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The Moment I Fell for Claudette Colbert

09/13/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 12 Comments

Today I’m reflecting on that tiny woman with the deep, sexy voice who managed to develop fully realized characters even in the smallest of roles. And in her greatest ones, set the bar so high for future comediennes that few have managed to approach, much less equal, her performances since.

Like many of us out there, I knew Claudette Colbert’s legs first, as she starred in one of the most iconic scenes in American film, proving “once and for all” that when it comes to hitchhiking, “the limb is mightier than the thumb.”

It took several years after seeing the image of her legs that I actually got around to It Happened One Night, which I’ve watched at least 30 times since. In her Academy-winning role as Ellen Andrews, she first perfects a chilly posture and refined voice as the stuck-up heiress. But slowly, Colbert reveals Ellen’s vulnerabilities and inexperience through expressions, gestures, stance, and tone. When Ellen and soon-to-be love interest Peter Warne (Clark Gable) stop at a motel en route to New York, she is ill at ease with the arrangement he makes to keep the room platonic–strapping a blanket between their beds. While she’s technically married, she has never been with a man. When she oversleeps the next morning, Peter threatens to come get her, and her clumsy, embarrassed fumbling to ensure he doesn’t makes me laugh every time I see it.

That winning performance made me a fan. Without it, I never would have sought out The Palm Beach Story, Midnight, and so many other wonderful movies since. Although I appreciate Colbert’s dramatic abilities, her skill with romantic comedy is what wows me. Here are just a few of the megastars she managed to upstage, in spite of the camera’s deep love for them (and theirs for it): Miriam Hopkins in The Smiling Lieutenant (1931), Clark Gable in It Happened One Night (1934), John Barrymore in Midnight (1939) and John Wayne in Without Reservations (1946).

So on her birthday, I’d like to say thank you to the actress who has lightened my mood again, and again and again: the mesmerizing Claudette Colbert.

Mae West Schools the Teacher

09/06/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 4 Comments

A prim school teacher & Mae West. Almost a century later, this coupling seems inspired. But in 1932, nobody knew that. West was a vaudevillian, not a movie star. Her role as Maudie, an ex of the lead, Joe Anton (George Raft), was a minor part in her first film, Night after Night. She didn’t even enter the picture until a half hour in.

The script of the movie is bland, the story plodding. Joe, the owner of a mansion-turned-speakeasy, is fascinated by Jerry Healy (Constance Cummings), the mysterious beauty who shows up at his place every night unattended. He discovers that her family owned his mansion before the market crash.

Joe has been dissatisfied lately, aspiring to a classier existence. He’s even hired a tutor, Miss Mabel Jellyman (Alison Skipworth), to improve his elocution, grammar and knowledge of current events–the type of lady who gets prissy when he uses words such as “got.”

He thinks Jerry will lead him to a better life, but he needs the tutor’s help to win her. He invites Jerry for dinner at the speakeasy, and begs Jellyman to come along. The tutor is thrilled at the chance to hang out in a speakeasy and have some fun, but what a drag to be on such a date! Joe’s attempts at sophistication are painful, the conversation stilted. Everyone at the table is bored and uncomfortable.

Then Maudie (West) enters the room.

Within five minutes, she has decimated Joe’s fragile rep, having laughed about his love for the ladies, drunkenness, and a jail visit in quick succession.

“Oh Joe,” she concludes, “it’s just life to see you,” echoing our impressions of her arrival. She has completely redeemed his date (and the existence of the film). Finally, Jerry is enjoying herself.

But clueless Joe urges Jerry to leave with him to tour the house. Jellyman, soon drunk thanks to Maudie’s generosity with the bottle, protests when Joe offers a cab before leaving them. “I don’t want to go home,” she complains. She turns to Maudie, “He said I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna make a night of it,” Maudie agrees. “You go ahead,” she tells Joe, “we gotta talk it over.”

“Maudie and I have a great deal in common,” Jellyman explains to Joe.

“You said it, baby,” agrees the partying blonde, without a trace of irony.

Once they’re alone, Jellyman asks anxiously, “Maudie, do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I don’t know, but it saves an awful lot of time,” she quips.

Jellyman protests when Maudie refills her class, to which our heroine responds, “Now listen, Mabel, if you’re gonna be Broadway, you gotta learn to take it, and you may as well break in the act right now.”

“I say, this night will read great in your diary,” she adds.

“You said it, baby,” Jellyman agrees, her education from Maudie having advanced dramatically in minutes.

“Maudie, do you really think I could get rid of my inhibitions?” Jellyman asks.

“Why sure,” Maudie tells her, “I’ve got an old trunk you can put them in.”

The next time we see the two of them, they’re in bed together at Joe’s after a bender. It does the heart good to witness them:

West only agreed to play the part of Maudie if she could write her own scenes. Thank goodness she did. Supposedly, Raft later claimed West “stole everything but the cameras.” What he didn’t say is that none of us would have wanted to see the film at all, had she not.

For more of my monthly West posts, click here.

Female’s Heroine: 1933’s Amy (of Trainwreck), Samantha Jones, or Don Draper?

08/27/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 4 Comments

Given its plot synopsis, I expected Female to be shocking: a promiscuous executive casually sleeps with men until she finds the right guy. But I didn’t expect to gasp at its daring. A few of the heroine’s typical comments:

Falling in love: “To me, a woman in love is a pathetic spectacle. She’s either so miserable that she wants to die, or she’s so happy you want to die.”

Marriage: “No thanks, not me. You know a long time ago I decided to travel the same open road that men travel, so I treat men exactly the way they’ve always treated women.”

Husbands: “Of course, I know for some women, men are a household necessity. Myself, I’d rather have a canary.”

Then there’s a typical night. She…

1. Spots a handsome employee, feigns interest in his ideas, and asks him to come over to her house that night to discuss them.

2. Discourages business talk with flirtation, as when she says, “Are you naturally enthusiastic?” to a new hire, throwing a pillow onto a plush rug with a suggestive look.

RuthChattertonflirting2
3. Orders vodka from her butler, who informs the rest of the staff of the Catherine the Great custom: serving it to soldiers “to fortify their courage.”

4. Exercises with vigor the next morning, clearly energized by the tryst, and comes up with new ideas for the business.

5. Rejects the romantic overtures of her one-night stand, annoyed by his flowers, then offers him a bonus as a kiss-off. She doesn’t want to deal with the moodiness of emotional men at work. (Women, how many times have films suggested this about us?)

At first, I thought the movie would be like Trainwreck, as Alison (Ruth Chatterton) certainly displays the same level of disinterest in building a romance with her one-night stands and blows off a guy after he calls her “ethereal” and otherwise indicates their lack of sexual heat:

Annoyed by his flowery (nonsexual) language
Amy and Alison have an impressive list of conquests, and not only express disinterest in matrimony and kids for themselves, but for others, as when Alison can’t be bothered to remember her friend’s husband’s name, or how many kids she has–much like Amy’s (Amy Schumer’s) scene at her sister’s shower. Both heroines are funny and mostly likable, as when Alison worries about her chauffeur, who has taken a punch in her honor: “Now listen, Puggy, things people say about me don’t bother me,” she says with a lovely smile. “Thanks just the same.”

But in terms of power–and what they do with it–there’s no comparison. After one-night stands fueled by liquor, Amy, hungover, struggles to get through the day.

Alison, in contrast, looks alert, pretty, and pleased with herself, and does a brilliant job at work afterward. The word “trainwreck” is about as far from Alison Drake as a term can be.

Like her more direct heir, Samantha Jones, Alison practically bristles with authority and confidence, but unlike Samantha, she has a whole auto factory full of employees.

One criticism of Sex & the City was that it never took the work as seriously as the characters’ personal lives, which made it less feminist than it could have been. Here, the heroine has no chance for tight friendships, but finds her work thrilling: “Oh, but I love it: the battling, the excitement; I don’t think I could do without it now.” I soon found myself as interested in the business–such as her decision to go with automatic transmission–as in the flings, not something I expected to experience with a romantic comedy.

Like Samantha, Alison wants to sleeps with her hot employees–only in Alison’s case, she does. (Samantha waits to fires hers first).

In fact, Alison has sex with so many of them that there are a flood of bonuses on the company payroll, like some kind of stud fee. Her leer at a new designer is as hilarious to witness as Samantha’s undressing looks. And as with Samantha, her vulnerabilities are evident–in her case, a fear that men are angling for her money rather than her personality or body (either would be fine).

While it’s easy to admire Alison’s moxie, she’s guilty of sexual harassment throughout the story, as when her secretary shows her too much affection after their affair, and she transfers him to Montreal. Promptly afterward, this lovesick conquest watches the latest one-night stand leave her office and calls, “I’ll see you in Montreal.” When Alison falls for Jim (George Brent), mainly because he’s hard to get, his anger at her regular nightly ploy earns our admiration; he won’t sleep with her to keep his job, he retorts.

While she initially decides to fire Jim’s secretary, assuming the two are involved, and then plans to overload her with work, she quickly reconsiders, deciding not to be petty. While she’s still in murky moral territory due to her liaisons with subordinates, she doesn’t reach full anti-villain status, since she won’t fire someone for turning her down or stealing her guy. Still, it’s hard to forget that shady transfer…and how much she reminds us of Don Draper with his secretaries on Mad Men.

I stopped the film multiple times as the end neared, fearful about whatever sexist cliché it was headed for. This character was simply too complex, and Chatterton too wonderful in the role, for me to watch some reductive conclusion.

I was right to be scared (though I feared it would be worse). Oddly, Jim, till then annoying in spite of his rebellion, demonstrated unexpected feminist leanings near the close. Too bad the screenwriters and director chickened out and tacked on totally unbelievable concluding lines.

Despite its shock value and fascinating lead, the film hasn’t reached the popularity or accessibility today it deserves. I could only locate it in DVD form on Netflix, and went for the free month trial of streaming with Warner Archive instead. Go to the effort; it’s worth it.

Top 10 Characters in Teaching Films & Shows

08/20/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 2 Comments

As the school year begins, I’ll be returning again to my favorite educational films–some inspiring, some hilarious. Here are the characters and performances I consider award worthy.

THE TEACHERS: 5 BEST CHARACTERS

5. Mr. Shoop in Summer School (1987)

Gym teacher Mr. Shoop (Mark Harmon) plans to vacation in Hawaii with his girlfriend for the summer, but when the English teacher wins the lottery and immediately quits, Shoop’s forced to teach remedial English. He is the most likable of the teachers I’ve chosen, easygoing and even tempered, good natured even when tried. Ultimately, his slacker ways convert into effort in the classroom, and because he relates to and has no illusions about his students’ disinterest, he’s able to reach them. Most importantly, he has rational expectations of them, and celebrates progress rather than any specific target, as any good teacher should (and would be able to, would the system allow it). Plus, the film is hilarious, and Harmon is so attractive in it.

4. Elizabeth Halsey in Bad Teacher (2011)

Cameron Diaz doesn’t always reach her comic potential, but when she does, as with Elizabeth Halsey (Cameron Diaz) in Bad Teacher, she’s something to watch. The montage of her avoidance of crying students and celebrating teachers makes me laugh every time, as does her unabashedly sexy school car wash and cruel honesty in speaking with her class and grading their work. She is a terrible teacher, but her narcissism and bluntness make her a very, very funny one.

3. Teachers in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986) & Peanuts

If pressed, I’d prefer Peanuts‘ gibberish teacher to Ben Stein’s gloriously boring one, but the two are closely tied. Obviously, both types are accurate portrayals of how instructors come across to students. I love how Stein has given upon class participation, simply saying, “anyone, anyone?” then answering himself. But Peanuts’ teacher may get the edge because I have this same reaction ANY time I encounter something I don’t understand. My car is being fixed, I’m listening to explanations of the U.S. debt, and I hear that waa-waa-waa of Peanuts’ comically confusing instructor.

2. Prez in The Wire (2006)

Season 4 of The Wire features the Baltimore school system, with former cop Roland Pryzbylewski, known as Prez (Jim True-Frost), teaching the students from neighborhoods he formerly policed. As a result, he knows what his students are up against, though he isn’t prepared for the challenge of teaching them. I’ve never seen a more accurate depiction of teaching in a difficult district. Prez’s use of gambling odds as an example to finally reach some of his students in the episode “Unto Others” is remarkably telling about their priorities–and squandered potential. We can only wish that those who had more influence in the system were as wise and compassionate as Prez.

1. Sir in To Sir, with Love (1967)

Sir’s (Sidney Poitier) school district in England is characterized as very challenging, even if it looks less so to us in 2015. We see him constantly thwarted, and frequently angry. His race becomes one more thing students have against him. His decision to throw out the lesson plan and begin anew is what any good teacher would do if it were allowed–the problem, of course, is that you only want good teachers doing so.

What I love about Sir is that he’s a reluctant instructor, only there because he can’t get a job in his field, and slowly, these rebellious kids win him over. He is a very flawed character, even socially awkward, and thus very real. Poitier deserved an Oscar for the performance. The theme song makes me tear up every time. And the film has such a lovely, perfect, subtle ending. The movie is inspiring without ever losing track of reality (as most teacher-centric films do).

THE STUDENTS: TOP 5 PORTRAYALS

5. Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982)

Spicoli (Sean Penn), the ultimate surfer dude. I don’t think this character requires any explanation (most would expect to see him as #1). While there is a shadow of this stoner in Amy Heckerling’s Clueless (1995), it’s in her earlier film, Fast Times, that she captured an iconic form of the type, mainly due to Cameron Crowe’s script. Spicoli’s (Sean Penn’s) battles with his teacher, Mr. Hand (who deserves an honorable mention in the list above), are perfect.

Bagel tucked in jeans, shirtless, Spicoli makes us laugh before he says a word. Penn gives him an awkward gait; a spacey expression; long, wordless pauses; and an inability to detect sarcasm. As a result, he is as lovable as he is annoying. Penn turned the surfer dude into comedy gold, and actors have been imitating him ever since.

4. The Frustrated/Bored of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off & Peanuts

There’s really no need to pinpoint an individual in the mass of disinterested students who are ignoring Ben Stein’s flat delivery of “Bueller?” as he calls the roll. The Peanuts characters’ confusion at their instructors’ seeming gibberish are similarly funny, though Charlie Brown’s panic is particularly funny. What’s unavoidably true is just how typical both the boredom and confusion are in any classroom, though hopefully with occasional relief! Beautifully rendered in both cases through the facial expressions of the students as the teacher drones on.

3. The Intellectuals of Better Off Dead (1985)

Most films portray the majority of students as inattentive and uninterested. This film subverts our expectations, with a class enthralled by comically difficult subject matter. They’re so enthusiastic that they groan when they have to leave the classroom, comforted only when their math teacher reassures them: “I’ll see you all tomorrow. Just remember to memorize pages 39 to 110 for tomorrow’s lesson.” It’s so obviously a teacher’s dream of what students would be like after watching too many inspiring education films that it always cracks me up. Lane (John Cusack), in contrast with his peers’ binders of work, takes out one sheet of paper with “Do homework” stuck together with gum. In this case, the slacker is the unpopular one. It’s a mistake not to watch the whole film, but at least catch this scene.

2. The Kids of The Wire, Season 4
I find it hard to write about the students in this season, as they’re far too real: Dukie (Jermaine Crawford), Randy (Maestro Harrell), Namond (Julito McCullum) and Michael (Tristan Wilds) struggle with the lure of selling drugs on the corner in Baltimore, with authority figures often encouraging or passively accepting their abandonment of education.

Watching Michael’s confrontation with a drug dealer.

It’s the most vivid and compelling portrayal I’ve ever seen of the weight so many students bear with them when they enter the classroom. The Wire, unlike 90 percent of cinematic portrayals of teaching, sees that the wider culture and systemic problems of the educational system are far greater forces than one teacher with a great idea (which Prez does have) can combat. Haunting.

1. Chainsaw & Dave of Summer School

All the students in Mr. Shoop’s (Harmon’s) class are distinctive. Their plan–to exchange bribes for trying in school–is diabolical and hilarious in itself. And with characters like these–the awful driver Mr. Shoop has to train, the kid who spent the summer in the bathroom, etc.–who can stop laughing? The most memorable students are obviously Dave (Gary Riley) and Chainsaw (Dean Cameron), the wannabee special-effects guys. Who comes up with such unique characters for a silly film like this one? The tension breaker of and “I don’t know anything” dream of Chainsaw’s before the big test are my favorite depictions of academic stress in any film, book, or story. (I should, though, give an honorable mention to John Travolta’s Barbarino in Welcome Back, Kotter.) Inspired by Chainsaw, I used to suggest to friends a university-wide tension breaker when I was an undergrad.

As the school year begins, I’ll be returning to these favorites to combat moments of frustration and refresh my love for teaching. I hope some of you will do the same.

A Legacy of Self-Amusement: Drew & John Barrymore

08/13/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 19 Comments

Charlie’s Angels (2000) is the epitome of how seriously Drew Barrymore takes herself: the hair flips, the silly punk rock past of her character, action sequences so absurdly, self-consciously over-the-top that they make you smile.

Playfulness seems to be Barrymore ‘s signature, what distinguishes her from her lesser rom-com peers. So it wasn’t surprising that this was a film she chose to produce, an ode to a dumb TV show celebrating sexism/female empowerment/both (depending on your point of view).

The show (1976-81)– for those younger folks out there–featured a wealthy but reserved guy (Charlie), who hired three beautiful detectives (the angels) for his agency. All we ever got of Charlie was his voice, as he never appeared in person and let all arrangements be managed by his assistant, Bosley. The term ‘angel,’ use of possessive, Charlie’s condescending voice, the quick rotations of actresses for the roles (suggesting they were interchangeable)—any of the four could make a feminist cringe. But the women were tough and smart, using their looks to blindside unwary men, much as Columbo used his folksiness.

The film is both a parody and tribute, using the TV show’s theme music, graphics, and basic concept, but mocking the silliness of it too. Cameron Diaz plays the supposed airhead (Natalie) to perfection. Lucy Liu takes on the kind of tough role she always plays, even imitating a dominatrix/efficiency expert in one ploy as detective Alex. As Dylan, Barrymore mocks the over-the-top femininity of her predecessors by embracing a badass, punk rock aesthetic. The strange connection the women have to Charlie is brought to the forefront when their client (Sam Rockwell) suggests that Dylan has daddy issues.

Thinking they get to meet Charlie in person...

Hopeful to meet Charlie in person…

Whatever part she’s in, Barrymore always seems to be playing herself, and part of what keeps us watching her is just how likeable she is, this woman who went through a painful past of abandonment and substance abuse as a kid, and emerged as a woman with empathy for those who contributed to the conditions that put her there. She is both the most tender of the three actresses onscreen—Barrymore always captures vulnerability effectively—and the most sarcastic. Perhaps hers is an earned playfulness, but Barrymore wears it lightly. (How else could you repeatedly perform with Adam Sandler, and more bafflingly, not only star with, but marry Tom Green? Tom Green!) While her acting never wows me, she does.

In Drew’s performances, I don’t see much of her forebears, that famous acting dynasty whose members mesmerize audiences still today. Only in her youthful roles did I ever see traces of the Barrymore family’s skill with drama. I would argue that Irreconcilable Differences (1984); an underrated film about a girl who wants to separate from her narcissistic, divorced parents (in an eerie foreshadowing of Barrymore’s own decision years later); was her strongest dramatic role. Perhaps it just was a part she knew really, really well.

But usually, the actress just prefers, and does better, at comedies. Certainly, Drew lacks the intimidation or gravitas of her great-uncle Lionel…

the nuance of her great-aunt Ethel…

or the presence of her grandfather John…

Of course, her troubled past brings to mind her grandfather’s. But it’s in her self-deprecating goofiness that I see the clearest link to the Barrymore dynasty. While it’s certainly not present in all of the Barrymores’ roles, I see it in John’s charming turn in Grand Hotel, and, of course, in his hilarious supporting character in the glorious Midnight (1939). There’s such a lightheartedness to his approach to the role of Georges Flammarion, and though he was already at the cue card stage of his decline, his humor, at least, had not reached the self-parody stage.

John Barrymore in Midnight

Such lightheartedness is key to Dylan’s (Drew Barrymore’s) character, even when she’s in the direst straights. In the best action sequence in Charlie’s Angels, Dylan has been tied up by her sleazy client, Eric Knox (Sam Rockwell), who has betrayed her after sleeping with her, and tried to kill her already. Knox departs to perform his nefarious schemes, leaving her to his five henchmen. After managing to get her lighter back, she spells out what she will do to escape, buying time but also revealing her confidence.

As she sits in her chair, she calmly explains, smiling at her adversaries all the while, “By the time this is over, every one of you is gonna be face down on the floor, and I’m gonna moonwalk out of here.”

As they rush toward her, she interrupts, looking at each man in turn, “You’re not listening to me. See first, you’re gonna help me out of my chair, and then I’m gonna leapfrog over you, before I break his nose…I’m gonna do all of this with my hands tied behind my back.”

She does exactly what she says:

And her moonwalk is a joy:

You can see the full clip here.

Any actress could have had fun with such a sequence, but there’s so much self-amusement in Drew Barrymore’s portrayal that I kept thinking of her grandfather in Midnight. Sure, he had much more range and talent than she does, but in self-amusement, the two are matched.

This post is part of the Barrymore Trilogy blogathon, hosted by Crystal of In the Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood. See the fantastic entries here!

They Live by Night: The Romeo & Juliet of Noir

08/09/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

When I see a movie described as Bonnie and Clyde-like, I’m expecting an adrenaline-junkie couple, exciting escapes, violence. Imagine then my surprise to find They Live by Night is a surprisingly sweet tale of young newlyweds who long to–wait for it–go out to dinner together.

It’s true that initially, this film seems a typical noir. Bowie (Farley Granger) is an escaped convict, sprung by fellow criminals Chickamaw (Howard Da Silva) and T-Dub (Jay Flippen) so that he’ll be the getaway driver for their bank robberies.

Jailed seven years for a murder he didn’t commit, Bowie goes along with their plans, thinking the loot will help him pay for a lawyer to prove his innocence. (Yes, that’s how naïve he is.) This supposedly scary criminal looks like this when he’s afraid a girl will disapprove of him:

Bowie, looking like a scared Ralph Macchio.

Resembling a scared Ralph Macchio….

But innocence is the theme of this movie–and not the corrupting of that innocence (as a noir might lead us to expect). While he does commit robberies, Bowie doesn’t seem very interested in them. He’s loyal to his partners, but ready to quit at any time. In fact, we see very little of his robberies in the film, and very much of his quiet time with his love. What makes it a noir is simple: he’s trapped by his past actions, and escape isn’t looking likely. His hopes for getting out of the mess he’s caused are sad to hear, even if they do endear him to Keechie (Cathy O’Donnell).

Keechie, whose drunken father hides the escapees, falls for Bowie after his fumbling attempt to talk to her (she seems to be the first girl he’s met). When they spend time together after an injury and his partner Chickamaw’s bloody response to it given Bowie an undeserved reputation for villainy, the two become even closer. Their impulse decision to marry after she runs away with him shows them fearful, hesitant as they approach the altar–like the kids they are.

These two are so innocent I kept wondering if they were even going to kiss.

At points, there’s so much giddiness when they smile at each other it’s easy to forget that these dark shadows on the screen portend something, that their romance probably isn’t headed anywhere better than Shakespeare’s famed lovers.’

(I should mention, by the way, that I’ve never found Rome & Juliet romantic; I regard it as the tragedy of teenage-think-gone-wrong, when a new crush means forever-love, and a life without him/her is THE END. It’s difficult for me to fathom that others find fickle Romeo–who was in love with Rosaline the day before–romantic.)

While there’s no feud between the couple’s families in They Live by Night, Keechie’s father helps the police catch Bowie, and the latter’s partners refuse to let him go straight, giving us a bit of that lovely, narcissistic Capulet-Montague spirit.

Despite the odds, Keechie and Bowie do manage to escape the patent absurdity of their names and the triteness of their situation, making us root against others hunting them. O’Donnell plays that same almost-too-sugary supporter as she did when portraying Wilma in The Best Years of Our Lives, but with enough toughness and grit to make us like her. Granger perfectly captures the blustering young lover trying to do the right thing, but kind of clueless about how to pull it off.

While the criminal partners of Bowie’s are fairly stereotypical, others the couple meet are not; the strange, quirky hotel proprietors and marriage officiants seem to promise sympathy and add interest to the story–though no one deserves as much trust as these two are willing to shell out. You just keep wondering how this kid could survive 7 years in prison and STILL be this childlike, or a girl could have a corrupt, alcoholic father; a criminal for an uncle; and remain such an optimist. And yet, they come across as real on the screen, and the freshness they bring to their experiences is enchanting, as with this scene of them ecstatic about going out for dinner.

I won’t reveal how it ends, but the film is suspenseful enough in spite of many slow interludes, and the characters compelling enough, to keep you watching, and hoping….

Pretending to Be Contagious: 2 Comic Scenes

08/02/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

In one of my favorite scenes from The Thin Man series, Nick Charles pretends his wife is contagious for laughs. It made me think of outbreaks, and how they’ve been used to panic audiences—or amuse them. Somehow funny scenes so often result from mocking our greatest fears. So on the lovely actress’s birthday, here’s that scene—and another like it from many decades later—when the characters mess with the crowds around them for very different reasons.

Eliminating Suitors: Nora in Another Thin Man (1939)
Nora’s (Myrna Loy’s) considerable sex appeal is a joke in many of The Thin Man movies. Ex-cons can’t believe someone so desirable could be Nick’s wife instead of his mistress. Men follow her and hit on her constantly. Just look at her.

Who wouldn’t? When Nick (William Powell) seeks his wife in Another Thin Man, he finds a crowd of men vying for her attention.

To clear them away quickly, he begins, “Now Mommy, you know better than to come to a place like this your first day out of bed. What if the health officers find out? They’ll put you right back in quarantine.”

At first, her expression suggests she may be annoyed by his ploy. But her response tells us otherwise: “I won’t stay in quarantine. I don’t care who catches it.”

The two are instantly alone. Whether this routine is a regular gag with them (it seems so practiced) or just a function of their quick-wittedness, the couple delivers it—as they do everything—beautifully.

Cracking Themselves Up: Sam & Carl in Ghost (1990)
We witness a smirk from Sam (Patrick Swayze) as soon as he and his friend Carl (Tony Goldwyn) enter the elevator of their business in Ghost. We know therefore whatever follows is a gag of some kind. Clearly, there’s some level of improvisation to their conversation, with each trying to outwit each other, and out-gross-out their unlucky audience.

Carl starts coughing.

Sam: “How you feeling? What did the doctor say?”

Carl: “He ummm said that it was contagious. That it was really—”

Sam: “No.”

Yeah. “Yeah. He said that I shouldn’t even be coming in today.”

Sam: “What about the rash?”

Carl: “The rash?”

Sam: “Mmhm.”

Carl: “The rash is ummm also incredibly contagious. He said that…will…spreading.”

Of course, it gets even grosser from there…and the two act like 10-year-old boys instead of grown men in enjoying their little joke.

I think I enjoy silly scenes like these because I know I would be far more likely to be the one decamping than the one making the joke. I would be the butt of the ploy, and can’t help but smile at how easily these characters would play me.

Mae West Quote of the Month: No Evidence

07/23/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 2 Comments

Lady Lou (Mae West) is the heroine of She Done Him Wrong (1933), the hilarious Oscar-nominated, pre-Code movie based on West’s play, Diamond Lil. The film opens in a Bowery bar in the Gay Nineties. Many of the customers are discussing Lou’s attractions, thanks to a new nude portrait of her on the wall.

Lou rides up in a carriage, with women staring at her disapprovingly, and men staring at her very approvingly.

She enters the bar with the customary West strut, and is quickly introduced to Serge (Gilbert Roland) by her boyfriend, Gus. She reflects on Serge’s good manners in kissing her hand and smiles at him alluringly, as West is wont to do.

“I’m delighted,” Serge (Gilbert Roland) says. “I have heard so much about you.”

“Yeah,” Lou quips, “but you can’t prove it.”

If that line can’t get you through the day smiling, no worries. Just watch five minutes more of the film.

Satirizing Consumerism: Easy Living

07/19/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 4 Comments

I’ve never liked shows like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. I’m uninterested in what Paris Hilton spent on a dog palace, am only slightly amused by what Sony Bono paid to fly his hat. I’ve never understood the point. Am I to envy? To condemn? I’m as prone to consumerism as the next American, but it’s easy to watch The Queen of Versailles and think, I would never expect a rental car company to supply a driver. What entitlement! Now where is that amazing silver necklace on Etsy…

I know my part in America’s deploring—and dangerous—overconsumption is something I should ponder, but these stories so rarely implicate average Americans, or say anything interesting about the culture most of us rarely question.

That’s why I like Easy Living (1937), an airy comedy about a girl just scraping by who—due to a series of misadventures—is mistaken for a banker’s mistress, and flooded with offers of well, everything, in return for just a tip or two about whether steel is up or down this week. What this fictional movie supplies that other shows and documentaries lack is a perspective on capitalism run stupid I rarely see, but have experienced: befuddlement.

Our heroine, Mary Smith (Jean Arthur), enters the film on a streetcar. A sable coat suddenly lands on her head. Does she try to discover its origins? Does she ponder the nature of serendipity, or “kismet,” as her religious fellow passenger does? No. It ruined her hat, she can’t afford to replace it, and now she has to be late for work to help the idiot who threw it.

She approaches the banker (Edward Arnold) responsible for the coat’s airborne condition.

Moved by her innocence, he gives it to her, and a new hat besides. She takes the gifts as payback and benevolence, rather than as signs of sexual interest. Unfortunately, her stuffy employer doesn’t share this interpretation. He fires her for immorality.

Soon afterward, she befriends John Ball, Jr., the banker’s son (Ray Milland), after he steals a meal for her. Accompanied by her new knight-in-disguise, she starts getting offers from those who, like her employer, consider her a strumpet, but are glad she is. A hotel proprietor (Luis Alberni) offers her a room, hoping to extend his loan with her benefactor. She takes it, with no idea why it’s been offered. Her increasing confusion as questions and freebies fly her way is hilarious to witness.

The film is a pleasure for many reasons, Jean Arthur first among them. As a satire of consumerism, it’s incisive and often dark despite its frothiness, as these three scenes reveal:

1: The Coat
The banker, J.B. Ball (Arnold), begins the day disgruntled. He grumbles over his hearty breakfast, fights with his son (Ray Milland) over an expensive foreign car, then discovers this bill from his wife (Mary Nash):

He storms into her room, demanding why she needs such a luxury, especially with a closet like this:

She defends herself, claiming her other furs are out of fashion, that she doesn’t have so many, and then she runs away with the sable, impeding his race after her. The fight ends with some rooftop wrestling.

And one big toss:

The rich banker, complaining of his family’s extravagance, tosses out a fortune like a tissue. (I wish I could claim the rest of us never show such hypocrisy, even if less flamboyantly/expensively expressed…)

2: The Automat
Mary doesn’t have enough money for a decent dinner, but enough appetite to envy those who do:

She’s at an automat, a kind of vending machine restaurant with windows of entries. When the banker’s son (Milland), who is working there, suggests in a misplaced effort at flirtation that she have the meat pie, she retorts, “If you can suggest where to get the nine nickels, I might take your suggestion; otherwise, don’t go around putting ideas in people’s mouths.”

When he offers to spring a door so that she can steal one, she at first resists. But as she attempts to eat her humble meal, she reconsiders.

Of course, she breaks down, and of course, a security guard catches Junior, who promptly starts a fight that leads to a free-for-all at the automat the two barely escape.

This simple portrayal of the hunger an underfed woman feels as everyone around her overconsumes was a bit too on point to be funny. It did give me a fun flashback of when a vending machine in college went haywire, and I made out. But it also reminded me of when I returned from a visit to Ghana, and was overcome by the excessive options in my grocery store.

The Room
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous couldn’t possibly capture the luxuriousness of a hotel run by Mr. Louis Louis (Alberni). When he displays a suite for Mary, he can’t even remember its layout, though he does remember to attack the competition’s inferior claims. What other Imperial Suite could boast 5 reception areas, and this monstrosity for a bathtub?

Mary is not impressed by such affectations. She is–quite frankly–confused why anyone would want such nonsense.

Once alone, she’s even a bit frightened.

She doesn’t know what to do with any of it, until she remembers one feature in this new suite of hers, and finally feels what Mr. Louis Louis wanted her to feel. She tears across the room, running past all the silk and marble and chandeliers to one thing that she considers worthy of attention: the fridge.

Only to find it empty.

As a satire of luxury, it’s hard to imagine any scene harsher than this one. Trust writer Vera Caspary (of Laura fame), who penned the story, and screenwriting genius Preston Sturges to lacerate us with their black humor. Even though the critique is cloaked in pratfalls and silliness, it’s still there for us to see. Maybe all these years later, the lesson will actually penetrate our own product-loving minds….at least until the holidays.

The Anti-Disney Marital Treatment: Funny Girl

07/12/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 2 Comments

“Oh he was SO handsome,” said my mother-in-law when I mentioned Omar Sharif’s death. My mother did the same when she introduced him to me: his eyes, his style, his tall-dark-handsome persona.

Despite his undeniable looks, that wasn’t the impression he left on me, not exactly. He was handsome, yes. He was charismatic, yes. But the word I’d use if thinking of him was disquieting. Why? Because of his performance of Nick Arnstein in Funny Girl, a performance so suave, so heartbreaking, and so believable I could never fully imagine him apart from that role afterward.

Up to then, I think I must have seen only Disney marriages onscreen: You love each other; therefore, happily ever after is guaranteed, as long as you’re not a fool enough to fall for a jerk. But here was a marriage torn apart by pride, by a man’s reluctance to see his wife out-earn him, by a love for a profession–gambling–which wasn’t exactly reputable, but was all he had to bolster his confidence. (Part of Sharif’s believability might have resulted from his well-known skill at it.) Could a woman’s success poison her relationships? Could separate passions so totally separate such an affectionate couple?

My reason and sympathy might have been with Fanny Brice (Barbra Streisand), but I had an uneasy feeling that marriage wasn’t quite as simple as I’d been led to believe. That this story, in spite of the Hollywood gloss on real events, was saying something I wasn’t old enough to accept about what it took for a union to make it, whether romantic or platonic. I comforted myself that it wasn’t EXACTLY true, but there was an authenticity to the portrayal I couldn’t deny.

I’ve thought of Sharif’s role in the years since, when I witnessed in so many friendships and unwise romances* how much charm can mask incompatibility, and selfishness too. Perhaps the film should be required viewing for women on the cusp of adulthood: It might not be the kind of heartwarming story you want to watch before you curl off to sleep, but you might pass fewer sleepless nights if you do.

*luckily for me, few of my own

Cary Grant Won't Eat You

Classic movies for phobics

Author: leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com