spontaneously injects the well-known "boop-boop-a-doop" at the appropriate pauses; cut to a marquee with "Helen Kane in 'Good Boy'" and a fully orchestrated stage performance with Reynolds performing the whole song while teasing the young Carleton Carpenter. The ever-elegant Arlene Dahl is on hand playing Ruby's wife Eileen Percy; she sings "I Love You So Much" in the only really lavish number, a Ziegfeld-style affair on a staircase flanked by a tuxedoed male ensemble.
"Three Little Words" is mostly for hardcore film musical buffs or those seeking pure escapism.
The Spoilers
(1942)
above-average due to stars & visuals
16 July 2022
One of several early 1940s action features displaying Marlene Dietrich as the glamour puss surrounded by rough 'n' tough he-men. This one is a bit better than the others due to a well-realized gritty setting (Nome, Alaska during the Klondike Gold Rush with art direction by the prodigious Jack Otterson), colorful saloon crowd scenes, a celebrated knock-down-drag-out climactic fist fight between John Wayne and Randolph Scott and a supporting cast that includes seasoned old-timers Harry Carey and Richard Barthelmess and Marietta Canty playing Dietrich's maid whose dialogue includes much more than the usual "Yes, Ma'am-No, Ma'am" and "yuk, yuk, yuk."
The plot, from a popular 1906 novel by Rex Beach, is secondary to the personalities and the presentation of that living work of art, Marlene Dietrich. She wafts through the filthy, rugged town in one stunning Vera West ensemble after another, including a mind-blowing concoction topped by a sheer polka-dotted veil as she gracefully makes her way upon a narrow wooden plank through a street of rutted mud.
The plot, from a popular 1906 novel by Rex Beach, is secondary to the personalities and the presentation of that living work of art, Marlene Dietrich. She wafts through the filthy, rugged town in one stunning Vera West ensemble after another, including a mind-blowing concoction topped by a sheer polka-dotted veil as she gracefully makes her way upon a narrow wooden plank through a street of rutted mud.
The Power of the Dog
(2021)
class assignment: Find the hidden meanings
5 December 2021
Warning: Spoilers
Possible Spoilers.
Viewers of "The Power of the Dog" who are unfamiliar with the source novel (not to mention the Bible passage from which the title is taken) must make two commitments to appreciate it: (1) see it from the very beginning because the brief opening voiceover narration introduces a key plot dynamic; (2) pay close attention lest the languid pace and often dim interior lighting counterposed with extended National Geographic-style landscape panoramas invite the mind to wander past fleeting but revelatory looks or utterances.
"Dog" is full of visual poetry but lacking in exposition. Little is explained either directly by characters or indirectly by script, editing and direction. Only hints are offered in the story of the middle-aged Burbank brothers (Benedict Cumberbatch as sourpuss Phil and Jesse Plemons as taciturn George) living on an isolated Montana ranch whose well-worn relationship is undermined by George's impulsive marriage to innkeeper Rose (Kirsten Dunst). A campaign of psychological abuse ensues as Phil torments and belittles his new sister-in-law and her wisp of a son (Kodi Smit-McPhee).
Problem: Dunst and McPhee bear no physical resemblance to each other in body type, coloring or facial structure. Sometimes a child will look more like one parent than another, but this is going way too far. Additionally, the Burbank siblings visually suggest old buddies rather than two products of one womb. At least they're about the same height.
Every main character has hidden elements. Dunst, presented at first as a teetotaler, then driven to drink by Phil's abuse, hides her habit until it begins to destroy her health and sanity.
Phil periodically sneaks off for private reveries with artifacts of his youthful relationship with a long-dead rancher named Bronco Henry with whom, it is suggested, he was physically intimate way back when. The film is half over before we are given a key fact about the Cumberbatch's character's back story which helps explain his baffling nature. The life journey of the brothers, how they came to live on a grand ranch, is too little explored and leaves the viewer off balance.
Cumberbatch has related in interviews that he went full-out Method in his approach to the role: he struggled for weeks to learn how to braid a rawhide rope, chain-smoke hand-rolled cigarettes convincingly and project the essence of a man who never bathes by remaining unwashed for weeks during filming. Looking at the finished footage, one wonders why he bothered. Any of these braiding/smoking/looking filthy moments could have been acted with minimal or routine effort. But whatever makes your engine run... His accent is believable, sort of standard western crossed with eastern college education. One slip: When he scolds McPhee for sounding like a "Victrola record" he pronounces "record" in the Brit manner ("RECK-ord; an American would have said "RECK-rd").
As for McPhee, he seems to be as much a symbol as a real human being. First of all, he is built like a toothpick and has a gentle, delicate way about him. He is mercilessly teased about being a "Nancy boy" or "sissy" whenever he is in the presence of rugged macho cowboys. One can only wonder how he even survived to his teens in early-20th-century Montana. His existence seems to proclaim: I am the personification of a non-toxic masculinity and the suffering Bullied. But there is more to him than meets the eye.
Genevieve Lemon is spot-on superb as the housekeeper, squeezing every drop out of a minor role.
The sparse and stringy musical score by Jonny Greenwood evokes the sound of instruments that would have been played by cowboys in that era. He also scored a similar film, Paul Thomas Anderson's "The Phantom Thread," about another type of mysterious character.
Viewers of "The Power of the Dog" who are unfamiliar with the source novel (not to mention the Bible passage from which the title is taken) must make two commitments to appreciate it: (1) see it from the very beginning because the brief opening voiceover narration introduces a key plot dynamic; (2) pay close attention lest the languid pace and often dim interior lighting counterposed with extended National Geographic-style landscape panoramas invite the mind to wander past fleeting but revelatory looks or utterances.
"Dog" is full of visual poetry but lacking in exposition. Little is explained either directly by characters or indirectly by script, editing and direction. Only hints are offered in the story of the middle-aged Burbank brothers (Benedict Cumberbatch as sourpuss Phil and Jesse Plemons as taciturn George) living on an isolated Montana ranch whose well-worn relationship is undermined by George's impulsive marriage to innkeeper Rose (Kirsten Dunst). A campaign of psychological abuse ensues as Phil torments and belittles his new sister-in-law and her wisp of a son (Kodi Smit-McPhee).
Problem: Dunst and McPhee bear no physical resemblance to each other in body type, coloring or facial structure. Sometimes a child will look more like one parent than another, but this is going way too far. Additionally, the Burbank siblings visually suggest old buddies rather than two products of one womb. At least they're about the same height.
Every main character has hidden elements. Dunst, presented at first as a teetotaler, then driven to drink by Phil's abuse, hides her habit until it begins to destroy her health and sanity.
Phil periodically sneaks off for private reveries with artifacts of his youthful relationship with a long-dead rancher named Bronco Henry with whom, it is suggested, he was physically intimate way back when. The film is half over before we are given a key fact about the Cumberbatch's character's back story which helps explain his baffling nature. The life journey of the brothers, how they came to live on a grand ranch, is too little explored and leaves the viewer off balance.
Cumberbatch has related in interviews that he went full-out Method in his approach to the role: he struggled for weeks to learn how to braid a rawhide rope, chain-smoke hand-rolled cigarettes convincingly and project the essence of a man who never bathes by remaining unwashed for weeks during filming. Looking at the finished footage, one wonders why he bothered. Any of these braiding/smoking/looking filthy moments could have been acted with minimal or routine effort. But whatever makes your engine run... His accent is believable, sort of standard western crossed with eastern college education. One slip: When he scolds McPhee for sounding like a "Victrola record" he pronounces "record" in the Brit manner ("RECK-ord; an American would have said "RECK-rd").
As for McPhee, he seems to be as much a symbol as a real human being. First of all, he is built like a toothpick and has a gentle, delicate way about him. He is mercilessly teased about being a "Nancy boy" or "sissy" whenever he is in the presence of rugged macho cowboys. One can only wonder how he even survived to his teens in early-20th-century Montana. His existence seems to proclaim: I am the personification of a non-toxic masculinity and the suffering Bullied. But there is more to him than meets the eye.
Genevieve Lemon is spot-on superb as the housekeeper, squeezing every drop out of a minor role.
The sparse and stringy musical score by Jonny Greenwood evokes the sound of instruments that would have been played by cowboys in that era. He also scored a similar film, Paul Thomas Anderson's "The Phantom Thread," about another type of mysterious character.
Blithe Spirit
(2020)
pointless revamping of stage classic
25 September 2021
Noel Coward's "Blithe Spirit" was one of the top theatrical successes of its time and is frequently revived. The 1945 film version directed by David Lean, shot in lush Technicolor during stressful wartime conditions in Britain, also endures. There is even a watchable kinescope of the 1956 U. S. television production starring a flawless Coward himself with Claudette Colbert and Lauren Bacall that also holds up well.
This new version directed by Edward Hall presents the shriveled fruit of three screenwriters who retained only the barest shell of Coward's plot which they then refilled with sometimes clever but mostly witless (and at times embarrassingly anachronistic) dialogue and mundane situations. Dan Stevens is fine, given the gruel he has to work with. The musical underscoring is anti-Coward throughout; the pop songs that are supposed to supply period flavor sound like canned Lawrence Welk arrangements. The only effective music in the whole film is the playing of the record of Irving Berlin's "Always" which kicks off the action.
Judi Dench is always a pleasure, but she is inappropriate as the medium Madame Arcati. Due to Dench's advanced age (mid-80s when this was filmed) her character has been vastly subdued and drained of its veddy English eccentricities.
Hall & Company would have been better off taking a crack of one of Coward's many unfilmed plays or short stories.
This new version directed by Edward Hall presents the shriveled fruit of three screenwriters who retained only the barest shell of Coward's plot which they then refilled with sometimes clever but mostly witless (and at times embarrassingly anachronistic) dialogue and mundane situations. Dan Stevens is fine, given the gruel he has to work with. The musical underscoring is anti-Coward throughout; the pop songs that are supposed to supply period flavor sound like canned Lawrence Welk arrangements. The only effective music in the whole film is the playing of the record of Irving Berlin's "Always" which kicks off the action.
Judi Dench is always a pleasure, but she is inappropriate as the medium Madame Arcati. Due to Dench's advanced age (mid-80s when this was filmed) her character has been vastly subdued and drained of its veddy English eccentricities.
Hall & Company would have been better off taking a crack of one of Coward's many unfilmed plays or short stories.
Marie Antoinette
(1938)
visuals and supporting players save it
28 June 2021
"Marie Antoinette," a gargantuan spectacle that seems to have been made primarily to glorify Norma Shearer as only MGM could, is most bearable when various supporting players assume front and center positions amidst the sprawl. The best of them are Gladys George (despite given little to do as Madame DuBarry), the decadently cosmeticized Joseph Schildkraut as the Duc d'Orleans, Robert Morley as the hapless Louis XVI, a rather wan John Barrymore as Louis XV, and tiny but effective bits by Mae Busch and Rafaela Ottiano (both uncredited). A boyish Tyrone Power as Swedish Axel de Fersen enters the story at several intervals, providing Shearer with moments of romance, which are absent from her interactions with her character's on-screen husband, Robert Morley. Anita Louise as the Princesse de Lamballe, the Queen's loyal court ally, is well-suited her role. Cecil Beaton and Henry Grace outdo themselves in set décor, as does Adrian with Shearer's room-filling gowns, all of which is a good thing helping to disguise the lumbering, awkward script concocted by a raft of screenwriters, probably all working against each other, leading to the well-known tragic ending. The music score by Herbert Stothart is functional but unoriginal and uninspired, most disappointingly so during the entr'acte and exit sequences. Shearer displays all of her familiar mannerisms and tics for the first two-thirds of the proceedings, but at least she looks gorgeous while doing so. When things get rough for the character toward the end, she shines most brightly as an actress and delivers some truly moving moments. Her plain look in the prison scenes near the end (in which she resembles Cynthia Nixon without makeup) was not unprecedented for her; she appeared similarly unadorned in parts of MGM's "Let Us Be Gay" (1930).
Elmer Gantry
(1960)
stagy and unconvincing
24 March 2021
Richard Brooks's 1960 screen adaptation of the 1927 Sinclair Lewis novel, although well received in its time (and awarded with three Oscars), squeezes most of the intellectual juice from the source, a saga of the bumpy rise of a hypocritical Protestant evangelist who constantly seesaws between belief and doubt until he evolves from an awkward, doubting seminary student to a smooth talking and celebrated Bible thumper.
The novel spans the first quarter of the 20th century, largely in the mythical midwestern state of "Winnemac." Brooks distills the contents into a few years of the Coolidge era culminating in 1927 (in one scene we glimpse the newspaper headline "Isadora Duncan Dies" which occurred in September of that year).
Burt Lancaster in the title role hams it up, making liberal use of his trademark toothy grin and acrobatics; his vigor is true to the character, but his native New Yawk accent is out of place for a character born and raised in Kansas. Jean Simmons is physically correct as the revivalist zealot with whom he falls in love, but too proper-English-lady to register as a Virginia shanty town girl barnstorming the prairie. The complexities of her character - a not-so-sincere true believer - are undeveloped. Shirley Jones's Lulu Baines, a composite of at least two characters from the novel, has some good moments. All three main characters (especially Lancaster) laugh out loud a lot; Jones's laughter is the least natural.
The most consistently believable performances come from Arthur Kennedy as yet another composite character, a rather cynical but fair-minded newspaper reporter who follows Gantry around and serves as a sort of stand-in for the secular or uncommitted general public, and Edward Andrews, that beefy staple of 1950s and '60's TV and film, as the embodiment of George F. Babbitt, spewer of platitudes, the eponymous fictional character of an earlier Lewis novel.
Intimate dramatic scenes work well enough but quick cuts, odd angles and jarring instrumentals are employed to distract from clumsily staged street demonstrations and other riotous gatherings (which include protest signs that look like assembly line studio art department props); a climactic temple fire is entirely lacking in suspense. Besides traditional religious hymns sung by various groups in various locales, the musical scoring by Andre Previn is mostly loud, garish and dissonant, perhaps to reflect the inner turmoil of the major figures in the narrative.
On the screen Sinclair's broad-ranging theological and philosophical discourses become a series of aphorisms or one-liners, bordering on arty didacticism. When good acting and strong writing merge, as with Kennedy, Andrews and at times Jones and Lancaster, we are lifted out of our disbelief, but such moments are few and far between.
The novel spans the first quarter of the 20th century, largely in the mythical midwestern state of "Winnemac." Brooks distills the contents into a few years of the Coolidge era culminating in 1927 (in one scene we glimpse the newspaper headline "Isadora Duncan Dies" which occurred in September of that year).
Burt Lancaster in the title role hams it up, making liberal use of his trademark toothy grin and acrobatics; his vigor is true to the character, but his native New Yawk accent is out of place for a character born and raised in Kansas. Jean Simmons is physically correct as the revivalist zealot with whom he falls in love, but too proper-English-lady to register as a Virginia shanty town girl barnstorming the prairie. The complexities of her character - a not-so-sincere true believer - are undeveloped. Shirley Jones's Lulu Baines, a composite of at least two characters from the novel, has some good moments. All three main characters (especially Lancaster) laugh out loud a lot; Jones's laughter is the least natural.
The most consistently believable performances come from Arthur Kennedy as yet another composite character, a rather cynical but fair-minded newspaper reporter who follows Gantry around and serves as a sort of stand-in for the secular or uncommitted general public, and Edward Andrews, that beefy staple of 1950s and '60's TV and film, as the embodiment of George F. Babbitt, spewer of platitudes, the eponymous fictional character of an earlier Lewis novel.
Intimate dramatic scenes work well enough but quick cuts, odd angles and jarring instrumentals are employed to distract from clumsily staged street demonstrations and other riotous gatherings (which include protest signs that look like assembly line studio art department props); a climactic temple fire is entirely lacking in suspense. Besides traditional religious hymns sung by various groups in various locales, the musical scoring by Andre Previn is mostly loud, garish and dissonant, perhaps to reflect the inner turmoil of the major figures in the narrative.
On the screen Sinclair's broad-ranging theological and philosophical discourses become a series of aphorisms or one-liners, bordering on arty didacticism. When good acting and strong writing merge, as with Kennedy, Andrews and at times Jones and Lancaster, we are lifted out of our disbelief, but such moments are few and far between.
strange indeed
24 March 2021
There is so much contrivance and incongruity in this odd crime drama that a tweak here and there might have turned it into a somewhat absurdist dark comedy. But it appears to take itself seriously.
The original play, "Uncle Harry" by Thomas Job has been relocated from Edwardian England to a fictional town in New Hampshire, USA, but not only are four of the main cast members (George Sanders, Sarah Algood, Moyna MacGill, Geraldine Fitzgerald) either Anglo or Anglo-Irish, not one of them bothers to sound American - not even New England American. To top it off, who shows up as a local gossip but Ethel Griffies, Old World as ever, best known as the crusty ornithologist in Hitchcock's "The Birds." She provides a few moments of refreshing amusement in a drug store involving a double-dip ice cream cone.
Although the film clearly takes place in the time of its release (1945, the last year of the Second World War) and includes conversation about travel to Europe, there is no reference verbally or visually to the war that was still ravaging that continent, even though there are several mentions of its immediate historic predecessor, the Great Depression.
The title character is the mild-mannered male descendant of a once prosperous family, fallen on hard times due to the Depression which forces him into a nine-to-five grind in a local mill designing patterns for textiles. The family house, all that's left of the ancestral fortune, is downright palatial and shared with two domineering sisters: one, played with subtlety and skill by Fitzgerald, is emotionally dependent, passive-aggressive, grasping and possessive; the other (MacGill) is cheerful and far less demanding but somewhat airheaded. Despite their reduced financial circumstances, both dress like prosperous fashion plates. Into their world steps the even more stylish Ella Raines as a designer sent from the local firm's New York office who strikes up a relationship with Sanders, destabilizing the long-term setup with his sisters. And there the trouble begins.
Additionally, Sanders isn't right for the role which on the London stage was played by Michael Redgrave and on Broadway by, of all people, Joseph Schildkraut. Sanders is largely inert throughout, appearing to make little or no effort to represent a sentient human being. The character is supposed to be, at least outwardly, a milquetoast who eventually snaps; Sanders is less toast than wood. His height, girth, strong facial features and deep, commanding voice are out of character. Jimmy Stewart, Burgess Meredith or Ray Milland (to name a few) would have been better for this role. Of the two sisters, MacGill's character as written here is the nicer (which isn't saying much) but we are never sure whether we're supposed to like her or not. This problem is traceable to sloppy changes made to the original, which to judge from the historical record was evidently a coherent and successful stage play. The motion picture version emerges as a strange mess, interesting mostly because of how absurdly bad it is.
The original play, "Uncle Harry" by Thomas Job has been relocated from Edwardian England to a fictional town in New Hampshire, USA, but not only are four of the main cast members (George Sanders, Sarah Algood, Moyna MacGill, Geraldine Fitzgerald) either Anglo or Anglo-Irish, not one of them bothers to sound American - not even New England American. To top it off, who shows up as a local gossip but Ethel Griffies, Old World as ever, best known as the crusty ornithologist in Hitchcock's "The Birds." She provides a few moments of refreshing amusement in a drug store involving a double-dip ice cream cone.
Although the film clearly takes place in the time of its release (1945, the last year of the Second World War) and includes conversation about travel to Europe, there is no reference verbally or visually to the war that was still ravaging that continent, even though there are several mentions of its immediate historic predecessor, the Great Depression.
The title character is the mild-mannered male descendant of a once prosperous family, fallen on hard times due to the Depression which forces him into a nine-to-five grind in a local mill designing patterns for textiles. The family house, all that's left of the ancestral fortune, is downright palatial and shared with two domineering sisters: one, played with subtlety and skill by Fitzgerald, is emotionally dependent, passive-aggressive, grasping and possessive; the other (MacGill) is cheerful and far less demanding but somewhat airheaded. Despite their reduced financial circumstances, both dress like prosperous fashion plates. Into their world steps the even more stylish Ella Raines as a designer sent from the local firm's New York office who strikes up a relationship with Sanders, destabilizing the long-term setup with his sisters. And there the trouble begins.
Additionally, Sanders isn't right for the role which on the London stage was played by Michael Redgrave and on Broadway by, of all people, Joseph Schildkraut. Sanders is largely inert throughout, appearing to make little or no effort to represent a sentient human being. The character is supposed to be, at least outwardly, a milquetoast who eventually snaps; Sanders is less toast than wood. His height, girth, strong facial features and deep, commanding voice are out of character. Jimmy Stewart, Burgess Meredith or Ray Milland (to name a few) would have been better for this role. Of the two sisters, MacGill's character as written here is the nicer (which isn't saying much) but we are never sure whether we're supposed to like her or not. This problem is traceable to sloppy changes made to the original, which to judge from the historical record was evidently a coherent and successful stage play. The motion picture version emerges as a strange mess, interesting mostly because of how absurdly bad it is.
Jazz Heaven
(1929)
interesting trip to Tin Pan Alley
10 January 2021
From the start, "Jazz Heaven" veers off the beaten track in agreeable ways. After opening with a lingering shot of the famous Flatiron Building on Manhattan's 23rd Street, followed by another lingering shot of a side street perpendicular to Central Park, Clyde Cook ambles past brownstones wet from a morning hose-down. He pauses to pick up a cat which he carries on his shoulder to his stoop where he pours milk from a bottle outside the door. Only then does the story kick in.
You see, Cook, the night watchman of a piano store, also runs a boarding house with his wife (Blanche Friderici). She is angry with one of the tenants, a struggling young songwriter (John Mack Brown) who has been playing the same melody on the piano all night, disturbing the other tenants. Brown's next door neighbor (Sally O'Neil), spontaneously starts humming loudly along with the melody; he overhears her, prompting a meeting which quickly turns to love. She happens to work for a music publishing firm run by two Jewish men (Joseph Cawthorn and Albert Conti) who seem like caricatures of the Shubert Brothers, a famous team of theatre owners who were known to bicker. They operate out of one of those buildings that gave the Alley its name, filled with cubicles in which songwriters or their song pluggers banged out their new tunes for potential buyers. The publishers spend as much time insulting each other or arranging dates with showgirls as they do picking potential hit songs. Several minutes are taken up with their linguistically fractured arguments, which amount to the insertion of vaudeville routines.
The oft-repeated song in question is "Someone," a charming composition by Oscar Levant (who also gave us "If You Want the Rainbow, You Must Have the Rain" and "Loveable and Sweet," to name just two, in the early "talkie" era). Both Brown and O'Neil sing it at different points in the film.
If you excised all of the shtick (including the cat and milk bottle scene) the actual plot would fill perhaps 45 minutes.
You see, Cook, the night watchman of a piano store, also runs a boarding house with his wife (Blanche Friderici). She is angry with one of the tenants, a struggling young songwriter (John Mack Brown) who has been playing the same melody on the piano all night, disturbing the other tenants. Brown's next door neighbor (Sally O'Neil), spontaneously starts humming loudly along with the melody; he overhears her, prompting a meeting which quickly turns to love. She happens to work for a music publishing firm run by two Jewish men (Joseph Cawthorn and Albert Conti) who seem like caricatures of the Shubert Brothers, a famous team of theatre owners who were known to bicker. They operate out of one of those buildings that gave the Alley its name, filled with cubicles in which songwriters or their song pluggers banged out their new tunes for potential buyers. The publishers spend as much time insulting each other or arranging dates with showgirls as they do picking potential hit songs. Several minutes are taken up with their linguistically fractured arguments, which amount to the insertion of vaudeville routines.
The oft-repeated song in question is "Someone," a charming composition by Oscar Levant (who also gave us "If You Want the Rainbow, You Must Have the Rain" and "Loveable and Sweet," to name just two, in the early "talkie" era). Both Brown and O'Neil sing it at different points in the film.
If you excised all of the shtick (including the cat and milk bottle scene) the actual plot would fill perhaps 45 minutes.
Mank
(2020)
for tolerant film buffs only
3 January 2021
"Mank," David Fincher's interpretation of the back story of "Citizen Kane," the classic film based on the life of newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst, employs two of the same technical devices as its subject: flashbacks and moody black-and-white cinematography. The excellent Gary Oldman is cast against age and nationality as the title character, screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz who wrote the "Kane" script with Orson Welles and according to Fincher deserves at least as much credit for the final iconic product as co-writer and director Welles. Perhaps Fincher and Co. felt that if Oldman could pull off Winston Churchill in "Darkest Hour" he could do anything, though there must have been many other actors closer to Mankiewicz's's actual age at the time who could have done just as well. Oldman rises to the challenge and with the help of careful lighting and camera angles molds his sixty-something self into a dissipated thirty- and forty-something self, tastefully munching the scenery all the way.
The single worthy and sensible point the film gets across is that the character in "Kane" that is supposed to be based on Hearst's consort Marion Davies is actually and intentionally based on the public's inaccurate perception of Davies rather than on the actual Davies, whom Mankiewicz knew well in real life. Davies was not the talentless concubine featured in "Kane." Any perusal of her YouTube clips easily puts that myth to rest. But the "Mank" script, written by David Fincher's late father Jack, also portrays her as a sort of old-timey Brooklyn "goil," the type of character she may have been in her teens, but certainly left behind by the time she achieved major Hollywood stardom and became lady of the San Simeon manor. Additionally, the Fincher narrative asserts that by the mid-1930s her movies had been losing money for "ten years" which is nonsense. In any case, Amanda Seyfried does as well as one could hope with the material she's given.
Speaking of historical inaccuracy, the Finchers get so much wrong that one can only surmise that they don't care about facts. They clumsily use the hook of a famous classic work of cinematic art to score contemporary socio-political points or to indulge a personal admiration for the tragic Mankiewicz who died young from complications of alcoholism and who was one of the better screenwriters of his time. The filmmakers' prejudices are quite evident in their overwhelmingly negative portrayal of Irving Thalberg (Ferdinand Kingsley), particularly the way they portray his involvement in MGM's organized opposition to the 1934 gubernatorial campaign of leftist novelist Upton Sinclair, a subplot which seems to be dragged in to link Mankiewicz with left-wing politics. It's a distraction at best. Mankiewicz had little or nothing to do with the Sinclair episode. (A fascinating film could be made about the legendary showdown between Thalberg and Erich von Stroheim over the production of "Greed" in the 1920s.)
More examples of wrongheadedness: A 1930 meeting at Paramount Studios in which various screenwriters engage in shop-talk with David O. Selznick about Universal's "Frankenstein" and "The Wolf Man." The former was not released until the following year and the latter over a decade later. And throughout the early-30s scenes the action is accompanied, if not overwhelmed, by the Benny Goodman-esque big-band swing sound. Too many filmmakers reflexively use this World-War-Two-era music to evoke the whole interwar period. Think again, people. Watch a few films about contemporary life released in 1930 and compare the underscoring to what you hear in movies released in 1935 or 1940. Easy.
In general, the constant random leaps from 1940 to 1930 to 1934, etc., along with dialogue consisting largely of "quotable quotes" or historical exposition in the form of pseudo-casual conversation, tires out the viewer, limiting "Mank"'s to unusually tolerant film-buff fans of vintage Hollywood.
The single worthy and sensible point the film gets across is that the character in "Kane" that is supposed to be based on Hearst's consort Marion Davies is actually and intentionally based on the public's inaccurate perception of Davies rather than on the actual Davies, whom Mankiewicz knew well in real life. Davies was not the talentless concubine featured in "Kane." Any perusal of her YouTube clips easily puts that myth to rest. But the "Mank" script, written by David Fincher's late father Jack, also portrays her as a sort of old-timey Brooklyn "goil," the type of character she may have been in her teens, but certainly left behind by the time she achieved major Hollywood stardom and became lady of the San Simeon manor. Additionally, the Fincher narrative asserts that by the mid-1930s her movies had been losing money for "ten years" which is nonsense. In any case, Amanda Seyfried does as well as one could hope with the material she's given.
Speaking of historical inaccuracy, the Finchers get so much wrong that one can only surmise that they don't care about facts. They clumsily use the hook of a famous classic work of cinematic art to score contemporary socio-political points or to indulge a personal admiration for the tragic Mankiewicz who died young from complications of alcoholism and who was one of the better screenwriters of his time. The filmmakers' prejudices are quite evident in their overwhelmingly negative portrayal of Irving Thalberg (Ferdinand Kingsley), particularly the way they portray his involvement in MGM's organized opposition to the 1934 gubernatorial campaign of leftist novelist Upton Sinclair, a subplot which seems to be dragged in to link Mankiewicz with left-wing politics. It's a distraction at best. Mankiewicz had little or nothing to do with the Sinclair episode. (A fascinating film could be made about the legendary showdown between Thalberg and Erich von Stroheim over the production of "Greed" in the 1920s.)
More examples of wrongheadedness: A 1930 meeting at Paramount Studios in which various screenwriters engage in shop-talk with David O. Selznick about Universal's "Frankenstein" and "The Wolf Man." The former was not released until the following year and the latter over a decade later. And throughout the early-30s scenes the action is accompanied, if not overwhelmed, by the Benny Goodman-esque big-band swing sound. Too many filmmakers reflexively use this World-War-Two-era music to evoke the whole interwar period. Think again, people. Watch a few films about contemporary life released in 1930 and compare the underscoring to what you hear in movies released in 1935 or 1940. Easy.
In general, the constant random leaps from 1940 to 1930 to 1934, etc., along with dialogue consisting largely of "quotable quotes" or historical exposition in the form of pseudo-casual conversation, tires out the viewer, limiting "Mank"'s to unusually tolerant film-buff fans of vintage Hollywood.
Hollywood
(2020)
hit and miss but often quite fun
2 January 2021
Ryan Murphy's "Hollywood" is a hit-and-miss collection of interconnected plots, heavy on sociopolitical messaging but also insightful about the ambiguities of the human condition, taking time to navigate the complexities and contradictions of particular characters. And Murphy continues to give familiar veteran actors a chance to shine in unexpected ways. "Hollywood" offers us Dylan McDermott as a fantastical elaboration of the real-life Scotty Bowers, a gas station manager who turns tricks and acts as pimp for the rich and powerful on the side; Jim Parsons as Henry Willson, the notorious Hollywood agent and manipulator, a figure overdue for cinematic exploration); Rob Reiner as a Louis B. Mayer/Harry Cohn-ish mogul; and Holland Taylor as a studio executive); all are revelations. Patti LuPone (as Reiner's cynical wife) plays a part similar to her campy Leona Helmsley-type landlady in Murphy's "Pose" but has some beautiful sensitive moments. Darren Criss (who previously triumphed in Murphy's "The Assassination of Gianni Versace") impresses as usual as a young director of mixed Asian ancestry. Jake Picking is excellent as the bumbling awkward young Rock Hudson, even though he doesn't look the part. David Corenswet with his chiseled features fits well into the role of wannabe movie star supplementing his income by turning tricks.
Murphy takes the obvious fakery of old Hollywood movie studio factory product as his starting point and creates an equally fake alternate society to populate it. (He goes even further in this vein with "Ratched," the backstory of the cold-blooded nurse from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" which takes place in the same historical period.) In "Hollywood" the main twist is to imagine that a late 1940s-era screenwriter of color (Jeremy Pope) could actually pull off an Oscar-winning feature film starring an actress of color (Laura Harrier). Another Murphy trademark is to combine sordid subject matter and candid dialogue with squeaky clean visuals.
Murphy takes the obvious fakery of old Hollywood movie studio factory product as his starting point and creates an equally fake alternate society to populate it. (He goes even further in this vein with "Ratched," the backstory of the cold-blooded nurse from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" which takes place in the same historical period.) In "Hollywood" the main twist is to imagine that a late 1940s-era screenwriter of color (Jeremy Pope) could actually pull off an Oscar-winning feature film starring an actress of color (Laura Harrier). Another Murphy trademark is to combine sordid subject matter and candid dialogue with squeaky clean visuals.
The Lady of Scandal
(1930)
old curiosity
20 December 2020
Sluggish is the word for MGM's adaptation of Frederick Lonsdale's "The High Road." Long pauses were not uncommon in early talking features but they seem to go on forever in this one. Stuffy people in huge rooms who pause a very long time between pompous utterances. Also of note is the very uneven, often shoddy sound recording. Although MGM was known to be the most well-financed studio in Hollywood, the audio is surprisingly tacky. The actors' voices sound like they are being piped in through a poor telephone line. At times actors' footsteps can be heard clicking across the floor and at other times they're dead silent. Of minor interest, a few camera setups present the action in both the fore- and background of the frame.
Standard English drawing room-types populate the cast, best represented by Frederick Kerr (a cross between Guy Kibbee and Winston Churchill in his final decline and who has some fun moments after trying out a cocktail called "Gullet Washer"), Nance O'Neill as his monocled wife, and MacKenzie Ward as a dapper eccentric.
The leads are Basil Rathbone (who does well despite the technical obstacles to contend with), Ruth Chatterton (very mannered) and Ralph Forbes (cardboard through and through).
Standard English drawing room-types populate the cast, best represented by Frederick Kerr (a cross between Guy Kibbee and Winston Churchill in his final decline and who has some fun moments after trying out a cocktail called "Gullet Washer"), Nance O'Neill as his monocled wife, and MacKenzie Ward as a dapper eccentric.
The leads are Basil Rathbone (who does well despite the technical obstacles to contend with), Ruth Chatterton (very mannered) and Ralph Forbes (cardboard through and through).
rambling biopic
10 July 2020
"The Private Files of J. Edgar Hoover" is a rambling, disjointed summary of the career of the FBI head from the early 1920's through his death in 1972. Much of the writing plays out as less a dramatization of the subject's eventful life than a sort of adaptation of newspaper headlines into dialogue. The disjointed flow of events suggests a TV movie with the commercials edited out.
One interesting thing about this humdrum affair is the all-star cast, or some might say the all-has-been cast, led by Broderick Crawford who looks and acts as if he had just been released from a wax museum fire shortly before meltdown. For some reason he takes over the character of Hoover in his early forties from James Wainwright who also looks and moves like an animated corpse, even when he's playing twentysomething. Aside from these two the movie is bursting with B-list name actors in very small parts. Semi-well-known performers including Jose Ferrer, Celeste Holm, George Plimpton, Rip Torn, Dan Dailey (as Hoover's associate/companion Clyde Tolson), Howard Da Silva, Raymond St. Jacques, Lloyd Nolan, Andrew Duggan and Jack Cassidy appear sometimes for mere moments playing such famous people as Franklin Roosevelt, Martin Luther King Jr. and Damon Runyon. June Havoc appears in about two brief scenes as... Hoover's mother! (Havoc was actually YOUNGER than Crawford!!) The most effective of the supporting performers is Michael Parks who not only does a nuanced impersonation of Bobby Kennedy, but gets far more screen time than the other non-leads.
Hoover's career highlights (appointment to the head of the bureau, arming of the "G-Men" in response to the plague of organized crime in the 1930s, his adoption of wiretapping, his alliance with Joseph McCarthy's anti-communist crusade, his spying on Martin Luther King Jr.) are put on pause at several points to focus on his apparent sexual dysfunction and commitment to sartorial fastidiousness. A few scenes explore how Hoover and his Tolson handled the persistent rumors that they were a homosexual couple. Crawford's scenes get meatier as the saga progresses and we see him grappling with his internal demons whereas for much of the film he simply stands in the frame observing action and muttering almost incoherently.
One interesting thing about this humdrum affair is the all-star cast, or some might say the all-has-been cast, led by Broderick Crawford who looks and acts as if he had just been released from a wax museum fire shortly before meltdown. For some reason he takes over the character of Hoover in his early forties from James Wainwright who also looks and moves like an animated corpse, even when he's playing twentysomething. Aside from these two the movie is bursting with B-list name actors in very small parts. Semi-well-known performers including Jose Ferrer, Celeste Holm, George Plimpton, Rip Torn, Dan Dailey (as Hoover's associate/companion Clyde Tolson), Howard Da Silva, Raymond St. Jacques, Lloyd Nolan, Andrew Duggan and Jack Cassidy appear sometimes for mere moments playing such famous people as Franklin Roosevelt, Martin Luther King Jr. and Damon Runyon. June Havoc appears in about two brief scenes as... Hoover's mother! (Havoc was actually YOUNGER than Crawford!!) The most effective of the supporting performers is Michael Parks who not only does a nuanced impersonation of Bobby Kennedy, but gets far more screen time than the other non-leads.
Hoover's career highlights (appointment to the head of the bureau, arming of the "G-Men" in response to the plague of organized crime in the 1930s, his adoption of wiretapping, his alliance with Joseph McCarthy's anti-communist crusade, his spying on Martin Luther King Jr.) are put on pause at several points to focus on his apparent sexual dysfunction and commitment to sartorial fastidiousness. A few scenes explore how Hoover and his Tolson handled the persistent rumors that they were a homosexual couple. Crawford's scenes get meatier as the saga progresses and we see him grappling with his internal demons whereas for much of the film he simply stands in the frame observing action and muttering almost incoherently.
Tonight Is Ours
(1933)
good enough
19 June 2020
"Tonight Is Ours," Paramount's version of Noel Coward's one and only Ruritanian romance (written when he was a mere 22 years of age!) is good enough to hold the interest even in the form of the damaged old print available on Internet Archive. Some stretches are dull but salvaged to a degree by some good acting, fun costumes and elegant sets and furnishings (including a stunning Art Deco telephone). The whole thing is a gossamer light, slick and flippant story about a young couple who meet by chance at a masked ball. It turns out that she (Claudette Colbert) is a princess on the lam from the kingdom of Krayia who longs to escape the strictures of royal life and he (Fredric March) is... well, a wealthy person whose means of support is never addressed in the script.
When this film was made Colbert was in the midst of her meteoric rise to top-drawer Hollywood stardom (she was playing female leads in 5-6 films a year during this period). Early on she is shot from bad angles wearing an unflattering clown costume. In these scenes March comes off as the pretty one. Like Robert Montgomery, Clark Gable and Fred Astaire, he looked dandy in dress suits. And Colbert could look magnificent in Travis Banton's slinky gowns, which she finally gets to wear after the first reel or so.
Too often the script requires Colbert to weep and wail about her dilemma, torn between loyalty to her kingdom and love for March, and while she was highly skilled at bursting into onscreen tears, everything has its limits. Noel Coward's famous wit is only sparsely on display. One line stands out: As March prepares cocktails he says, "You don't need champagne; champagne needs you." But it's hard to tell if it's Coward's line or one by the adaptor, Edwin Justus Mayer.
In a night club scene we hear a fragment of hot jazz music which is identical that which is played on a gramophone in Paramount's "Shanghai Express" when Louise Closser Hale drops in on Marlene Dietrich and Anna Mae Wong in their train compartment.
When this film was made Colbert was in the midst of her meteoric rise to top-drawer Hollywood stardom (she was playing female leads in 5-6 films a year during this period). Early on she is shot from bad angles wearing an unflattering clown costume. In these scenes March comes off as the pretty one. Like Robert Montgomery, Clark Gable and Fred Astaire, he looked dandy in dress suits. And Colbert could look magnificent in Travis Banton's slinky gowns, which she finally gets to wear after the first reel or so.
Too often the script requires Colbert to weep and wail about her dilemma, torn between loyalty to her kingdom and love for March, and while she was highly skilled at bursting into onscreen tears, everything has its limits. Noel Coward's famous wit is only sparsely on display. One line stands out: As March prepares cocktails he says, "You don't need champagne; champagne needs you." But it's hard to tell if it's Coward's line or one by the adaptor, Edwin Justus Mayer.
In a night club scene we hear a fragment of hot jazz music which is identical that which is played on a gramophone in Paramount's "Shanghai Express" when Louise Closser Hale drops in on Marlene Dietrich and Anna Mae Wong in their train compartment.
Manhattan Parade
(1931)
songs would have helped
15 April 2020
"Manhattan Parade" unspools like the libretto of one of those silly musical comedies of the 1920s except without the songs. Imagine something like "No, No Nanette" without the Youmans-Caesar score or any of the Busby Berkeley musicals without the songs and dance numbers. Plot elements abound but few are developed. The one consistent thread involves the blunders of a pair of bickering, ridiculously naïve Broadway producers played by the exhaustingly verbose vaudeville team of Smith & Dale who get mixed up with a floundering Broadway costume company run by a married couple (Walter Miller and Winnie Lightner) whose staff includes Charles Butterworth (a perfect blend of Stan Laurel and George Arliss) as a bookish researcher and Bobby Watson as an extremely effeminate costume designer (a character type he would repeat a couple of years later in "Moonlight and Pretzels"). Dickie Moore has some excellent moments as Miller and Lightner's neglected but self-reliant little son and Luis Alberni gobbles scenery as a mad Russian director. There are a couple of interesting shots of Times Square in 1931 (including a partially visible marquee for the Capra feature "Ladies of Leisure" which starred Barbara Stanwyck).
slick but frequently stirring
26 March 2020
Not long into this four-part series loosely based on the life of Madam C.J. Walker, the groundbreaking African-American hair care tycoon, one realizes it's not going to be a straightforward historical drama. It seems more like a stylized attempt to make political, social and spiritual points using enough of Walker's life as a vehicle to at least give the viewer some sense of what a female entrepreneur of color had to face in order to build a successful business in the USA of the early 20th century.
Intrusive (and gratuitous) dream sequences, musical numbers, rap soundtrack elements, and 21st century-flavored dialogue and situations call attention to the filmmakers' agenda. But at the center is another splendid performance by Octavia Spencer whose command of the screen makes up for the scenario's shortcomings. She is ably supported by Blair Underwood as her wayward husband, Carmen Ejogo as a business rival and stunningly by Tiffany Haddish as her saucy daughter. Haddish in particular has a gift for comedy and a winning way of singing a song badly, like a off-key combination of Sophie Tucker, Moms Mabley and Pearl Bailey.
Walker's life was far messier and more troubled than this simplified glossy treatment would suggest, but this has been the case with Hollywood biopics for many, many years. "Self Made," despite its problems, is still a frequently stirring experience and worth seeing.
Intrusive (and gratuitous) dream sequences, musical numbers, rap soundtrack elements, and 21st century-flavored dialogue and situations call attention to the filmmakers' agenda. But at the center is another splendid performance by Octavia Spencer whose command of the screen makes up for the scenario's shortcomings. She is ably supported by Blair Underwood as her wayward husband, Carmen Ejogo as a business rival and stunningly by Tiffany Haddish as her saucy daughter. Haddish in particular has a gift for comedy and a winning way of singing a song badly, like a off-key combination of Sophie Tucker, Moms Mabley and Pearl Bailey.
Walker's life was far messier and more troubled than this simplified glossy treatment would suggest, but this has been the case with Hollywood biopics for many, many years. "Self Made," despite its problems, is still a frequently stirring experience and worth seeing.
Let's Try Again
(1934)
talking about marriage
19 March 2020
The forgettable Broadway play "Sour Grapes" about a troubled American man and wife who talk a lot about the rocky state of their marriage took eight years to reach the screen as "Let's Try Again" and when it did the cast was led by two veddy veddy British actors (Clive Brook and Diana Wynyard). Other than the odd effect of their out-of-place accents there is very little to engage the viewer. A half-baked subplot about the husband's relationship with one of his attractive young patients (Helen Vinson) is clumsily added to the original in a failed attempt to make the story more interesting. Other than a few lines of mildly suggestive dialogue, the sexual undertones at the heart of the couple's discord are unexplored, though Irene Hervey in a supporting role looks stunning in a couple of early scenes wearing a form-fitting satiny creation. The film is shot mostly in cramped interiors (a couple of living rooms, a bedroom and a fake looking domestic exterior). "Let's try again" indeed.
Three Little Girls in Blue
(1946)
smooth and simple
11 March 2020
Three Little Girls in Blue is a smooth and simple, musical fairy tale showcasing some clever and intricate lyrics by Mack Gordon to Joseph Myrow's music which enchant the viewer right at the opening on a New Jersey chicken farm ("A Farmer's Life Is a Very Merry Life") and recur at just the appropriate junctures thereafter and include the enduring favorite "You Make Me Feel So Young." Other plusses include an intelligently lighthearted script by a large team of writers, gorgeous color photography, artful lighting effects, witty directorial touches and the three beautifully costumed and coiffed leading ladies. The male leads are less impressive, though Charles Smith as an eccentric valet who falls for Vera-Ellen is the most surprising and delightful. V-E herself as one of the titular girls is given ample opportunity to show off her balletic and acrobatic dancing skills in lively but overly busy choreography. Celeste Holm appears late in the story as an acerbically articulate, wacky but goodhearted Southern belle who helps tie up the plot in good old-fashioned musical comedy style.
almost great
28 July 2019
Warning: Spoilers
Quentin Tarantino has tapped deeply into his humanity as he shares with us his take on the Hollywood scene of the late Sixties through the prism of a fading TV Western actor (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his aging stunt double and off-screen pal (Brad Pitt). DiCaprio combines the intensity of his roles in "The Revenant" and "The Wolf of Wall Street" with the sensitivity and vulnerability of his early days ("What's Eating Gilbert Grape," "Marvin's Room"). Tarantino again brings out the best in him as he did in "Django Unchained." Pitt seems to have hit his acting peak about 10 years ago with "Tree of Life" but he has not declined; he's superbly effective when wisely cast, as he is here (and in his mid-fifties he still has the buff physique of a natural-born Greek god).
Both characters have their soft and hard sides. With Pitt, it's the loyalty and sense of responsibility (to man and dog) combined with a killer's capacity to lay waste to adversaries if necessary. With DiCaprio, it's drunken rages and recklessless mixed with empathy and vulnerability, best displayed in scenes with a precocious child actress (Julia Butters, a female counterpart to Iain Armitage's "Young Sheldon"). The emotional high point of their relationship can induce both laughter and tears. Both reactions are appropriate for material of this depth and brilliance.
Margot Robbie as Sharon Tate, who happens to be DiCaprio's next-door neighbor, personifies the appealing side of that cultural Thing called "The Sixties" and does justice to the beautiful spirit of the actress whose life ended so brutally. Although the Tate murders weigh heavily over the "metasphere" of this film, Tarantino has a surprise in store.
We are saturated with period detail (mostly from car radios, but also quotidian consumer products, movie marquees, vintage cars, costumes and re-creations of oldie TV and movie content). We even get dead-on authentic looking sequences from a Nazi-vs-Allies potboiler, hearkening back to Tarantino's send up of vintage German pop culture in "Inglourious Basterds."
What we have here is actually a modern Western, set in the fake West of mid-20th-century Hollywood but filled with car radios blasting pop tunes and news bits as well as the traditional horseback riding and confrontational violence. The scene where Pitt confronts the Manson followers at a ranch where they're living (formerly a TV western set) is the perfect blend of the two genres.
Though it drags in places and some minutes are wasted so that Tarantino can indulge in one of his worst and most unnecessary habits, this film touches the heart.
Both characters have their soft and hard sides. With Pitt, it's the loyalty and sense of responsibility (to man and dog) combined with a killer's capacity to lay waste to adversaries if necessary. With DiCaprio, it's drunken rages and recklessless mixed with empathy and vulnerability, best displayed in scenes with a precocious child actress (Julia Butters, a female counterpart to Iain Armitage's "Young Sheldon"). The emotional high point of their relationship can induce both laughter and tears. Both reactions are appropriate for material of this depth and brilliance.
Margot Robbie as Sharon Tate, who happens to be DiCaprio's next-door neighbor, personifies the appealing side of that cultural Thing called "The Sixties" and does justice to the beautiful spirit of the actress whose life ended so brutally. Although the Tate murders weigh heavily over the "metasphere" of this film, Tarantino has a surprise in store.
We are saturated with period detail (mostly from car radios, but also quotidian consumer products, movie marquees, vintage cars, costumes and re-creations of oldie TV and movie content). We even get dead-on authentic looking sequences from a Nazi-vs-Allies potboiler, hearkening back to Tarantino's send up of vintage German pop culture in "Inglourious Basterds."
What we have here is actually a modern Western, set in the fake West of mid-20th-century Hollywood but filled with car radios blasting pop tunes and news bits as well as the traditional horseback riding and confrontational violence. The scene where Pitt confronts the Manson followers at a ranch where they're living (formerly a TV western set) is the perfect blend of the two genres.
Though it drags in places and some minutes are wasted so that Tarantino can indulge in one of his worst and most unnecessary habits, this film touches the heart.
The Old Maid
(1939)
twice-removed Wharton, but strong acting
2 June 2019
"The Old Maid" comes to us twice removed from the complicated but heartfelt Edith Wharton novella. First, Zoe Akins adapted it for the stage and then Casey Robinson adapted the Akins play for film. So many plot excisions and substitutions occur in the first half hour that one wonders if there will be anything left of Wharton's original. Even the setting is changed from the first to the last half of the 19th century for no apparent reason. Be that as it may, the film finds its footing through basic character dynamics.
In a nutshell, Bette Davis and Miriam Hopkins are cousins in the familiar Wharton turf of well-monied Old New York. When Davis bears the illegitimate child of the caddish man Hopkins loves but has rejected in favor of a marriage into the stable and wealthy Ralston family, the cousins agree after various plot convolutions that the child should be raised in the Ralston house in the guise of an orphan. Davis has had the baby "out West" (where she had gone for "health reasons") and covered it up on her return by opening an orphanage for foundlings including her illegitimate daughter. Through the years the daughter (Jane Bryan) grows up believing Davis is her strict and humorless spinster "Aunt Charlotte" and Hopkins is her loving and indulgent "Mommy," and treats each accordingly.
Davis ably expresses her character's inner pain and resentment with a bare minimum of finicky gesturing. She adopts the husky delivery she often used to portray repressed emotions or general maturity in movies such as "The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex," "All This and Heaven Too" and "Now, Voyager," to name a few. She is also photographed in a flattering light and dressed to perfection; in fact, she looks so trim and fashionable in Orry Kelly's perfectly tailored, narrow-waisted gowns that it's hard to believe she could have been a spinster at all. Hopkins is looser and more expressive, but since her character lacks the tragic intensity of Davis's, she makes a softer impact. But as a conflicted pair, they're matchless (as they would be under 1940s circumstances in "Old Acquaintance" four years later).
For no good reason at all, George Brent is cast as the dashing but caddish free spirit who fathers the child. He looks and acts like a rather tired middle-aged man going to flab. This figure is not even physically present in the novel other than as a looming presence who is discussed but never seen. Supporting players include a character invented out of whole cloth who functions as a sort of sounding board for the leads--namely, the Ralston house maid, played flawlessly and unobtrusively by Louise Fazenda. William Lundigan appears briefly and beautifully as a young suitor near the end and Donald Crisp is effectively avuncular as the ever-present family doctor.
The last half hour is as emotionally intense as anything in the Davis canon, appropriately enhanced by a swelling Max Steiner score guaranteed to open the tear ducts. And the curved staircase of the Ralston house is the same one used in numerous Warner Bros. productions of the time.
In a nutshell, Bette Davis and Miriam Hopkins are cousins in the familiar Wharton turf of well-monied Old New York. When Davis bears the illegitimate child of the caddish man Hopkins loves but has rejected in favor of a marriage into the stable and wealthy Ralston family, the cousins agree after various plot convolutions that the child should be raised in the Ralston house in the guise of an orphan. Davis has had the baby "out West" (where she had gone for "health reasons") and covered it up on her return by opening an orphanage for foundlings including her illegitimate daughter. Through the years the daughter (Jane Bryan) grows up believing Davis is her strict and humorless spinster "Aunt Charlotte" and Hopkins is her loving and indulgent "Mommy," and treats each accordingly.
Davis ably expresses her character's inner pain and resentment with a bare minimum of finicky gesturing. She adopts the husky delivery she often used to portray repressed emotions or general maturity in movies such as "The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex," "All This and Heaven Too" and "Now, Voyager," to name a few. She is also photographed in a flattering light and dressed to perfection; in fact, she looks so trim and fashionable in Orry Kelly's perfectly tailored, narrow-waisted gowns that it's hard to believe she could have been a spinster at all. Hopkins is looser and more expressive, but since her character lacks the tragic intensity of Davis's, she makes a softer impact. But as a conflicted pair, they're matchless (as they would be under 1940s circumstances in "Old Acquaintance" four years later).
For no good reason at all, George Brent is cast as the dashing but caddish free spirit who fathers the child. He looks and acts like a rather tired middle-aged man going to flab. This figure is not even physically present in the novel other than as a looming presence who is discussed but never seen. Supporting players include a character invented out of whole cloth who functions as a sort of sounding board for the leads--namely, the Ralston house maid, played flawlessly and unobtrusively by Louise Fazenda. William Lundigan appears briefly and beautifully as a young suitor near the end and Donald Crisp is effectively avuncular as the ever-present family doctor.
The last half hour is as emotionally intense as anything in the Davis canon, appropriately enhanced by a swelling Max Steiner score guaranteed to open the tear ducts. And the curved staircase of the Ralston house is the same one used in numerous Warner Bros. productions of the time.
The Two Mrs. Carrolls
(1947)
unconvincing but mighty diverting
31 May 2019
If you can suppress your disbelief for 99 minutes and get lost in the starry charms of the actors and the set pieces, this dramatically unconvincing film can be mighty diverting.
It's an old-fashioned gothic yarn set in a stately manor house with the stock elements of lavish furnishings, including the essential drawing room with the blazing fireplace, deep shadows, a damsel in distress, a crazy villain, and supporting figures including a stern maid, a jolly drunkard, a clean-cut young hero, a precocious child, an ice-cold femme fatale and the inevitable raging nocturnal thunderstorm with rain lashing the windows and winds howling. "Gaslight" and "Suspicion" and numerous other films immediately come to mind.
This is the kind of movie that would have been perfect for the likes of Vincent Price, Carol Ohmart and other B-level actors of the 50s, but the presence of superstars Humphrey Bogart and Barbara Stanwyck adds depth and lustre to an otherwise far-fetched narrative which holds the interest not only through its fine cast, but also by the insertion of frequently humorous, almost self-parodic dialogue, as if to signal to the audience "We hope you're not taking this too seriously; we're not."
The maid as played by Anita Sharp-Bolster is a standout. She delivers her sour lines with a bold gravitas as she did in her all-too-brief appearance in Fritz Lang's "Scarlet Street."
It's an old-fashioned gothic yarn set in a stately manor house with the stock elements of lavish furnishings, including the essential drawing room with the blazing fireplace, deep shadows, a damsel in distress, a crazy villain, and supporting figures including a stern maid, a jolly drunkard, a clean-cut young hero, a precocious child, an ice-cold femme fatale and the inevitable raging nocturnal thunderstorm with rain lashing the windows and winds howling. "Gaslight" and "Suspicion" and numerous other films immediately come to mind.
This is the kind of movie that would have been perfect for the likes of Vincent Price, Carol Ohmart and other B-level actors of the 50s, but the presence of superstars Humphrey Bogart and Barbara Stanwyck adds depth and lustre to an otherwise far-fetched narrative which holds the interest not only through its fine cast, but also by the insertion of frequently humorous, almost self-parodic dialogue, as if to signal to the audience "We hope you're not taking this too seriously; we're not."
The maid as played by Anita Sharp-Bolster is a standout. She delivers her sour lines with a bold gravitas as she did in her all-too-brief appearance in Fritz Lang's "Scarlet Street."
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