Ladies of Leisure (1930) - Fat Shaming Marie Prevost

Hollywood can be a cruel place. One minute you are the toast of the town, the next you are out on your ear. You’ve doubtless heard all the clichés about the ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’; all the scandals, the self destruction and the casualties of early Hollywood, from Peg Entwistle to Fatty Arbuckle to Carole Landis. Add to this the crushed dreams of fallen stars such as John Gilbert or the artistic humiliations experienced by Buster Keaton and Erich von Stroheim and you have yourself a deceptively dark underbelly to the enchantment of the movies. In time, Hollywood itself began to perpetuate and even glamorise the dangers and pitfalls of Tinseltown in its own movies such as What Price Hollywood?, A Star is Born and Sunset Boulevard. This in itself has become part of the lore and the lure of Hollywood, the dangerous appeal of a magical land when you enter not only at your own peril, but at the risk of sacrificing your own soul for fame and fortune.

When the silent era ended and talking pictures began, a seismic shift began in the ranks of the movie players as everyone, from major star to bit player wondered if they had what it took to adapt and change in the new environment. Countless silent stars fell by the wayside, either forced out of the movie industry or pushed down the playbill to minor parts. The humiliation felt by stars used to being gods and goddesses in the Jazz Age was acutely felt, and many of them had to readjust to lives of anonymity. This in itself was tragic enough, but for those who hung on and tried to make a living in movies, life could be tough with a new technology to adapt to and a fresh crop of stars hungry to take their place. And if there wasn’t enough pressure, occasionally the studios themselves used their influence to direct some older stars right out the door to the unemployment line. Sometimes, it was just the evolution of the industry and survival of the fittest, but other times such as in Ladies of Leisure it’s just unnecessary bullying that ultimately had a human cost.

Ladies of Leisure was directed by Frank Capra for Columbia and is primarily known for being the movie that made a star out of Barbara Stanwyck and which propelled her on a rise to the upper echelons of Hollywood, a position she remained at for the bulk of her career. The plot deals with the usual story of love on the wrong side of the tracks as Stanwyck’s “lady of leisure” falls for Ralph Graves’ wealthy artist despite the protestations of his haughty family. It’s a story told many times before and since and filmed with a decent amount of care. It’s certainly by no means a classic Capra work, but it does prove that right from the start Barbara Stanwyck had the ability and poise to be a major star. While lacking believability when trying to be the hard bitten party girl (she would pick this up in no time luckily), she handles her emotional scenes superbly and easily overcomes much of the hackneyed material in the script. Though the film is massively overlong at 100 minutes and all too often dips into the sort of turgid melodrama so ubiquitous in the early 30s, it’s undoubtedly a star making performance from Stanwyck and sets the tone nicely for this stage in her career.

The movie co stars Marie Prevost as Barbara’s best friend but sadly she doesn’t fare nearly so well and Ladies of Leisure is another textbook example of a movie with two actresses of equal talent whom the studio saw going on very different career trajectories. Miss Prevost became a big star in silent pictures, although her personal life was beset by scandal and despite strong performances in films such as The Beautiful and Damned and The Marriage Circle, by 1926 her career had peaked. The late silent era saw a series of tragedies befall Marie, starting with the loss of her contract with Warner Brothers (due in part to the aforementioned scandals), followed by the death of her mother in an automobile accident and the end of her marriage. These events took their toll and by the start of the sound era Marie Provost was addicted to alcohol, suffering from depression and binge eating. Despite her problems she adapted admirably to the demands of sound and still maintained steady work as a supporting actress.

In Ladies of Leisure, Marie Prevost plays Dot, the roommate and best friend of Barbara Stanwyck’s Kay. She is a fellow good time girl, but she has far more fun doing it, openly talking about her need to marry a rich man and to get as much as possible from them. She has an effervescent, impish charm about her with her cheeky smile and giggling looks. She certainly brightens up a movie which at times has a gravely serious tone and depending on how you want to look at it, you could say she almost steals the picture. Sadly, there’s a dark shadow looming over Marie Prevost’s performance in Ladies of Leisure and it comes in the form of a peculiar type of onscreen harassment. I’ve always thought that being a star in the Golden Age of Hollywood required talent and timing but it also required good presentation. At the end of the day the studio could make or break a star, and here the presentation of Marie Prevost is intended to give you one single impression – she needs to lose weight.

All the way through the movie we are reminded that Marie Prevost is too fat. While it is mostly played for laughs, by the fourth or fifth time it is brought up the joke starts to wear a little thin (if you pardon the expression). When we first meet her character Dot, she is proclaiming to Kay (Stanwyck) that she is going up in the world and is “..a lady who is gonna eat caviar”. Stanwyck’s retort is that “Well don’t eat too much just because it’s free…another 10 pounds and they won’t be calling you up again!”. Even though Prevost gets in the funny punchline of “You can’t weigh sex appeal!”, it’s an unusual way to introduce her character. It seems her defining characteristic isn’t that she is the protagonist’s loyal friend or that she's funny, it’s that she likes to eat.

Later, while reclining in bed (and very artfully smoking a cigarette), Kay stomps in and says “You sleep too much, you’re getting awful fat”. Dot replies that if she gets too fat she’ll just get married and retire. Her alleged best friend then says “Married? Who’s gonna marry you?”. Later in the movie, Dot is on a date and (while stuffing her face with food) asks her beau, “Do you think I’m too fat?” Her date (played by a permanently pie eyed Lowell Sherman) replies dryly, “There couldn’t be too much of you”. He then looks pained as Dot then proceeds to order the whole menu, because of course she’s fat and that’s funny.

The constant attention to Marie Prevost’s weight reaches its height in a bizarre scene where we see her using one of those old fashioned vibrating belt machines used to lose weight. The camera starts on the back of her thighs and works up, as we see every bit of her wobbling and jiggling derriere in all its glory. I’m so pleased that high definition didn’t exist back then, as the scene is so terribly unfair to an actress who was struggling with her weight, among other things. To make things worse, she inexplicably is wearing a sweater that is several sizes too large, giving the impression she is enormous. As with all the scenes where her weight is callously pointed out, Marie makes the most of it and does some very funny pantomime as she attempts to extricate herself from the belt to answer the door. However, comedy aside, these moments in the movie leave a bit of a bad taste in the mouth.

The main problem with all the references to weight is that she’s not really that fat. Sure, she’s a little chubby compared to Barbara Stanwyck, but who isn’t? She is short and sweet, and looks a darn sight more appealing than most of her waif like contemporaries. It's notable that another petite and curvy silent star, Clara Bow was going through similar studio problems at the time. I don’t think anyone other than a Hollywood executive would look at her and think she was in any way overweight. Despite this, her supposed fatness is used in such an unnecessarily cruel way. If you think about someone like Patsy Kelly, a comedienne frequently used as a sort of female Oliver Hardy by Hal Roach, her comedy comes out of the physical contrast to her co stars such as Zasu Pitts, She may be (slightly) larger but like Hardy the comedy derives from the situations she gets into and the way she reacts to them rather than having people pointing out to her “Ha ha! You fell over because you’re fat!”. Kelly, doesn’t have to eat a big cake to make her point, and she doesn’t have to be reminded of her size as if it’s a bad thing, it’s just who she is and it’s made to work for her. 

This treatment is all so unnecessary for an attractive woman who looks perfectly fine and was funny and talented enough to make the material work without the need for fat based gags. As mentioned earlier, there definitely seems to be a message being sent here by the studio. Somebody, somewhere wasn’t happy about her weight and an on screen example to others was made. That this could happen isn’t out of the question when one sees how Kay Francis would be treated by Warner Brothers a few years later when she was given lines full of ‘r’s to lisp her way through. It’s so petty but in the mean world of Hollywood, a world then as now very much living in its own self created bubble and obsessed by looks, it’s sadly not unexpected.

Marie Prevost died, alone, in 1937 after years of alcohol abuse, depression and binge eating. Her problems may have been caused by tragedies in her life, but I can’t help feeling that appearing in movies like Ladies of Leisure didn’t help her fragile mental state. For that reason, while Ladies of Leisure gave Barbara Stanwyck her break out role and is an enjoyable, well made melodrama, there is an ugliness at its core that is slightly less palatable.  Hollywood didn't owe her a living, but it did owe her a bit more dignity.

Snapshot # 2 - Internes Can't Take Money (1937)

What is it about?: A young medical intern named Dr. Kildare helps a widowed ex-con to find her missing child and avoid the clutches of an unscrupulous mobster...

The Call Sheet: Barbara Stanwyck, Joel McCrea, Lloyd Nolan, Stanley Ridges with Irving Bacon, Barry Mccollum and Charles Lane

Behind the Camera: Directed by Alfred Santell. Story by Max Brand (aka Frederick Schiller Faust). Cinematography by Theodor Sparkuhl. Art direction by Roland Anderson and Hans Dreier.

Snapshot Thoughts: Aside from it’s archaic spelling of ‘Intern’, Internes Can’t Take Money is an odd little film. It’s the very first Dr. Kildare movie yet it stars Barbara Stanwyck and largely side lines Joel McCrea’s Kildare, with the end result being that it succeeds in fully showcasing neither. The following year, MGM took over the Dr. Kildare series and recast it with Lew Ayres and Lionel Barrymore and in doing so created a very successful and well remembered movie franchise, but this film is an almost noir-ish anomaly. As it is, it’s an interesting mix of medical drama, gangster film and melodrama with a stellar ensemble cast. I have no idea why Barbara Stanwyck took on the film as it seems like such a B picture for a star of her stature. Despite this, Joel McCrea is everything you would need from a dashing young doctor: tall, blond, principled and fearless and he always has good chemistry with Stanwyck. Barbara Stanwyck herself is the epitome of melodramatic desperation: she spends the majority of the film with her eyes glistening with fresh tears (they never quite roll down her cheek), forever on the verse of emotional collapse and fuelled by determined motherly love. However, because the movie splits its time between their individual plotlines, sadly neither star is well serviced by the film.

 

Star Performances: While the two stars are good in their roles, the movie ultimately belongs to the supporting cast of character actors playing the story’s many underworld dwellers. Lloyd Nolan is excellent as ever as the gangster whose life is saved by Kildare and although he is only in the last 15 minutes of the film he gives considerable depth and range to the part, transforming from anger to understanding at Dr. Kildare’s situation in a brilliant piece of emotional acting. Also of note are Charles Lane as the world’s grumpiest butler and Irving Bacon as a eye patch wearing barman, both adding some (off) colour charm to the proceedings. However, Stanley Ridges pretty much steals the picture, and every scene he’s in as the blackmailing criminal Dan Innes. Relaxed, smug and confident, he is a man perfectly at ease with his place in the world. His life is a continuous game of exerting power over people, from his butler (a friend who lost a card game to him and was shanghaied into service to pay the debt) to Stanwyck’s Janet Haley, to whom he dangles the carrot of knowledge about her missing child. One of the props that Ridges uses to his advantage is the character’s love of popcorn. The popcorn has many uses in the movie, mostly as an innuendo laden conversation topic, but the way he casually takes handfuls, rolls them around in the palm of his hand and chews slowly just reeks menace and intimidation. He may dress very dapperly, and his apartment is that of a playboy who likes the finer things in life, but Stanley Ridges never lets the audience forget how dangerous and callous a thug Innes really is.

Technical Excellences: Despite the movie being a B picture, it is shot and dressed like a far more prestigious vehicle. The art direction by Paramount mainstays Roland Anderson and Hans Dreier are superb, with the hospital and bar sets being stylish and evocative. The hospital set in itself is a thing of beauty, with Art Deco designs and lettering combining with an open plan clinic with large bay windows displaying stylised matte views of the Manhattan skyline. Later, the bar set reverses the feeling, giving a turn of the century, dingy, smoky environment where backroom deals are done and shady mobster hurry back and forth through the grubbily ornate swing doors. A lot of thought has been put into the look of the movie and it lifts the production from a run of the mill melodrama to a brilliantly conceived slice of late Depression life.

The Sublime: Perhaps the highlight of the movie occurs when Janet (Barbara Stanwyck) visits Innes (Stanley Ridges) in his apartment to attempt to come to some sort of 'arrangement' for information about her missing daughter. The scene starts with an insight into Innes’ life as he sits in bed clad in his expensive dressing gown eating breakfast (which looks suspiciously like popcorn) served by his ill mannered butler Grote (a brilliantly chosen name for surly Charles Lane). Janet arrives and the two move through to the living room to talk, all the time the walls glowing with the dancing shadows of the rain hitting the windows outside. Innes tries to turn on the charm but Janet nervously ignores it . In a nice piece of business, when Stanwyck sits down the chair is quite low and exposes her knee. She subtly and awkwardly pulls her skirt down as she adjusts her seat while he eyes her wolfishly. The conversation turns to what she can do for him and as ever, he brings up the subject of popcorn, saying “I didn’t always like popcorn. I didn’t like it until I tried it. First it was kind of hard to take, used to stick in my craw. I guess I hit you about the same way, don’t I?” He purrs the words in a deliberate way that leaves no doubt as to what he’s really suggesting, and all the while his eyes seem to be imagining what sort of arrangement Janet and he could come to. Never has popcorn seemed to threatening.

 

The Ridiculous: The 30’s must have been a confusing time to live in if you had lost a child. Stanwyck’s character Janet spends most of the movie trying to find her lost three year old daughter in orphanages despite not having seen her since she was a baby. She’s told (quite reasonably) by a kindly nun that “babies change a good deal in two years. Their features change”, but despite this Janet feels she only needs to look into the child’s eyes to know which little moppet is hers. She’s also good at picking needles out of haystacks I hear. Oh, and this despite the fact that the orphanage only need the barest of anecdotal evidence to be convinced that they should give a child to a woman fresh out of prison, but I digress. Anyway, I don’t have to spoil it for you for you to guess how it ends, but just to hammer home every available cliché we are treated to an astonishing final tableaux of mother and daughter reunited as a heavenly choir sings, flanked in shadows by the Mother Superior, the good Dr Kildare and a massive statue of the Virgin Mary that looms up onto the screen out of nowhere. Praise be! For it is a miracle! Boy, did those Jewish Hollywood people love their Catholic imagery but I guess it kept the censors happy.

Is it worth watching? It’s certainly a by the numbers Barbara Stanwyck film, and is possibly one of her most forgettable appearances of the decade but she’s likable and vulnerable and determined as ever and doesn’t disappoint. If you are a fan of the Dr. Kildare series then Internes Can't Take Money it has to be watched as a curiosity (in the same way that the first sound Charlie Chan film Behind That Curtain bears no resemblance to the long running series that followed it) and an interesting comparison. If you don’t judge it as a Dr. Kildare film then there’s a lot to like. The movie looks great, is directed with style and has a fine cast of well written characters. All in all an overachieving B movie with an A list cast. Bring your own popcorn.

Random Quote: “Popcorn’s good for you, you know. Roughage.”

Random Thoughts # 4 - Winter Round-Up featuring Van Heflin, Barbara Stanwyck, Hal Roach players and an Ode to Old Time Radio

Well, Screen Snapshots has finally opened for business in 2012, armed with a smile, a song and a bunch of New Year’s resolutions that hopefully won’t go the way of most of my New Year’s resolutions. What does this year bring dear reader? More updates for one – definitely more updates. Most importantly, I think I finally have to master the art of the capsule review, as I’ve watched a lot of movies lately that have been interesting but not quite good enough to write an all singing, all dancing review of. I’ve often felt that if I don’t write a lengthy review of a film then I’m short changing the reader and myself. I don’t want to fall into the trap of not contributing anything worthwhile to opinion about classic movies, but on the other hand I guess you have to acknowledge that not everyone wants to read long articles about a film they’ve perhaps never seen (or may never want to!). So a slight format change is in the cards. Another thing I need to do this year is actually start publicizing this blog, something I’ve been a tad shy about in the past, probably due to a lack of confidence on my part. Strike that, definitely due a lack of confidence on my part. I may even partake in one of those blogathon things (whatever they are) once I’m convinced I can hang with my contemporaries in terms of quality. Oh, and a visual overhaul for the blog would be on my wish list, but that involves actually knowing how to do such a thing so don’t hold your breath. Anyway, before I get started on the shining future, here’s a quick round up of a couple of highlights from the last few months. The following films have piqued my interest of late… King of the Underworld (1939) – In theory this movie sounds like it would be one of the all time greats. Humphrey Bogart on the cusp of stardom (I always preferred him pre 1941) teamed up in a Warner gangster film with Kay Francis (though admittedly she was out of favour and just there to make up the numbers). The thought of the two of them together, along with some pretty dynamic poster artwork and brief running time, conjures up visions of a brisk, energetic little film with bags of star power. However, the reality sadly does not live up to the hype (though if it had been made even three or four years earlier, I know things would have been different). Despite Bogart getting top billing, it’s really a fairly typical late period Kay Francis picture, during the time where Warners wanted to get rid of her and she stubbornly (and quite rightly) refused to break her contract. So we are left with Kay Francis lite and Bogart playing the usual gangster type, though in this case a particularly stupid one. And that is that really, there’s not much to say about it other than the movie pretty much exists to fill a contractual obligation for Francis. The only really notable performance is by James Stephenson as a sort of Leslie Howard-esque doomed dreamer who gets caught up in the mobster entourage. I must confess to not knowing much about Mr Stephenson but he seems to have been a very talented and dependable supporting actor who sadly died far too young. He gives the movie an unexpected emotional focus and also gets all the best lines with his veiled insults aimed at the delusional Bogart. King of the Underworld is worth seeing but it’s not as good as the 1936 version that plays in my head. Behind That Curtain (1929) – This is a real oddity, the first sound appearance of Earl Derr Biggers' legendary detective Charlie Chan, though strangely here he’s actually played by an Asian actor and is reduced to a minor part (despite the movie being a loose adaption of one of his literary adventures). It’s possibly one of the worst early sound features I’ve seen, with some appallingly poor acting, overly melodramatic histrionics and long periods where pretty much nothing happens. In fact, I had to double check the running time as I found it difficult to believe that what I watched actually only lasted 90 minutes. The film concerns the usual pre-code obsession of a married woman having an illicit affair, and drags out the premise to film-breaking proportions. In fact, I’m surprised they decided to keep making any films after this one. Lois Moran as the scarlet woman is the worst culprit as she is obviously out of her depth with the role and the new technology. I’ve seen her in Transatlantic from 1931 and though she doesn’t stand out much she at least improved. The big surprise from the cast is the performance by Warner Baxter, who is positively wooden. It was by no means his first sound film but he certainly struggles with the dialogue and more importantly, his vocal range and pitch. Thankfully he did improve and became a truly fantastic movie star but from watching this, I wouldn’t have given him much of a future. Behind That Curtain is really only of interest to lovers of dull obscurities or ardent Chanophiles. Ultimately it gives rise to the myth of early sound films being slow and awkward, something I feel couldn’t be further from the truth. Sadly, on this occasion I’d have to defer to the critics. Grand Central Murder (1942) – Memory really plays tricks with the passing of time. I saw this film on television about 15 years ago and loved it, especially liking Van Heflin’s sardonic, shambling plastic coat wearing detective. It seemed really sharply acted with an arch script full of witty one liners and a feisty dynamic between Heflin and his on screen wife Virginia Grey. Fast forward 15 years and I dusted off my old VHS copy and…well, like I said, memory plays tricks. It’s actually a pretty decent movie, though a bit too talky in parts (I kind of lost track of which character was which, never mind their motives). However, the one thing that really stands out is the performance of Van Heflin himself, which wasn’t quite as brilliant as I remembered but nonetheless earmarks him as an actor with a considerable screen presence. I first became aware of Heflin from watching a few of his early appearances (The Feminine Touch, Johnny Eager and Presenting Lily Mars to be precise) and I’ve always preferred him in this era. He’s really at ease with any genre but his weary, deadpan delivery in comedy really makes me laugh. Of course, he would later find a lot more success in serious drama, be they westerns or noirs but I think it was a missed opportunity to not try him in more comedic roles. Probably the latest one I’ve seen is B.F.’s Daughter, in which he slips very easily into the traditional romantic comedy style. As for Grand Central Murder, it’s not the B-grade Thin Man I remembered but it did give me time to consider the talents of its star. Annie Oakley (1935) - I hate to sound like a broken record, but I also much prefer the early work of Barbara Stanwyck, just like I seem to prefer the early work of pretty much everyone when I think about it. She is feisty yet world weary, glamorous yet ordinary and all in a way that fits in perfectly with the ‘working girl trying to make a living’ ethos of Depression era film. By the time the late 30s rolled along, her performances if anything improved, but she became an altogether more confident and assured (and glamorous) film star. In the character of Annie Oakley, you can see elements of both these screen personas as she transforms from the ordinary girl with a talent for shooting to the well travelled superstar brimming with confidence. Despite the obvious lack of historical accuracy, it’s a very entertaining film and Stanwyck gives a memorable performance that almost succeeds in standing out from the spectacular trappings of the Buffalo Bill Wild West show around her. Luckily the movie is directed under the assured and watchful eye of George Stevens, who never lets the need for spectacle get in the way of the story. Despite all of this, what really made the film interesting for me was the presence of a number of the Hal Roach stock company in (very) small parts, I’d imagine due to the presence of Stevens, himself a Roach alumni. It must be strange to be a featured player in Laurel and Hardy films, creating characters that make millions laugh one day, only to find yourself playing uncredited bit parts the next. Both Charlie Hall and Walter Long appear in Annie Oakley fleetingly and are both effective in their roles (a drunk and an Indian hater respectively). It’s a subject I’m going to look at in more detail in a future blog but it’s just so odd that the likes of Charlie Hall, Walter Long, Mae Busch and James Finlayson didn’t thrive in mainstream features on the strength of their Roach performances (though to be fair, both Edgar Kennedy and Billy Gilbert did). In the end though, I’d like to think that they had the last laugh. Mae Busch may have been seen by mainstream Hollywood as a faded silent star past her best, but today her name and image is far better remembered that the majority of her contemporaries. I know that most actors are just happy to be working but it seems that with the benefit of hindsight, certain character actors like Hall and Long were definitely not used to their full potential. Old Time Radio Highlights – I’ve been listening to a lot of Old Time Radio lately, in fact it has become a relaxing daily ritual. I listen to mostly comedy and a bit of drama and have sampled episodes of most of the well known shows. Rather than point to one particular show or episode this time I‘d like to recommend the joys of listening to Old Time Radio in general. I guess it’s difficult to imagine the hold that radio had on the public from the 1930s through to the mid 1950s when television finally became the norm but in listening to a run of shows, be they comedy, drama or serial you can really feel how the people on the radio managed to reach out and talk directly to the listening audience. In the few years I’ve been listening I have learned to call characters like Lum and Abner, Amos and Andy and many others my friends. I feel reassured by the voices of announcers like Don Wilson and Harry Von Zell and feel a comfortable glow each time I hear the theme music to my favourite shows. Of course, I’m taking a veritable crash course, listening to years worth of shows in a matter of weeks and months. I can only wonder what the cumulative effect of turning on the radio and listening to Jack Benny or Eddie Cantor each week over the course of 20 years or more. It’s strange, but I often catch myself humming a long forgotten advertising jingle (Rinso is always a favourite) or when (for example) feeling ill, immediately think of a product that (I'd assume) no longer exists (e.g. Sal Hepatica – For the Smile of Health!). I genuinely do wonder how Lum and Abner are going to get out of their latest scrape and feel resentment at the way Squire Skimp treats them, like a follower of any daytime soap. What really makes me marvel is when I laugh at a topical joke from the 1940s and realise that it made me laugh more than a 2012 topical joke despite only really getting half the reference (Oh, that Mayor La Guardia and his baby kissing antics!). It underlines that I have spent a lot of time in the company of Eddie Cantor, Fred Allen, Jack Benny and the like and in a strange way they have become part of my family too. And don't get me started on catchphrases... Of course, the great thing about Old Time Radio is that it co-exists in the same world as the Golden Age of Hollywood and that your favourite actor is a mere guest starring role away from heart wrenching drama or self parodying comedy. Some movie stars seem to do more radio than others but pretty much everyone makes an appearance somewhere. What is more surprising is that the vast majority of the movie stars are adept at radio acting, a separate skill in itself and even more surprisingly, that they had the time! There are quite a few actors that I had overlooked in movies that have really impressed me with their abilities on radio. Herbert Marshall, for example is fantastic in drama and comedy and I really need to see some of his films to see if he's as good on screen. I’d strongly encourage anyone with a love of classic Hollywood to pick up one of the inexpensive collections of OTR shows available on MP3. For me it enabled me to immerse myself deeper into the waters of Hollywood, and to get a fuller understanding of the fashions, gossip and news items of the day. Of course it helps that the shows themselves are hugely entertaining in their own right, with personalities and performances to treasure. Whether it’s Lux Radio Theater, Command Performance, The Jack Benny Program or Amos and Andy, it’s a fascinating window into a vanished era. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to smoke a Lucky, eat some Jell-O (in five delicious flavours) and help the war effort by buying some extra War Bonds…

The Locked Door (1929) - Barbara Stanwyck's Secret Shame

Barbara Stanwyck is probably my 4th favourite actress. Her charm, beauty and intelligence shine through in each of her performances and she is undoubtedly a star in the upper echelon of Hollywood with a resume filled full of movie classics. Unfortunately, and I realize that to some people merely admitting this is utter heresy, I kind of lose interest in her work around 1936. For the rest of the 30s there are many films of hers that I really enjoy watching, but for the most part the magic of the early years is gone. Going into the 40s and beyond, while always watchable and entertaining, her movies just don’t push my buttons in the same way. Even later team ups with the likes of Errol Flynn and James Cagney leave me kind of cold. And all those westerns in the 50s (and hell, even co-starring with Elvis) don’t do it for me either. For me, the Barbara Stanwyck of Night Nurse, Ten Cents a Dance and Shopworn is the one that I want to watch, and while she arguable evolved into a much better, and certainly more famous actress I still think of her as the plucky Depression era girl trying to make good in a bad world.

Now that I’ve outed myself as a part time Stanwyck fan and earned your eternal distrust and revulsion, I’ll continue. I just needed to get that out in the open. I feel like a weight has lifted off my shoulders…

The Locked Door is yet another example of the stagy melodrama so prevalent in early sound films, and a movie generally considered by most (including Stanwyck herself) as being, well not the best example of the art form. To my alarm, during the first couple of moments I tended to agree with the critics. The opening scene sees Barbara wined and dined by bad boy Rod La Rocque on an illegal drinking cruise. The acting by both of them (but especially La Rocque) is just awful with stagnant dialoque and wooden delivery of the highest order. The horrible scene is only saved by the assured and subtle comedy of Harry Stubbs as a incompetent waiter. His appearance imediately shows both of them up and luckily deflects most of the pain.

From there (and 18 months later) the plot concerns Stanwyck’s attempt to split up the affair her sister-in-law is having with La Rocque while also trying to hide the shame of her own past with him to her new husband. You know, the usual fare for the early sound era: scandalous pasts and secret shames. The locked door of the title is the door behind which Stanwyck hides as her husband (played by William ‘Stage’ Boyd) scuffles with La Rocque and accidentally kills him. She confesses to the murder for the good of the family name and drama ensues, as you would expect.

In Rod La Rocque I thought that I’d finally found a silent star that just couldn’t act in sound if his life depended on it. I’ve no way of knowing if the film was shot in sequence but it certainly seems like it as it’s almost as if you see him grow in confidence as the movie goes on. The terribly wooden actor of the first scene is gradually replaced by a swaggering, slimy lothario played with a good attention to character. He makes you hate him but lets the veil slip every so often to see a cracked soul behind the charade. Rod La Rocque’s career wasn’t exactly stellar in the sound era but from this outing he certainly should have been given more of a chance to play villains as he seems well suited to playing the heel. I think I need to see more of his work.

There’s a quite charming relationship played out throughout the film between La Rocque and his butler, played by George Bunny. The implication is that many secrets have been shared (and covered up) between the two and although of differing characters and backgrounds, there emerges some real but unspoken affection for each other. As La Rocque sits idly in his room he puts away the photo of a woman on his desk and replaces it with the new flame, mentioning the oncoming “fresh flower” to his life. Bunny wistfully says to him “You’d be such a nice man if there weren’t any ladies in the world”, to which La Rocque’s equally wistful reply is “But it wouldn’t be such a nice world…” He may be a serial womanizer, wrecker of marriages and all round cad, but underneath it all perhaps he just wants to be loved. Or perhaps he just has fun doing it.

With the high melodrama of the murder comes one of the film’s other highlights in the shape of the wonderful Zasu Pitts. She plays the bored telephone operator at the apartment block where La Rocque lives. As the police arrive she gets more and more excited until she pleads with her boss (played by Keystone great Mack Swain) to be allowed to go up and watch the action, saying, “Oh let me go up, I may never see a murder!” Later, the police call for her to give evidence. As they open the door she falls in, having obviously been listening. She totters around, almost falls over then regains her balance all in one swift movement with a triumphant cry of “I’m in!” It’s a simple but beautifully played piece of comic business and is in fact the highlight of the whole movie. More movies need Zasu Pitts to liven them up.

Of course, none of the aforementioned chatter has really mentioned Miss Stanwyck and her performance. Well, she’s really not too bad. In fact, for her first sound appearance she gives the impression that she’d been at it for years, She has a tendency to shout a little too loud but having just listened to her reprise Stella Dallas on the Lux Radio Theater, that’s not something she got over very quickly (my advice: turn the volume down for that episode). With some minor tweaking, it’s almost as if she arrives on the screen fully formed as the (early) Barbara Stanwyck we all know and love. Her pairing with La Rocque, though starting off on shaky ground, develops into a confident showing for both of them despite the creaky melodrama of the plot and its characters.

And you know what? I’ve just realized that I started out wanting to talk about Barbara Stanwyck and ended up becoming a new fan of Rod La Rocque (my Stanwyck fan credentials just slipped even lower). I think really that says it all about The Locked Door. Barbara Stanwyck is good but she’s far from the most interesting thing on show. However, she’d have her day. Well, until 1936 if you're me.