Remembering Rudolph Valentino

Today marks the 84th anniversary of Valentino's passing and though I can't profess to be his biggest or most fervent fan, I've always had a certain fascination for the man in both life and in death. While he wasn't the first big movie star to die before his time, the sudden nature of his death provided the burgeoning movie fan scene with an icon to mourn over in a scale not seen since the days of the romantic poets. The chaos that his death provoked alone should have been enough to make him a legendary figure but with an already fully cultivated air of mystery around him Hollywood, not surprisingly went into fan meltdown. If it had existed then, today in 1926 the internet would have ground to a halt.

That his mystique has endured despite the advancement of film technology and our short attention span culture is a credit to his appeal and to the magnetism he exudes on the screen. He is one of a select group of cultural figures that only require to be known by a one word name and for which that name has become a byword for a whole set of behaviours and characteristics.

Like most people I grew up as a film fan fully aware who Rudolph Valentino was, but it wasn't until I saw him on the big screen in Blood and Sand that I realised what all the fuss was about. Of course with hindsight it is easy to ascribe his posthumous mystique and cult to his screen performances but I have to admit that there is an indefinable spark of magic in the way he interacts with the camera (the male equivalent of the "Garbo stare" perhaps). I even find it difficult to describe, but he exhibits at his best a sort of supremely animal like charisma that few have ever replicated. I greatly enjoy the work of his contemporaries such as Douglas Fairbanks, Wallace Reid or Ramon Navarro but while many were better actors, none matched him for innate cinematic sparkle. As I said, a lot of this must be due to hindsight, as it is when judging any celebrity that dies young. With Valentino the cult is strong and at times difficult to overcome. Sadly, his death is just such an important part of his story.

I remember when I was a bit younger I was at a book sale and bought an almost complete run of Anthony Slide's silent movie fanzine of the late '60s and early '70s, The Silent Picture. It was a great magazine as he tracked down all sorts of still living silent artistes for correspondence and short interviews. He also received communications from the still running silent star fan clubs such as the one for Valentino, proudly proclaiming 40 plus years of service to his memory. I imagined a group of elderly women with tear stained photographs of the late star, determined to keep going through their eternal grief. I'd like to hope that somewhere the fan club is still running despite the lack of people still around who saw him in his prime.

If not, I can guarantee that there will be a veritable swarm of Women in Black today tripping over each other to place a rose on his crypt in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Despite the circus that the ceremony has descended into, it shows that he continues to remain a living part of our film culture and memory. The first time I visited Los Angeles, the first thing I wanted to do was to see Valentino's grave. I don't really know why but I felt a compulsive urge to see it. Eighty years after his death I travelled half way round the world to see some engraved marble. I guess that's the sort of pull he has on people.

Three Men on a Horse (1936) - '30s Dialogue and the Decline of Joan Blondell

Three Men on a Horse seems to be a fairly well regarded film but I found it on the whole, a bit puzzling. Not really for anything contained within the film itself but for the things it made me think about while I was watching it. The movie is an adaptation of a popular play and stars Frank McHugh, in a rare starring role as the hapless Erwin Trowbridge, a simple man with a knack of picking winning racehorses. The only problem being that he does it for fun and doesn’t believe in betting. When he falls in with some gamblers they try to befriend him in order to make their fortunes. This snappy premise is ably milked by the talented cast of character actors to showcase their considerable, and usually overlooked wares. And in the middle of it all, in a secondary role is one Joan Blondell, who at this point in her career definitely is not a character actor, and whose presence is, well…a bit odd.

From the beginning you can tell that the movie is essentially a filmed stage play. The sets are sparsely decorated and large, the cast is small, the script is dialogue heavy, there is virtually no location work and much of the action happens off screen. Of course there is nothing wrong with this approach, and despite the fact that the production screams “B-picture” the basic set up allows the experienced cast to flex their acting muscles in ways that I’d imagine many of them had rarely had the opportunity to do.

Despite all this, as the dialogue went whizzing by between the fast talking characters, all I could think was that in the last few years my mind had really become subconsciously attuned to Pre-Code movies. The dialogue in Three Men on a Horse is sharp and frequently amusing, but I think I’ve just become accustomed to there being a bit more bite in my ‘30s wordplay. It made me realize that the Hays Code for the most part really delayed the progress of movies as a form of entertainment to be enjoyed by adults. A lot of people hear so much about Pre-Code movies that when they finally see some examples they are vaguely disappointed by a perceived lack of scandal or overt sexuality. For me this is missing the point. Early sound films are so enjoyable because of their sense of freedom. The lack of any heavy censorship wasn’t a free pass to push taste boundaries, rather it made sure that dialogue could be written to not only better reflect life but to represent the viewers’ and the writers’ often varied tastes.

In contrast, late '30s movies like Three Men on a Horse seemed to develop a ‘wise guy’ patter that gives the impression of street level talk in its pitch, speed and rhythm, but in actual fact ends up saying nothing. Of course, this in itself was all part of Hollywood’s ‘re-branding’ in the post-Depression years, as the studio product got slicker and the stars became vehicles to push the glamour and prestige of film making. The point is, despite the witty script, it gets to a point where it’s just a group of men loudly talking at each other. In 1931, it would have been a different story. Perhaps not as well filmed and acted, but certainly a different story.

The cast in itself is mostly excellent. Frank McHugh is mesmerizing in the lead, tripping through the movie in a sort of naïve daze. His bleary eyed look gives the impression of a man out of step with the world and who has to put up with suburbia and a nagging wife in order to have a hobby that gives him enjoyment. The gamblers, played by Allen Jenkins, Teddy Hart and Sam Levene are impressive in that typical Warners way and hugely energetic but sadly hampered by really stagey accents. In fact everyone in the movie seems to have a really annoying thick Brooklyn accent of the ’I’ll moider ya’ and ‘you goys got a noive' variety. In fact Sam Levene’s accent as the dimmest of the three hoodlums doesn’t just verge on caricature, it practically throws caricature off the cliff then sets fire to it. Now, if all this is meant as some warped parody of the Warner Brothers gangster cycle then all is well and good, but I really doubt that was the intention. It may be a result of the script’s stage bound beginnings giving it a sense of heightened reality, but for a mostly stage bound movie it just becomes distracting. At times (and especially in the bar scenes) it really is as if the director Mervyn LeRoy just decided to do a performance of the play and film it for posterity.

Of course all this criticism is overlooking the good points of the film. The rest of the cast is really excellent, with Edgar Kennedy restraining the slow burn as a bartender, Carol Hughes (a childhood favourite of mine for her turn as Dale Arden in Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe) as Mc Hugh’s eternally crying wife, Guy Kibbee as McHugh’s blustering boss and a brief, funny appearance from a pre-Jack Benny Eddie Anderson. As noted, it’s an excellent cast, but the approach just doesn’t work as a film and the accents are exactly what you hear in modern dramas when they do some awful pastiche of 1930s Broadway. Which brings us to Joan Blondell…

Unfortunately Joan Blondell succumbs to the theatrics of the play and sports a heavy, heavy Brooklyn accent, a la Judy Holliday in Born Yesterday but with none of the subtlety and charm. The accent is so thick that her character, the girlfriend of gambler Teddy Hart who has pretensions of a quiet life in the suburbs, can't avoid becoming caricature rather than character. Strangely enough I’ve just listened to a Lux Radio Theater production of She Loves Me Not from 1937 where she does exactly the same accent and it’s equally distracting and ridiculous (kind of like a lower pitched and more worldly wise Dorothy Lee). So the accent must have been her idea and a favourite to boot. Anyway, accent aside she really doesn’t do enough to merit her second from top billing, which begs the question, what was she doing in the picture in the first place? It’s clearly a B picture populated with character actors in featured roles, so why is she, the biggest star in the film, reduced to a minor supporting part?

Part of the answer may be down to Joan’s own lack of ambition and her then recent marriage to Dick Powell. She was known to just want to keep working and looking after her family rather than play studio politics so it’s likely that she was offered the script and chose to do it based on the strength of the writing and relative fame of the play. However, her appearance in the movie could also be a sign that her star was beginning to slip. Her screen appearances in 1936 give some hints as to this, despite three pictures teaming her with Dick Powell. In Sons O’ Guns she is lumbered with (and smothered by) Joe E. Brown as a leading man, and while Bullets for Ballots gives her a choice role with Edward G. Robinson, it is really just as the featured female lead in a 100% Robinson movie.

This was a pattern she would fall into more often than not in the years to come: the bright dependable leading lady to be paired up with A-list featured male stars (with Errol Flynn in The Perfect Specimen, Leslie Howard in Stand In and Bing Crosby in East Side of Heaven to name a few). In the late ‘30s and beyond there seemed to fewer and fewer opportunities for an equal pairing with her co-stars, with Dick Powell and Pat O’Brien being notable exceptions. Three Men on a Horse, silly accent aside may be one of the first indications that Joan was an actress to be slotted in to brighten up a movie, rather than a featured star in her own right. Of course, Joan being Joan, she didn’t fight it, choosing rather to get on with the work at hand. Perhaps if, like Bette Davis and Myrna Loy she had stood up against the quality of her parts it would have made a difference to her career. On the other hand, perhaps the example of the then fading Kay Francis at Warners was enough to make anyone forget such ideas.

I don’t know, but I can’t help but think that Joan Blondell is wasted in Three Men on a Horse, though ultimately she lends some class and real star power to a pretty cheap B-picture (Paul Harvey even fluffs a line and it stays in the film!). It’s not a perfect movie by any means but it is entertaining (in a 1936 sort of way) and features a generous spotlight on a number of actors more used to smaller roles. For my tastes however, it raises too many problems to make it a classic. And those accents…ugh. Did people in Brooklyn ever speak like that?

Lux Radio Theater # 2 - So You Want to Be a Movie Star?

Make Me a Star (1932)

One of the underlying themes of the Lux Radio Theater is that of Hollywood as a shaper of dreams. As well as selling cakes of soap, the program makers are also selling the idea of Hollywood as the place to look towards for glamour, fashion, fame and fortune. Even the adverts for Lux throughout the show take the form of the weekly adventures of some unnamed starlets on the studio back lot discussing why they don’t have skin as smooth as Carole Lombard’s (Hint: it’s got something to do with Lux). The various Hollywood experts and insiders that appear on the show not only give a glimpse behind the curtain but also give advice, on everything from next season’s fashions to, in this case how to break into acting. So, if you’ve ever wanted to find out whether you would have had what it took to become a star in the Hollywood of 1936, here’s your chance… On the July 27th episode (Chained starring Joan Crawford and Franchot Tone), host Cecil B. DeMille interviews the dramatic coach for MGM studios, Oliver Hinsdale and asks the immortal question, “How can I get into the movies?” Mr Hinsdale starts off by advising the prospective starlet to get some theater experience and to “live without food” in the quest to give your all to the dramatic arts. He then gives his formula for success in movie acting: An actor should have “imagination, idealism, sincerity, knowledge of life, a true love of mankind and a good appearance”. He goes on: “The aspiring actor must have a broad vision and understanding, a cultivated mind, he should know of history, literature, painting, sculpture, music. He should know his Bible. His body must be healthy, active and respond to his bidding. (He should have) a fine clear complexion which denotes health and vitality.” He then plugs Lux (well, it was in his contract) then continues: “You do not need to be beautiful. Marie Dressler and Wally Beery never won beauty contests. If you are beautiful don’t be misled into thinking that is all that is required to get into movies. The ranks of Hollywood’s unemployed are full of those with nothing but beauty. I’ve tested at least 100,000 young men and women for the screen…of these only 17 made the grade. Among them are Jean Parker, Robert Taylor, Irene Hervey, Martha Sleeper, Mary Carlisle, Robert Young, Betty Furness, Michael Whalen and Virginia Bruce.” He ends by apologizing if his advice has been overly negative but adds, “We always need talent. Your chance will come when you are ready and only then. Good luck” And with that the hopes and dreams of thousands of aspiring stars where forever crushed. The cries of “What, you mean it involves hard work!?” were at that moment heard throughout America and the collective youth of 1936 heaved a resigned sigh and went back to reading the stories about how Kay Francis wears her hats in Photoplay. It's interesting to think of how many actual stars in 1936 fitted the description given. I doubt John Barrymore or Errol Flynn had healthy bodies that responded to their bidding. And as for being well versed in the arts, well... So if you think you’ve got the qualifications to make in mid ‘30s Hollywood and have a time machine handy, be sure to read these words, and for goodness sake make sure you pack some Lux!

Happy Birthday William Powell!

I’ve always found William Powell to be hugely entertaining to watch, with a screen persona that matched elegance, wit and sophistication with a self-effacing and genial charm. I realize that he is still very popular with the classic movie crowd but it’s such a shame that he has not been remembered as much by the media and general public. Of course, the Thin Man films have had an enduring appeal and for him probably amount to the closest to cinematic immortality that he is likely to get, but there is really so much more to his career than just Nick and Nora.

I have to admit, much to my eternal shame, that I haven’t seen any of his silent films. I can’t comment on him as a silent actor though he had obviously established himself as a fairly big star by the time sound was introduced. Like Ronald Colman, it’s a testament to his immediate success in sound that his silent triumphs have been virtually forgotten but Powell had a voice that perfectly matched his persona and he seems to have taken to the new technology straight away.

It’s really his Paramount and Warner Brothers films that I find most rewarding to watch. Here, his screen character is a shade darker and more serious and he shows his ability to he a compelling and confident leading man. This, combined with his criminally overlooked partnership with Kay Francis (six films in total) set him out as a heavyweight star of dramas and romances. And if anyone out there hasn’t seen One Way Passage, stop what you are doing and go and watch it NOW! Beg, borrow and steal to get hold of it because it needs to be seen!

Of course, the eventual move to MGM propelled him into the upper echelon of stars and resulted in one of the best screen partnerships in film history so it’s not like it was a step down. The Powell-Loy partnership really is cinematic gold and one of the reasons why I’m proud to be a fan of classic movies. Regardless of entertainment value they also show Powell’s range and amazing gift for light (and sometimes quite bizarre) comedy.

Unfortunately I find that his late ‘30s and ‘40s films without Loy lack a certain ‘something’. Often it’s the fault of the film itself (the uninspiring Crossroads for example) and other times it’s due to his co-star merely being a Myrna Loy surrogate because she wasn’t available for the film (The Ex-Mrs. Bradford take a bow). Despite this I must admit to a fondness for Mr Peabody and the Mermaid and its threadbare charm and heartily recommend it.

In the end, though teaming with Loy was a great career move, it ultimately worked out better for her. She continued to be a star in her own right whereas Powell started to become defined primarily by the partnership and the character he developed with her. Their films may well be cinematic gold but they started to limit his career and the types of roles given to him. Of course, another explanation for his career lull could be the unfortunate death of Jean Harlow and his own later health problems. However, on the whole he has a filmography to be proud of, and unlike a lot of his contemporaries, he knew when to quit and managed to go out on top and in a dignified manner.

However, the best thing about William Powell is the emotions he evokes. He’s one of those stars that always bring a smile to my face and for whom I like so many others, hold real affection for. There’s something very genuine in him and his performances, a real and infectious sense of fun and enjoyment. As I find myself saying all too often, he is one of those stars that make it look all so effortless and easy, but this just shows what a huge talent he was. Like all great film stars, besides being a good actor he represents an ideal and an aspiration, and to me he represents warmth, sophistication and good humour (as well as tuxedos, cocktails and crime solving but that goes without saying). In fact, most importantly he represents everything I enjoy about Hollywood films in the 1930s.

Lux Radio Theater - The All-American Beauty Team 1917-1937

I’ve recently been preparing an article on the Lux Radio Theater, the long running radio anthology that ran from 1934 to 1955 hosted for much of the run by Cecil B. DeMille. Specifically I’ve been listening to a lot of the early episodes (the ones available anyway) and recently came across an interesting piece of Hollywood fluff from the opening episode of the 1937/38 season, their adaptation of A Star is Born. As was usual on the show, Cecil B.DeMille would interview all manner of Hollywood insiders and back stagers on life in the movie colony, as a way of breaking up the drama into commercial friendly segments. As a result, all manner of people are interviewed: glove makers, talent scouts, continuity experts, historical researchers and gossip columnists to name a few. On this particular episode, DeMille interviews John LeRoy Johnston, the managing editor of Hollywood and Screen Book magazines. On a side note, these were apparently on the cheaper end of the magazine market and indulged in all manner of gossip and fabrication, and it’s quite surprising that they get a free plug on the show. Anyway, Mr Johnston decides to talk about his views on beauty and “the most beautiful women in motion pictures in twenty years (sic)”. He decides to list his all time favourites and when asked his basis and criteria for the list he replies, The typical American conception of beauty, by this I mean normal, charming finely chiseled features, clear expressive eyes, intelligence, poise, well…to be honest, loveliness. DeMille asks him what is best, the “old fashioned type of yesteryear or the athletic type of today?” He answers, I don’t think the American ideal of beauty has or will ever change. I think every man admires the lovely dainty feminine woman. If she’s truly beautiful she’ll look beautiful in crinoline or slacks. He then goes on to name his most beautiful women of the screen from 1917 to 1937, the “All American Team”. And without further ado, and in mostly chronological order, here they are...

Alice Joyce Corinne Griffith Clara Kimball Young Billie Dove

Mary Nolan Joan Crawford Janet Gaynor Jeanette MacDonald

Dolores Del Rio

Norma Shearer

Madeleine Carroll

After that he names his 2nd Team as: Anne Harding, Carole Lombard, Joan Bennett, Anita Louise, Madge Bellamy, Virginia Bruce, Mary Astor, Gloria Stuart, Olivia de Havilland, Mary Brian and Marla Shelton. Obviously the 2nd team is full of then-current actresses and is interesting in itself, (I had to look up Marla Shelton as I’d never heard of her) but the 1st team is a pretty fair survey of the previous twenty years from a guy close to the business. Perhaps the only person who perhaps shouldn’t normally be on the list is Janet Gaynor, not for a lack of beauty, but only because she was the star of the night’s play and Johnston probably felt she had to be on the list to avoid her losing face. Either that or it's an awfully lucky coincidence. It’s also an interesting list based on the ideals of beauty at the time, notably with DeMille’s mention of the current “athletic” look. At the time, and throughout the Lux show, they seem to be taking great pains to convince the listener that the stars of the day are fit and healthy, as they constantly detail the exercise regime every star has to go through daily. It comes across as one of many efforts to legitimize movie acting, and to attempt to convince people that Hollywood is no longer "Sin City". Johnston’s description of the American ideal of feminine beauty is also vaguely amusing, as the way he mentions clear eyes and poise he could as well be judging at a dog show… The list is also notable for who it misses out, but ultimately it’s one man’s opinion, and a brave one at that. Predictably Cecil B.DeMille wouldn’t be drawn as to his opinions of the choices, and personally I think I’ll keep most of mine to myself too...

Hold 'Em Jail (1932) - Wheeler and Woolsey Beat The Marx Brothers at Their Own Game (Almost)

I’m unashamedly becoming an enormous fan of Wheeler and Woolsey and I’m finding that in watching their films in order they seem to just get better and better. Of course, I know that the Hays Code and studio apathy towards comedy eventually ends their run of good pictures but with Hold ‘Em Jail, their eleventh feature together, one can see a comedy double act at the height of their powers. Of course, for a lot of people the main point of interest is in the contribution of writer S. J. Perelman, one of the Marx Brothers most lauded scriptwriters. In this case the interest lies in the similarity between elements of this film, and Perelman’s previous effort, the Marx Brothers’ Horse Feathers. Both pictures concern college football and end with a climactic, gag filled football match. Without knowing the background to the writing of the two films, the similarity is odd and suggests either a startling coincidence or an even more startling lack of ideas. Whatever the reason, the Wheeler and Woolsey version, whilst not as well known, certainly pulls its weight in the comedy stakes and in some ways *whisper* is the funnier of the two films.

Hold ‘Em Jail manages to poke fun at two different genres, the football picture and the prison picture, and by combining them does so in a rather unique way. The film is set in probably the world’s most incompetently run prison, which also happens to have the worst prison football team. The warden is being laughed at by the other wardens and risks being thrown out of the prison football league if he loses the upcoming derby (he also stands to lose all his money due to a bet he’s put on). In a desperate measure he hires a mobster to recruit for “the old alma mater”. The substitution of a college for a prison is a clever one as it highlights the lack of difference between the two. The football game is more important than running the prison as indeed the game is always more important than academic achievement of a college. The “recruit at all costs” idea also gives the plot a lot more comic mileage as career criminals are convinced to get arrested “just for the football season”.

Of course, the satire takes a back seat to our stars, the irrepressible Wheeler and Woolsey. The pair play a couple of joke salesmen who get framed for a hold up and then, once in prison get mistaken for star football players. Along the way we get the familiar romantic pairings, (Bert Wheeler gets the young pretty girl, Robert Woolsey hooks up with the Margaret Dumont substitute) fast talking, lowbrow gags and the knockabout humour which regularly made up the successful Wheeler and Woolsey formula. However, where Hold ‘Em Jail really shines is in its excellent casting and in its polished script.

A fantastic cast is assembled for the film, full of familiar faces and comedy veterans, but perhaps the most inspired casting is of Edgar Kennedy as the prison warden. The film even opens with a variation of the famous Kennedy slow burn and throughout the film he positively sizzles with pent up frustration and rage. His first scene with Wheeler and Woolsey, in which they try to sell him novelties (they shower him with confetti, horns, balloons and lock him in a Chinese finger puzzle) is a breathtaking set piece of back and forth talking and constant subtle comic business. Such is the pace that I can’t imagine how long they spent rehearsing the scene but the end result looks utterly natural and smooth with each performer making the other two really work to keep up the pace. Kennedy really holds the picture together in his scenes and it reminded me how good he was as a straight man who could react against others to get his own laughs (a very difficult skill). It’s in scenes like this that the S.J. Perelman influence can really be seen, especially in Robert Woolsey’s cigar smoking wise guy routine (even down to his seduction of a frumpy older woman). Although this had been established as his character in most of the previous films, he is especially Groucho-like in this film, though in this case he manages to stamp his own personality on the familiar situations.

Speaking of frumpy older women, if you can’t get Margaret Dumont, the next best choice has to be Edna Mae Oliver, in her third film with the double act and clearly having a great time. She plays Kennedy’s sister who constantly feigns a prim and proper exterior, only to reveal her slightly more liberal and cheeky ways at the drop of a hat. It’s a really clever and assured performance from her and she wrings every bit of innuendo out of her comic exchanges, showing great chemistry with Woolsey. Memorably she declares that she learnt to sing after “I spent four years in Paris, though of course I’m not virtuoso”. Woolsey fires back, “Not after four years in Paris, no”. With a raise of the eyebrow she stops playing the piano and responds, “I trust we’re both talking about the same thing?”

The rest of the cast is just as well chosen, with appearances from Roscoe Ates, Robert Armstrong, Warren Hymer and comedy veterans Stanley Blystone, Monty Banks, Monte Collins and the ever-wonderful Charlie Hall. The only disappointing member of the cast is a very young Betty Grable as the love interest for Bert Wheeler. While she is fine in the role and does very well, it’s really the part traditionally taken by Dorothy Lee in these pictures and a Wheeler and Woolsey film without her just doesn’t feel right.

Along the way there is lots of very silly comedy. After all, audiences did not expect sophistication from this team. There is a brilliant bit of business where the boys try to get Roscoe Ates’ ball and chain removed by sticking his leg in a fire. As his whole leg goes up in flames, Ates sheepishly notes, “I think my foot is burning”. Wheeler looks at it and replies, “Yes, looks like it is…it’s burning” There’s a long pause while the three men vacantly stare at the burning leg. This vein of absurd humour showcases itself well in the climactic football match at the end of the film. While it’s not as polished as the similar game from Horse Feathers, it certainly has a knockabout charm and at times looks positively under rehearsed. They do all the usual stuff like running the wrong way, physical pile ups (puny Wheeler getting crushed by the burly opposing team), using decoys and hiding the ball, all to good comic effect, though you have to wonder what the response from the public would be, with Hold ‘Em Jail being released only a month after Horse Feathers.

However, some nice gags are dug up in between, such as an amusing scene where Wheeler’s pants get ripped off while running away, leading to some embarrassed looks (and Edna May Oliver remarking “I didn’t know football was so interesting!”) as a towel is put up while he changes. Generally Bert Wheeler’s physical skills make the whole football sequence worthwhile as he clowns and pantomimes his way through the final reel and its rough and ready climax. His staggering towards the line to score the winning touchdown is just so over the top and stupid that you can’t help but cheer as he somehow manages to win the game for his team. Whereas the Marx Brothers try to subvert the rules of football, Wheeler and Woolsey are just lucky to survive, such is their lack of smarts. Remember, no highbrow stuff here.

While the dialogue generally isn’t as pre-code and racy as in some of their previous films, the writing in Hold ‘Em Jail is particularly sharp and Wheeler and Woolsey carry it off with impeccable quick fire timing worthy of the Marx Brothers at their best. The confidence and exuberance shown in this film and the few before it show a team that is really getting into its stride. Wheeler and Woolsey aren’t the most likeable comedy team in film history, but they exude the brash Depression era spirit that makes us root for them. No team in film comedy is so much of their own time, these are two guys cut from the same cloth as Joan Blondell, Glenda Farrell and all their Warner Brothers ilk.

Of course, Horse Feathers is undoubtedly the better film, but Hold ‘Em Jail is by far the more enjoyable of the two. Whether S.J. Perelman used some of his left over ideas for the script remains a mystery to me, but it seems, whatever his eventual contribution to the script that Hold Em Jail, unshackled by high expectations rewards in a far more carefree and endearing manner.

Parachute Jumper (1933) - Not Enough Parachute Jumping and Not Enough Bette Davis

“She’s got a southern accent like I’ve got a southern accent”

Just like Sunset Blvd decided to stick the knife into the corpse of Queen Kelly, almost as if to thumb its nose at a relic of a bygone age (and in full view of an uncomfortable Erich von Stroheim), so too did Parachute Jumper receive a posthumous kicking almost thirty years later in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? As a result, and perhaps a little out of embarrassment, Bette Davis would for years mention how awful the movie and her performance in it were. I really didn’t know what to expect when I finally saw it, and although it’s actually a pretty decent movie, it turns out that the 30s producer character in Baby Jane was right about the accent but very wrong about the acting and the film.

Sadly, Bette Davis doesn’t really have a whole lot to do in the picture, as the story really belongs to Douglas Fairbanks Jr. He’s surprisingly good here, and does everything right but I always feel with him that no matter how respectable his career was, that possibly more than anyone in Hollywood he’s just someone who can’t escape the shadow of his last name. He’s always charming and never less than competent but he’s just not the larger than life character that you expect from the name Fairbanks.

Anyway, the story concerns Fairbanks and his pal Frank McHugh who are a pair of ex Marines looking for work in the Depression. They find a friend in Bette Davis and quickly decide to set up home with her for reasons not entirely explained or plausible. From there Fairbanks does whatever he can to earn money, becoming a parachute jumper (to justify the incredibly bland title), a chauffeur, a bodyguard and eventually a smuggler. That’s really it for the plot, but the fun comes from the colourful details as the film gallops through its breakneck running time of just over an hour. The film positively reeks of the Depression, with numerous episodes devoted to the survive-at-all-costs attitude, combined with some rather salacious pre-code fun.

Fairbanks shows quite a loose and playful acting style from the outset as he firstly staggers around drunk in a cantina (the tongue in cheek opening shot is of a rumba-ing bottom which pans out to show Doug cavorting with a dancing senorita while supposedly on duty with the Marines) then later while getting dressed in his apartment (he shares clothes with McHugh to save money) mincing around using a camp showgirl voice complete with exaggerated hand gestures (“Say listen dearie…”). It’s certainly not the image one expects from him but it’s so disarming and...unusual that he just about pulls it off.

Enter Bette Davis and her southern accent that veers from Dixieland drawl to Mae West impersonation then occasionally just reverts to her regular accent. Well, at least she tries. Doug and Bette bond over stealing from the local diner, then in the most heinous action I’ve ever seen in a movie, they steal a fish right from the mouth of a poor starving kitty cat. The confused little thing just blankly meows as if in shock then licks the sidewalk as if to convince itself that it will eat tonight, and it will feed it's poor starving kittens. Our heroes walk away laughing smugly to themselves. Animal cruelty is fun, isn’t it? No Mr Fairbanks, no it's not.

They move in together after just meeting, though in a platonic sense – she can do the cooking and housework for him. However, on the first night Doug walks into her room in the middle of the night, the cad. When Davis kicks him out he apologises with “It’s not going to happen again, at least not while I’m sober”. She replies, “Well, I’ll take a chance”. Either things were really bad during the Depression or she’s very easily convinced. Similarly, all Doug has to do to get his first job as a…(wait for it) parachute jumper, is tell the pilots that he has some experience in flying. That is it, no questions asked and before you know it he’s flinging himself out of a biplane and onto the tracks of an oncoming train. Again, either people were really gullible in the 30s or the Depression really thinned out the talent pool.

After this, the whole parachute jumper angle is dropped and we get to the real plot (you’d almost think that they had some footage of someone jumping out of a plane and they couldn’t find the right film to put in) where Fairbanks is hired by socialite Claire Dodd to be her chauffeur. His interview is hilarious as Dodd, who almost steals the picture channels the spirit of Lady Chatterley as she sees what he’s made of. Basically the interview consists of Doug taking his jacket off as Dodd feels his muscles and remarks “You seem to be a very well built young man!” You’re hired!

Later she turns on the charm again after he delivers her home. After noting that he’s earned himself a drink she notes that he’s “not just an ordinary chauffeur” and that the job will include “considerable night work”. Finally, in case we didn’t understand what she was getting at she mentions that her previous chauffeurs were all Frenchmen because they are “more versatile”. And just how much were you paying?

After such pre code hi jinks the film reverts to a kind of dull smuggling plot that is only enlivened by the revelation that Fairbanks and McHugh were not smuggling alcohol across the border but dope! Just due to its relative rarity as a plot devise, the admission that the bad guy is a drug baron is pretty shocking. Leo Carrillo (later to achieve a kind of immortality playing Pancho in The Cisco Kid on TV and in numerous other westerns) plays the villain of the piece with a smooth menace. He’s particularly good in an early scene when he kicks out Claire Dodd (shouting “don’t come back you bag!”) and later when he hires Bette Davis (yes, the writers find something for her to do) to be his stenographer. In the scene used to show how awful Baby Jane was as a juvenile lead, Davis doesn’t do too badly, using her not inconsiderable feminine wiles to get the job. It goes to show that context is everything, just like when they show clips of silent films in adverts for laughs. In it’s place it’s a pretty good scene. Twenty-nine years later in another film, it looks a little ropey.

After some thrilling aerial stunt scenes, and a possibly quite raucous gag where Frank McHugh gives the finger to a passing motorist (I watched the scene over a few times and he seems to raise his index finger but we’re clearly meant to thing it’s his middle one) we to get the final scene where Fairbanks runs through an office block looking for Davis, saying “I’m going to go through this building like a dose of…” before being cut off by the closing of the elevator door. He runs from office to office, barging in on a number of scenes, one of which involves a rather fey man taking notes. Doug puts on his showgirl voice again and briefly camps it up to apologise in an unexpected piece of 30s homophobia. In the end we never find out what office Davis was in, as he snatches her away from something unimportant (like you know, getting a job in the poverty stricken Depression) so that they can go back to his life of kissing predatory socialites, the hilarity of petty theft, being vaguely homophobic and getting enjoyment from watching animals starve to death. Life is fun if you are a parachute jumper!

When it comes down to it Parachute Jumper is a grubby little slice of life on the street level of the early 30s. I wouldn’t say Douglas Fairbanks Jr is charming as the hero but he’s certainly got some nerve and goes all out in the role. It’s a shame that Bette Davis wasn’t used better but, wobbly accent aside she does some good work when given screen time. However, I’d say that Parachute Jumper must rate with Lawyer Man as one of the most generic titles that Warners ever came up with. Yes, it’s technically correct but really, with a title like that I would expect…well, some more parachute jumping for a start.

Hot Saturday (1932) - Cary Grant Needs to Work on his Cary Grant-ness...

For years, Cary Grant was my favourite film star and one of the idols of my formative years. I watched all his movies that appeared on television and feverishly read any biographies I could get my hands on. After a while the new films to watch dried up so I rested him for a few years and moved on in other directions. Recently I’ve returned to him, filled all the gaps in my collection and then watched a number of his films only to find that…well it’s not the same. For reasons that I haven’t yet fully understood, I’m not enjoying his movies as much as I used to and most of the ones I’ve viewed lately, whether they were good films or bad have left me a little disappointed by his performance (for the record these films have been When You’re in Love, Kiss Them for Me, Wedding Present, I’m No Angel, Only Angels Have Wings, Holiday and Indiscreet). While Cary Grant is still the benchmark in my life when it comes to sartorial elegance and gentlemanly conduct, I’m finding that there’s just something missing when I watch my former favourite on the screen. He’s just not matching my memories from when I was younger. What’s wrong with me, am I ill?

Which brings me to Hot Saturday, currently the earliest performance of Cary Grant that I’ve seen (actually I’ve watched Singapore Sue but that doesn’t really count). Though top billed, he’s not really the star as that honour belongs to Nancy Carroll. She plays Ruth Brock, a pretty girl in the sleepy small town of Marysville who regularly has to fight off the attention of the bored young men at the bank where she works. She meets local playboy Romer Sheffield (Grant) who invites everyone down to his house for a party, the ‘Hot Saturday’ of the title. From there we get the usual melodrama of love affairs and misunderstandings with the main message being the petty-mindedness of small town gossips as Ruth becomes a scarlet woman due to her carefree attitudes. There’s quite a lot to talk about in the film (short version: Nancy Carroll does a ridiculous Lillian Gish impression, lots of underwear on show gratuitously, Randolph Scott undressing an unconscious woman in a cave and a hilarious turn from Grady Sutton) but just this once I’m going to ignore all that and talk about one aspect, the aforementioned Mr. Grant.

Cary Grant’s character in Hot Saturday is interesting as not only is it his first leading role but possibly his first excursion playing the “Cary Grant” character that he would go on to perfect, both on and off screen. Here he hasn’t quite figured out the formula. As Sheffield he is charming and romantic but with an altogether harder heart. For example, at the start of the film he pulls up outside the bank with his current girlfriend, who is promptly dispatched with once Nancy Carroll becomes the new object of his affections (complete with monetary pay off). When he asks his servant if she has left a message for him, the reply is “..she said you can go to h...the devil”. Sheffield is obviously a worldly-wise character with a long line of female conquests to his name.

You get the feeling with Grant in this picture that he is still finding his way in this sort of role, still piecing together his screen alter ego. At his party he’s decked out in boating whites and blazer, and walks around with an almost Gatsbyesque air of bored detachment (everybody is enjoying the food and drink except him). When trying to woo Nancy Carroll the words sound lovely but the delivery is hesitant and at times empty. He also has that strangely toothy and feminine smile that he only seems to have in early portrait pictures. It’s almost as if he hasn’t even grown into his face either. He’s not helped by a lack of close ups and some bad continuity throughout the film as he sports a healthy and deep tan in some scenes, only to have the white pancake makeup on in the next. It’s an altogether stuttering start for the local lothario.

Despite these teething troubles, his character certainly shows the suave arrogance of a true cad to match his detachment. After trying his best pick up lines on Carroll at the party, he emerges hand in hand with her in full view of her current beau as if to highlight that he is used to women falling into his lap regardless of their existing relationships. Later in the film when Carroll appears at his house late at night we find the young playboy lounging about on his porch in his smoking jacket. He seems unsurprised to see her and admits that when he saw her he knew he had to have her. When Carroll talks marriage he replies “Marriage…ownership...dreadful thought isn’t it?” He has the casual attitude of a bored playboy who is used to living his life the way he wants and used to getting what he wants, and usually through money. This is scripted without a trace of emptiness on his part - up to this point money has bought him happiness. Though it’s early days, this embryonic version of the ‘Cary Grant’ character is with hindsight quite troubling. After all, Cary Grant without a heart, without a sense of compromise, without the ability to be ridiculous and self depreciating is, well…you can fill in the name of your least favourite leading man if you want to be cruel.

Luckily by the final reel Cary has a sudden change of heart and starts to really look a bit more familiar to our modern eyes. When informed that Nancy Carroll is due to marry longtime friend Randolph Scott he accepts the news with disappointment but also grace and gallantry (and all while impeccably dressed in a tuxedo). It’s an unexpected admission for a man who gets everything he wants that he has lost for the first time in his life. However, this in turn leads to the frankly unbelievable ending where Carroll decides to run off with Grant and get married. Yes, faced with scandal and ruin, she sides with the home wrecking cad. Worse still, he goes along with it - what happened to all that dreadful ownership stuff?

Hot Saturday is interesting for what could have been had this character emerged as the template for Cary Grant’s screen persona. Though his character had a somewhat ambiguous morality, I can’t say I enjoyed his performance and I wouldn’t say that it is in any way a star making turn, though these days it’s impossible to put yourself in the shoes of a viewer seeing Cary Grant for the first time. I’m afraid that for me the movie continued the run of under whelming performances by Grant. What’s interesting is that the suave playboy he portrays in Hot Saturday certainly lacks ‘something’, with his empty words and arrogance. Of course, that ‘something’ is the special magic that Cary Grant eventually brought to his roles as a star, that unique charm that made him stand out from the crowd and made him my favourite actor for so many years. It’s strange watching him in the process of finding that magic and seeing him misjudge a few steps on his way to creating one of the most enduring and popular characters in film history. I guess I’ll have to find a way to reconnect with Cary Grant with the next film I watch…

Girls About Town (1931) - Kay Francis and Lilyan Tashman Check Their Morals at the Door

Girls About Town is one of those pre code films that deal with a somewhat undefined sense of morality. The girls in question are Kay Francis and Lilyan Tashman, and the town is well, any town though strangely they spend a lot of the film on a boat. The two stars play a couple of gold diggers who spend each night taking out wealthy businessmen to show them a good time on the town. For giving the men this service they get well paid by the mysterious “Jerry”, their agent of sorts (well that’s a polite word for it). Unsurprisingly this set up is never called into question, and “Jerry”, if indeed that is his real name, manages to sleep well at night, his conscience untroubled. The two girls live together in their plush apartment on the money they earn for their “services” and the “gifts” they procure from the various middle aged men they have wrapped round their little fingers. They sleep during the day, go out at night in their finest clothes, party the night away, only to return early the next morning to bed for the cycle to begin again. Of course this being the 1930s the question of sex is never mentioned, and in this case never even hinted at, but their lifestyle was certainly something that wasn’t going make the Catholic Legion of Decency too happy.

The basic theme of the movie is how far you can take the gold digger lifestyle and whether it truly buys you happiness. Of the two girls Marie (Tashman) is more concerned with wealth and what she can get from people, but Wanda (Francis) is beginning to have doubts and wants to settle down. From there we get the usual twists and turns of melodrama, action and comedy with a fairly sharp script from silent film star and soon to be successful producer Raymond Griffith.

The film, directed by George Cukor begins at a breakneck speed with a clever title sequence that has the stars’ names in neon lights over city scenes of buildings, bright lights and merriment. We then get a dizzying montage of the girls taking out some clients, with fast cuts to the faces as the girls pretend to look interested and the men get more and more drunk, while champagne bottles pop their corks over the picture. As far as setting a scene and getting you straight into the story and its characters it’s about as effective as you will ever see and highlights the great economy of script and scene used in the films of this era (the film itself is a snappy 69 minutes). After this a tracking shot of the girls’ bedroom showing the effects of the night before brings the action up to date. I’ve never been a huge fan of Cukor but it’s an impressive start.

The girls get the call from Jerry and go to a boat for their next assignment, entertaining a businessman and his assistant, played by Eugene Pallette and Joel McCrea respectively. From here Tashman pairs up with Pallette to milk him of his money and Francis falls in love with McCrea. Although the film starts promisingly, it soon starts to get a bit patchy, mostly because it doesn’t know whether it’s a light comedy or a full blown Kay Francis style melodrama. Both are good in their own way, but sandwiched here side by side they don’t quite add up.

On the comedy side we get Lilyan Tashman’s exploits as she tries to get practical joker (and skinflint) Pallette to part with his money and jewels. Eugene Pallette is particularly good as the annoying prankster (and since this is the earliest of his films I’ve seen is considerably thinner and less raspy throated than I’m used to) who regales everyone with stories of the awful jokes he’s pulled, especially savouring the poor woman who “got such a surprise she fell and hit her head on a chair”. Tashman goes all out to get the money, eventually involving his wife, a bit of blackmail and a sort of happy ending. This plot line possibly could have supported the movie on its own with plenty opportunities for Tashman to swindle the money and get one over on the stingy businessman.

However, we also have the Kay Francis storyline to deal with. Kay looks wonderful throughout the film, positively glowing with glamour (though as usual perhaps just a little too much eye make up). Her story involves her love affair with Joel McCrea (who really doesn’t do much to stand out in this movie) and the sudden revelation that “I haven’t lived the prettiest life in the world” and that shock! she’s already married! and that shock! her husband is also married! This bigamy (and subsequent blackmail) sub plot just comes out of nowhere and isn’t in the least bit convincing. However, it is introduced in a very subtle and clever manner. Kay phones her estranged husband, and as they talk we slowly see a woman’s leg in the background hanging off the edge of a bed. After the call the brief conversation between the two lets the viewer in on the secret shame. The sad thing is that Kay levels this announcement on poor Joel while at the zoo. They had been happily poking the rather circus like cages full of sad looking bears and monkeys, and he had even bought her a nice balloon, before getting slapped in the teeth with the “but I’m married!” speech. The moral: never go on a date with Kay Francis. you'll buy her a balloon and this is how it will end.

So the trick of the film is to draw these two plots together and sadly it just doesn’t quite work. The other problem with the film is that of Lilyan Tashman. While she is undoubtedly very good and very funny in the movie, she is seen only in contrast to Kay Francis’ gold digger with a heart character. It’s almost as if she has decided to harden her character to differentiate herself and the result is at times too severe. Even though she helps get a marriage back together at the end, she is still too mercenary (and unrepentant) to be wholly sympathetic. Perhaps it’s her face, which is better suited to portraying frosty other women or society dames (as she did wonderfully in The Marriage Playground). An actress like Glenda Farrell would have been more suitable for the role and able to bring some more warmth to a funny but potentially unlikable character. However it’s only a minor quibble as Tashman, regardless of how she plays the role is full of energy and her contribution to the film is far more interesting than the drippy melodrama of the Kay Francis story.

That said Kay Francis is also excellent in her role. She seems most at ease with the comedy and gives the impression (at least at the start) of being a happy and carefree girl about town, resplendent in shiny gowns and fur coats. As expected the bigamy subplot all works out in the end and we get our usual pre code cop out on any truly scandalous behaviour. What is worth mentioning however is the film’s one real pre code moment where, fresh from a dip in the sea Miss Francis proceeds to do a scene with McCrea in her soaking wet and completely see through white top. I was actually shocked that they left the scene in and didn’t think to cover her up, for her own modesty as much as anything. I guess it helped to sell tickets, in fact I’m sure it did.

Essentially the film is all good clean fun under the pretense of being a bit risqué. It’s unusual that these sorts of morally dubious female characters frequently haunt films of the pre code era, and more so that their lifestyles are usually held up to be something to aspire to or at least sympathize with. The popularity of the “gold digger” character shows that the audiences of the Depression wanted to see women claw their way up the rungs of society by using their sex appeal and street smarts to their advantage. Whether it’s exploitative or empowering is difficult to say but the sheer style of the string of actresses who played these characters at least makes it entertaining and palatable regardless of morality and after 1934 it would quite a while before women would get to enjoy themselves as much on screen.

Girls About Town is an interesting and engaging movie that nonetheless leaves the viewer uneasy as to where their sympathies should lie. Should we applaud Lilyan Tashman’s character for living the high life and getting what she can out of others with no guilt or remorse? Or, as Kay Francis notes as she tries to seduce an unwilling Joel McCrea, is it all okay if it’s only pretend? The movie is certainly amusing and full of life but the hard edge of the girls’ essential selfishness left much of the film and its characters in a moral fog. Of course this in itself is quite refreshing as there is little outright moralizing (other than that of the sanctity of marriage) but the tone just doesn’t fit the action. And what’s more, we never did find out who Jerry was or why he’s not been arrested because I'm sure what he's doing is illegal…

Errol Flynn - Underneath the Iceberg

Another day, another birthday and this time the occasion is for Errol Flynn, born 101 years today. To me, Errol Flynn remains one of the most fascinating characters to populate Hollywood in its Golden Age not just because of his contribution to the cinema but due to his uncanny ability to live life to its fullest. Yet acting was just one of the many strings to his bow, and you only need to read a biography of the man to realize that there was a lot, lot more to him than the cinematic on and off screen Casanova of modern legend.

Two things happened to make me interested in Errol Flynn. Firstly I read his autobiography “My Wicked, Wicked Ways”. The second thing was that I found out it was ghost written and was mostly a pack of lies.The fact that I had been hoodwinked brought on a compulsive need to find out more. Since then, it seems that every new biography of Flynn that comes out has a new angle or opinion on his life. Was he a Nazi spy? Was he bisexual? Was he a drug addict? It shows that even today, Errol’s extraordinary story still continues to fascinate and confound and I could guarantee that wherever he is, Flynn is having a jolly good laugh at it all. (As an aside, Myrna Loy said of the Nazi allegations, “My God! He was never sober long enough” )

To me his appeal lies in the mass of contradictions that marked his personality and deeds. Writer Earl Conrad, who ghost wrote Flynn’s autobiography and who wrote a memoir of his time with the star sums up the different versions of Errol Flynn thus:

“the philosophically curious man, the frustrated writer, the congenial seeker after monogamy who could live only promiscuously, …a wanderer over seas and lands…, a seeker after elemental meanings that have eluded the whole of mankind as well as himself, a man tormented with the acquisition of the wrong image, a figure of human contradiction whose thoughts and acts were caricatures of caricature itself”

He paints Errol Flynn as a Quixotic figure, endlessly seeking and wandering, partly tortured by life but always railing against his creator. In the end he decides that the best word to describe Flynn is “elemental”. This is an appropriate description as there is something in his worldliness that is almost wild and untamed that sets him apart from this contemporaries in Hollywood, as if he knew that it wasn't really his home and that for him it was just a means to an end. Also there certainly seems a great deal of depth behind the man, and he did indeed grow to loathe the public image he had created for himself, preferring to be sailing on his boat and near to his beloved ocean. There is also a contradiction between his need to take something as far as he could, be it alcohol consumption, drug taking or womanising and a loneliness that could only be satiated by returning to the sea and its exploration, free from the trappings of hedonism.

However, the side of Flynn I find most interesting is his contrary sense of fun, his need to point out the absurdities of life, to upend the social order and to offend all that is good and self satisfied. Flynn seemed to have a compulsion to bend society’s rules, to laugh at life and death,not really to bring about any change but rather just for the hell of it, as if to stave off boredom. For most of his life he adopted the question mark as his personal symbol, a potent reminder to him not only of his mission to constantly reach out and ask more of life but also of the uncertainty of existence and the need to understand his own actions.

This brief sketch leaves out a lot of the fascinating minor moments of his life such as his two novels, his journalism, his lost plays, his time in repertory theater in Northampton, his sojourn to the Spanish Civil War which ended up with him fighting for both sides, his astonishing drug and alcohol intake, his real and imaginary links to the Nazis and his exploits as an amateur scientist and oceanographer. With all the colour of his life it’s amazing that he felt he had to embellish it with made up incidents. What’s even more amazing is that you don’t even have to talk about his career as an actor to find him compulsively interesting. Earl Conrad said of him “ the first half of the twentieth century was lived by him perhaps as wholly and completely as by anyone”. Well, in terms of enjoying yourself I think that’s true, and luckily when he died in 1959 Frank Sinatra was there to take on his mantle…

I think my favourite Flynn story is when he got involved in the Cuban revolution. He arrived there to lend a hand with Castro’s side not really due to any deep seated political leanings (though he did sympathize with the revolution and the people’s plight to a degree) but in a desperate race to find Fidel Castro and get his picture taken with him before fellow Cuban darling Ernest Hemingway (he managed it to his endless glee). This demonstrates Flynn's talent for finding the absurd in the ordinary, for playing the trickster, a person of no sides, or both sides depending on his whim. Due to his unique philosophy and his unique individuality he made the world a far, far more interesting place. Oh, and he made some movies too.

Stan Laurel - 120 Years Young!

Today marks the occasion of the 120th anniversary of Stan Laurel's birth. It's strange that we've got to a point in time that most of the stars I grew up with on television are now passing out of living memory (and also fading away from our television screens). Sadly, when anniversaries start getting beyond a hundred years they really become part of history rather than culture. I remember the big celebration for Stan's 100th anniversary (and also for Chaplin, Lloyd, Keaton etc), but now that milestone looks to have been the final party for the cinema pioneers. When the final veteran of the Somme died recently people mourned not just the man, but the final passing of an era into history. Perhaps we should have done the same for Anita Page? Time marches on...

Anyway, I just wanted to mention Stan because he's basically the reason I'm here writing this. His films didn't just get me into classic movies, they got me into movies. Because of this, I've always gone through life assuming that everyone likes Laurel and Hardy, and though I've found that increasingly not to be the case (and honestly it's something I struggle to understand in other people), any one of their films can instantly lighten my mood and make me laugh without fail no matter how many times I've seen it.

Of course, Stan is nothing without Ollie and vise versa, but on his own Stan Laurel's creative drive and control over the making of his films has always inspired me. I honestly think that there was no one working in Hollywood in the Golden Age who understood instinctively the mechanics of how comic situations worked than Laurel. Keaton was close, but he cared too much about the big picture. Stan's attention was to the tiny details and that instantly made his humour more real and more human. You only have to watch any of his later pictures where he had no creative control to see how badly his unique mind was missed. He had no ambition to be a great auteur, just to come up with funny and unusual situations for Laurel and Hardy to battle against. You can see this attention to details in everything he does and it's one of the reasons why his films are so endearingly popular.

Anyway, I've no intention to go on about his virtues as a performer as I think they go without saying. At the end of the day if I hadn't been exposed to Laurel and Hardy at an early age I doubt I would have grown up to have an appreciation for all things "classic", be they films, records, or books. It was the starting block that shaped all my tastes and opinions. Without Laurel and Hardy, I may have got there in the end but things would have worked out in an entirely different and possibly alien way. I might be a Chaplin fan! Perish the thought...*shudder*

Nope, it all started with Stan. A genius, a gentleman and my hero since childhood. My life would have been infinitely poorer without him.

Champagne for Caesar (1950) - Ronald Colman, Drunken Parrots and Phonecalls from Einstein

In 1948 Ronald Colman won the Academy Award for Best Actor for the previous year’s A Double Life. His performance as the tortured Shakespearean actor Anthony John was a triumph that rounded off a superlative career as a consistently popular, well loved and highly regarded actor. After winning the Oscar (and the Golden Globe), Colman seemed in no hurry to follow it up, instead concentrating mostly on radio work. In fact, it wasn’t until 1950 that he made his next film, the very funny but nonetheless lightweight Champagne for Caesar. I don’t know enough about his personal life to know exactly what he did in the intervening three years, or indeed why he waited so long to follow up A Double Life, but I’ve always found it odd that this was the vehicle he chose, especially since it proved to be his final role as a leading man. After Champagne for Caesar, he only made a further two screen appearances, firstly a wonderfully symbolic cameo in Around the World in Eighty Days and finally as the top billed performer in the all star mess that is The Story of Mankind.

The basic premise of Champagne for Caesar didn’t seem too promising at first: a satire of television quiz shows where a polymath tries to bankrupt the quiz sponsor as revenge for not giving him a job. It’s a plot that seemed a bit dated and forced and given the film’s reputation as a bit average my expectations were a somewhat low. Though a Ronald Colman performance is never less than entertaining, the film seemed in retrospect to be an afterthought to a career that had already reached its happy ending. In fact, I would suspect that many critics tend to overlook Colman’s final screen moments for precisely this reason, like a retired Hall of Fame sportsman coming back for one last ill-advised season.

In the movie, Colman plays the unfortunately named Beauregard Bottomley, the man who “knows everything except how to make money”. What’s immediately impressive is that Colman makes this know-it-all character so likeable and sympathetic, never once letting his vast intelligence turn into something that would alienate the viewer. Even when chastising characters on their lack of education, he’s never less than charming in his use of his expressions, gestures and of course his soothing voice. How can you not trust the owner of that voice? This likeability factor is one of the hallmarks of Ronald Colman's screen persona, and one that ensured that he remained a firm favourite of audiences for decades despite changes in fashions and film stars.

The film starts off rather oddly, with a purposefully irrelevant opening scene and constant jaunty comedy music that sounds like the linking music on a radio show where someone is going shopping somewhere busy. This combined with the silly character name makes one fear that the words “zany” and “madcap” may be needed to describe the action. Luckily after a shaky start establishing the character, things pick up as Colman attempts to get a job at a soap company run by none other than Vincent Price (with an office designed by Jean Cocteau by the looks of it).

Vincent Price is laugh out loud funny in this film, a real revelation. At this point in his career he had outgrown the secondary dramatic leads of his youth but was yet to find his niche in horror and surprisingly here displays an as yet largely unseen talent for comedy. It is strange watching him with hindsight because his performance is exactly what you would expect from the Price of the Corman era and beyond with over the top exclamations and scenery chewing, except it’s happening in 1950. He starts off the proceedings by enthusing about his new idea, a soap for teeth then decides to not hire Colman because “I loathe humor, and you are humorous”. Finally he promptly disappears off into a trance mid conversation to visit the astral plane. By later standards of his performance, it's a restrained debut.

Our hero sees that the soap company sponsors a television quiz show and is horrified by the lack of education needed to win a prize, saying (with scary prescience) “If it is noteworthy and rewarding to know that 2 and 2 make 4 to the accompaniment of deafening applause and prizes, then 2 and 2 making 4 will become the top level of learning.” I think he safely managed to predict the future, and not just in game shows. Though it’s really only a small part of the film, the satirical point being made about prime time entertainment's lack of intellectual value on television is something that is even more relevant today. Nevertheless, the point isn't heavily laboured, possibly lest the audience felt they were being accused of anything. It does however let the movie industry have a well-aimed dig at the young upstart that was beginning to eat into its profits.

Without giving away the whole plot, our genius takes on the sponsor in a double your money quiz show and keeps going until he stands to win the net worth of the company. Along the way, Vincent Price devises more and more elaborate ways to sabotage his progress, including hiring a femme fatale (played by Celeste Holm) to cloud his judgement with thoughts of love. As the story picks up so do the laughs, especially from Colman and Price who work wonderfully together. Ronald Colman’s understated, gentle way of delivering his lines (even though they include some quite cruel put downs) only serves to up the tempo of Vincent Price’s theatrics. There’s a very funny scene where Colman is at the soap factory and bending over a large vat of soap. Price sees this and then suddenly a devil appears on his shoulder. Without missing a beat he says to his evil side “I’m way ahead of you” (sadly he is stopped by an unexplained indoor flash of lightning!). As the drama of the final quiz question unfolds, Price is hilarious as he cackles maniacally when he thinks he is winning, only to do a ridiculous double take before collapsing into a heap due to an outrageous last minute intervention from none other than Albert Einstein (just watch the film, it makes sense, trust me).

Of course it’s a clichéd formula, as we wait for the hero to answer the final question to get his revenge on the evil (and loopy) executive, but it really works. Naturally there are some twists along the way but I don’t want to spoil them for anyone. And predictably there is a happy ending as everyone pairs up, even Vincent Price who finds out that Colman’s alcoholic parrot (one of the more bizarre sub-plots involves Colman's search for the man who introduced the bird to booze) was his roommate and drinking buddy at college!

It's difficult to put into words how good Ronald Colman is in this film because he’s really no different from the wonderful, charming, graceful character he plays in all his pictures. The main criticism leveled at Colman is usually that he’s too mannered, or too perfect in his delivery, but if anyone in movie history had a real twinkle in his eye and just consistently projected an air of honest integrity, it’s him. In a way, Ronald Colman is not so important for his performances but for what he represents, but that’s an argument for another day. In Champagne for Caesar he looks like he could do this sort of film in his sleep, and although I overuse the term "effortless" for actors of this era, it really does look that way. Of course in reality the opposite is true as he works very hard to judge his performance of, on paper, a possibly unlikeable character and make it rather endearing.

Of the rest of the cast, the standout is Celeste Holm as the Mata Hari hired to woo Colman and throw him off his game. For a largely treacherous character (mainly due to the fact that she is pitted against such a sympathetic man in Colman) she is a constantly smiling, effervescent presence. She plays the femme fatal with gusto (and given her character’s name, Flame O’Neill, she had better!) and the script gives her plenty of opportunity to milk the situational back stabbing and wooing. In a way she’s perfectly cast, looking vulnerable yet glamorous (and always smiling!) though in the end when she recants her evil ways I didn’t quite buy it – I think she looked like she was enjoying being bad a bit too much. Interestingly, though billed second, she doesn't actually turn up until about 50 minutes into the film, but she certainly makes an impact once she arrives.

Other cast members are variable. Barbara Britton is excellent as Colman’s prim sister though unfortunately doesn’t get much to do other than engage in an unlikely romance with Art Linkletter as the obnoxious quiz show host. He’s good as the host (and I’d be worried if he wasn’t given his background) but is a bit of a dud when shoehorned into the romantic sub plot. Britton does get to call him “the forerunner of intellectual destruction in America” which was pretty funny. The only other casting of note is that of Mel Blanc as the parrot (the Caesar of the title), pretty much reprising his role from Jack Benny’s radio show.

All in all there is a lot to enjoy from Champagne for Caesar. Sure, it’s no Oscar winner, but it’s sharp, clever and expertly performed. I honestly don’t know why it’s not more highly regarded, especially amongst Vincent Price fans as he steals the film and establishes himself perhaps for the first time as a master of the ridiculous. However, when it came to the star my fears were for naught and it can safely sit proud in the Colman canon. It’s a film that doesn’t take anything away from his previous award winning performance and gives Colman the opportunity to play the affable and suave character he is associated with one last time. In fact, with Ronald Colman moving more and more into radio and television in the 1950’s, a clever satire of these mediums seems an appropriate taster to his new (and ultimately very successful) career.

Happy Birthday Priscilla Lane!

I thought I’d make a quick mention of Priscilla Lane on the occasion of the anniversary of her birth. When I first got into classic movies she was one of my early favourites, and while I haven’t watched one of her movies in a while, nor managed to come across any of the ones I’ve yet to see, I still have fond memories of her. She always struck me as someone who could have achieved a lot more with the right studio or directorial support but who nonetheless gave her best in all the (usually second rate) roles she was given.

During her comparatively brief career (1937 – 1948 with 22 screen appearances) she starred alongside Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, James Cagney and John Garfield and worked with directors such as Alfred Hitchcock, Michael Curtiz, Raoul Walsh and Frank Capra. That’s a pretty impressive resume and for most people that would guarantee at least some recognition but sadly these days she’s been relegated to the list of contract actresses who were there just to make up the numbers.

Part of this is obviously because of the sudden end to her career. It seems, like Kay Francis she got on the wrong side of Jack Warner and lo and behold, the decent roles suddenly dried up. Personally, I’ve always thought that her good looks, particularly her girl next door wholesomeness held her back from the roles that weren’t marked “junior lead”. Sometimes she looks like she was born to be the sappy love interest for the nominal lead in an Abbott and Costello picture. She just looks like one of those pretty girls whose sub plot gets in the way of what everyone actually paid money to see (does anyone ever pay attention or care in the slightest about these parts in comedy films?). Anyway, she has that unique wartime “Forces Sweetheart” look that belied her real ability and range as an actress.



Despite not having watched one of her movies in a while, her charm, sparkle and gift for light comedy made a lasting impression on me. When she’s in a picture with something for her to do she’s very good, such as in the excellent Dust Be My Destiny with John Garfield or Blues in the Night with Jack Carson. However, in pictures where she’s really just there as the “Generic Female Lead” she more than holds her own with the likes of Bogart, Benny and Cagney. Though I haven’t seen it in many years I remember particularly enjoying her in the early Bogart obscurity Men are Such Fools. It’s not a great movie but she really brings a bit of life to an otherwise dull (and slightly odd) film. In fact that’s generally what she did throughout her career.

Though most people agree that Arsenic and Old Lace with Cary Grant is her best role (and ironically her last major film appearance), I was never too fond of it (both the film and her part in it). Perhaps I was overpowered by everything else going on, and reading the recent reviews tells me it’s possibly worth another look. Strangely enough, I’ve been disappointed by Cary Grant in the few of his films I’ve watched lately and my once favourite star has seen his stock drop quite a bit, so now perhaps is the time to give the film another go and view it through less star struck eyes.

All in all, Priscilla Lane isn’t the most memorable actress in the galaxy of stars but I always found her to exceed expectations. Her good looks let you think that she’s going to make little impression but she always does something, a look, an eye role, a smile that draws you in and makes you realize that there is a great deal of subtlety and talent behind the make up. As I said, her look was perhaps what held her back, but with a suitably interested director I think a lot of depth could have been coaxed out of her. Apparently Hitchcock wasn’t too pleased with her casting in Saboteur so the opportunity to dig beneath her surface was largely lost there. If only she had stayed around a little longer as I think she would have fitted in perfectly in the era of film noir. It would have been an opportunity to put her good looks and wholesome charm to use while concealing all sorts of sinister thoughts and deeds!

She was one of the first stars I started to follow, and writing this has put me in a mind to go and watch one of her films again. For anyone who feels like celebrating her birthday I’d recommend Dust Be My Destiny because she worked so well with John Garfield. I’ve never been disappointed by any of her performances that I’ve seen, and I can’t say that about too many other film stars. Happy Birthday Miss Lane!