Cary Grant Won't Eat You

Cool Hand Luke: Newman’s Double?

06/21/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 18 Comments

This post is part of Silver Screenings‘ and The Rosebud Cinema’s 1967 in Film Blogathon. Check out the other entries on their sites!

It’s not surprising, given the film’s condemnation of authority and celebration of rebellion, that Cool Hand Luke came out in 1967 in the midst of Vietnam War protests. Its depiction of the man “without eyes” and his fellow sadists is truly terrifying, as are the ominous parallels between the “failure to communicate” line the film popularized, and our muddy status in the war. The threat that the hero’s (seemingly) unflappable spirit poses to the guards’ squashing of the prisoners is evident to them—and us—from the start of the film. This guy (Paul Newman as Luke) makes prison fun instead of soul killing; clearly, the authorities will be seeking a way to destroy him.

What strikes me most about the movie is not its strong writing, or Newman’s compelling acting, or even George Kennedy’s perfect performance as Luke’s fan. It’s just how iconic of a Newman film it is. First, there’s that playfulness of Luke’s—from the speeding up of the road crew work, to bluffing at poker, to eating 50 eggs on a dare. Sounds like a Newman role, right? Like Butch Cassidy, like Henry Gondorff in The Sting…And like the actor himself, who was known for pranks. See this hysterical comparison of his and George Clooney’s.

Then there’s that complicated reaction to popularity. On the one hand, Luke relishes the attention; he likes to lead, rebel. He wants to inspire the men out of their lethargy, to make them fight for themselves. He’s found a way to introduce joy into prison life, and he wants that influence to spread.

But Luke’s resistance to idolization increases as his situation worsens. The more he’s thrown in the hold and beaten for being a “hard case,” the more he resists the simple hero worship of his companions, lashing out at the amount of pressure they’ve put on him: “Oh, come on! Stop beatin’ it. Get out there yourselves. Stop feeding on me!”

In other words, inspiration he’ll provide. But if they’re content with just the stories about him and his cool demeanor, well, that’s something else entirely. How can he make a difference, if he’s the only ornery one who resists?

Again, the story makes me think of Newman the man, of the fame he used to spread the news about his philanthropies, including the moving Hole in the Wall Gang Camp. And, of course, there’s that healthy food that’s become—for some—more influential than his films.

I know Cool Hand Luke was just a part, that I should not conflate the man and the role. But it seems to me the two shared some traits, including a kind of impatience with the slow progress of the rest of us, our hesitation to do the right thing (I always thought this impatience was the reason for his flippant comment about his marital fidelity: “Why fool around with hamburger when you have steak at home?”)

Sure, model me, Newman might say. Watch me if you must. (And doesn’t it always seem as if this stunningly handsome man resists our gaze, takes it as suffering he has to endure for his art? How compelling is a star who seems too cool to notice his own looks?) Ask for my photograph if you feel like it, get my signature.

But get out there and do something yourself.

The 39 Steps (1935): The Charming Film You’ve Already Seen

06/19/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

Hannay (Robert Donat) and the spy

Like most of us, I’m not fond of clichés, of dark and stormy nights and ladies in distress, of hearts described as broken, or stomachs filled with butterflies. But when watching classic films, I sometimes find that what was then original has today become commonplace. The 39 Steps includes many of the types of plots and characters I’ve read/viewed too many times before: the mysterious spy, the man on the run from the authorities, state secrets, even a villain with a missing digit (six-fingered man, any of you Princess Bride fans?) By all logic, the sheer thought of the film should start me napping. But this is Hitchcock, and as always, he manages to lure me in. Just how does he do it?

Deflation of the Cliché
The general rule of cliché use is confession: if you must use it, at least admit to it instead of pretending you came up with “happy as a clam” on your own. The hero of the film, Richard Hannay (Robert Donat), dismisses the warnings of a lovely secret agent as just one of those spy novel clichés—much as we do. And then, even better, he offers this melodramatic oddball who has asked him for shelter some haddock. (Could there be a less glamorous response to a tale of secret agents?) When the agent is suddenly killed and Hannay is forced to flee to avoid being framed and to save England from a terrible plot, the passengers on the train where he hides talk about the murder, but cannot long be waylaid from their lingerie sales pitches. How brilliant is this? To use the cliché, and simultaneously make fun of it?

Vivid Characters
I can tolerate stock situations and phrases much more than generic personalities—the clown, the ditz, etc. Hitchcock and his writers infuse more life into minor characters than many filmmakers do their main players. Take just one brief interaction with a couple during Hannay’s flight. Early in the movie, the hero has escaped to a crofter’s (John Laurie’s) house. There, he charms the man’s wife (Peggy Ashcroft) with his cultured ways and solicits her help when she discovers his identify. Although the crofter is rough and stern, speaking of sin with an eye toward his wife, it’s hard not to pity as well as judge him: What kind of hope does this guy have of retaining his much younger spouse’s affections, with this charmer in his home? Or even when the handsome interloper departs?

We flinch when the crofter slaps his wife for giving the fugitive his coat. But we know that while his action was unjustified, his anger was earned. We know that she would have done far more than that for and with Hannay, given the chance.

Suspense
The dark lighting, the creepy villain, and the barren Scottish setting all contribute to our fright at Hannay’s situation. But there’s more to it. Mary Stewart once wrote that the “chief and terrible miracle” of the novel the film is based upon is “the unceasing and intelligence vigilance of every member of the population.” And it’s true. Everyone seems to be aware there’s a killer on the loose, and everyone seems eager to assist the police in capturing him. Therefore, we viewers doubt Hannay’s ability to escape. One very brief respite from the threat of strangers is when he is mistaken for a speaker at a political rally and (as in Fletch) gives a rousing talk. His subject is the “idle rich.” The eyes watching him, his recognition that he’s going to have to make something up, his forgetfulness about the handcuffs he’s wearing—all of it is terribly funny.

Here, as elsewhere, we’re with the crofter’s wife. This hero is just so compelling. How could everyone not trust him?

There’s so much more to enjoy: an adult version of Encyclopedia Brown, a strategic use of a train whistle, sheep blocking Hannay’s captor’s car, the creepy uncovering of a villain, and an attractive stranger (Madeleine Carroll) bent on delivering Hannay to the police, with whom he shares an amusing night in handcuffs.

And above all, there’s Hannay’s significant moxie in dealing with the obstacles in his way.

Have we seen this film before? Yes. Have we witnessed heroes like this one? Oh yes. (Richard Kimble, John McClane, Nick Charles—this list goes on.) Will these factors stop anyone from enjoying the film?

Not a bit.

The Moment I Fell for Thelma Ritter

06/12/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 6 Comments

I feel comfortable with those who are generous with sarcasm. My dad is a smartass, my sisters, my aunts, my best friend, my husband. Not surprisingly, most of my favorite female performers share this trait in their films, including flawless character actress Thelma Ritter.

Ritter was nominated for six supporting actress Oscars, four of which were in succession; she elevated the quality of any film she was in with her seemingly effortless realism and deadpan humor. She reminds me, in fact, of an old favorite of mine, Rhea Perlman, aka Carla in Cheers, who shares Ritter’s understated style and tendency of deflating the egos and pretensions of the characters around her.

Perlman as Carla

Once I fell for Ritter, I picked out films just because she was in them, including Pickup on South Street, in which she plays the finest of the roles I’ve managed to catch: a haunting turn as lovable police informant Moe Williams.

Moe Williams (Ritter)

But it’s Ritter’s more lighthearted role as Birdie in All about Eve that first captivated me. Stage star Margo Channing (Bette Davis) has just met her biggest fan, Eve Harrington (Anne Baxter). Asked to share her story, Eve gives a litany of sad, intimate details about her life. Baxter’s delivery is stagey, and I find myself flinching every time I see the scene. The actress’s melodramatic style throughout the film is what my sisters always accuse classic film stars of practicing, and while theatrics make sense for her character, that doesn’t mean they’re easy to witness.

But it’s not just Baxter’s acting that makes me uncomfortable. While I know not everyone would find Eve’s hard-luck tale emotionally manipulative, I tend to believe one’s biggest traumas should not be shared on first acquaintance. (Don’t believe me? How much did you enjoy that oversharer on your first date with him/her?)

The usually cynical Margo (Davis) feels differently. She’s moved in spite of herself by Eve’s narrative, and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe tears away. Her assistant, Birdie (Ritter) looks pensive, seemingly ready to utter sympathy as well. “What a story,” she says. “Everything but the bloodhounds snapping at her rear end.”

Ritter draws out the line rather than expressing it as a quick rejoinder, as other comedians/comediennes would have. The result is that Birdie seems to be thinking through her slam as she says it. Hysterical. This unexpected but natural delivery is typical of every performance of Ritter’s I’ve seen.

Her character’s no-nonsense approach to life in the film makes viewers suspect that her instincts are the ones to trust. Everyone else loves Eve. Everyone else trusts Eve. But we audience members have already seen that the other characters are taken in by flattery, and thus are more gullible than they initially seem.

But Birdie? Birdie we can trust.

And that’s how I feel about Ritter, why I fell so hard for her after this line delivery, and in every movie I’ve seen her in since. I don’t know in advance how other actors/actresses will perform in films with her. I can’t be certain whether they’ll impress or disappoint. But Ritter’s is the kind of excellence I can always expect.

(This is part of my series on moments that led me to fall for a performer. I hope you’ll share some of yours!)

Versatile Blogger Award!

06/09/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 9 Comments

Thank you, Kristina at Speakeasy, for honoring me with the Versatile Blogger Award nomination!! (What wonderful things happen when you’re out of town!:))

Check out Kristina’s blog—the post on the award alone proves just how funny and talented she is.

Those nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award simply thank their nominator and link to his/her blog, choose 15 blogs to nominate, and tell the nominator seven things about themselves.

I can’t possibly list all of the blogs that have inspired me, but here are some I enjoy quite a bit:

For their classic film coverage, which is witty, wise, and informative:

Because I love her desserts: Chocolate-Covered Katie

I’m not stylish enough to get all of her outfits, but love her writing style: My Edit

For her much-appreciated assistance with #2 below: Putting Me Together

Because they make me laugh:

Seven Things about Me:

1-Festivals and museums devoted to peculiar subjects make me happy, probably because my extended family resembles this one:

Don’t miss the Spam Museum.

2-I am hopelessly fashion challenged. My taste was formed in this decade:

Once I woke up to the horror of what I was wearing, it took years to convince me into trusting color again. (The fashion blogs I mention above are helping with my affliction.)

3-My cat loves BBQ. And oatmeal, and potato chips, and pretty much anything he once found in the dumpster where he was discovered. Still today, he trash dives, like a dog.

He is named Rico after the anti-hero of this film due to his similar over-the-top personality, large ego, and shaky grasp on sanity.

4-I own two copies of Brainsmasher…a Love Story (the second was a gift, in case my original became too worn down).

5-When I’m gloomy, I go to someecards.com to cheer up. I don’t need to anymore, since my sister outdid herself on my last birthday with this t-shirt, which makes me laugh every time I see it:

6-My favorite quote is from Pride and Prejudice. The heroine, Elizabeth, is at an awkward gathering, and no one knows what to say until the food arrives: “There was now employment for the whole party—for though they could not all talk, they could all eat….” This line perfectly describes why I station myself at the buffet table at every party I attend.

7-I own a Jane Austen action figure and a Dude bobble head. They stare at each other in my office, and are equally inspiring.

The Delightful Raunchiness of Mae West

06/05/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

I knew from Complicated Women, TCM’s documentary on films before the production code, that early movies challenged men’s ownership of women’s bodies, minds, and souls. Many of these pre-code movies (1929-34) were so shockingly liberal in content that they make today’s look prudish by comparison (nudity in a Tarzan movie, anyone?) After the code, of course, sexuality and feminist portrayals of women were both toned down to please potential censors. But Mae West, who wrote and starred in her films, managed to sidestep this “sanitation” to an extent because she was so gifted at double entendres.

I’d heard of West, of course, knew a couple famous sayings, thought of her vaguely as ahead of her time. But to know of West and to watch her? Not the same. Mae West’s pre- and post-code films were in their own plane, and not only because of her undeniable sensuality and eagerness to express it. And “ahead of her time” is a gross understatement in West’s case. The play she wrote that got her thrown in jail on morals charges in 1927? Titled Sex. Madonna would be attacked for giving a book that title almost seventy years later.

Pioneers Madonna (in ‘92) and Mae West

And West’s next play? Drag (as in queen), which the vice folks managed to squash entirely. Luckily, we can still watch West on screen. Here are just four reasons why you will embrace this voluptuous rebel:

1. Half of the suggestive one liners you know originated with her.

Her famous “Why don’t you come up sometime, see me?” seduction. (Note how overwhelmed Grant looks!)

Her famous “Why don’t you come up sometime, see me?” seduction. (Note how overwhelmed Cary Grant looks!)

This is just a small sampling of lines written and delivered by West (mostly from her films):

“When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.”
“It takes two to get one in trouble.”
“Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
“A hard man is good to find.”
“When I’m caught between two evils, I generally like to take the one I never tried.”
“When women go wrong, men go right after them.”

It’s not just the cleverness of West’s expressions that make her movies so entertaining; it’s the sheer number of them she manages to squeeze in. She Done Him Wrong (1933), which is just over an hour,has more funny lines in a few minutes than most current rom-coms in their bloated two-hour running times.

2. You need to see a woman born in the 1890s shimmying like West does.

West in I’m No Angel

She’s dancing, she’s walking—it doesn’t matter. You have never seen a woman strut like this one.

3. 1930s Hollywood actually portrayed young men smitten—in droves—by a 40ish woman

Mae West’s films are irrefutable proof that everything does not improve with time, including Hollywood’s treatment of women past the age of 30. Today we are delighted to see the occasional rom-com with a 40-year-old woman; that’s when West got started. And being who she was, West was never content with just one man in her thrall.

Men who’ve caught sight of Lou (West) in She Done Him Wrong

Lou (West) eyeing a conquest, whom she refers to as “And you, Mr. Mmhmmm?”

4. Her films are wonderfully ludicrous.
My favorite plot: A woman makes a living as a lion tamer, which men find so attractive they start sending her diamonds (I’m No Angel). The court scene near the close of the film is even more breathtaking. West annihilates the lawyers and slays the judge and jury with her smarts and that amazing walk. Is this whole film absurd? Absolutely. Is it hilarious? Oh yes.

The lion’s-mouth seduction

Luckily, you can find a plot almost as ridiculous (and funny) in She Done Him Wrong, which is on Netflix streaming right now. What are you waiting for?

She Got It Wrong: How Jennifer Jason Leigh Almost Ruined The Hudsucker Proxy

05/28/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 2 Comments

As a fan of classic 30s and 40s films, I delight in the movies that pay tribute to them, and no directors have been more glowing in their homages than the Coen brothers, with their nods to predecessors Preston Sturges, Howard Hawks, Frank Capra, and even Stuart Heisler. Their gloriously fun The Hudsucker Proxy was attacked for lacking “heart,” for being no more than a stylish imitation of favorite classic films.

Sidney Mussburger conning Barnes (Robbins)

Sidney Mussburger (Paul Newman) conning Barnes (Robbins)

But critics praised Jennifer Jason Leigh’s performance as the typical classic film reporter, noting, as did Todd McCarthy in Variety, that she plays the role “with a Katharine Hepburn accent, Rosalind Russell’s rat-a-tat-tat speed in ‘His Girl Friday’ and Stanwyck attitude….” Occasionally, reviewers admitted that Leigh’s character, Amy Archer, wasn’t “quite right,” as McCarthy did, but they never attributed the film’s failure to the actress.

Leigh in full-on caricature mode

Yet to me, Leigh’s performance is the one thing that takes away from my enjoyment of this exuberant movie. Paul Newman is marvelous as the bad guy (Sidney Mussburger). Tim Robbins is terrific as the naïve Hoosier (Norville Barnes) who comes to work in the big city. His supposed stupidity makes those trying to lower Hudsucker’s stock prices quickly usher him into the presidency, yet his creativity manages to foil their plot. Archer (Leigh) plans to expose him as an idiot, much like Saunders (Jean Arthur) before her in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

Barnes singing school song; Stewart showing a bird call

Barnes’ school song; Smith’s (Jimmy Stewart’s) bird call

But Archer’s later guilt at this character assassination and developing feelings for Barnes are utterly unconvincing, largely because her whole performance is.

One gets the feeling that Leigh only watched the films in which Stanwyck, Hepburn, and Russell were speaking at that “rat-a-tat-tat” clip and therefore missed the obvious: these actresses didn’t talk at such speeds in most of their films. They simply imagined themselves the kind of women who would be thrilled by breaking stories. Their words nearly run together not just due to the scripts, but because their characters are excited.

Russell sharing a great lead

Leigh takes on the inflections and even some of the gestures of these actresses, but she becomes a mimicry of them rather than a believable character because the passion that infused the others’ performances is entirely absent in Leigh’s.

Stanwyck mid pitch

Hepburn, Russell, and Stanwyck come across as born reporters; their confidence makes them thrilling to watch: Hepburn’s assurance in mixing with dignitaries in Woman of the Year, Stanwyck’s daring plan to manipulate her employer in Meet John Doe, Russell’s masterful interview in His Girl Friday.

Hepburn flirting in her office after her male secretary ushers in her crush (Spencer Tracy)

Hepburn in control in her office

Archer, in contrast, is clearly aping rather than feeling confidence, and because Leigh plays her as shrewish rather than cynical, her quick transition into affection for Barnes merely looks like bad acting, which is surprising given the caliber of most of her work.

Archer falling for Barnes

Admittedly, the Coens made Archer terribly insecure, a woman whose sole joy is one upping others with her Pulitzer. This was a serious mistake. How could the Coens, Hawks enthusiasts, have missed that the overlapping dialogue they’ve borrowed from His Girl Friday was not meant to be an affectation, as Archer’s is, but a reflection of the characters’ energy and enthusiasm? The film centers around Cary Grant’s excitement about being a newspaperman, and his various ploys to prevent Russell from leaving the business stem from his knowledge that she can’t resist it any more than he can.

The two films, in fact, have much in common: they’re all about the joy of the con—Barnes, in convincing the company he’s a fool (unwittingly), Walter Burns (Grant), in keeping others so occupied they miss his hilarious ruses. Both movies are a blast to watch. But The Hudsucker Proxy bombed at the box office, and I can’t help but blame Leigh, whose Archer is a drag to watch, and whose union with Barnes I rooted against. What does it matter if an actress nails the shell, if she loses the soul?

Face It: We’d All Be Lousy Detectives

05/21/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

When I was a kid, I thought the word “amateur” meant talented. Nancy Drew was an “amateur detective,” and she outsmarted everyone around her, so what else could the word mean? Shows like Murder, She Wrote confirmed this impression: the everyday woman could outwit private detectives, criminals, the police. To be a hero like Nancy, I just needed observation skills. And a little knowledge picked up from mysteries. Then my latent brilliance would appear, dazzling all in my orbit.

Pamela Sue Martin as Nancy Drew

I read every one of Carolyn Keene’s books until I had four Nancy Drews left, then picked one of the last up, tried to read it, and couldn’t. A few novels shy of my completion goal, I had finally realized that my favorite detective was, well, not terribly gifted. All the bad guys in the stories were mean, all the innocent characters nice. Of course Nancy could solve the mysteries. So could an eleven-year-old girl who didn’t know the meaning of amateur.

And yet these types of stories persist in Hollywood: the novice saves the day, while the jaded/stupid authorities look the wrong direction. It’s an alluring premise that allows us to imagine ourselves in the novice’s place, an undiscovered genius beating professionals. Yet reason would tell us that we newbies would be about as useless at being detectives as we are in our first days at any job—that what an amateur sleuth would likely do is exactly what those supposedly wrong-headed authorities predict: bungle everything up and possibly get him/herself and/or others killed. Perhaps that’s why The Third Man is so unexpected and so appealing: it features one of the worst amateur detectives ever to appear on film, Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten).

Martins (Cotten)

Martins travels to post-war Vienna because he’s been promised a job by his buddy, Harry Lime (Orson Welles). He’s soon told that Lime has been killed in a car accident, but the details sound fishy, and Martins, like the cowboys he writes about, decides to find the truth. Others have written about Martins’ role as an ugly American, and it’s true that his behavior toward those around him reveals an appalling sense of cultural superiority. But what strikes me most about Martins’ whole campaign for justice is just how dangerous a naïve sleuth can be. Martins knows nothing about the country he’s in, how desperate its citizens are just to survive. To them, Lime’s death is one of so very many, and if solving the mystery will endanger them, well, they’ll just get back to their black market schemes and leave the foolish interloper to his own devices, thank you very much.

Martins (far right) and Lime's lover and friend

Martins (far right) and Lime’s friends

I always begin the film by siding with Martins against the supposedly sinister locals. I am amused by the hero’s blunt ways in a terrain that’s murky in every sense of the word. The city shots, the architecture, the crazy camera angles, and the shifty looks of the neighbors all suggest that Martins should be suspicious, and far more frightened than he is.

Ernst Deutsch as Lime’s shady friend, Kurtz

Ernst Deutsch as Lime’s shady associate

But as this hero continues to march into the bee farm, slamming his bat against the hives, I begin to think, Uh, Martins? Maybe you should step a bit more gingerly, huh? And if you must blunder about, perhaps let everyone else get inside first? There’s a reason why this movie always makes best-of thrillers lists: Picture Nancy Drew in the midst of The Usual Suspects, frustrated not to find Keyser Söze wearing a Hello My Name Is sticker and casually asking everyone in sight to identify him. Forget Lime’s possible murderers: the people of Vienna need to watch out with Martins on the loose.

Martins, the public’s enemy, on the run

I can’t describe much more without revealing some of the mystery—and it’s too good for me to do that. So just watch The Third Man. It’s menacing mood, its striking soundtrack, its lack of moral foundations all would make it fascinating even if it didn’t revolve around an intriguing mystery. And the next time you imagine yourself solving crimes, you’ll remember Holly Martins. And you’ll know just why such dreams are best left to eleven-year-olds.

The Moment I Fell for Humphrey Bogart

05/14/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 6 Comments

I was contemplating that moment in a film when an actor wows me, when I realize I need to see all of his/her work and possibly start decorating my rooms in fan posters à la a kid with a Teen Beat subscription. And the first actor to come to mind was Humphrey Bogart.

Bogart in The Maltese Falcon

I was unmoved initially by Casablanca, arguably Bogart’s most famous film. A friend and I had decided we needed to acquire some culture and had learned in When Harry Met Sally that this was a love story for the ages. We were confused as we watched. What was all of this stuff about war? Where the hell was Casablanca? Why waste time with all of these confusing minor characters, especially that weird dude (Peter Lorre), when we could be watching Wings or Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman? Was I seriously supposed to think this Rick guy was attractive? He looked nothing like my high school crushes, Alec Baldwin and Kevin Bacon.

My teenage heartthrobs

Due to this uninspiring beginning, it was years before I watched another Bogie flick, this time The Maltese Falcon, the mystery about a private detective, Sam Spade (Bogart), investigating the murder of his partner. I was enthralled. The script was breathtaking: “My guess might be excellent or it might be crummy, but Mrs. Spade didn’t raise any children dippy enough to make guesses in front of a district attorney, an assistant district attorney, and a stenographer.”

Spade, his partner, and the mysterious client

My favorite moment (the moment) occurs shortly after Spade meets Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet), the ringleader behind the crimes in the film. Spade has found him by confronting his gunsel (Elisha Cook Jr.), the lackey who has been trailing him. Spade asks about the “black bird” that has caused a killing spree, with his partner among the victims. “You know what it is,” he tells Gutman. “I know where it is, that’s why I’m here.”

Gutman assessing Spade

Gutman’s wordy style contrasts with Spade’s brevity. Right away, the former admits he’s a chatterbox: “I’m a man who likes talking to a man who likes to talk.” He stalls when Spade tries to make a deal for the bird, causing Spade to hurl the cigar and glass he’s holding and shout at Gutman: “What are you wasting my time for? I can get along without you. And another thing. Keep that gunsel out of my way while you’re making up your mind. I’ll kill ’im if you don’t, I’ll kill ’im.”

Spade throwing his cigar

Spade’s passion shocks the viewer. Since he’s remained so calm the entire film, the burst of violence alerts the audience to a fact that should have been obvious all along: the hero is fully as dangerous as his foes. I have always been in awe of the kind of efficiency of movement Bogart displays in this scene, something I admire in the dancing of Fred Astaire and brutal fights of Daniel Craig as 007 and Matt Damon as Jason Bourne.

But as the camera follows Spade charging out of the room, yelling about a 5:00 deadline, we witness his anger swiftly transform into an engaging grin.

Spade’s trick

That’s what did it for me—that quick, convincing rage, followed by a satisfied smile that reveals his action to be a ploy. In a moment, Bogart had excited me, fooled me, made me laugh. He had drawn me in with that seductive confidence, and thus sold me on his role as a leading man and sex symbol. I soon gobbled up The Big Sleep and so many of his other brilliant films. (Casablanca on a second viewing appeared to be a masterpiece.)

Bogart’s skill with The Maltese Falcon’s dialogue also steered me toward the beautifully written detective fiction of the 1930s-50s, to Dashiell Hammett’s dialogue, Raymond Chandler’s metaphors, and Ross Macdonald’s character development. And, of course, it led me to the amazing world of film noir.

So many thrilling performances. So much good writing. So much wonderful viewing. And all thanks to that 15-second shot of Humphrey Bogart’s grin.

I’m planning to do a The Moment I Fell for…blog once a month, with Thelma Ritter up next. I’d love to hear some of yours…..

State of the Union: the Wish Fulfillment Edition

05/12/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 11 Comments

This post is part of The Great Katharine Hepburn blogathon. Be sure to check out the other entries!

The political satire in 1948’s State of the Union feels disturbingly fresh. Replace a phrase or two, and presidential nominee Grant Matthews’ (Spencer Tracy’s) speeches on the “working man” could fit into the Occupy Wall Street movement.

The film’s title, however, refers to not only what’s rotten in the state of the nation, but in the marriage between Grant (Tracy) and Mary Matthews (Katharine Hepburn).

Mary and Grant Matthews

Sexy newspaper publisher Kay Thorndyke (Angela Lansbury) has seduced Grant with the aim of pitting him against her dead father’s political rivals.

Kay and fellow schemer (Adolphe Menjou)

Mary (Hepburn) agrees to pretend her marriage is strong for the sake of the campaign, as she believes her husband a “great man,” which, if he ever were, he ceases to be by the film’s close. The movie traces his idealism crumbling under the necessity of playing the political game, thanks, in no small part, to Kay’s machinations.

The dialogue is as sharp and cynical as you would expect in a Frank Capra film. My favorite comment is when Mary snaps that the slimy politician under Kay’s supervision (Adolphe Menjou) should be happy about what’s left of her own naiveté: “You politicians have remained professionals only because the voters have remained amateurs.”

The central problem of the film is how unsympathetic her husband Grant is. A self-made man with his “little guy” days far behind him, he pompously lectures businessmen and union leaders about how that little guy should be treated. Capra treats him as if he’s one of his innocents among the corrupt, like Mr. Deeds or Jefferson Smith, and it doesn’t work–Grant begins as a heel, and ends as a worse one.

And it’s hard to forget he’s betrayed a wife so cool she calmly knits while he’s doing acrobatics with his plane, handing campaign manager (Van Johnson) her bag to puke in.

Mary during dangerous aerial acrobatics

Luckily, we can ignore Grant and his speechifying and pay attention to the true delight of the film: Mary and Kay facing off against one another—Mary because she loves her husband, and Kay because she fears Grant will be swayed by his wife’s morals and thus lose the election.

The two real stars

Just listen to how they talk about each other:

Kay: “That woman’s got to [Grant]. She’s been feeding him that to-thine-own-self-be-true diet.”

Mary: “If this weren’t my house, I could tell her someplace she has to go to…” or “…I think Kay’d be more comfortable in a kennel.”

When Mary has to invite Kay to her house to cover up the affair, she tries to avoid doing what she apparently did once before: getting plastered and throwing Kay out. This is the moment in the film when I wanted to shake Capra. That’s the scene you left out???

We do get treated to seeing Mary drunk in defiance of orders from Kay and crew.

Mary rebelling

But I kept wishing for a The Women-style face off; the heroines are so powerful and interesting that in comparison, the men in the film (with the exception of Johnson and Mary’s butler) seem a waste of screen time. Luckily, the women are so fun to watch that they revive and redeem the film.

At one point Grant’s barber shares his wife’s conviction that a woman should be president. “That’s silly,” responds Mary. “No woman could ever run for president. She’d have to admit she was over 35.”

Though the quip is funny, no line coming out of Hepburn’s mouth was ever less convincing. Those who know anything about Hepburn realize she had confidence to spare, felt comfortable aging in front of the camera, and would have run for any office if she’d felt like it. Mary clearly has Hepburn’s spunk, and after all, a woman had run for president more than 70 years before this film, another woman with considerable moxie.

Would Mary have won? Of course not. But what speeches she would have written!

And for Capra not to give Kay more time in the film is criminal. Watch her command her editors to publish filth about all of the Republican candidates so that their united hatred for one another will make them choose her man (Grant) at the convention. That icy stare you recognize from The Manchurian Candidate (1962)? Yeah, this is a woman who could make it to the White House today for sure. She’s a predatory villain as thrilling to watch as Claire Underwood (Robin Wright) in House of Cards.

Kay commanding the troops

It’s probably enough that a film in 1948 starred such strong actresses playing powerful roles. I shouldn’t wish for what could have been, these two really facing off against each other, maybe even running against each other for office.

But what a film that would have been.

Veep & Together Again: Hollywood & Female Leadership

05/08/2014 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 10 Comments

Sometimes the stars align, and you can convert hours of procrastination into productivity. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself about this week’s blog post, which is the result of a Veep marathon and viewing of two Irene Dunne films in a row. Call it a stretch or serendipity, but I keep observing similarities between the Julia Louis-Dreyfus-helmed TV show about a vice president and Together Again (1944), a film about a small-town mayor. Both keep returning to some of the same themes for humor, and both succeed.

Fairy Tale Romance? Not for Them
In Together Again, Irene Dunne (as Anne Crandall) plays a widow who takes over as mayor after her husband dies. The film begins with a shot of a statue created in her husband Jonathan’s honor. The unlikely Cupid of the film, Crandall’s father-in-law (Charles Coburn), is disgusted by this hero worship, which he considers against his son’s wishes. He tries to convince his daughter-in-law to find a man.

I can’t decide what’s more delightful: Crandall’s response, or her amusement in expressing it: “You can’t bear to see a woman living alone and liking it. No man can. Instinctively, it terrifies them. You’re a vanishing race and you know it. And the minute you lose your hold over us emotionally, wow. So naturally, your platform must be husbands are necessary. And they’re not really.”

His rebuttal, refreshingly, is not that singlehood is wrong; he just believes the state is not for her: “You talk like a free soul, but you’re the most manacled creature I’ve ever seen…Everything you do, everything you say, everything you breathe is the way Jonathan did it, said it, and breathed it. Why don’t you stop living his life and live your own?”

Veep’s heroine too is annoyed by others’ desire to fit her into a typical female role–in her case, as a happy wife and mother. At the start of Season 2, Julia Louis-Dreyfus attacks her former strategist (Gary Cole) for trying to force an image of the perfect family on her, which led to an uncomfortable river rafting trip with her daughter, her estranged husband, and his mistress. Their spat takes place in the Oval Office, and hilarity ensues when her lipstick marks up the sacred carpet.

The Nonsense of Politics
Since Together Again is a romantic comedy, its primary interest, unlike Veep‘s, is not politics, but it has its moments, as in this great exchange between Randall and Mr. Witherspoon, who is in charge of the town’s sanitation and keeps leaving the south side blanketed in “a lot of old potato peelings.” His sorry excuses echo those that flood Veep:

Mr. Witherspoon: “It’s the manpower, your honor.”

Crandall: “Manpower, my eye. Use womanpower then.”

Mr. Witherspoon: “Women? To collect garbage?”

Crandall: “Why not? Women see more garbage in their lives than men do, don’t they? They might as well get paid for it.”

The scene highlights Randall’s power in the town. The joy of Veep, in contrast, is witnessing Meyer’s pathetic attempts to muster up the illusion of power she doesn’t have. And since we’re talking about D.C., the whole city is doing the same. After watching the jockeying for position among staffers, Congress members, and the administration, one wonders whether anything but ego is at stake for them. My favorite moment in the first season may be when the president’s lackey forbids the VP to adopt a dog because it’ll distract from the White House’s new pup: “Ma’am, you need to kill the dog. Not literally, but yeah, if it comes to it, yeah literally.”

Female Power: Is It All about the Hat?
Much of the plot of Together Again hinges on Crandall’s choice of a flirtatious hat over her usual professional attire when she goes to meet Corday (Charles Boyer), a sculptor in New York. The hat acts as a stand-in for the sexuality she’s been repressing as a widow. She’s bought it upon her father-in-law’s recommendation; he advised her when she departed their town to replace her functional one.

“When women starting wearing hats that look like hats,” he says, “they’re on the way out. At your age, you ought to be on the way in.”

When Corday sees her in it, he assumes her a model rather than the mayor. Of course, no powerful woman could wear something so becoming, right? She hides the hat—and the nightclub raid she later gets involved in because of it—as soon as she returns home. But the hat keeps turning up again. My favorite moment is when her father-in-law walks in wearing it.

Written seven decades later, HBO’s Veep focuses on a woman who is next in line to the president; it seems, on television at least, women have come a long way. But have they? Yes, the mayor of a tiny town is a far cry from the vice president of the United States, but perhaps not as far of a cry as we might wish. When Meyer asks why her presidential bid failed, her press secretary, Mike (Matt Walsh), responds, “You looked tired a lot and the hat….The hat hurt us. Your head looked weird in the hat; that’s all I’m gonna say.”

Convictions? What Convictions?
In Veep, it’s clear where Meyer’s convictions lie: she doesn’t have any. She puts an oil lobbyist on her clean jobs task force without hesitation. She tries to repress delight when a shipyard accident takes away her bad press. “Well, I think that worked out pretty good,” she says to her staff with a big smile.

(Of course, she tries to take it back when she discovers there were fatalities.) Self-interest trumps her idealism every time, which makes her a blast to watch.

**Spoiler ahead**

While Crandall’s political beliefs are only briefly sketched, her devotion to her dead husband and to the town he once led clearly dictates her behavior. She seems to be a very moral woman, bound by duty. Curiously, though, she seems content to leave the town she’s worked so hard to serve in the hands of her unscrupulous rival once she decides (as we know she will) to go after Corday.

The More, the Merrier
It’s refreshing to find in Veep a female led-show so entirely unconcerned with romance. But while her romantic interludes are brief and mildly funny, Meyer’s interactions with her staffers are fantastic. As a long-time Arrested Development fan, I was pleased to see Tony Hale (aka Buster) in another meaty role, treating Meyer’s various failures with compliments and tea and going to ridiculous lengths to satisfy her needs, as when he draws her chief of staff from her father’s bedside: “Something has happened to the vice president. I know your dad is dying and I’m really, really sorry, Amy, but I think Dana took Selina’s lipstick. It’s the one thing Selina asked for, and I don’t have it, and it’s ruining her night.”

I’ve left out much of the plot of Together Again in this review. The romance is fine, and Boyer a convincing lead. But it’s the Coburn-Dunne chemistry that kept me watching, especially when late in the film the two start riffing on youths’ views of aging. Coburn makes such a perfect Cupid that I can’t wait to see him play it in The More the Merrier.

Of course, there are other films and shows that tackle this same political ground. Parks and Recreation takes on the small-town concerns Crandall struggles with and makes them fresh and hilarious. But I could see little of Leslie Knope in Crandall or Meyer. Knope worships her town; Crandall belittles hers. And Meyer looks like a Knope foe: world-weary, cynical, and always out for herself.

Crandall and Meyer are alike, even if Meyer is looser ethically than her predecessor: both are hyper-aware of their public images and frustrated with the bureaucracy politics brings, but nevertheless, they manage to survive politics’ worst ravages, and in Crandall’s case, even find love along the way. And neither can resist a good hat.