Going Spanish (1934) - Bob Hope's Debut Goes South

Bob Hope made his screen debut in 1934 during his spare time whilst on Broadway, in the musical short Going Spanish for Educational Pictures and veteran director/producer Al Christie. After bad reviews, the short got more publicity that it would have perhaps normally received after Hope was asked his opinion on the film by newspaper columnist Walter Winchell. His reply, that “when they catch John Dillinger they’re going to make him sit through it twice” made gossip column headlines and has since passed into show business legend, ensuring that Going Spanish was never quite forgotten - though for all the wrong reasons.

The quote got a lot of publicity for Hope but also got him fired from his multi film contract with Christie. While he was eager to break into movies,his opinion of the short must have verged on embarrassment in order for him to speak so candidly about a paying gig. Either that or it was a calculated move on his part to generate publicity for himself and free him up to explore bigger opportunities. Whatever his motivation, it worked out well for him as he wasn’t a free agent for long and quickly signed for a series of Vitaphone shorts with Warners. From there he was picked up by Paramount and his star began its ascent.

However the question remains, Bob may have thought it was terrible but is Going Spanish really that bad? Today is Mr Hope’s birthday (by the way, when is that going to become a national holiday?) so I thought I’d watch his inauspicious debut and find out for myself. The answer? Read on, but I think you can guess…

The premise of Going Spanish is frankly, ludicrous. Basically, Bob, his fiancé and mother-in-law arrive in a South American (not Spanish despite the title) village for a quick marriage and discover it’s the day of the "Don't Do It" festival. This bizarre ritual decrees that townsfolk can insult, attack or abuse anyone they want as long as they sing to them afterwards. Naturally, hilarity ensues. It’s one of those whimsical half formed ideas that only seem to appear in low budget shorts and that are probably the by-product of over worked writing staff desperately trying to throw ideas against a wall to see what sticks. The concept probably sounded tops after three bottles of scotch, eight packs of cigarettes and a night trapped in a writers’ room.

The village, called Los Pochos Eggos (which gives you an indication of how sophisticated the humour is) is decked out for a fiesta full of gay caballeros in puffy sleeves and singing senoritas with roses in their hair as seen in pretty much every 30s and 40s movie set south of the border. The costumes and set dressing are actually quite good and no doubt were recycled from plenty of other similar films for cost cutting. This is all rather let down by the sound, which at times makes it seem like it was shot in a barn. In fact it was shot in Paramount’s Astoria studios in New York, but perhaps in was a more remote part of the facility since some voices seem to echo (echo). Anyway, it goes without saying that most of the men have silly accents and even sillier facial hair.I think there might have been a donkey somewhere too.

Bob Hope plays essentially the character he would be later famous for, though toned way down. He’s the brash American abroad but in this case with virtually no material to work off. I’d imagine if you were watching the film in 1934 with no knowledge of current Broadway stars (Hope had also yet to start full time in radio), Bob wouldn’t have made any impression on you. He’d just be another unknown and soon to be forgotten star in a poverty row short. He breezes through the film, smiles and says his lines and that’s pretty much it. The flashes of the familiar Hope persona are few and far between though it’s hardly his fault. In fact, there are times when he looks a touch bored, as if he realised half way through what he’d gotten himself involved in.

The highlight is an amusing musical number where Bob is wooing a senorita in a shop which despite looking massively under rehearsed starts off sounding like it might have the charm of his later duets such as “Thanks for the Memory" and “Two Sleepy People”. However, this effect is ruined by the gag of someone coming into the shop to ask of something inappropriate that rhymes with the last line. For example: "You sweeten up my coffee, I'm always glad to please. Why, you seem to have the fragrance of..." (Cue the interruption)"limburger cheese". despite this, it’s probably Hope’s best scene and his reactions to each intruder conjures up the first cinematic glimpse of the fabled Hope timing.

The supporting cast is generally competent and amusing. The leading lady, Leah Ray has a good singing voice and a pleasant manner. She’s the sort of actress who is the perfect fit for these musical confections but one that you can’t imagine having much to offer beyond those sorts of roles. Her suitor the mayor is played by Jules Epailly who spends the film decked out like Napoleon and who mugs shamelessly as he attempts to channel Billy Gilbert at his most over the top. It doesn’t quite work, in fact it doesn’t work at all but if falling over, destroying scenery and shouting are your bag then you’ll find plenty to enjoy. Strangely the most successful artiste from this mess other than its star is William Edmunds as a deluded gaucho. He would go on to have a respectable career in character roles, as IMDb so archly puts it “a poor man’s J. Carroll Naish” in such movies as It’s a Wonderful Life , House of Frankenstein and indeed with Bob Hope again in Where There’s Life thirteen years later.

As for our boy Bob, he certainly doesn’t embarrass himself but for the most part the recognisable screen presence isn’t there regardless of the lack of good material. What’s strange about him is that although he would go on to establish a cowardly, slightly feminine character, this version of Hope is actually quite fey and almost camp. He has a strange habit of clasping his hands together at chest height in the manner of Jack Benny, and in fact a few of his mannerisms echo Benny’s body language. Just like Benny, he seems to have a dilemma over where to put his hands while talking as they flap about all over the place and he spends a lot of the movie fidgeting with his hat. While Benny worked out a way to use this as a cornerstone of his act, regular hand clasping really doesn’t suit Bob’s character.

Luckily, Hope quickly found the right formula (and somewhere to put his hands) as evidenced by his later Warner shorts. By the time they ended in 1936 with Shop Talk, the Bob Hope persona we know and love was pretty much all there albeit needing some refining. Going Spanish can be by no means described as good yet its contents are really no different from the majority of short musical comedies churned out by the smaller studios of the time that weren’t Hal Roach. In 1934 Bob Hope was a man of ambition with a successful stage career upon him, and with his talent and a bit of time there is little doubt that he would have made it as a star before too long. That he became the magnitude of star he did couldn’t have been predicted, and certainly not based on the strength of Going Spanish. At the end of the day, and with a tip of the hat to Mr Hope, I’m loathe to say that any film is truly bad so in this case I’d prefer to label it a ‘curio’. What’s more I actually sat through it twice and I enjoyed it more the second time. Maybe Dillinger shouldn't have bothered with Manhattan Melodrama...

The First Born (1928) - Miles Mander's Masterpiece Restored

Miles Mander is perhaps best remembered (if remembered at all) as a character actor in Hollywood in the 1940s, but in Britain during the silent era he was a leading light of the film community. He was friend and contemporary of Alfred Hitchcock, a noted actor, writer and producer and a pioneer of early sound techniques. He eventually made his feature directorial debut in 1928 with The First Born, co-writing the screenplay with Alma Reville (Mrs Alfred Hitchcock), adapted from his own novel and play. It was the culmination of a decade spent in the burgeoning British film industry yet a statement that arrived too late to really be noticed amongst the oncoming changes to the industry brought on by sound.

Set against a backdrop of the British upper classes, the story charts the disintegration of the marriage between Lord Hugo Boycott (played by Mander himself) and his younger wife Madeleine (an impossibly young and dark haired Madeleine Carroll). Hugo is a caddish would-be politician whose irritation at his wife’s inability to provide him with a son and heir drives him into the arms of a succession of willing women. In a desperate attempt to keep her husband Madeleine agrees to secretly adopt her manicurist’s illegitimate baby and pass it off as the son her husband desires. However, once this has happened she finds it is not enough to hold their marriage together and the relationship quickly descends into mutual suspicion, infidelity and lies. The tensions between Madeleine and Hugo are complicated by the interference of their conniving friend Nina, who seeks to seduce Hugo and tell him about Madeleine’s secret. Hugo, on the other hand suspects Madeleine to be secretly having an affair with David, a playboy with a bad reputation (played by John Loder at his most debonair).

What on paper seems like a polite and vaguely absurd drawing room drama is in the hands of Mander a keenly observed portrayal of the realities of marriage and the consequences of selfish behaviour on the surrounding society. Though the world of the British ruling classes in the 1920s is hardly something that today's average viewer can identify with, the hypocrisies and frailties Mander’s characters reveal are universally recognisable. Both Mander and Carroll are mesmerising in their roles, with perhaps Madeleine Carroll giving the performance of her career as the increasingly desperate young wife. The inherent selfishness of the group is nicely summed in a short scene where Nina drives away from Hugo’s home and in her hurry her limousine knocks over a small bicycle, spilling its basket of fruit. Like Hugo and Madeleine, she leaves unaware of the consequence of her actions.

What makes the film so compelling is that complexities and contradictions of the lead characters force the viewer to switch their loyalty as the story progresses. Hugo is selfish, a serial cheat who treats Madeleine with distain whilst using her for his own ends, yet is likable enough that we want to believe he can escape the mess he has made of his life. He is fiercely protective of his ‘first born’ (though uninterested in their second child) and is driven to rage and obsession at the thought of his wife’s infidelities despite ignoring his own fatal flaws. Madeleine on the other hand is blind to Hugo’s faults and her need to keep him is such that she is forced into an increasingly complicated web of deceit. When her lies eventually catch up with her she reacts selfishly, showing a lack of concern for those in the path of her thoughtlessness. Ultimately it is their tragic love that makes us pull for the characters, and the misguided need for both of them to have a ‘normal’ family life even though neither of them really knows how to achieve it, let alone hold onto it. Both Mander and Carroll have a great chemistry throughout the film, with Madeleine Carroll betraying her lack of cinematic experience with a sensitive and subtle portrayal. The climactic scenes between the leads sparkle with the sort of heart stopping intensity that only the great silent dramas can manage. Such is the power of the drama that when the final reel plot twist appears, at the screening I attended a collective gasp rung out through the audience to what in reality is a particularly contrived piece of melodrama (I won’t spoil it, but it’s amazing!).

Regardless of the skilled handling of the script and acting, what has received the most notice since the restoration of the film has been the visual aspect, highlighting yet again the amazing progression of filmmaking as a visual art by the end of the silent era. What sets The First Born apart from many others, and indeed its British contemporaries is in the stunning fluidity of its camerawork. From early on in the film, where Hugo throws clothes at an unseen Madeleine behind the camera, Mander seems obsessed with the idea of movement and distance. He does this to not only get the viewer inside the film but to also seemingly highlight the fact that as director he has the ability to set his camera free from its stationary position. This enthusiastic flight reaches a breathtaking climax during the scene where Hugo rushes to Madeleine’s bedroom in the hope of exposing her supposed affair. As he approaches the room, the view switches to a full point of view shot as Hugo rushes inside to find it empty, the bed slept in (both sides creased however) and assorted clothes on the floor. As his eyes whirl round the room taking in the detail, the camera moves so rapidly that in fact the frame rate struggles to keep up (no Steadicam in those days!), yet the blurry movement highlights the intensity of the feeling. Madeleine is in fact in the bath, and the camera then slowly opens the door to voyeuristically take a peek at her in the water, before the drama is resumed and we cut to Hugo's face. After tantalising us with the girl in the bath, Mander cuts us off and once again lets only the character see the result. Though undoubtedly the point of view shot had been done long before 1928, the way it is used and the fluidity of the camera movement makes the scene (shot in one take as far as I remember) both shocking and thrilling. It’s like Mander reached into the future and invented all the slasher film clichés in one go, or at least before Hitchcock got there.

Other visual touches include a beautifully lit dinner party scene that looks like one big table lit by several candles or lamps. In this entirely unrealistic yet massively atmospheric setting, each dinner guest peers out from the darkness onto their gloomy spotlight to speak, then retreats, eel-like back into the gloom to eat. It serves no purpose other than it looks great. Lighting is similarly used in an incredible scene where Hugo is seduced by Nina (wonderfully played by Ella Atherton who frustratingly only seems to have made one other film) in his own home as Madeleine sleeps upstairs. In the candlelight Nina lies back on a chaise longue and writhes and squirms like a cat in heat. Hugo is literally trapped in her seductive thrall and visibly shows his tortured mind and he wills himself to take a figurative cold shower and resist her. After the duelling close ups of the seducer and her conflicted prey, the solitary shadow of a beckoning finger cast by the candlelight seals the deal and releases Hugo’s desires.

There are other beautiful moments in the film such as another point of view shot on the hood of a car as Hugo drives up the road to the estate, and the clever use of overlapping fades to convey a conversation without the need for title cards (indeed, it is a film of few titles despite undoubtedly a lot of dialogue spoken by the actors). Near the climax the point of view camera is used one final dizzying time as Hugo falls down a lift shaft to his death. The viewer sees the fall as Hugo sees it complete with a spinning visual effect and a brief montage as his life flashes before him in his final moments. It’s an impressive effect, and guessing how heavy camera equipment would have been in those days, no doubt it was a very complex shot to achieve. These are just a few examples among many throughout the movie and what finally emerges is a film given a very thoughtful and inventive visual touch. In many ways there is perhaps too much crammed into it, but the gamble pays off and as Miles Manter’s only extant directorial work The First Born provides a fantastic showcase for his talents.

That it was Miles Manter’s debut as a feature director is astonishing, but not altogether surprising knowing his deep involvement in the movie world up until that point. Certainly, on the strength of The First Born, Manter was arguably ahead of Hitchcock artistically by 1928 and who knows, given the right opportunities could have been one of the great British directors. He certainly seems to have the potential to have been a great filmmaker. Sadly, though he went on to direct a few sound films, none seem to exist or be available to see, and after a while he decided to concentrate solely on being a reliable character actor. Like so many others his output has historically fallen into the black hole that British movies of the 20s and 30s seem to fall into, where the vast majority seem to be in limbo, either lost forever or sitting unattended in an archive. The First Born was earmarked for restoration just short of ten years ago and the fruits of the BFI’s labours are only being seen now. The restoration, with a newly commissioned score was premiered at the London Film Festival last year and will hopefully continue to get a few more showings on the art house circuit beyond it's current limited run. In these cash strapped times, one can only wonder if a DVD release will be cost effective but with a bit of luck it might get to be seen by more people. The First Born certainly deserves to be more widely viewed and can genuinely be described as a lost masterpiece and a film that will hopefully begin to shine a little more of a spotlight on its creator, Miles Mander as one of the unsung heroes of silent British cinema.

New Faces of 2012 - Six Classic Stars I May Have Overlooked

Life should always be about discovering new things. As such, I was recently looking at the list of films that I’m preparing to write about in the weeks and months ahead and after scanning through a line up that largely included the usual suspects like Joan Blondell, Kay Francis and Old Time Radio stars, it occurred to me that I need to explore new vistas to avoid getting into a cinematic rut. It’s all very well concentrating on your favourite stars or directors but it’s also too easy to become dogmatic about the films you hold dear and assume that the work of a particular actor or director holds little interest to you based on nothing more than a gut feeling or the viewing of a solitary film.

In the last few weeks I’ve been stockpiling a fresh batch of (mostly pre-code) films to add to the never ending list to watch and hopefully write about. I have been picking these films mainly based on first impressions, whether it be the title, genre or poster that for some reason has grabbed me. One thing that I decided to largely ignore in making my choices was the star of the picture as I really wanted to see ‘average’ films of the era, movies that were typically and squarely of their time. Despite this, while browsing over the new titles in my collection it struck me that certain names cropped up time and time again, some of which were more familiar to me that others. I realised that all of them were names that I was guilty of taking for granted.

One thing that is great about the early 30s in Hollywood is the sheer variety of stars that got a shot at fame, most of whom for a number of reasons didn’t sustain a star career into the glory years of the late 30s and beyond. For every Spencer Tracy there’s a Lee Tracy, and for every Greta Garbo there is a Greta Nissen. There is literally a whole galaxy of stars, both big and small to choose from, and as usual it’s the lesser lights that interest me the most. So I’ve decided to pay a bit more attention to a number of these names and to give some new stars a try. Here’s the first batch of overlooked stars for me to explore in the coming months. As I said, some are actually very famous in their own right and not at all overlooked to most people but for whatever reason have been ignored by me in the past. All I ask is that if anyone can give this novice any pointers and recommendations for any of them I will be eternally grateful. Now, to the Class of 2012…

William Haines – William Haines certainly seems to have had an interesting life, being an openly gay actor in Hollywood who, rather than live a lie ultimately chose his lifestyle over success in movies. I’ve always been interested in the sound films of successful silent stars and it seems novel that for once a career was cut short on the star’s own terms. Watching his films should thus hopefully prove to be uplifting viewing with a star still in his prime as a contrast to say, the sound films of John Gilbert, where despite the quality of his performances the whole experience is tinged with melancholy at his ultimate failure. Another, more aesthetic reason I really want to see his sound films is the striking artwork for a number of his movies, some recently released by the Warner Archive. Remote Control, Are You Listening? and Fast Life look particularly enticing going by the posters. Okay, it’s not always a successful gauge of quality but give me something shiny with bright colours and you’ve got me hooked.

Dorothy Mackaill – Dorothy Mackaill is a name that seems to turn up a lot while I’ve been looking for suitable pre-code fodder to view yet she remains an enigma to me. I know little about her and have not seen any of her films. The fact that her career as a star was over by 1931 when First National opted not to renew her contract doesn’t seem to promise much. However, a glance at the titles of her prime starring vehicles seemingly paints a capsule picture of all the forbidden pleasures of the pre-code era. Safe in Hell, The Reckless Hour, The Office Wife, Party Husband and Bright Lights conjure up a banquet of censor baiting situations. It’s good to see that so many of her movies are finally getting an official release and I’m looking forward to finding out if her screen persona matches the lurid titles of her career.

Madge Evans – Madge Evans came to my attention due to a couple of absolutely stunning publicity photographs from the two films she made with William Haines. Looking back I realise that I’ve seen her in Fugitive Lovers, The Mayor of Hell and Guilty Hands but I watched all of those films years ago and have no memory of her performances. I know now that she was an accomplished stage actress who tended to play wholesome leading lady types but a quick glance at her filmography reveals some interesting and intriguing movies such as The Greeks Had a Word For Them with Joan Blondell, West of Hollywood with John Gilbert, The Nuisance with Lee Tracy, Beauty for Sale with Una Merkel and the aforementioned pair with William Haines, Are You Listening? and Fast Life. I feel that she’ll either turn out to be a standard and slightly anonymous leading lady whose purpose is to let her male co-star shine or (I’m hoping), a charming and beautiful leading light of the pre code era. Despite her obvious talent and ‘good girl’ image (not always a bad thing mind you), I just hope she brings the star quality to her films that she radiates in still pictures.

Warren William – Okay, Warren William can in no way be described as an overlooked film star, at least to the classic film community. I’m aware that he has a sizable following but despite seeing a few of his films I’ve been left largely unmoved by him. Looking back, I’ve decided that the fault probably lies with me and that I just haven’t seen him in the right parts. After all, I love pre-code films so surely I need to acknowledge the so-called ‘King of the Pre-codes’? This is an area where I definitely need some guidance, though I have a few of his movies on my radar. Most recently I saw him in Smarty, which is a great film but not one where he needs to do too much. I really want to like Warren William, in fact it would be a crime not to, but I feel I’ve not seen him at his best.

Nancy Carroll – I’ve only previously seen Nancy Carroll in the Cary Grant film Hot Saturday and she was quite charming. She also seems quite a versatile actress starring in musicals, comedies and dramas. She doesn’t seem to have been served too well in terms of her leading men, tending to be pared up with the likes of Phillips Holmes and John Boles or even an inexperienced up and comer like Grant. Once again though, her name just continues to show up and what I’ve heard of The Devil’s Holiday, Laughter, Follow Thru, The Kiss Before the Mirror and Night Angel sound intriguing. Added to that, some of her later work in Transatlantic Merry-Go-Round and Atlantic Adventure looks, if nothing else fun due to the fantastic casts. She seems to be another of those early 30s stars that enjoyed a degree of fame but who fell out of favour both onscreen and off and who decided on early retirement as the best course of action.

Richard Barthelmess – Obviously, Richard Barthelmess was one of the great stars of silent cinema, and a highly talented actor but for some reason he’s never really appealed to me. Even though he is outstanding in Broken Blossoms and at the tail end of his career, compelling in Only Angels Have Wings, he has largely left me cold. However, he’s another name that has cropped up with surprising regularity and honestly, I got tired to deciding to pass on an otherwise interesting film just because his name was in the credits. So, in the spirit of fair play I’m going to give him a chance. Though he doesn’t seem to have any can’t miss films in his sound back catalogue, movies such as Son of the Gods, Alias the Doctor, Four Hours to Kill, The Last Flight and Central Airport definitely look like they meet my requirements for typical early 30s programming. Of all my new picks, he’s the wild card and you never know, I might be pleasantly surprised.

All in all, the pre-code era remains a fascination for me due to the sheer number of career casualties. It was such a period of change, littered with the corpses of promising careers that never took off, or of final hurrahs to formerly glittering silent stars. The sheer number of unjustly forgotten actors working at this time is staggering, and each time I watch someone new, a co-star will lead me further into the unknown. I think everyone needs to try something new from time to time and once I’ve explored these new (to me) stars I have a host of others to start watching. As always, and feedback, suggestions or pointers will be much appreciated and hopefully the fruits of my labours will be appearing here very soon.

George Brent - An Overdue Appreciation

I really don’t think that George Brent, who was born today in 1899, gets the credit he deserves. It’s not so much the case that he’s an underrated actor but that he’s so under appreciated by people in general. He made his screen debut in 1930 and was signed by Warner Brothers two years later, and from that point on he had an amazing run of films over the next fifteen years or so, starring alongside a who’s who of Hollywood. Brent was never a star in the true sense, rather he was best known as a dependable leading man for a variety of star actresses. It’s in this role that he really shines, lending a firm hand to every scene and always complementing his co-star with his presence. For me, when watching movies of the 30s and 40s, the name George Brent in the credits means that more often than not you are going to see an entertaining film.

Brent was born in Ireland and spent his early years flitting between Dublin and New York, firstly to study and latterly when he was allegedly on the run from Irish authorities due to his IRA connections during the Troubles. He eventually discovered theatre and slowly gravitated towards Hollywood. His early films were unremarkable (including the Rin Tin Tin movie serial The Lightning Warrior, which actually sounds pretty fun) and after a short while he was signed to a Warner Brothers contract. The studio pushed him as a leading man right from the start and he spent the early part of his career giving assured support to stars such as Barbara Stanwyck and Ruth Chatterton (who he briefly married). He stayed under contract with Warner Brothers until the 50s before moving into television and eventual retirement. He died in 1979 leaving a resume that most stars would envy, yet today he is largely overlooked by film fans.

George Brent was not an overbearing actor, displaying instead a smooth, easygoing and relaxed screen persona. He had an affable manner on the screen, quite unassuming yet retaining a dignity and poise in his performance. His confident acting style always brought sincerity and integrity to each part and could lend a touch of class to any production. Myrna Loy remembered having great fun with him but confessed that he was known to be difficult to work with and noticed that he was always very aware of last minute script changes regarding his character. Whatever his motivations for working in this manner, the care and attention he gave to his own positioning in a production paid dividends on the screen where he could always be relied on to provide a careful and steady presence in the face of his often temperamental co stars (both on screen and off). I would imagine that Warner Brothers thought of him as a safe pair of hands to rein in the excesses of many of their diva like stars. It is in this role that he shows true abilities, always stamping his own authority whilst simultaneously letting others shine, which I’d imagine is a very difficult skill.

In fact so good was he at this role that he co starred with Bette Davis a total of eleven times and it is to his credit that he was asked time and again to work with her (more often than not by Davis herself), something I doubt many less able actors would relish for fear of being eclipsed on screen. In Davis classics like Jezebel, The Old Maid and The Great Lie, Brent more than held his own and succeeded in pitching his performances at just the right level in order for her to showcase her skills. Without someone like George Brent at her side it less likely that Bette Davis would have had such a great run of well received performances in her prime years. Eleven appearances together without being seen as a screen couple is a pretty amazing feat and shows that they both knew exactly what their role in each film was to be. Most importantly, in each of these films Brent was never reduced to mere scenery dressing.

Alongside being a favourite of Bette Davis, he also had long running pairings with other big stars of the era, working six times with Kay Francis, five times with Barbara Stanwyck and four times with Ruth Chatterton. He also worked multiple times with Joan Blondell, Myrna Loy, Claudette Colbert and Loretta Young as well as lending his dependable support to vehicles for Greta Garbo, Ginger Rogers, Jean Arthur, Merle Oberon, Ann Sheridan (who he also married), Olivia de Havilland and many, many others.

However, due to taking the role of leading man to the stars, Brent really never established himself as a star in his own right. In reality, though perhaps being a cut above similar supporting lead actors such as Ian Hunter, Brian Aherne, Melvyn Douglas or David Manners, he did not quite have that special something that makes an actor a star. Though he could be a tough guy, an everyman or a sophisticate, and despite having a good speaking voice and a charmingly suave manner, he lacked that special charisma to take him to the next level. In many of his 30s films such as Miss Pinkerton, Front Page Woman or The Keyhole, one gets the feeling that he got the role because William Powell wasn’t available, and if you compare his performance in these films to any similar Powell film of the era you can quickly see that he was really not quite at the level of a top star. He has a lot of similarities in terms of his style with William Powell when playing light roles but while George Brent merely complements and supports his co-star, Powell always commands the attention and focus of the viewer as the star of the picture.

I’ve no idea what George Brent thought of his career, whether he was disappointed at always playing second fiddle to larger than life stars, or whether he was just happy to be an in demand actor. He received top billing in quite a few films with a variety of starlets in support but none of these films seem to be especially remembered today. Even in his starring role in Racket Busters, top billing went to Humphrey Bogart. I would hope that he was pleased with the job he did in Hollywood, as really it was a highly specialised position and he was probably the best in the business at performing it. I doubt that many actors could survive eleven encounters with Bette Davis and emerge with their reputation and career in place, but he managed it with aplomb.

Often it’s better to realise you are good at one particular thing and stick with it rather than failing in trying to be something you are not. The fact that George Brent was regarded well by his peers and given such potentially difficult parts shows how his particular skills were appreciated by decision makers. In a strange way, if movie goers tend to ignore him it’s probably because he was doing his job correctly, though I think he does need to be recognised for his skills more. Regardless of this, the sheer volume of good films he is in and the fact that he co starred with virtually every top leading lady of the golden age speaks volumes about the quality that he brought to a film. George Brent had a long and successful career and left a host of memorable performances, so maybe sometimes being solid and reliable should not be seen as a bad thing, as he’s the sort of actor that kept Hollywood running by helping others look so good.

Evelyn Prentice (1934) - Where's Asta?

After the success of The Thin Man, MGM decided to put their hot new screen couple Myrna Loy and William Powell in to another picture while they figured out what to do with them and prepared to work on a sequel. The film the studio gave them was Evelyn Prentice, another of the seemingly endless cycle of early 30s melodramas about marital infidelity and intrigue. Despite a decent cast and crew and by all accounts positive contemporary reviews, the film is ultimately rather average, and not really the best showcase for its stars. However, if you are in the right mood (and I was) it’s a supremely silly film brimming with over the top courtroom dramatics, utterly ridiculous legal twists, dubious moral behaviour and featuring possibly the world’s worst barn dance. I had planned to document it’s less than stellar moments but when I looked at the list I had made, one aspect of the movie leapt out at me as possibly the most jarring.

Throughout the film, our stars Myrna Loy and William Powell seem rather muted and lack a lot of the sparkle and chemistry that made them their names together in The Thin Man and the earlier Manhattan Melodrama. Part of the blame for this is surely the tired soap opera of the plot concerning busy lawyer Powell leaving bored wife Loy to suffer the drudgery of a fabulously wealthy lifestyle of endless parties and cocktails (oh, the ennui of it all). Her boredom culminates in a near miss with an affair and (predictably) murder. William Powell has his problems too as Myrna suspects he is having an affair with a former client played by the debuting Rosalind Russell. The film never shows any of his alleged infidelities, tantalising us by fading out just before anything untoward happens, thus putting the focus of the marital problems on the wife. Due to the fact that he’s a man with a respected position in society, the assumption is that he’s obviously innocent. Because that happens. But I digress…

What really got to me was that the couple have a young daughter in the film, played by Cora Sue Collins. Despite the fact that she seems to be largely raised by Myrna’s best friend (played here in a brilliant turn – possibly the only dose of pep in the whole dreary affair - by the under rated and wonderful Una Merkel) and that both parents seem to be too busy working, carousing or moping (usually after the carousing) to bother with child care, something just isn’t right.

For a start, sweet little Cora Sue is a curly haired moppet in a sailor suit of the Shirley Temple variety. She has a nice line in saccharine dialogue, specialising in saying “Mommy, what’s wrong?” with big eyes and trembling lip. In reality though, her plaintive pleas for her parents’ love are probably due to the fact that she never actually sees them.

And of course the most glaring thing that is wrong with the poor child is that frankly, she’s not Asta, but I’ll get to that in a moment.

Her character in the film is wrong on so many levels. Firstly, if Loy and Powell ever fictionally procreated (let’s forget about Little Nicky in the later Thin Man films for the moment - actually let’s try to completely forget him) then they would surely produce a more sophisticated and less annoying child. It’s just basic genetics. Okay, in the film the child has largely absent parents, so misses out on the touch of urbane sophistication and expert cocktail shaking abilities of her dad, and the sly wit and fashion sense of her mother. However (and here we could possibly get into a nature versus nurture debate) surely the unfortunate child would have picked up something by osmosis in the brief minutes she spends with her folks? Failing that, if she could have at least picked up a sense of fun, energy and the baffling ability to randomly speak French of her surrogate carer Una Merkel then it would at least be a minor victory for all concerned.

No, this child is failing at all her basic duties. Our ringlet-strewn urchin has had these wonderful opportunities given to her on a silver platter and has single-handedly managed to be oblivious to the glittering world of fun around her. The poor girl probably can’t even tell you the correct glass for a mint julep, and I'd guess is a shockingly bad bridge partner to boot. No, I refuse to believe that this could be the true child of a Powell-Loy fictional union. The only explanation is that somebody must have swapped the baby at birth and that this plot point was edited out of the final print due to timing constraints. Yes, that’ll be it.

There is a strange scene in the film where William Powell, home for a brief moment between busy work assignments spends time playing and exercising with dear little Cora Sue and wife Myrna. The point of the scene is to show the bond between the parents and child and also seemingly to inject a moment of Thin Man style whimsy into the movie. It also shows the underlying tension between the husband and wife while contrasting with the innocence of the child. However, the scene, with its silly exercise routine just comes across as a failed attempt to inject some spontaneity into the movie and to make the characters a bit more likable. The result is just emotionally cloying and despite flashes of the old chemistry the whole thing is just contextually wrong. Firstly the scene seems unnatural for the straight-laced characters and secondly, the addition of an irritating child to the Powell-Loy act seems forced.

Which brings me to Asta. Let's face it, Little Cora Sue bless her heart just doesn’t have the charisma, the poise and the raw cinematic presence of Asta. To me, Asta is as much a part of the Powell – Loy act as Dorothy Lamour is to Hope and Crosby (not that I’m comparing the two but you know what I mean). In fact it’s a shame that after The Thin Man, Asta was not part of the package for other new films starring the pair. Granted, he wouldn’t have always fitted in, but I’m sure he would have had fun trying. Perhaps he got an agent and his doggy demands for bones and sausages were too much for the studio to give in to. I’d imagine that talent like his didn’t come cheap during the meat shortage.

Anyway, despite the fact that Cora Sue Collins is just all kinds of wrong as the fictional offspring of William Powell and Myrna Loy, she generally just looks out of place sitting next to the two stars. Powell and Loy just don’t do soapy melodrama and comfortable family units, or at least they shouldn’t, and anyone who shares the screen with them needs to be able to hold their own and push them to greater heights. A cheeky little scamp like Asta could provide the needed kick in the pants to a film taking itself too seriously, but a curly haired young urchin just makes things worse. Personally I think the perfect child for Bill and Myrna on screen would be Mitzi Green, possibly the only non-irritating child star in Hollywood history. (For more on Miss Green, please see here)

For instance, if poor Evelyn Prentice were sad because of sort of accidentally murdering a man she’s sort of not really having an affair with, little Mitzi would simply do a skipping soft shoe dance number then cheer her up with an impression of George Arliss. That one never fails. She would also come in useful at the dreadful social events her mother has to appear at by insulting haughty guests with a Dorothy Parker-esque put down while mixing a mean manhattan.

Of course she’d still be second choice behind Asta. Evelyn Prentice was obviously a stop gap film given to it’s stars regardless of whether it suited their screen personas, but it highlights so much of what makes the William Powell and Myrna Loy films so magical by showing us what it lacks. The film lacks the characters we would all grow to love, shoehorning them into stodgy melodrama, but most of all the film lacks that special catalyst to free them from the straight-laced theatrics. Cora Sue Collins, an otherwise talented child performer was not the solution. As Myrna said of the film in her autobiography, "The Thin Man had been so perfect for us, such a ball to make, that going into this thing was kind of a bore. It sent Bill into occasional depressions" And if you ask me, any film that made William Powell sad makes me sad too.

The lesson to be learned here is that all you really need to brighten up any picture and give that extra bit of appeal to a new screen couple is a cute dog that does tricks. Hey, some films can win Oscars due to it. Cute children just don’t quite cut it. Evelyn Prentice was a movie sorely lacking something, and that something had four paws and a tail and a special affinity for fire hydrants.

We Want Can-tor, We Want Can-tor: It's Eddie's Birthday!!

Gene Autry is the only person to have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in all five categories of film, radio, television, recordings and stage. Taking absolutely nothing away from Mr Autry’s stellar achievements, I’ve always thought that if the Walk were to serve a purpose as a true entertainment Hall of Fame (which it doesn’t sadly) then certain stars need to be more fully acknowledged for their true achievements within the industry. To do this it needs to induct a few more into the full house club and in my opinion, first on that list should be Eddie Cantor.

In the early 30s the king of all media in Showbizland was undoubtedly Eddie Cantor. A star in vaudeville and on Broadway, he parlayed his fame into success in movies, radio, music and writing (and later he would become a pioneer and star in television). Eddie was one of the few stars who understood the power of his own image and cannily used it in merchandising as a way to extend the reach (and longevity) of his fame. With his is seemingly massive “banjo eyes”, thick eyebrows and ruffled flop of dark hair, his was an instantly recognisable caricature that appeared everywhere from newspapers to cartoons.

Despite the fact that no one combined talent and success in so many different strands of entertainment, Cantor’s career can be seen as one of over achievement whilst never being seen as the top guy in each of his chosen fields. On Broadway, record and film he was great, but he wasn’t Jolson (of course, who was?) and on radio and television he was a pioneer and evergreen mainstay but neither did he attain the critical and popular heights of Jack Benny. As supremely talented as he was, he seemed to always be in the shadow of one of his contemporaries. Just in the way that Bing Crosby allegedly joked of Frank Sinatra that “A talent like Sinatra’s comes along once a lifetime – but why did it have to be my lifetime?!”, the same could be said of Cantor at different times in relation to his close friends Al Jolson and Jack Benny. Despite being a big enough star that he turned down The Jazz Singer before Jolson got the part, his cinematic life story would later sink into obscurity in comparison to the smash hit that was The Jolson Story. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride...

Eddie took a while to commit to films completely, announcing his abdication of the Broadway throne in an open letter to his patrons in 1930 after a number of false starts. His first sound starring feature, Whoopee! was a mixture of old stage routines and the filmed Broadway tableaux so popular during the first few years of the talkies. However, once he developed his character beyond its stage incarnation, he really took off as a great film comic with a more universal appeal. His movies in the early 30s combined knockabout humour and silly impressions with the trials and tribulations of an perpetually innocent everyman, all topped off with a few song and dance numbers in the Cantor tradition. This heady mix of pure unadulterated entertainment saw him through five films during the pre code era that are among the most entertaining movies you could ever hope to watch.

Cantor’s film career didn’t sustain beyond the mid 30s and after taking a break in 1935, his film appearances became more sporadic, with decidedly mixed results that never recovered the magic of his early days. However, he was always working, and as one door closed, others immediately opened.



I watched Eddie Cantor’s films on television in my youth and loved them, but it wasn’t really until listening to his radio shows that I truly understood the depth of his appeal. He was a fixture on radio from 1931 for the next thirty years in one capacity or another. His shows are the nearest I've heard to the Jack Benny Program in terms of comedic quality, and with his cast of familiar foils like announcer Harry Von Zell and the “Mad Russian” Bert Gordon, Eddie gently sends himself up and gets himself into typically silly situations. However, it is in his moments of directly speaking to the listening radio audience, that one gets the sense of the true Eddie Cantor. Unashamedly promoting good causes, always fiercely patriotic and at times even coming across as a bit of a strict father, Eddie at all times shows sincerity, warmth and a real appreciation of his audience. During the war years, his stirring speeches aimed at the troops and the home front are strong stuff, and he's still the only radio comic I've heard to explicitly mention the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps as a reason to fight for freedom and democracy.

Perhaps just being successful at so many different things has resulted him not being remembered as well as he should be, but his talent and effervescence can’t be denied and anyone who can sustain a career spanning nearly half a century, especially in this day and age deserves respect.

Of course, no mention of Cantor can be complete without his music. When I think of Eddie Cantor, the one word that comes to mind is “fun”. His songs are fun, his films are fun and most of all his voice is the very definition of fun. Songs such as “If you Knew Susie (Like I Know Susie”, “Ida! Sweet as Apple Cider”, “Ma (He’s Making Eyes at Me)”, “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby” and all the rest are sung with such an infectious enthusiasm that they still evoke chills and stand out beyond mere nostalgia. That’s the real fun of Eddie Cantor, seeing or hearing him perform as only he could, he truly is the "Apostle of Pep".

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 Hollywood Heritage Museum

At the end of September I returned for two weeks to dear old Los Angeles for a well earned vacation. I hadn’t been there for seven years and knowing the rate of change in cities a lot less busy than Los Angeles I was fairly apprehensive as to what would await me. Indeed, would any of it still be there since 2004? Los Angeles, in all its wonderful, terrible glory is probably my favourite place on earth. I desperately love the way that round every corner lurks some long forgotten relic of old Hollywood. Behind any boarded up doorway lurks an upstairs room where Rudolph Valentino once danced the tango or Joan Crawford waited tables. Or something like that. If you look hard enough, the liminal nether world of the past suddenly becomes illuminated and fleetingly alive. Literally every street from the Sunset Strip through to Culver City and beyond positively glows with movie history waiting to be rediscovered. On my first visit to the city this fact largely passed me by, and it wasn’t until I discovered the amazing work of John Bengtson and his frankly astonishing book Silent Echoes that the light went on above my head and I started to look around me. This time around there was simply too much to see and not enough time to see it in. Additionally, I’m not helped by my inability to drive and while I’m no stranger to public transport, it takes a lot longer to get around by bus than just jumping in a car. So, equipped with my two modestly sized legs I made my way across the city. On my travels I realised that the downside to being more aware of my environment in Los Angeles is that one tends to notice when formerly favourite sights and haunts change, or even worse cease to exist. So it was with heavy heart that I accepted the passing of formerly great dive bars like Cole’s and Boardner’s in favour of their faux-remodeled replacements. Some places, like Clifton’s Cafeteria seemed to be undergoing a worrying refurbishment (I hate the cod 20s style font they have decided to use and what happened to the grotto?) Others, such as Trader Vic’s at the Hilton, have gone altogether. That is life, as there is nothing achieved without progress and we must always be looking forward. As much as I’d like to invent a time machine and travel back to the Hollywood of old, I appreciate and enjoy just as much about the modern Los Angeles too. The problem comes when progress is at the cost of a city’s character and history. It’s a difficult problem, what with money and the intricacies of city politics, but going on the example of bars, I’d prefer a well-preserved original to an upscale approximate recreation. Or to put it another way I would prefer a restored Ambassador Hotel and Cocoanut Grove to the abomination that they built over it. So, to cut a long story short, a highlight of my holiday was the discovery of the Hollywood Heritage Museum. In fact it’s only really a discovery to me as it has been around for ages, but I find myself almost ashamed to say that I had never noticed it before. And the more I found out about it, the more I liked. Most of all, what is really the most wonderful thing about the place is that in this day and age that it exists at all. The museum itself is situated inside the Lasky-DeMille barn, which in 1913 was used as an impromptu studio to film Cecil B. DeMille’s feature The Squaw Man. As the fortunes of Lasky, DeMille and the film’s distribution company Paramount grew, the barn became one of many buildings on the expanding Famous Players-Lasky lot. Later it was moved from its home on the corner of Selma and Vine to the Paramount Studios lot on Melrose Avenue where DeMille kept it as a sort of keepsake of his early years and where it eventually became used as part of Paramount’s Western backlot. After DeMille died the studio struggled to find an excuse to keep it and it was eventually moved back to Vine Street to rot until it was rescued and restored by the Hollywood Heritage people, who moved it to its current location on Highland Avenue. The story of it’s near destruction and eventual restoration seems to have been a long and arduous journey but keenly emphasizes the struggle faced by preservation organizations when trying to save a historically important site from the wrecking ball. What’s more, the age of the structure (it was built in 1901), its importance in film history and the story of it’s revival makes the structure neatly emblematic of not only early Hollywood and movie history but of the ongoing process of architectural and historical preservation. All this and a lot more is documented inside the museum, generously illustrated with many rare photographs telling the complete history of the barn and it’s occupiers. Also inside is a selection of photographs and postcards showing the sights and wonders of early Hollywood, with an enlightening emphasis on the pre-moviemaking era. Of great interest to me was a selection of ephemera from the great night spots, bars and hotels of the golden age (and in the gift shop they even sell authentic Brown Derby coasters, salvaged prior to it’s demolition!) The museum also has a number of cool DeMille movie props and memorabilia and as well as a nice display profiling all the major stars of the silent era. Add to that is a corner dedicated to Rudolph Valentino and Valentino memorabilia, film shows (with a mini cinema), displays of relics from a few buildings they were unable to save and a spiffy reconstruction of Cecil B. DeMille’s office at Paramount. I spent a good few hours looking around the place and recommend it highly to anyone with a love of early Hollywood. In fact, there really is no other place in Hollywood where you'll even hear mention of half this stuff. The museum should be a required visiting spot for all local schools if I had my way. What’s more, the guide on duty the day I visited (George) was very knowledgeable on the subject of Hollywood history and answered my many, many questions with enthusiasm. He recommended historical places of interest to visit in town and when I mentioned I was going next to Larchmont Boulevard for some location spotting, offered to drive me there as the museum was closing up for the day. The ten minute journey turned into an hour long impromptu tour of the homes of the silent stars in the Hollywood Hills and Hancock Park which was unbelievably kind of him and definitely one of the highlights of my vacation. Now, that’s service for you! Of course, the museum is just a part of the work of Hollywood Heritage as a look at their website attests. Of special interest is their top ten most endangered Hollywood sites, an eye opening account of the struggles to get politicians to recognize the importance of preserving Hollywood’s rich history. While it’s great to see the work they have done, losses like The Ambassador Hotel are a depressing reminder of the reality of change and city politics. It baffles me that a city like Los Angeles, and especially Hollywood finds it so difficult to commit to preserving culturally important landmarks. Most cities would kill to have the built in tourist-friendly history that Hollywood has, yet they want to brush their heritage under the carpet and let it quietly decay. As usual, people will only sit up and take notice once something precious has gone and by then it’ll be too late. Despite all this, if you are ever in the neighbourhood, you should visit the Hollywood Heritage Museum and support its work. I came away with even more respect for the amazing mix of architectural styles present in what’s left of old Los Angeles and of the organisations trying their best to preserve them. Check them out at http://www.hollywoodheritage.org/

So This Is Africa (1933) - So This Is 'So This Is Africa'...

Rather than being the celebration of sin and lewdness that many would have you believe, I’ve always thought that pre code movies were, at their best movies made for an adult audience, and largely made without the need to look down on their paying public. They are saying “What you see is what you get – were all adults here, aren’t we?” Of course, in a heady climate of low brow dialogue and veiled reverences to loose morals, it was inevitable that some films would push the envelope too far and would run into trouble. Such is the case for the legendary Convention City, which was apparently so scandalous that the mere existence of a print would have corrupted the fabric of 1930s society beyond repair. Convention City is lost to us but luckily the second most notorious film of the pre code era still exists, albeit in a severely truncated form.

That film is Wheeler and Woolsey’s So This Is Africa, and the story of its making and eventual unmaking is a long and tortuous one. Now, I had planned to outline the saga but a quick look at the ever excellent “Give me the good old days!” reveals that, with the help of the New York state archives the story has been told far better than my words could do it justice. So I’d advise a quick trip to this link to be filled in on the sad tale of cinematic clipping. I’ll be here when you get back. *waits patiently, tapping foot* Right? Wasn’t it a fantastic piece of research? Sadly, after all that you're stuck with me again…

I was really looking forward to finally watching So This Is Africa, partly to see what all the fuss was about and partly to see if in fact there was anything left of the film as eventually released. From the sound of it, the movie as originally written would have been a raucous, low brow, innuendo-laden affair and perhaps the quintessential Wheeler and Woolsey vehicle, cementing their reputation as kings of pre code comedy. As released …well it’s not quite what it should be. Wheeler and Woolsey made So This Is Africa for Columbia after a brief falling out with their home studio RKO over money. As such, we miss out on the presence of the lovely Dorothy Lee, and the cast of familiar comic faces usually employed on their RKO features. In fact there is no one in the cast that I recognized, and this probably either says something about the importance of Wheeler and Woolsey to Columbia or the state of comedy at the studio at that time. However, the film does get a safe pair of hand in director Edward Cline who as well as being a former Buster Keaton collaborator had also worked with the boys on two of their previous films.

The plot concerns out of work lion tamers Wheeler and Woolsey’s trip to the wilds of Africa to help shoot the greatest jungle picture of all time. The reason they have been picked is because the leading lady, one Mrs Martini is afraid of animals and their lions are so moth eaten and toothless that she’ll feel safer making the film with them. However, once the premise is set up, it is quickly forgotten as we travel from one absurd jungle parody to the next. In fact the plot, and indeed the cast don’t seem to take things very seriously as the tone of the humour oscillates between being pitch black and downright silly. And the poor lions simply disappear once their duties as plot devices are done. Poor old mangy lions.


When we first meet Bob and Bert (thanks to a quick camera pan up the side of a skyscraper), we find the two down on their luck lion tamers about to jump out the window. There then follows a fairly bleak exchange as they discuss the best technique for killing yourself. Woolsey won’t jump as he feels that his partner’s jumping skills aren’t good enough and will only accompany him if he can get it right. One gets the impression that this is a regular ritual for the characters. Though not massively funny it’s a good example of how direct Wheeler and Woolsey’s comedy is, as they attempt to defy social airs and graces. There is very little of the comic business associated with other double acts, nor is there the heavily laboured vaudeville routines of many of the early sound comics. They display a confidence with the camera and generally don’t mess about, approaching situations and ideas head on and hoping for the best.

The doorbell rings and pulls them back off the ledge. It is a doctor, who looks at their lions and after proclaiming one of them dead (it's not, it just looks dead), decides that the lions need a vacation in Africa, and kept out of drafts. The boys meet up with the film people, the lions vanish and the film starts proper. However, before they leave there is time for a quick musical number in the hotel lobby (which looks slightly under rehearsed and suffers from some obvious cuts and over dubs) and a very funny gag involving the African tribesmen that for some reason are waiting in the hotel. The film producer remarks that they need to get to Africa as “the natives are getting restless” as the camera cuts to the tribesmen aimlessly milling around the lobby looking bored. Well, it made me laugh…

Thus far, there is nothing too risqué, but luckily the sheer silliness of the ideas keeps the film from ever getting dull. However, once we reach the jungles, it’s obvious that the dialogue gets a bit more adult, only because of the regular jumps and clicks in the soundtrack. Despite this, a few gems do survive almost intact. A reference to the “virgin trees” gets the response “Huh! They look pretty wild to me!” Later on during some chitchat between Mrs Martini and Woolsey, Martini mentions her gown and asks him “Do you think it’s becoming?” at exactly the moment that one of her shoulder straps falls down. He fires back, “It’ll be coming off any minute now!” About the only other surviving moment of adult humour is Robert Woolsey’s response to his partner’s disappearance during the night “You’ve been streetwa…sleepwalking again!” From what I’ve seen of the scripts, that’s the tip of the iceberg, but those censors really went to work on the picture, almost with religious zeal. As is usually the case in these situations, once they get the scissors out they just can’t stop.

Luckily however, So This Is Africa does not rely wholly on innuendo for its laughs. There are a number of very imaginative comic scenes in the film, most of which work well, but which are really not taken to their full potential. What struck me about the best scenes, and indeed most of the film itself was the sense of boredom with many of the clichés of cinema. The movie has fun with genre and narrative staples with an almost cynical resignation. One scene sees Wheeler, Woolsey and Mrs Martini (played by Esther Muir) engage in a spot of big game hunting. The three of them stand next to an obvious cheap jungle set as Woolsey shouts “Get that alligator!” We cut to really grainy stock footage of an alligator in the real jungle and back to Bert Wheeler shooting it with nonchalant ease. Next up, “Look! A wild panther!”, as this time we cut to the same grainy stock footage but this time amusingly of a giraffe. Bert shoots it anyway. Finally the cry is “A rhinoceros is charging us!” to which Bert responds, (after the stock footage, of the right animal this time) “I’m sorry, I haven’t got any more bullets”. The footage then runs backwards, letting Woolsey say melodramatically “We’re saved! He’s in reverse” Despite being a well deserved sending up of cheap jungle pictures, the way Wheeler and Woolsey play it is absolutely stunning. They say each line as if they where reading it for the first time with the most wooden delivery imaginable and in essence sending up their own picture for the very same flaws. It’s at once very modern (or post modern, if you like) and very funny, with a free wheeling sense of mischief that is largely absent from comic movies of the era.


Another interesting scene happens later when the boys and Mrs Martini begin discussing important plot points with each other but after saying each line we hear their internal dialogue in voice over. The voice overs start out quite conventionally but then get increasingly bizarre. Esther Muir is the absolute star or the scene in saying her line then turning to her right and staring off camera with determined concentration and furrowed brow as her internal monologue declares “This is a strange interlude” Bert Wheeler’s inner voice responds “Lies, lies, lies! I cannot stand this constant lying. Oh, I wish I were free of all this like a bird, like a bee, like a balloon!” For no apparent reason Robert Woolsey’s inner voice chips in with “Little does she know that she’s my sister’s mother’s father’s brother’s black cat’s niece. Say yes you weasel, say yes or I’ll brain ya!” The idea eventually comes to a head when Wheeler and Woolsey find that they can hear each others thoughts and start a fight in their minds. Needless to say each line is said with over the top melodrama and a far away look off camera. The scene is fantastic and again pokes fun not only at the clichés of film drama, film acting and cinematic language but also the tawdriness of the film itself. The scene, and the previously mentioned one both stand out because the performances from the players descend into parody and seemingly exist apart from the narrative flow of the movie itself. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Either the scriptwriter (Norman Krasna but I’d imagine that the script went though a number of hands before it was finished) or Wheeler and Woolsey themselves had some real frustrations with movie making to vent or people were enjoying themselves just a little too much on set whilst shooting the film. Regardless of motive, the scenes present interesting comic ideas and a rare example of truly irreverent humour. Never have I seen a Hollywood film of the era where the cast appear to be saying so openly that they don’t in any way take what they are doing seriously.

After these post modern shenanigans, the plot wheezes on to its inevitable conclusion. We meet the prerequisite Dorothy Lee replacement Raquel Torres, who does a good job with what she’s given but who, let’s face it just isn’t Dorothy Lee. Torres is part of a tribe of ferocious Amazons that (in another censor troubling idea) “love men to death at night”. The boys are captured by the tribe and are awaiting their fate worse (or better) than death when they are “saved” by a wandering tribe of Tarzans, who arrive in formation to take their mates. We last see Wheeler and Woolsey as they are dragged off by a couple of Tarzans to begin domestic life (they happen to be dressed as women as part of an escape plan) The whole chaotic mess ends with a caption declaring “Only a Year Later” where the pair, still in dresses busy themselves with washing clothes. They turn around to reveal a baby on each of their backs – have they by some freak of nature, been impregnated by their male kidnappers? No, of course not, (although in the original script who knows!) as a couple of jungle girls come to help them. Robert Woolsey gets the last line, “Boy! That’s Africa for you!” as the whole troubled production comes to an end.

Of course, we can forever wonder what the uncut version of the film would have been like. From what I’ve read of the script it’s certainly racier but it doesn’t sound particularly obscene, even for the times. Perhaps the problem was the sheer quantity of the innuendos and scantily clad women. Where most films would make just a couple of oblique sexual references, So This Is Africa shovels a constant barrage of veiled filth at the unsuspecting viewer. It’s interesting that the lobby card at the top of the page describes Wheeler and Woolsey as “sexplorers”, and perhaps this overt and open attitude to sex and more importantly, the marketing of the film in this manner lead the censors to get cold feet in a hurry.

At the end of the day, I can only judge the movie on what remains, and what remains is a pretty decent little comedy. It doesn’t have the rough, almost low budget charm of the team’s previous RKO features but is does have some very bold comic ideas and a genuinely anarchic spirit. Wheeler and Woolsey may lack the free form absurdity of the Marx Brothers at their best but the pair have a disarmingly irreverent view of the world where things seem at once real and earthy but equally ridiculous and trivial. So This Is Africa displays this spirit in spades and though ultimately there’s not many hints of it being a great lost masterpiece, it’s a miracle it exists at all so for that we should be thankful. Now can everyone check their attic tonight for that missing print of Convention City?

Three Cheers for Joan Blondell!

I can't let today pass without a (very) brief mention of the ever lovely Joan Blondell. Bright, shiny, dear Joan Blondell. How can you fail to be charmed by her? She makes any film instantly more enjoyable. She is truly the heart and soul of the pre-code era. I don't think anyone could sum up the hopes and dreams of the early thirties and the Depression audience better than Joan. A consummate professional, a great actress and a real, bonafide, honest to goodness proper film star.

Sadly, I've no time for a full birthday tribute, as I'd much rather go and watch one of her films! Union Depot is sitting in my DVD player and it's calling me!

Happy Birthday Miss Blondell.

Happy Birthday Myrna Loy!

I’ve been thinking long and hard about penning a profile of Myrna Loy on the anniversary of her birth, but the problem arises – what can I possibly add to the debate that hasn’t already been said? Is it actually possible to write about Myrna Loy without using the phrases “Queen of Hollywood”, “Perfect Wife” or “Thin Man”? Myrna Loy is one of those great, pure film stars, an absolute distillation of the ethos of MGM studios in their prime. Witty, urbane, independent and beautiful, her performances largely hold up very well these days, but of course we all know that. She is loved by those in the know yet mostly overlooked, and even perhaps taken for granted by modern film fans, but again this fact is nothing particularly new. In the end I got to thinking not so much about what drew me to Myrna Loy and her films, but what it was that kept me a fan once I had I had a few under my belt. What was it that made me trek to the other side of the world (in the pre Ebay days) to find a copy of her autobiography and that elusive tome The Films of Myrna Loy by Lawrence J. Quirk?

What it comes down to is Myrna’s long rise to the top. It’s amazing that she had made almost 80 film appearances and been in movies almost a decade before getting her big break as a star in her own right (and all before she was thirty). Not for her the instant stardom and hype of a new Broadway or European import. Nor did she arrive on screen with a fully formed persona. In comparison to my two other favourite leading ladies, Joan Blondell and Kay Francis, Myrna certainly took the long road to fame. Blondell and Francis were from virtually day one at the top of the bills with more or less the screen persona they would become famous for already established (Kay Francis moved from villainous roles to the more sympathetic leads, but her almost patrician bearing remained essentially unchanged) In contrast Myrna Loy pulled herself up from the chorus lines, moving into bit parts and minor featured roles, then slowly rising to secondary leads and eventually to emerge miraculously as a star in her own right. On this journey she played all manner of exotic and frankly ridiculous characters, which really makes the eventual creation of the well known Loy persona positively miraculous. One would have expected a degree of schizophrenia and uncertainly about playing herself as a leading actress after constantly having to don silly wigs and pretend to be people of undisclosed foreign origin for so many years.

However, for me part of the fun of Myrna Loy is to watch her as she travels from studio to studio, clawing her way up the ladder of fame, gaining experience and trying to make the best of often awful material and bad casting. The strange thing is that she’s not one of those actresses who steals the show in a minor role, and from viewing her early parts there is often, in truth little glimmer of the talent and charisma that was to come. In fact her early films are really only interesting if you are aware of what she would eventually become. If for example she had (heaven forbid) died or retired before 1931, I feel few would be writing about her much today other than for features about forgotten starlets. Even right up until her breakout performance in Manhattan Melodrama in 1934, she was still to be found as an occasionally solid yet uninspiring female lead (Vanity Fair and Consolation Marriage, are both particularly bland parts for her). Maybe all she needed was the chemistry that William Powell provided her to truly find her feet? Possibly, but that’s a thought for another day…

As I said, the fun is to be found in seeing the debonair and delightful Miss Loy we all know and love thrust into the most ridiculous of roles. Thanks to her early tag as a go-to for exotic parts, (something she would not really fully shake until taking on the part of Nora Charles in The Thin Man) even as late as 1932 she was still donning oriental makeup to look Chinese, exotic and ultimately evil. Sadly, many of her early sound films do not seem to exist any more (and, to my eternal shame never having seen any of her silent films – call myself a fan?? – I can’t comment on those either) and though I’ve managed to get hold of the majority of her pre-fame appearances though there are still some elusive gaps (and here’s the usual empty plea – anyone got The Great Divide, Evidence, Isle of Escape, Under a Texas Moon, Skyline or Body and Soul to name but a few? I’ll gladly swap any of them for my cat). Moving on…

Some random highlights (or lowlights, depending on your view) from her early work include –

The Squall (1929) – Myrna plays Nubi, a gypsy girl with a large dark frizzy wig and accent of the “You feelthee peeg!” variety. It’s actually a pretty decent movie for a film where the top three key words on IMDb are “Gypsy”, “Hungary” and “Farming”. She enlivens the proceedings considerably by doing quite a lot of seductive writhing, which is more often than not a good thing in my book. Especially in films about Hungarian Gypsy farmers.

Last of the Duanes (1930) – Myrna Loy did a number of westerns in this era, which isn’t quite a shocking as say, Louise Brooks in a western but is still an initial “huh?’ moment. Okay, she’s not quite a rootin’ tootin’ cowgirl here, in fact the opposite, the appropriately named Lola Bland, but she gets to be evil (the caucasian type this time). Which swiftly leads us to…

Rogue of the Rio Grande (1930) – Another western but this time one of those all singing, all dancing borderland and bandits type of affairs. Myrna gets into the spirit of things a bit more here playing Carmita, a saloon girl with dubious morals and even more dubious accent, though she redeems herself by dancing a mean tango. So mean in fact that she literally has men fighting over her on the dance floor. Ole!

The Devil to Pay! (1930) – This is one of a number of films where Myrna Loy sports blonde hair. I say hair in the technical term. It is hair, just not her own hair. Nonetheless, like appearing in westerns, Myrna Loy with platinum blonde hair just isn’t right, but each to their own. I once overheard a woman at the museum at Elvis Presley’s birthplace in Tupelo, MS say that she only collected pictures of the young Elvis with his natural light brown hair and refused to have anything to do with him when he dyed it black. I though that was rather odd and a severely limiting condition to put on your hobby, but I’m sure it made her very happy. In that spirit I hereby declare that I am only going to write about Myrna Loy’s films where she doesn't show her legs. No other ones. Ever.

A Connecticut Yankee (1931) – Probably the real undiscovered gem of her early appearances, this Will Rogers vehicle goes all out to bring the viewer into the imaginary court of King Arthur. It’s full of castles, knights, wenches and jesters and all the trappings of medieval Merrie Olde England. In the middle of this is a delightfully sly Myrna Loy as the evil Morgan le Fay. Apart from the fact she looks absolutely stunning in her slinky frock and assortment of matching headdresses, as she spars with Rogers and plots her diabolical schemes there is for the first time a real and noticeable glint her eye, a stirring of the subtle touch and delicate delivery she would ultimately become known for. The whole film is incredibly silly and for once it seems she is aware of this, and the good dialogue gives her a previously unseen screen presence. Luckily she would swiftly follow this up with her marvelous turn in Rouben Mamoulian’s Love Me Tonight, which although brief brought promise of definite potential in her given the right script.

Thirteen Women (1932) – Of course, after a couple of well-received performances, the studios must have started to pay attention to her, so what did Myrna end up doing next? How about a sinister half Asian, half Indian with strange hypnotic powers out for murderous revenge? Okay! Myrna has black hair, darkened eyes and upturned eyebrows to make her even more evil in a movie which has the decency to at least mention that she has been pushed into her killing spree due to racial intolerance, while sadly playing up as many stereotypical clichés as possible. Luckily, by this time in her career Myrna Loy was an actress with an upward progression, a gal going places so surely it was an unfortunate blip on the way to fame. Her next film would put her right on track…yeah, right on track.

The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932) – Well, maybe not.

I could go on, but the point is that when you watch any of Myrna Loy’s pre 1934 movies, you just never know what you are going to get. Sometimes she’s just scenery dressing, sometimes she has good parts, and other times you feel she is being used as the butt of some studio producer’s joke. A glance at the previously mentioned The Films of Myrna Loy reveals a whole host of tantalizing Loy stills from forgotten movies and it makes you realize the sheer variety and absurdity of the roles she had to play in order to get to where she could have some control over her own career.

Another great thing about Myrna Loy is her brilliant autobiography Being and Becoming, which combines a pleasing level of detail (she makes sure to have a reminiscence of every movie she worked on, no matter how obscure), some outspoken opinion (Ronald Reagan’s ears must have been glowing when it was published) and a surprisingly honest account of her own flaws, mistakes and regrets. In terms of her early career, what is admirable is her never say die attitude whilst being passed from studio to studio and being offered ridiculous and demeaning roles. She charts her determination to succeed in Hollywood whilst avoiding the casting couch and the other all too familiar pitfalls, and to emerge with her morals and ethics intact. The title of her book is due to her misappropriation of a Matthew Arnold quote, which she remembers as “Life is not a having and a getting, but a being and becoming”. In terms of the narrative of her life the phrase rings true, but it is equally appropriate to describe her emergence as one of the great film stars of the golden age. She was not given her stardom, or groomed for a place at the top; neither was she the favourite of any producer foisted on the public, or ushered into Hollywood with months and months of press hype. She earned her place through hard work and by gaining the experience in her chosen field so that when her opportunity finally came she grabbed it with both hands and showed Hollywood, and the world what she had to offer.

In an era that has lost sight of the hard work it takes to succeed in any occupation, where stardom has lost its currency and a generation has grown up thinking fame is something to be handed out, not earned, Myrna Loy's example becomes all the more important. She needs to be remembered as an actress, a star and most of all as a decent hard working and principled woman who succeeded in a pretty rotten industry and emerged with her dignity (and sanity) intact.

Oh, and before I forget, Queen of Hollywood, Perfect Wife and Thin Man. Told you it couldn't be done.