Anti-Romance films | Cary Grant Won't Eat You

The Lure of the Selfish Genius

10/19/2016 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 10 Comments

The Bad and the Beautiful (1952) presents that classic question: what are you willing to put up with, to be under the direction of a genius? Whiplash (2014) did the same just a couple years ago, conductor Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) compelling his protégé drummer to dangerous extremes for his art. The question has obviously lost none of its potency in the last 60 years. But this classic Hollywood version begins with the victims of brilliant producer Jonathan Shields’ (Kirk Douglas’). You see the damage first, and it colors how you view the rest of the film.

And yet….It’s the start of the film, and while you’re soon treated to flashbacks of what treatment led Shields to get such cold shoulders from former pals, you can’t help wondering how they’ll answer the question—and how you would too.

Shields, it appears, is destitute in Paris. But he has an idea for a film, and three victims of his ruthless ambition would be perfect for it: Georgia (Lana Turner), the actress he romanced to improve her performance, then dumped; Fred Amiel (Barry Sullivan), the director/best friend whose work he stole; and screenwriter James Lee Bartlow (Dick Powell), whose life he destroyed. Shields sends proxy Harry Pebbel (Walter Pidgeon) to lure them. And Pebbel, who has forgiven Shields for his own wrongs, gathers them together, hoping they’ll stick around long enough for Shields’ call about the film. And so the flashbacks of each betrayal begin, ranging from egregious to abominable.

Douglas is predictably mesmerizing in the role, which was supposedly loosely based on producer and studio exec David O. Selznick, best known now for Gone with the Wind. In fact, Douglas is so good in such roles that I found myself actually expecting worse behavior from Shields, bad as it was (Ace in the Hole being the last film of his I viewed).

What I found fascinating about the film this time around is the horrifying cruelty of Pebbel.

walterpidgeonthebadandthebeautiful
He actually pooh-poohs the three victims over their healthy desire to avoid the psychological damage Shields excels at inflicting, as if their heartbreaks are merely scraped knees. Pebbel’s argument—that human losses are inconsequential in comparison to accolades—is terrifying, and his calmness in expressing these views chilling. Shields may have a monstrous side, but he’s nothing compared to his Machiavellian helper.

But it is a question, whether for some the pursuit of greatness is worth human costs (though it would be hard to argue James’ was). Certainly, many artists we celebrate today have said yes to such a question. Many do now. The kindhearted instincts within you may urge such artists, “Leave!! Leave!” But the part of you who cherishes excellence secretly whispers, “Stay….”

The call from Shields comes, of course. And of course, they all refuse to remain. But then Georgia picks up the phone connection in another room, and the others lean in to hear, and we see them listening, lured back.

thebadandthebeautiful
Will they, won’t they?

This post is part of the Hollywood on Hollywood fall blogathon hosted by the Classic Movie Blog Association. Check out the wonderful entries here.

The Klutziest Bonnie & Clyde Ever: Gun Crazy (1950)

06/06/2016 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

**Only very minor, preliminary spoilers here**

Gun Crazy begins with a boy getting caught for stealing a gun because he trips. The kid, Barton Tare, has a mysterious attraction to guns he can neither explain nor control. Others try to defend him, given that he has no desire to harm and isn’t a good thief. But he’s sent to reform school anyway, and after that and a bout in the army, the young man returns home and falls for a carnival sharpshooter, Annie Laurie Starr (Peggy Cummins). The two are both skilled in their expertise with weaponry and in their seduction of one another (clearly what brings them together), but their limbs just go haywire in all other contexts. When they turn to crime to satisfy Laurie’s lust for excitement and cash, the two can’t stop themselves from tripping, falling, and dropping the payroll.

The chief delight of this famous noir is Laurie’s ruthlessness; she’s one of the most fascinating femme fatales; the whole movie, you’re just waiting to see if her attraction to her now-husband, Bart (John Dall), will trump her self-interest.

LaurieGunCrazy
Bart’s a little screwy (as when he brings a gun to school as a kid and refuses to give it to teacher or superintendent). But there’s an aw-shucks, Jimmy-Stewartist innocence to his love for his wife, making her single-mindedness and easy manipulation of him both sinister and completely believable. When the going gets tough, you know Bart will save Laurie. What you don’t know is whether Laurie will lose a nail to save him.

Their gun skills, of course, make them a dangerous pair when they start to rob. But in peak moments, the pair keep FALLING, making you wonder how many capers they could have actually pulled off. Call me cynical, but I think some grace might help in a getaway. This lack of finesse might dissatisfy viewers looking for slick criminals in action, but being anything but nimble myself, I found their lack of coordination endearing–an unexpected trait that made me worry for their chances, and realize that I’ve seen this trait in cinematic bank robbers too seldom. Far too many action stars have amazing reflexes without Jason Bourne’s training; more of us stumble in real life, as the Darwin Awards and local news so often prove. I know I’m not alone in loving the pratfallers, even in a noir. (Usually, only minor characters make such silly mistakes.)

Of course, there’s a lot more to recommend the movie: its stylishness, the costumes of Cummins (clearly an inspiration for Faye Dunaway’s in Bonnie and Clyde), the many artfully composed shots. But its lack of predictability (thanks to screenwriters, blacklisted Dalton Trumbo and MacKinlay Kantor) is what kept me watching and wondering. I expected some hairy getaways, but not the twists I got. I expected a dastardly female, but couldn’t predict her moves. And I certainly didn’t expect–but loved–all the great moments like this, Bart’s first tripping incident, which led to all the rest:

Bartsfirstfall-GunCrazy

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.

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

For Gone Girl Fans, A Fascinating She-Did, She-Didn’t Thriller

10/06/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 2 Comments

I’ve been wanting to see Gone Girl, but the laryngitis-respiratory infection cocktail I’ve got right now means that I would be an object of fear and distraction to fellow film goers, so I had to settle for an alternative. What film, I wondered, might employ a similar ambiguity about whether or not a spouse is a murderer? What other film might tell a tale of an unhealthy romance that might or might not have sinister roots or results? The answer: Daphne Du Maurier’s My Cousin Rachel. The film, starring Olivia de Havilland and a very young Richard Burton, never reached the fame of The Birds or Rebecca, but has a similar eerie draw, and (for me at least) lingers longer than either.

Young Philip has been raised by his cousin, Ambrose (John Sutton), and the two are comfortable together in their picturesque Cornish town until Ambrose’s illness leads to their first separation—a trip to Italy. There, Ambrose discovers and falls for their distant cousin, Rachel. Before Philip can adjust to this change in his life, a more somber situation develops: Ambrose is nearing death, and blames his wife for it, claiming she’s trying to do him in. Is his condition the result of a brain tumor, or is it poison?

Femme fatale, yes, but is she a murderer?

A heartbroken Philip (Burton) travels to Italy to uncover the mystery after his cousin’s death. Since all of the estate goes to him, not the wife, Philip might assume things are as innocent as those in Italy suggest, but the circumstances seem shady, and he’s ready to turn Rachel over to the hangman—that is, until he meets her.

Of course, she’s charming, affectionate, worldly, and experienced, and within no time, is hosting gatherings at Philip’s place and then, well, what repressed English boy could resist this cougar?

Before long, Philip’s giving her the family jewels from the vault—which aren’t his yet, as he doesn’t get the estate till he’s 25, his guardian reminds him.

Also, a generous allowance he’s given Rachel? Yes, she’s overdrawing it—by a lot. Philip doesn’t worry. He’s in love! She deserves everything that’s his. He’ll just give his whole estate to her, announcing it Romeo-style on his birthday.

She, in thanks, gives him more than kisses. In Philip’s world, this means she’s going to be his wife. In Rachel’s? Not so much. Philip, whose stupidity and naiveté know no bounds, doesn’t take this well, even starts strangling her. She ends their romance, whether because of his actions, or because with the money, she has no motive to seduce him any longer.

Soon after, Philip falls dangerously ill and finds some seeds that may have been the cause of his brother’s illness—and his.

What happens next I won’t reveal, but let’s just say that the evidence for and against Rachel’s guilt about even out, leaving the viewer to wonder the whole film (and book).

This was my first viewing of the film, and it stays quite true to what I remember of the novel. But viewing it as an adult, I noticed some details I’d missed before. Yes, she may be a murderer, or she may not be, but even if she didn’t try to kill either lover, exactly how wrong and/or inadvisable is Rachel’s behavior? I have some advice for Rachel, which, of course, comes a tad bit late:

Some spoilers ahead—though not the ending.

Never Seduce Crazy
It’s not hard to miss just how big of a dolt this Philip is, so even if she weren’t after his money, seriously, is this someone you seduce? I mean, he’s cute and all, but he’s obsessive. This is a textbook case of a stalker-in-the-making if ever I saw one. Surely a woman as confident and assured as this one knows a case of insane puppy love when she sees it. I’ll alter one of my favorite Arrested Development lines– “Never promise crazy a baby”—to Never seduce crazy. I kept wanting to warn Rachel away: Don’t kiss this fool. He’ll be sending out your wedding invitations next.

Remember: Virginal Boys Don’t Understand Samantha Jones Ways
If Rachel just kinda forgot that those in repressed English villages don’t act like her cosmopolitan friends, shouldn’t that church moment when she arrived late have given her a clue?

She’s so shocked Philip thinks they’re going to marry after they have sex, but would anyone in this community think otherwise? Remember when Samantha Jones hooked up with the inexperienced college boy on Sex and the City who shared her name?

Didn’t turn out so well, right? Filled up her answering machine with love-yous. Arrived at her door screaming through the peep-hole.

That’s Philip for you.

Don’t Marry the Guy Whose Regular Expression Looks Like This:

Whatever her motives or knowledge, Rachel is absolutely right not to marry this dude. I can just see it: She tries to hang out with her friends, and he’s there, watching. She leaves the house and he’s hiring private detectives. This woman has lived on her own, experienced an unusual degree of freedom for a woman of her time, and he doesn’t even want her to return to Italy—ever. She may make some dumb mistakes, but Rachel is not that foolish.

Don’t Live with the Stalker after You Ditch Him
Why does Rachel remain in the house? Yes, I can understand for appearance’s sake, she might stay a little after the inheritance is given to her. But this is one angry guy. And, of course, dangerous as he fears she is, he’s the one going for the throat when he doesn’t get his way.

But….

Did she do it? Did she poison her husband?

She has suspicious ways. Rachel’s spendthrift tendencies, of course, are undeniable. This woman loves the money. Whether it’s to help her pal-maybe-lover back in Italy or not, she takes whatever anyone will give her with no regrets. It’s not hard to believe her gold-digger impulses brought her to England in the first place, and those motives seem sinister enough that she may have just killed for them.

Of course, it’s possible that she did love Ambrose, and wanted to meet his cousin. I’m not sure I buy that the one precludes the other. I don’t have to admire her greed, but I don’t have to believe that’s all there is to her either.

It’s the ambiguity I love about the film. Hopefully, Gone Girl is just as good (no spoilers on that, please!)

The Sadistic Spouse: Charles Boyer in Gaslight

04/23/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 22 Comments

This post is part of the Great Villain Blogathon cohosted by Speakeasy, Shadows and Satin, and Silver Screenings. Check out other entries on one of their sites!

When it comes to villains, Gregory Anton in Gaslight lacks the theatricality of The Joker or Lecter. He wants the presence of Harry Lime or the narcissism of Ellen Harland. He doesn’t chill the viewer as do Maleficent and Mrs. Danvers. On the surface, therefore, Gregory might not seem a villain worthy of comment. As played by Charles Boyer, the role is so two-dimensional as to approach camp. You can almost hear Boyer saying to himself, “Time for the faux-loving face—wait, too long on that one, stern face time.”

Boyer’s stern face

Yes, Gregory seems as commonplace a villain as his name would suggest. But in terms of his effect on his victim, Gregory is a master among villains. Having convinced his new wife, Paula (Ingrid Bergman), to move back to the house where her aunt was murdered, he creates a series of sounds and sights he pretends not to notice. He expresses concern at Paula’s supposedly imaginary observations; he chides her for forgetfulness when items disappear (due to his own actions). She believes him because she loves him. The term “gaslighting,” which originated with this story, refers to Gregory’s sinister brand of psychological abuse: trying to convince his wife she’s going insane. While the motives of his actions are not immediately apparent, he clearly feels no remorse for his cruelty.

Gregory, celebrating his victory over his wife

So often, we side with the criminal in a plot like this one: with a wife this gullible, it’s easy to go for the laugh rather than the shiver. It would be common too to dismiss Paula as stupid, to fail to sympathize due to her blindness and fragility. But the nineteenth-century timeline of the story counters our usual impulses, making us uneasy and fearful from the start. (Just what were those stories about men committing their wives to asylums on questionable grounds again?) And Paula is not just any victim: She is a victim played by Ingrid Bergman.

Bergman beautifully illustrates the extent of her heroine’s downfall at Gregory’s hands. She is incandescent as a woman in love before his plot takes off.

Paula in love

Her fears about her sanity, which first dim, and then blot out any semblance of happiness or reason, are terrifying to watch. Just when she thinks she can trust in his love for her and have faith in herself again, Gregory cuts off her giddiness with a chilling expression, claims she’s unwell, forgetful, unworthy, childish. Her jealousy of a cruel maid (Angela Lansbury) he flirts with in her own home is nothing, he suggests, but a sign of her sickness.

Using the maid to torture his wife

Think of Betty Draper in the first season of Mad Men, then quadruple the vulnerability, make Don evil rather than sick, take away his love, and remove any right Betty has to defend herself against his duplicity, and you have poor Paula in Gaslight.

Season 1 Betty Draper a powerhouse compared to Paula

Paula’s weakness is her love for her husband; without it to prey upon, Gregory would have no chance of winning this psychological battle against her. And it’s just this level of cruelty she can’t accept. Of course she finds her own forgetfulness more believable. Not content with the damage he’s done, Gregory shuts her away from others, guaranteeing she spends most of her time obsessing over whether she’s mad–hardly a healthy pastime. How long, we wonder, CAN Paula stay sane, trapped in a loveless marriage, a frightening house, and fears she can no longer control? While there’s hope in the form of a suspicious detective (Joseph Cotten), even if Paula escapes, can anyone recover from this kind of treatment?

Despite a largely passive performance, Bergman is stunning to watch in Gaslight. I can think of no actress but Meryl Streep who could accomplish so much with just expressions, who could deliver enough pain and fear to carry the film and beat out Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis, Claudette Colbert, and Greer Garson for the Oscar.

Paula as her situation worsens

Just a few years after Gaslight, Bergman would fall for Roberto Rossellini and become involved in an affair with him so scandalous Congress and many of her American fans would condemn her. But she would make a Hollywood comeback less than a decade later, and her union with the famous director would result in a daughter, Isabella, who, in a curious twist, would make a splash of her own as a victim in another famous film, Blue Velvet. Who could forget torch singer Dorothy Vallens, the target of creepy villain Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper)?

Like mother, like daughter

Be sure to check out the other villains in the blogathon!

3 Classic Anti-Valentine’s Films for Sex and the City Fans

02/13/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 6 Comments

Single or attached, I’ve always loathed Valentine’s Day. When single, I’ve wondered why our couples-obsessed culture needs a day devoted to twosomes. When attached, I’ve pondered why I should celebrate en masse what’s supposed to be intimate. Therefore, my three recs today are for those who share my distaste for the day:

Female Bonding: Stage Door
For those who’d rather split a few bottles of wine with pals than brave pink-and-red-bedecked nightclubs this Friday, I recommend Stage Door, a film centered on women who live in an all-female boarding house as they try to make their big breaks on the stage.

The heroines’ choice to remain single (and have casual boyfriends only) is celebrated rather than reviled by the film. If anything, the film mocks marriage. But don’t just view Stage Door (1937) for its politics; watch it to see the phenomenal cast interact: Ginger Rogers, Katharine Hepburn, Lucille Ball, Eve Arden. (The latter you may recognize as the principal in Grease; in her youth, she was always the smart-talking sidekick.)

Rogers, Arden, Ball, and Hepburn

The dialogue is so slick and cynical and quick that you’ll have a hard time keeping up with the one-liners, as when wealthy Terry’s (Katharine Hepburn’s) haughty tone annoys her impoverished fellow residents. Jean (Ginger Rogers) is not one to let an insult slide. When Terry snootily states, “Unfortunately, I learned to speak English correctly,” Jean fires back, “That won’t be of much use to you here. We all talk pig Latin.”

While the more famous classic movie about female friendships, The Women (1939), favors marriage with unfaithful partners over relationships with backbiting friends, this feminist flick celebrates the humor and loyalty between single women. In fact, I would argue that Stage Door’s women are in some ways more liberated than those in Sex and the City. Watch and see if you agree.

More of a feminist: Jean Maitland or Carrie Bradshaw? (Ginger Rogers & Sarah Jessica Parker)

More of a feminist: Jean or Carrie?

Revenge as Art: Gilda
I enjoyed Samantha Jones’s (Kim Cattrall’s) revenge on boyfriend Richard Wright for his infidelity in Sex and the City: the dirty martini in his face, the papering of the city with posters describing his behavior.

Samantha in revenge mode

But this kind of takedown is kitten play compared to the work of Rita Hayworth in Gilda.

Gilda, who calls herself the "Bar Nothing," and her spiritual descendant, Samantha Jones

Gilda, the “Bar Nothing,” and her spiritual descendant, Sam

Like Samantha, Gilda (Hayworth) is in full command of her sexuality; it’s not difficult to discover why this WW II pinup was dubbed “The Love Goddess.” But her treatment of her ex, Johnny, is far more ruthless than her modern counterpart’s. First, she marries Johnny’s boss; then, she flaunts her affairs with other men to torment him further.

Gilda (Hayworth) torturing her ex

Gilda is so skillful a manipulator that you root for her to get what she wants, even if the ex she desires is no prize (and no mean manipulator himself).

Here’s an anti-Valentine’s Day conversation if ever there were one:

Gilda: “Would it interest you to know how much I hate you, Johnny?”
Johnny: “Very much.”
Gilda: “I hate you so much I would destroy myself to take you down with me.”

I think Samantha would be impressed.

Exploiting Men: Baby Face
In an early episode of Sex and the City, “The Power of Female Sex,” Carrie’s fling has left a tip on her bedside table and she’s feeling ill at ease with the implications. The four friends discuss whether it’s ever acceptable to use your sexuality to get ahead. Barbara Stanwyck’s character in Baby Face (1933) has no such qualms: She leaves her hometown for NYC with the aim of doing just that.

The shocks accumulate quickly as you watch Baby Face: Lily’s (Stanwyck’s) father has been prostituting her since she was fourteen. A grandfatherly figure in her dad’s speakeasy recommends she leave home to sexually exploit men for personal gain, quoting Nietzsche to back his case. Once in New York, Lily takes quick steps to follow his advice, seducing the HR assistant in a bank to get a job, and then sleeping her way floor by floor to the top. (The camera helpfully pans up to highlight each floor as she ascends.)

Lily (Stanwyck) on the make

You might expect the movie to make the heroine suffer for her behavior, given the date of this film, but she is unmoved by the heartbreak and eventual tragedy she leaves in her wake (among her victims is a smitten John Wayne). Men have used her all her life. Lily figures it’s her turn, and the film clearly sympathizes with her reasoning. She calmly goes about her business of seducing men, accumulating jewels and bonds, and sharing her successes with her best friend, Chico (Theresa Harris).

Chico and Lily admiring another woman’s wealth before Lily starts to advance

Chico and Lily scheming

Here’s a typical exchange with a discarded lover who stops by Lily’s apartment:

Ex-Lover: “It’s been brutal not seeing you.”
Lily: “Yeah, well you better get used to it.”

When he returns and offers marriage, Lily answers, “So you want to marry me, huh? Isn’t that beautiful. Get out of here….”

Lily’s reaction to a marriage proposal from a discarded lover

This is a strange film with a number of flaws, but you won’t care; it’s too much fun to watch this predator in action. (Be sure to watch the pre-release version; it’s much better.)

What are your favorite anti-Valentine’s films?