I can’t be bothered to root for a romance between anyone and Dennis Morgan, the heartthrob of Christmas in Connecticut. He always strikes me as smug, and his acting is pretty basic. His character in this famous xmas film doesn’t help: As Jefferson Jones, he’s entitled, dishonest, and smarmy—from promising an engagement to get steak, to seducing a married woman.
Not that Elizabeth Lane (Barbara Stanwyck) is a pinnacle of honesty. And she’s tempting Jefferson every step of the way. But were it for the romance, I would have ignored this perennial Christmas choice in favor of other films, especially for the far sweeter relationship between Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray in Remember the Night.
But this film gets serious props for all of its non-romantic elements, and that’s what keeps me coming back to it, year after year. In order of increasing importance, here’s why I love this film:
Reason 5: Elizabeth Lane’s (Barbara Stanwyck’s) hilarious ignorance about and disinterest in children. From not being able to remember the gender of her baby (calling the baby “it”), to her surprise that swallowing a big watch could be fatal, this woman takes on the men’s typical role when it comes to baby knowledge in romcoms—and it’s rare to see that even today.
I particularly love when she just throws the diaper after she puts it on wrong.
Reason 4: Watching Barbara Stanwyck flipping pancakes. The scene when Uncle Felix (S. Z. Sakall) is trying to teach Elizabeth to prepare pancakes is hilarious.
That pleased look when she unexpectedly succeeds at flipping her flapjack later on is so beloved that you’ll see it in almost any Stanwyck documentary.
Reason 3: Elizabeth buying a fur coat for herself. Sure, I wish it weren’t fur, but her decision to buy a luxurious present for herself and not wait for a man to do so is the top reason this movie is well loved by my aunt, and I can see her point. Elizabeth is an accomplished writer and has earned the right to show off her successes, without waiting for anyone else to give her her due.
Reason 2: Uncle Felix, as played by Sakall (better known as Cuddles). I could listen to him say “catastrophe” all day long. What a joy this man is to watch, in every film. (I just wish I could track down his autobiography–still trying to get ahold of it!)
Reason 1: Barbara Stanwyck. Classic movie fans are obsessed with Stanwyck, but she’s often forgotten in the wider community–with the exception of this film. Since I think she was among the, if not the, most gifted film actresses ever, I’m so glad that at least one performance keeps her on people’s radar—even if they never realize her comic timing, charm, and talent are what make them want to keep watching this film again and again and again.
I hope you’ll watch this great film this Christmas—or for the first time if you haven’t yet. Just forget about the “rom” of the rom-com, and you’ll love it.
This is part of the Happy Holidays Blogathon! Check out the great entries here.
Together Again (1944) is one of those curious rom-coms that’s so entertaining it’s hard to understand why it isn’t well known. It pits a wised-up, small-town, widowed mayor (Irene Dunne) against her crafty father-in-law (Charles Coburn). She is devoted to her town and to commemorating her beloved husband. He thinks she should ditch the politics and get some romance, and in typical bulldozing Coburn fashion (i.e., The More, the Merrier) will do anything to make that happen. The verbal fireworks between them owe much to screenplay writers Virginia Van Upp and F. Hugh Herbert. But they might owe even more to the magical combination of Coburn and Dunne.
Yes, this is a rom-com, and Charles Boyer, who plays the mayor’s romantic interest, has great chemistry with Dunne as well. (Witness Love Affair, the far superior predecessor to the anemic An Affair to Remember).
But sizzling as their reunion is (thus the otherwise baffling title of the film), you feel like shooing it away for more airtime with Dunne and Coburn and for more scenes between Mayor Crandall (Dunne) and her constituents.
I’ve chosen to write about Together Again as part of the Classic Movie Blog Association’s awesome political blogathon. Politics might not be the heart of this film, but Crandall’s job leads to some interesting feminist moments. Here are some of the ways the film was of—and ahead of—its time.
Of Its Time The Message that Romance Is Always More Important than A Woman’s Job Coburn’s character assumes that his daughter-in-law is just working because she can’t get over her husband’s death. That’s pretty insulting. The assumption that she can’t possibly be truly happy without a man in spite of a meaningful job? That’s even worse.
The Suggestion that Instantly Quitting a Job and Leaving Your Town in the Clutches of Your Jerky, Manipulative Opponent Is Just Fine…If You’re a Woman. Yeah, that’s messed up.
Ahead of Its Time A Female Mayor There wouldn’t be an ACTUAL Vermont mayor without a Y chromosome for almost 40 years after this film’s premiere.
A Woman Who Wins Sparring Matches with Everyone
Crandall might ditch it all for love in the end, but she’s the wittiest, smartest character in the film—and outmatches every man in it. It takes her own need for romance (and doubts about the town) to make her change course.
A Female Who Succeeds In Spite of the Whiff of Scandal Mayor Crandall wins the election even though there’s a rumor she’s involved in a sex scandal. True, the townspeople don’t think it’s even possible she could have been at a sexy nightclub—which in a way, is a kind of insult. But for a sex rumor to not end a woman’s political career? More than we might expect in a 1944 film. (And sometimes in real life today….)
A Leader Who Stands Up to Difficult Male Constituents
Crandall doesn’t take her townspeople’s complaints lying down. Here’s one of my favorite scenes (my long-time readers must forgive me for repeating this from a previous post): Mr. Witherspoon, who is in charge of the town’s sanitation, keeps leaving the south side blanketed in “a lot of old potato peelings” and is full of excuses for his neglect:
Witherspoon: “It’s the manpower, your honor.”
Crandall: “Manpower, my eye. Use womanpower then.”
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.”
As for the romantic plot between Crandall and George Corday (Boyer), it’s silly but fun, hinging on a statue, a hat, and some lightning.
Even if the mayor aspect of the film doesn’t interest you—even if you don’t like Boyer or Dunne—ask yourself a simple question: In this dispiriting time, don’t you think a healthy dose of Charles Coburn may be just what the pandemic ordered?
Is there anything scarier than Bette Davis playing nice?
I see that sunny face, that sugary smile, and I’m just waiting for the other sledgehammer to drop. It’s unnerving in films like Three on a Match (1932) that she acts like a sweetheart throughout. It’s a terrible waste, of course. But early Hollywood didn’t know what they had in Bette. (Kind of like Amy Sherman-Palladino, who had Melissa McCarthy in her Gilmore Girls cast playing an annoying, bubbly local instead of, I dunno, someone funny. But I digress.)
Three on a Match is a peculiar, truly half-baked film in many ways. But it’s also a riveting one, and chock-full of stars. And its pace is breathless (it barely passes the hour mark). I’m not going to spoil the big plot developments near the end–too interesting–but I will spoil some of the earlier developments, so be warned.
First of all, when you have Edward Arnold and young Humphrey Bogart playing scary gangsters, you know you’re in for a good time.
(Not that their danger combined holds a candle to the terror that is sweet Bette, but….)
You have Joan Blondell, playing to type (which is always marvelous).
Warren William plays an unexpectedly bland part. And then there’s Ann Dvorak in a performance that should have secured her career, especially after her breakout in Scarface the same year.
The premise of the film is fascinating; it’s from an old WWI superstition about the danger of lighting three people’s cigarettes from the same match, an act said to doom one.
Three former schoolmates–played by Blondell, Dvorak, and Davis–get together to catch up on their lives and light that match, and soon one’s fate will rise, the other’s will fall, and the third’s (Davis) will be largely irrelevant, her presence simply for the sake of the film’s title.
The doomed character emerges early on because lovely Vivian (Dvorak) is unhappy despite a seemingly perfect husband, house, and kid, and while we modern viewers quickly identify her as depressed, no such word is uttered in the film. What’s fascinating is that though Vivian ditches her husband, starts sleeping with a gangster, neglects her child, and becomes a drug addict, the movie still extends sympathy for her, just as The Hours would do years later for women dissatisfied with their roles. “Pre-Code,” you remind yourself. “Pre-Code.” Vivian’s lust for the gangster is startlingly evident, as is her later addiction.
But where the film excels in a nuanced portrayal of a complicated woman, it stumbles with the supposed bond between the three schoolmates. When Vivian hooks up with the gangster, she hides from her husband, who is desperate to find her and their son. Mary (Blondell) gives her away. We understand that betrayal, given the squalor the son is living in. But then Mary takes Vivian’s place at her husband’s side. This is a pretty shady act, calling her motives into question. Yet we’re not asked to see it that way. It’s like the film is saying, “Well, Vivian wasn’t taking advantage of this wealthy dad, so someone should.” Vivian’s lack of anger for Mary could have been very interesting–if the film had suggested that there should have been any. And as for the third schoolmate, Ruth (Davis), why is she in the film at all? All Ruth does is read while babysitting Vivian’s child. And smile. And smile some more. It’s unnerving and unnecessary, and if you were as terrified as I was by What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? and The Little Foxes, you’ll find it downright creepy.
Just when you’re thinking this bizarre relationship between the women isn’t really working for you, the film turns sinister and you can’t turn away. Bogart gets his chance to shine in a truly evil role.
Vivian gets boxed into a hopeless situation, and you fear for her, wondering what she can do to retain some smidgen of the woman she was before addiction took hold.
Dvorak holds her own against Bogart in powerful scenes that make you wonder why you know so little of her.
Alas, it’s a familiar story: Dvorak ticked off the bosses. It turns out she objected to the studio’s choice to pay her the same amount as her (very forgettable) son in Three on a Match, but she did enjoy the year-long honeymoon she took with her husband instead of putting out films for them.
I like to imagine Dvorak taking off on that honeymoon, leaving behind the sexists who would soon censor sympathetic characterizations of complex women, like Vivian. It might not have been a long-lasting victory, but it makes me smile just the same. And if you watch her heartbreaking, memorable performance in Three on a Match, you’ll feel the same.
It’s always bothered me that Olivia de Havilland; the passionate, strong-minded, long-lived Hollywood star; is best known for a meek maternal role.
Did she perform it well? Oh yes. She imbued Melanie with incredible strength, empathy, and grit. But to be best known for Gone with the Wind in your obituary isn’t exactly a selling point in 2020. The mawkishness of the role has always annoyed me, especially because Olivia de Havilland is most riveting when she’s hard boiled. (She would have been great in noir.)
This was, after all, not a meek woman, convincingly as she nailed that famous steel magnolia part. This is the actress who sued her studio for extending her contract—and won. (A stupefying victory, given the long list of actresses whose studio fights got them nowhere and killed their careers.) And so I’d like to highlight a few of my favorite roles, which bear no resemblance to Melanie.
The Heiress (1949). I’m not alone here. This film won her an Oscar, an award she richly deserved. She plays a shy, undervalued, vulnerable “spinster” wooed by a handsome man (Montgomery Clift) who is likely after her wealth. Her growing strength as she begins to suspect him and question her father is something to see. Wow.
My Cousin Rachel (1952). A sexually and socially confident, cosmopolitan widow (de Havilland) meets the naïve young cousin/heir (Richard Burton) of her dead husband. At first, he suspects her of murdering her husband, then he falls for her, and then he suspects her again. Did she, or didn’t she? The book version leaves the answer open, the movies less so. The 1952 film itself is a mixed bag, but when it comes to embodying a fascinating heroine, de Havilland knows what she’s doing. (You know I think so when I say Rachel Weisz, whom I love in everything, couldn’t hold a candle to her in the remake.)
Hush … Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964). I love some bonkers Bette Davis-de Havilland banter. Is it as fun as Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? No, what could be? But it’s still a blast to watch, thanks in large part to de Havilland’s scheming character.
The Adventures of Robinhood (1938). OK, this is a bit of a sentimental choice, but de Havilland doesn’t play a weakling version of Maid Marian. She’s got some serious spirit, especially for the time this film was made. de Havilland’s stunning beauty in it explains the string of hearts she left in her Hollywood wake. And Errol Flynn’s and her dazzling chemistry, not to mention their ridiculously good looks, reveal why they were paired together so frequently. Plus, the film is just a hoot, with the cast clearly having Ocean’s 11-level fun on the set.
There’s much more to say about de Havilland. This list alone shows her incredible range as an actress. I don’t have the expertise to discuss her recent lawsuit, sister feud, or any of the myriad other topics that make her a compelling subject. I strongly recommend you check out some of my peers’ posts on The Classic Movie Blog Association’s blog roll (see right column). de Havilland has never been one of the stars I follow. Frankly, I find her a bit scary. Intimidating. Hard to know. (About as far from Melanie as it’s possible to be.) But you can’t ever discount her. And when she’s on the screen, you don’t want to watch anyone else.
I think it was about five minutes into Psych‘s new movie that I realized just how much I was smiling.
How to explain the effects of Psych? It’s my emotional yoga. When I can’t sleep, I lie on the couch and play episodes till I do. It’s my white noise when I’m doing mindless busy work. And when I really need a pick-me-up (and who doesn’t right now?), I can put on an episode–even my least favorite–and laugh so much. (This despite the fact that I’m surely close to having the whole show memorized by now.) It doesn’t matter if I’m sad, worried, stressed; Psych‘s hilarious dialogue and antics always makes me smile. And the movies are no exception.
Lassie Come Home is both a typical episode and a tribute to Timothy Omundson (Lassie), whose stroke prevented his full participation in Psych: The Movie. But sweet as the tribute to Lassie is, it’s the Shawn and Gus team-up that’s the highlight, as always. I could listen to them banter all day long. This is still the best bromance I’ve seen on TV.
A favorite moment is when Shawn and Gus are trying to get a man to admit he’s faking an illness by tickling him. Shawn (James Roday Rodriguez) begins the badgering of the man like this: “Tough guy from the old neighborhood. Probably didn’t even cry when Liz Berkley got addicted to speed in Saved by the Bell.“
Now that’s a pop culture reference!
As usual, there were some funny cameos, with Sarah Chalke, Scrubs alum, directly referencing her scrubs, and Kadeem Harison from A Different World showing up, reminding fans that Dwayne Wayne was Gus’s (Dulé Hill) early hero (see that bizarre werewolf episode, “Let’s Get Hairy”–Season 4, Episode 8). Chalke was an inspired addition–she fits right in. My other favorite new character was Morrissey, Chief Vick’s (Kirsten Nelson) dog. And current fan or not, you will love a wonderful breaking the third wall moment, when Shawn refers to Psych fans (Psychos), and Gus rips him in response.
Way back when I started this blog, I recommended The Thin Man to Psych fans. But that recommendation goes both ways. Are you a fan of delicious flavor–i.e., funny dialogue? Do you love pop culture references? Do you prefer the relationship between detectives (and their loved ones) to the mystery itself? Do you enjoy some childishness in your leads, as long as it’s funny? (If you’ve forgotten how immature Nick Charles is, watch his classic performance at his in-law’s house in After the Thin Man.)
If you share my preferences, why are you waiting to watch the series, much less Lassie Come Home? I envy you the eight seasons and three films (if you include the musical) you have yet to watch! And if you’re already a Psych fan, you’ll be so happy to have Shawn and Gus back–even for a little while.
I’m sorry, my readers, for being so tardy with my posts. I’m still recovering from an overloaded June. But while I was buried in projects, something very nice happened! Thank you, Brittaney of The Story Enthusiast, for honoring me with the Sunshine Blogger Award! It’s an award for those who inspire positivity and creativity in the blogging community, and I’m so grateful to her for considering me worthy of it.
Check out her creative, clever blog. Her answers to the questions she was asked alone show just why she deserved the Sunshine Blogger Award herself. I particularly like her unusual take on Carole Lombard in a recent post, which makes me want to check out some of that star’s dramatic films!
Those nominated for the Sunshine Blogger Award thank their nominator and link to his/her/their blog, answer the 11 questions their nominator asked, nominate up to 11 new blogs to receive the award and write them 11 new questions, notify nominees via comments on one of their posts, and list these rules and display the Sunshine Blogger Award logo in their post and/or on their blogs.
First of all, Brittaney of The Story Enthusiast, here are my answers to your great questions!
1. What British or International film would you recommend to a friend who has never seen one? The Red Shoes. It’s beautiful, haunting, and very weird. Can’t take your eyes off of it.
2. Which classic film director do you prefer and what is your favorite of their films? Preston Sturges, especially Lady Eve.
3. Which character actor or actress do you think would have made a great lead? Jack Carson. Charming, funny, handsome. Steals every scene he’s in.
4. What child actor do you believe should have had success as an adult but didn’t? Peggy Ann Garner. I adored the book A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and she managed to make me love the film too—quite a feat.
5. What film do you love, but dislike the ending? Wait Until Dark. It’s about to end well, then that submissive moment. Doesn’t fit. Doesn’t work. Makes me angry.
6. Whose onscreen wardrobe do you covet and would like to claim for your own? In theory, Shanghai Lily (Marlene Dietrich) of Shanghai Express. Because I want the style and moxie to pull off feathers and sequins during the daytime, and on the most trivial of occasions. (I would have liked to see her Zoom sessions in quarantine.) In real life, I’m more of a jeans woman, but that wardrobe looks FUN.
7. Which original film do you think could be improved as a remake and who would you cast? The Mad Miss Manton. So much wasted opportunity there. A young woman and her socialite pals solving crimes? That could be so much funnier than the original. Find some comedic actresses who have some versality as writers/directors/producers/musicians so that they they can ad lib–say Issa Rae, Awkwafina, Abbi Jacobson. Add in Melissa McCarthy, Bette Midler, and Christine Baranski as their wiser elders. Rachel Bloom writes and directs, with bonkers feminist musical numbers. And as for the Henry Fonda character? Not sure he’s needed.
8. Which classic film actor or actress do you think would be successful in today’s film industry? William Powell. He’s an amazing smartass on film, and everyone would love following him on Twitter/Instagram.
9. What film trope do you never tire of seeing? The witty female sidekick. Especially if it’s Eve Arden.
10. If you could adapt a piece of classic literature that has not yet been made into a film, what book would you choose and who would you cast in the main roles? Evelina would be fabulous onscreen. Given Elle Fanning’s performance in The Great, I’d cast her, and maybe Nicolas Hault as Sir Clement because he’d have enough humor to make those speeches (which would be abridged) funny as well as annoying. Carol Kane would make a great Madame Duvall. Lord Orville? Maybe James Marsden, who could be adorably perfect.
11. Which of today’s modern actors or actresses do you think would have been successful in classic films and why? Christina Applegate would have rocked classic screwball comedies. She has the presence, the timing, the zaniness, and the dry humor. She even has the look.
For this award, I am nominating film (or sometimes-film) bloggers I admire who are fairly new to me/whom I haven’t given tributes to yet. Thank you for your great work! (If any of you nominees don’t have the time to complete this Sunshine Blogger Award post on your own blog, just know that I am a fan and wanted to give you a shout-out.)
PBS produced a new documentary on my favorite movie wordsmith and feminist rebel, Mae West. Dirty Blonde is coming. Check out the preview to see the subjects talking about her (some welcome surprises), and to hear some of your favorite Mae West quips.
It’s not unusual to find a film with a strikingly ridiculous plot. I spent many Friday nights as a teen watching USA Up All Night (hosted by Gilbert Godfrey). How I loved taking in gloriously dumb films, hour after hour.
But to find movies with such plots that are genuinely good? That’s a whole other level of enjoyment. Now add 80 years or so, and the film is STILL GOOD, STILL FUNNY? That’s a comedic masterpiece.
Last Tuesday I wrote a post on feel-good silly films, and rated them according to their degree of silliness. (In a homage to Spinal Tap, I let the ratings go to eleven rather than ten.) So today, I’m going to list five films with plots so absurd they deserve that 11 silliness quotient fully. And not coincidentally, these films are a blast to watch. In no particular order:
The Palm Beach Story (1942)
A woman (Claudette Colbert) leaves her broke husband (Joel McCrea) so that she can marry a millionaire and use his money to fund her original husband’s brilliant project. She heads to Palm Beach to find such a millionaire, aided by a “wiener king ” and trigger-happy hunters. The writer/director is Preston Sturges, so you know you’re in for a treat.
Easy Living (1937)
A banker (Edward Arnold) in a fight with his extravagant wife (Mary Nash) throws her fur coat off the roof of their home. The coat hits the hat of a bus passenger (Jean Arthur). The banker’s attempts to compensate the passenger destroy her reputation, but do aid her income. If you need a teaser to be convinced, check out the banker’s and passenger’s hilarious fight about loan interest.
Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)
Mortimer (Cary Grant) has always known his cousin (John Alexander) is a bit off. After all, his cousin thinks and acts like Teddy Roosevelt, building his canal. But in visiting his beloved aunts (Josephine Hull and Jean Adair), Mortimer discovers they have some issues as well: they’re serial killers murdering lonely old men. “Teddy” assumes the dead bodies are yellow fever victims and takes them in stride. But Mortimer begins to fear for his DNA. A screwball classic.
I’m No Angel (1933)
A lion tamer (Mae West) becomes the talk of high society, even winning a classy lover who plans to marry her (Cary Grant). The circus fears losing her income, so they convince the lover that their star is cheating on him. When her lover leaves her, the tamer sues him for breach of promise. She acts as her own lawyer, spending 90 percent of the trial strutting and seducing the jury in what may be the funniest courtroom scene ever.
I Love You Again (1940)
A man (William Powell) gets hit on the head and becomes an old self he’s forgotten, a swindler, instead of the upright prude he now is. He decides to live the prude’s life as he looks for a score and becomes intrigued by the uptight man’s wife (Myrna Loy), whom the swindler version of himself never met. She, sick of his stodgy ways and unaware of his change, wants to divorce him. The question is, will the man’s wife fall in love with his older self? I feel dizzy just explaining this amnesia plot, but it’s The Thin Man’s Loy and Powell team, so what’s not to love?
There you have it. Five ridiculous plots. Five ridiculously fun movies. And I haven’t even scratched the surface of this topic! Anyone who wants to share their favorite silly plot, please do so in the comments!
As the pandemic length has grown and your patience has seeped away, what spells a “comfort” movie to you may have changed. If you’re single and alone, the rom-com, usually a fallback, may make you cringe about the horror of dating dangers post-opening (as if dating usually weren’t bad enough!) If you’re huddled inside with TOO MANY PEOPLE, you may find yourself enjoying dull footage of peaceful lakes.
But for all of us in times of stress, the truly, deeply silly movie remains a staple, and so in the long-delayed follow-up to my earlier post, “Classic Feel-Good Movies for Shut-Ins,” I’m going full-on silly with my next set of suggestions. I’m joining my peers at the Classic Movie Blog Association, who are sponsoring a great blogathon event on comfy favorites. So here are five comfy classic films, chosen for silliness and enjoyment–and listed in no particular order. (You will note that I’ve rated the silliness level, so not all here are full madcap in style. BUT I’m thinking that a list of films with silliness at level eleven, and eleven only, may be my next project.)
5. TheMiracle of Morgan’s Creek(1943/4). Silliness Quotient–11 out of 10.
I could have easily chosen ANY Preston Sturges flick obviously, but I recently discovered this on my library’s Kanopy streaming service, and just seeing the listing made me grin. For those of you who DON’T know writer/director Sturges, he was a big Coen brothers influence, thus the name of their film, O Brother, Where Art Thou?, a reference to Sturges’ classic, Sullivan’s Travels. (In fact, the Coens’ film title ONLY makes sense if you have see the Sturges flick.) This early writer/director’s delirious combination of madcap physical comedy, witty banter, and sheer improbability in his plotting make Sturges a favorite of any Coen brothers’ diehards (which I definitely am).
The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek actually thrives on denying information to its audience, who know that a scandal/miracle is about to erupt in Morgan’s Creek, and many stratagems are in play to contain it. Betty Hutton is adorable as the center of the scandal, and Eddie Bracken plays her lovesick friend/maybe-more (think Ducky in Pretty in Pink). Basically, it all begins when Hutton has too good of a night with liquor and a bunch of soldiers and sleeps with one of them. The thing is, she can’t remember his name. Yes, you read that right. It gets much more complicated as it goes. Bracken has the silliest role, and he captures his character’s constant befuddlement to the hilt—and just escapes going too far. Since the writing is in Sturges’ hands, it’s brilliant, of course (I have a set of his scripts on my bookshelf, trying to see how he does it).
4. Auntie Mame(1958).Silliness Quotient–7 /10.
I haven’t yet done a full post on Auntie Mame, but that’s because I love it too much, not too little. An unconventional, fun-loving aunt in the city (Rosalind Russell) takes in her dead brother’s prim child, and many hilarious scenes ensue. If you don’t end the film wishing Auntie Mame were your aunt, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Rosalind Russell’s acerbic edge keeps the film from ever treading into maudlin territory, and she so fully embodies Mame’s significant lust for life that it’s very confusing to find Russell cowed and sad in other films (Picnic, for example).
A favorite scene in the film is when Mame takes a sales job after the market crash. She only knows how to do COD (cash on delivery), and therefore is urging everyone to pay that way. Her dismay when they don’t is ALL OF US in every job when we’re out of our depth. COD isn’t really a thing you hear much anymore, but any time I do hear it, I think, “Oh, Mame.”
3. The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942).Silliness Quotient–7/10.
“Guests, like fish,” penned Ben Franklin, “begin to smell after three days.” No movie has ever captured that sentiment better than The Man Who Came to Dinner, and no actor has ever improved on Monty Woolley’s commanding performance of entitlement personified. He’s playing radio star/personality Sheridan Whiteside on a lecture tour, and the unlucky family once so proud of his appearance at their dinner table learns to rue the day they agreed to it. A little accident on their stoop, and they’re stuck waiting hand and foot on Whiteside’s prodigious ego.
George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart created the witty script, and Billie Burke plays the unwilling hostess to Whiteside. (Bette Davis may have helped the film get made, but her role here is one of her most flavorless. You know it’s not a Davis vehicle when Ann Sheridan outshines her.) Watch the film for the script and for brilliant Woolley, who must have been something to see on the stage (where he originated the role). Unfortunately, I have delayed writing about this film because it seems to be always unavailable for streaming on Amazon, but the DVD is available. If you know a good source for streaming it, please mention that in the comments!
2. Ball of Fire (1941).Silliness Quotient–7/10.
No list of silly movies would be complete without my favorite classic comedy, with Barbara Stanywck as the moll and Gary Cooper as the hapless encyclopedia writer who falls for her. And then there are the “dwarves”–the older encyclopedia writers who ALSO fall for her. I see that the film’s available on the Criterion Channel, which I’m shocked I don’t belong to yet. (No worries for me–I own two DVDs of this movie–the 2nd for when mine inevitably breaks from overviewing.)
With the dizzyingly talented combination of Howard Hawks as director and Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder as writers, this film’s dialogue can be almost as breathtaking as His Girl Friday‘s (also Hawks), but the writing/directing team leaves room for endearingly slow sequences as well. You actually watch Cooper’s character studying how to box in a book before his big fight scene, showing how goofy this story is. And for extra fun, you get favorites Dana Andrews, Dan Duryea, and S.Z. Sakall simultaneously embracing and mocking their typical roles.
1. A Night at the Opera (1935).Silliness Quotient–11/10.
Did you honestly think you’d get through this list without a Marx brothers appearance? I didn’t think so. (As with The Man Who Came to Dinner, the screenplay is co-written by Pulitzer-Prize-winning Kaufman.)
Here are just a few quick early bites: We get Otis B. Driftwood (Groucho) yelling at his driver for not traveling slowly enough to miss the whole opera they’ve driven to see. We have Fiorello (Chico) and Otis tearing apart the bits of a contract they don’t understand (i.e., all of it). We have Tomasso (Harpo) interrupting a typical movie romance trope (one lover onshore, the other on the ship, crooning about her love) by attack-kissing strangers for no reason. That’s just a small sampling of the joys you get before the glorious comedy of the ocean voyage, which includes such a monstrously over-the-top buffet that I wondered just how old the joke about gaining weight on cruises was….
During a strange but enchanting musical sequence starring Chico and Harpo, the two entertain a crowd of children with a deft combo of lunacy and calm, making me think, “Doesn’t every parent stuck at home with children for weeks want these two as babysitters right now?”
So there you have it–five wonderful, comforting films to get you through this trying time. NOTE: You may notice that neither Mae West nor Cary Grant has appeared on this list. That’s because 1. I already discussed Mae in my previous comfort list, and 2. I figured you’d already thought of Cary–and if you haven’t, why not?
Bonus: Kedi (2016).
I know–it’s not a classic film. It’s a recent documentary about the cats of Istanbul. But I have literally recommended it to every cat lover I know, and when I found it streaming on my library’s Kanopy service, played it on repeat for a day. The film focuses on several stray cats, telling their stories (the hunter, the crazy one, the player, etc.). The cats are certainly endearing, but surprisingly, the shopkeepers, artists, and others who love and care for them are just as likeable. And the cinematography of Istanbul is often gasp worthy, especially when you see those cats on some tall balconies and rooftops! My friend described the film as human catnip. How right she is. Next time you experience one of those anger/grief/anxiety spirals that all of us are prone to during this pandemic, play Kedi. Trust me. It’s healing.
Its not surprising that the actress who made her mark as a partially nude Ziegfeld Follies girl would star in one of the most seductive films of the 20s.
That the great German director G. W. Pabst would find it worthwhile to draw this star from American isn’t surprising either. The heroine of his 1929 Pandora’s Box had to be sexy enough to lure everyone around her, and heedless enough to rebel against the powerful without considering consequences….and that was kind of Louise Brooks’s forte.
The Kansas-born actress would make a point of ticking people off, refusing to conform to Hollywood expectations of her—or follow the directions of her bosses. In terms of roles, she didn’t really make a big splash, with few starring roles and many bit ones. But that didn’t stop her from demanding her rights. She expected more of her parts. She asked for promotions. She wasn’t much for punctuality. Most damagingly, she refused to do retakes of The Canary Murder Case (1929) to convert it from a silent to a talkie. She DID enjoy Hollywood social life–she was a regular at William Randolph Hearst’s and Marion Davies’s San Simeon, even romancing the latter’s niece, Pepi Lederer.
Her independent spirit ensured Louise Brooks didn’t make it far in Hollywood, but it’s also why we know her name still today. We like that she was who she was, and she didn’t apologize. Louise Brooks’s authenticity comes through in everything she did, especially in her acting. Her naturalistic performances might not have impressed all viewers back in 1929, but today they make her acting accessible to modern viewers–much more so than her contemporaries who followed the day’s more stylized acting trend.
And don’t we all love her rebellious soul? That flapper haircut, the partying all night after days on the set, the love affairs with men and some women that cut short her success. (Who turns down The Public Enemy to be with a guy?) And without that rebellion, we wouldn’t have her tripping off to Germany to make Pandora’s Box or Diary of a Lost Girl with a man who turned out to be one of the most impressive German directors of his time, whose films are still powerful enough to survive on best-of lists while those silents that had far higher box office draw are forgotten.
Of course, her legacy might still have disappeared, but Louise Brooks, as it happened, wasn’t just a good actress; she was talented at telling her own stories as well. The witty book of her movie reviews/Hollywood history in later life, Lulu in Hollywood, gave her a second burst of fame–and ensured that fame would endure. For many of us, she and Clara Bow are the face of the flapper.
I found myself instantly mesmerized by her in Pandora’s Box. Not since Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and Marilyn Monroe in Niagara have I seen an actress in such full command of her sexuality.
The way Brooks moves from archness to innocence, from manipulation to fun as the character Lulu is a thrill to view. She seduces EVERYONE in Pandora’s Box. I mean, is this how you act with your lover’s son?
But the son, Alwa (Franz Lederer), is not alone. Every delivery person, businessman, and lawyer gets Lulu’s seductive treatment—most thrillingly, given the time period, Countess Anna Geschwitz (Alice Roberts), a rich lesbian friend, gets Lulu’s full-press sexy attack. Watch as Anna stares at Lulu with stark hunger….
….and dances with her in a sensual sequence….
and expresses her longing to do more at Lulu’s bedroom door….
Wow! I kept checking the date. Was this film really made in 1929? (Of course, the censors butchered it after its initial release, erasing this maybe-maybe-not consummated love affair entirely.)
I’m avoiding all but minor & very vague spoilers, so the plot summary that follows will not be precise, especially after the first acts.
The untampered-with version of the film begins with Lulu hanging out at the apartment where her lover, Dr. Ludwig Schön (Fritz Kortner), is putting her up. She’s flirting and drinking with a deliveryman/mailman when a friend arrives. Lulu calls the new arrival, Schigolch (Carl Goetz), her “patron,” but it will be unclear from later events whether he is her first john, pimp, or father. Whatever he is to her, Schigolch is clearly an unsavory type, so Lulu hides him on her balcony when Ludgwig comes home unexpectedly. Ludwig has bad news for Lulu: he has to marry a respectable girl, not her. Lulu comforts her despondent lover on her bed.
Of course, Ludwig discovers Schön on the balcony and takes off, but Lulu doesn’t seem concerned for long. Nevermind that her lover/income source has now disappeared. Schigolch has another offer for her, a chance to return to the stage. And after all, this woman will have NO issues getting a new lover. Just look at these typical reactions to a Lulu encounter:
Whether Lulu’s flirty nature is mainly a result of calculation, high spirits, or just innocent fun is always unclear. What IS clear is that she always must have everyone in her thrall. Her supposed nonchalance at Ludwig’s loss doesn’t keep her from getting him back when she gets the chance (and what a great scene it is when she does).
After she reunites with her lover, things will go horribly wrong for everyone in the story, justifying one prognosticator’s claim that Lulu is Pandora, the mythical character who unleashed society’s ills into the world. Of course, this pronouncement about her Pandora nature annoys a modern woman to no end, as it’s clear that the man who says so assumes the jealousy Lulu inspires and whatever results from it are all her fault. Forget that the men who surround her are (a) weak, (b) dark/controlling/abusive, (c) silly alcoholics, and/or (d) con men. Forget too that any man who spends five minutes with her knows that fidelity probably isn’t Lulu’s strong suit.
Of course, Lulu isn’t exactly an innocent. The way she repeatedly uses and betrays her lesbian friend is disturbing, and it doesn’t seem the result of any bigotry–just desperation and selfishness. Lulu’s lack of compassion about others’ suffering as she casually checks out magazine fashions is chilling. I like that we’re not merely asked to condemn her actions, but what we ARE to make of her isn’t entirely clear.
The production itself is sophisticated and effective, way ahead of its time. Her clothes are a joy to view. But the script is…odd. The first five acts are memorable, well-written, funny, and exciting, with clear plot development. But after the first five acts, I thought, “this is probably where the film ends.” And then another act would follow and I’d assume it was ending again, and another, and another. The story soon feels like a series of set pieces/vignettes pulled together rather than a coherent story, which is particularly evident in the last act. I guess I would have been OK with this if the story had been framed as a series of Lulu adventures, but there’s a morality play bent to it that just doesn’t work—because you can’t help but enjoy rather than judge Lulu thanks to her considerable charisma, and because you can’t really find a morality play effective without a clearer narrative arc/characterization.
For example, I think we’re meant to pity Ludgwig’s man-boy son, Alwa, for his hopeless passion for Lulu, but his actions throughout the narrative are weak, disloyal, and despicable, so I’m not sure why I’m meant to root for him. I mean, sure, he’s obsessed with Lulu, and Lulu, though she calls him her best friend, isn’t exactly empathetic toward him. But then again, she cheerfully puts up with his dour, leech-like company, and clearly could find a more congenial and ambitious companion. There has to be some strain of kindness and loyalty in Lulu to make her tolerance for him possible. (Think about the suitor she chooses over him/to help him late in the film, and you will see just how bad of company she considers Alwa.)
I also find it hard to understand why this woman, with such a magnetic personality and such great beauty, couldn’t find another well-heeled protector who would conceal her shady past AND help her support her two hangers-on. Her poverty late in the film–given her earlier adeptness with reinvention—isn’t well explained.
This film is often called a masterpiece, and in its first few acts, I think it is. After that, I’d argue that the film falls apart, though I know MANY would disagree with me.
But here’s the thing: It doesn’t matter. The first few acts have already seared into your memory. Your impression of Louise Brooks is already powerful given her electric performance and unforgettable beauty. And your admiration for Pabst’s technical proficiency and daring have already been won. What does it matter if the logic and narrative thread and even Lulu’s character are all a bit of a mystery to you in the end?
This film can be hard to track down at times, but luckily, it’s streaming on Kanopy, which is available for free to most library patrons. (Even if you don’t have a card, some temporary ones are being given during this pandemic.) You may not end up watching the whole thing, but don’t miss Acts 1-5! The court scene alone is worth the viewing.
