And The Most Misleading DVD Cover of the Week Award Goes To...



I'm not sure if the DVD cover for 1949's Holiday Affair was inspired by a movie poster or what but it certainly gives a misleading impression of the movie in question. Which is a big shame because Holiday Affair doesn't really need such a false image. It's that rarity of rarities: a holiday movie that is both actually good and yet not overexposed.

I'll admit that star Robert Mitchum seems an unlikely candidate for a Christmas movie. However, he and fellow star Janet Leigh make a lovely couple, and I was surprised by how quickly I was drawn into their story.

The story begins when Leigh's character Connie Ennis goes to the department store where Mitchum's character Steve Mason is employed and inadvertently attracts his attention. Mason soon discovers that Ennis is a comparison shopper (an occupation discouraged by his department store), but instead of turning her in like he should, he takes pity on her and allows her to make a refund. Unfortunately, he loses his job as a result.

He confronts Ennis about this. Ennis feels guilty and allows him to buy her lunch. Complications ensue -- especially when Ennis's boyfriend and would-be husband-to-be Carl Davis finds out about Mason -- and both Mason and Ennis find their lives changed in a way neither of them would have anticipated.

Sound like a typical romcom? Maybe. But it's a nicely done romcom and not the type that has most sensible people grinding their teeth at the ridiculousness of the characters' actions. Especially refreshing is the movie's refusal to make Davis the classic “bad boyfriend.” Instead he's presented as a genuinely nice guy who is quite sympathetic but unfortunately not the type of person to whom Ennis is likely to be attracted. He even has a scene in which he recognizes this and deals with it in a mature fashion.

This film very easily could have been awful in different hands and I suspect the recent made-for-TV remake is not quite as interesting as the original. The original, unfortunately, has never gained the same attention as the more famous holiday films of the 1940s -- Holiday Inn, It's a Wonderful Life, and of course, Miracle on 34th Street. But that doesn't mean it deserves to be passed over either.

Just don't judge the movie by the DVD cover. Or for that matter, by this poster:

Three Films I'd Like to Pretend I Saw the Day Before Election Day

1. The Great McGinty (1940).

The classic Preston Sturges satire of politics involving a rags-to-riches politico who ends up in hot water the minute he tries to reform the political system. If that plot sounds similar to Warren Beatty's Bulworth, well... I doubt that's a coincidence. But at least Sturges doesn't try to insert cheap pathos into his flick by having his protagonist suffer a tragic fate. Plus there are no OJ jokes. Nor the pretense that OJ jokes made two years after everyone got sick of OJ jokes are especially daring...

2. State of the Union (1948).

The classic Hepburn-Tracy film in which Spencer Tracy runs for President while -- whoa! -- fending off special interests, spin doctors -- in 1948! -- and romantic scandal. (Yes, Presidential candidates had extramarital affairs even in 1948. How odd!)

3. The Candidate (1972).

The classic Robert Redford political film about the Vietnam War era campaign of yet another would-be reformer who ends up being swallowed by the system. Don't these people ever learn?

What I actually saw:

1. The Old Dark House (1932)
2. I Married a Witch (1942)
3. The Barkleys of Broadway (1949)

I suppose I can read political implications into the last three if I try...

1. The Political Implications of The Old Dark House:

A. Rain is a bad thing.
B. So is fire.
C. Nobody likes uninvited guests.
D. Or drunken servants.
E. Chorus girls are people too.
F. So are rich widowers.
G. Creepy religious people tend to be... well... creepy.
H. People who propose in haste end up falling for the strangest people.

2. The Political Implications of I Married a Witch:

A. The Puritans were a bunch of fuddy-duddys.
B. Witches are more fun if less socially responsible.
C. One should always be careful about that which one drinks.
D. Marriage for political ends is not a good thing.
E. However, there are times in which one's spouse can prove quite convenient for a last-minute political campaign.
F. Beware of people who tend to smoke excessively.
G. And who pay no attention to highway signs.
H. Unconventional relationships can prove more rewarding than those endorsed by respectable society.
I. One should always return borrowed items as quickly as possible.
J. People who like cats can't be all bad.
K. Sometimes it's good to bottle up one's problems.

3. The Political Implications of The Barkleys of Broadway:

A. You can't keep a good Republican girl down.
B. Don't trust the French.
C. On the other hand, you can trust the French as long as you don't let them get any ideas.
D. You never know until you try.
E. When all else fails, recite “La Marseillaise.”

Oh, well. At least I didn't waste my time this past week watching Swing Vote.

All the Classic Movies That I Have Seen

1. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931).

One of the best versions of Robert Louis Stevenson's novella that I have seen thus far. Fredric March deserved his Oscar. Miriam Hopkins was not too bad either.

2. Frankenstein (1931).

Another horror classic. Not much I could say about this that others have not already said but I am still haunted by certain scenes -- the windmill fire scene, for example -- that I remember from my childhood. I wish I could say that I have seen the 1931 version of Dracula as well but I have only seen bits and pieces.

3. The Invisible Man (1933).

Yes, it takes liberties with some of the original novel's plot but it is still a better rendition than one might think.

4. Werewolf of London (1935).

Another movie I saw in my teenage years. I never liked it as much as The Wolf Man but it had its moments.

5. Son of Frankenstein (1939).

For some reason, I never saw half as much of The Bride of Frankenstein as I did this one. Obviously a big influence on Young Frankenstein.

6. The Cat and the Canary (1939).

The Bob Hope version. Actually a lot better than I thought it would be. The fact that Hope had Paulette Goddard of Modern Times fame as his female lead does not hurt either. I have yet to see a film in which Ms. Goddard's presence was not a welcome addition -- she even managed to steal the show from her more famous co-stars in The Women -- and this film is no exception.

7. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1941).

Interesting experiment that did not quite work, perhaps because director Victor Fleming overdid the special effects -- especially in the dream sequences -- or more likely because Spencer Tracy was not a very convincing Mr. Hyde. He tried, bless his heart, and of course, Ingrid Bergman and Lana Turner were quite attractive, but I still prefer the 1931 version.

8. The Wolf Man (1941).

This film always confused me as a young boy because I never quite understood why the filmmakers called the title character a “wolf man” when he so obviously looked nothing like a wolf. I guess “Weird Hairy Man” was taken as a title.

9. The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942).

I had seen this when I was a young boy but I don't remember too much about it.

10. Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1942).

For some reason I liked this as a young boy but I don't remember why.

11. House of Frankenstein (1944).

Ditto.

12. The Body Snatcher (1945).

Robert Wise does horror. Actually a pretty good horror film as I recall.

God Bless You, Lucia Muir, Wherever You Are

Unlike Rex Harrison's Captain Daniel Gregg in 1947's The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, I have never called any of my beloveds -- and there have been several -- by the Spanish equivalent of their first names -- apart, of course, from those who already had Spanish first names. But The Ghost and Mrs. Muir makes me want to do so.

Indeed, it makes me want to do a lot of things. Sail the seven seas. Weather a storm at sea. Romance a widow and let her not be the worse for knowing me. (Not that I'm in the habit of making women be the worse for knowing me.) Write a book more stirring than the one Gene Tierney's character Lucy -- excuse me -- Lucia Muir writes midway through the movie. Drink warm milk.

Okay, that last part was an exaggeration, but I still must admit to being greatly moved by this movie. In an age in which so many “art” movies strain to show how “literary” they are, it was interesting to see a movie that pays homage to the power of the written word -- and yet avoids the usual whining of how nobody ever takes writers seriously. A movie that actually has a sense of humor about the subject. And yet has other things on its mind.

I suppose the one reason I am so moved by this movie is the way the Gene Tierney character eventually reminded me of an older relative. Unlike Lucia Muir, this relative was never widowed, but she did marry twice -- and after the second marriage, she seemed to give up on romance altogether. I would like to think that the relative in question is destined to have a happier fate than Lucia Muir. But time will tell.

Of course, one could argue that Lucia Muir's fate in the end was not all that unhappy. And given the fact that she was a widow, the fact that the movie manages to give its blessing to a relationship that does not involve a reunion between her and her departed spouse despite the Hays Code seems like a notable achievement.

But, as in the case with my older relative, I am human enough to wish things had worked out for her a bit differently. And that romance in the real world has more than a ghost of a chance.

Not So Quiet Desperation

Cultural conservatives always tend to go on and on about the good old days when Hollywood movies respected flyover country (the land between LA and New York) yet some of the most negative portraits of such country pop up in many an old movie made in the very era they wax nostalgic over.

For example, it’s difficult to watch a film like 1936's The Petrified Forest and not get the feeling that the audience was meant to root for the female lead character (a bookish waitress played by Bette Davis) to leave Arizona and fulfill her dream of traveling to France. The film doesn’t exactly mock America but it doesn’t pretend that Davis’s character -- Gabrielle Maple -- is particularly happy where she’s at and it’s perhaps no coincidence that the character most mocked in this movie is a self-styled patriot while the most respected character describes himself as “an American once removed.”

The Petrified Forest is most famous today for being the movie in which actor Humphrey Bogart first achieved stardom. Bogart plays the heavy, a criminal fugitive named Duke Mantee whose gang hides out in the diner/gas station where Gabrielle Maple works. Also present at the diner are Maple’s grandfather, Maple’s would-be suitor, and a drifter (played by Leslie Howard) who captures Maple’s fancy. Eventually a rich couple and their chauffeur get roped into the mess and although words are exchanged between many a character, the main conflict proves to be a war of words between Howard's character -- Alan Squier -- and Duke Mantee, a conflict which eventually resolves itself in a way that I dare not give away.

Alan Squier -- a former expat who is currently hitchhiking his way across the country -- is most interesting because it’s the type of character one rarely sees in movies anymore: a self-styled intellectual who is self-aware enough to be humble and sensitive enough to be more attractive to a local girl than a local football hero. Yes, it’s tempting to see this character as little more than a lonely screenwriter’s wish-fulfillment fantasy but the dialogue between him and Maple actually proves quite interesting. The subjects Maple and he discuss in their conversation (fate, nature, genetics, etc.) rarely get mentioned in movies nowadays and I for one found it refreshing to hear such people talk on and on without once feeling the need to throw in a pop culture reference so that the average movie-goer won't feel left out.

It’s even more refreshing to see Ms. Davis prove her versatility by playing a character so vastly different than the role she last played with Mr. Howard -- that of the scornful waitress in Of Human Bondage -- though, of course, that movie would not be the last film in which Ms. Davis proved such talent.

Of course, this movie was based on a play, and it might be argued that the movie could afford to be more literate than the average modern movie because it was based on a property that had already proved itself commercially on stage. But it’s still refreshing to see such a movie in existence and it’s a pity one doesn’t see movies like this more often.

What Else Can You Expect from a Woman Named after a Byzantine Empress?

Anyone else get the feeling that if Puritanism never existed, American liberals would have felt compelled to invent it? Indeed, Puritanism is so often held to be the great American tradition that it is kinda depressing to look around and see the many ways we Americans have evolved beyond it. Even the most conservative of Americans today often indulge in activities -- living with their boyfriends or girlfriends before marriage, piercing their private parts, gazing at pornography, going to strip clubs -- that would have shocked our Puritan ancestors. And when you consider how many Americans today are not directly related to the Puritans, it is a wonder that Puritanism gets as much lip service as it does.

It is especially depressing to watch an old movie like Theodora Goes Wild and realize how much American culture has changed since the days when this movie was made. Back in 1936, when this movie was first released, small town gossip was no doubt still a thing to be feared and the loss of a woman’s reputation was still regarded as a genuinely serious matter. Yet today few enough people live in small towns to make fearing small town gossip worthwhile. And so many American women nowadays have done so much worse than indulge in the drinking and dancing that Theodora does when she finally rebels against the small town gossips in this movie that Theodora’s rebellion seems funny in a way that the filmmakers did not quite intend.

Anyway, the movie revolves around the life of a small town girl named Theodora Lynn (played by Irene Dunne) who chooses to start a literary career by writing romance novels under a pen name. Unfortunately for her, the novels prove to be quite popular -- and because they are very steamy -- controversial to boot. Her own aunts -- with whom she lives -- join a campaign to ban the books in her home town, and if that is not complicated enough, a big city acquaintance named Michael Grant (played by Melvyn Douglas) follows her back to her home town and threatens to expose her true identity.

Much is made of the fact that Theodora is basically a decent woman who eventually -- through circumstances beyond her control -- acquires a reputation for being anything but decent. Finally she gives in and deliberately embraces her new-found reputation, mocking the gossips of her home town by pretending to be the very type of “loose“ woman they assume her to be. As noted above, she drinks and dances in public and pretends to have various illicit affairs. She also discovers that Michael Grant who had been looking down on her for leading a double life has secrets of his own. And that city folks can be every bit as petty and hypocritical in their ways as small town residents.

The ending of the movie is too delicious to spoil. Let’s just say everything works out for Theodora Lynn in a way that seems quite logical -- and in the end, quite just.

Yet the most ironic thing about that ending is the way Theodora manages to get the attention of the townsfolk with an act that would receive little attention today. So I guess we should be glad that times have changed, right?

Right?

Gable and Lombard -- Together at First

So much has been said on the Net about how amoral the 1932 film No Man of Her Own is that it's almost embarrassing to note how tame it is by modern standards. True, that “Lombard on a ladder” scene -- in which a young Clark Gable encourages librarian Carole Lombard to climb a ladder in hopes of sneaking a peek up her skirt -- must have seemed risqué back in the 1930s but nowadays it seems mild compared to the average sex scene in Boston Legal or Grey's Anatomy.

True, there is a shower scene involving the film's leading lady (Ms. Lombard) but we in the audience see little of her apart from her head and shoulders. True, there is a clothes-changing scene in which another actress pauses in the act of disrobing to give all the straight men in the audience a good long view of her bare legs, but then she puts on a black negligee and we never do get a glimpse of what her uncovered body looks like above the thighs.

Finally there is the plot. True, the movie makes little effort to deny the Gable character's sordid past as a gambler and a womanizer. But then it settles for one of the oldest plot twists in the book: the old “rogue who is redeemed by the love of a good woman” twist. Gable takes his time getting reformed, of course, but he doesn't exactly protest a lot when Lombard's character insists that they get married and he doesn't even protest when she insists he work for a living. In short, for a dangerous rogue, Gable makes one heck of a pussycat.

But then if I had an on-screen wife like Carole Lombard, I'd be inclined to make more than a few sacrifices in my life as well.

No Man of Her Own marked the first and last time Gable and Lombard were together on screen. Later they would marry and it's been argued that Lombard's early death in a plane crash would forever ruin Gable for all other women. It's not a bad movie -- just a bit more sedate (even by 1932 standards) than I expected.

To put this movie in perspective, consider this: In the 1942 film Casablanca, the Bogart character Rick Blaine shows no shame in admitting -- and showing the audience -- that he hasn't exactly lived like a monk since he last saw Ingrid Bergman's Ilsa -- the love of his life. He also shows no shame in alluding to the fact that he is familiar with whorehouses. Yet he is seen as a far nobler character than the one Gable plays in this movie.

Strange thing, that moral code of yesteryear. Very strange.

Thank God the Hays Code Saved Us from Stuff Like This

Every time I find myself inclined to believe that the moviemakers of yesteryear can do no wrong, I come across a movie like 1933's Meet the Baron. A pre-Code comedy starring a very unfunny Jimmy Durante and a deservedly obscure forerunner of Mel Brooks named Jack Pearl, Meet the Baron is best known today for being the first movie to feature the Three Stooges. Unfortunately, the Stooges do not have too much screen time and most of the screen time they do have is shared with their former leader Ted Healy, a rotund, balding man who combined the appearance of Edgar "Slow Burn" Kennedy with the personality of Moe Howard to create a persona whose popularity can be best determined by the fact that few Three Stooges fans today even bother to mention his name.

There is one sequence in the movie that I found worth watching: a campy Art Deco musical sequence that takes place entirely within the women's shower room. Of course, judging from the number of bad accents that I heard in this sequence, most of the women in this number seemed to have been hired more for their willingness to appear on screen in various states of undress than for their singing ability. However, I still found the sequence to be more entertaining than it deserved to be, and I found myself quite sorry when the music stopped halfway through the song. Especially since there was not one scene as entertaining as that sequence in the rest of the movie.

Yet I can't help thinking how likely it was that that same sequence would have been cut out of the movie altogether had it been made just a few years later. Too bad the Hays Code could not have protected moviegoers from the rest of the movie.

I Love a Footlight Parade But I'm Not So Sure About Those Dames

I have always considered 1933's Footlight Parade to be the last of my personal holy trinity of Busby Berkeley movies (the first two being, of course, 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933). I fell in love with it the first time I watched it and my affection for it has grown with subsequent viewings.

I never realized how well Jimmy Cagney could dance until I saw this movie. For that matter, I never really appreciated how funny he can be. Joan Blondell plays his Girl Friday, Ruby Keeler plays the usual girl-next-door-who-goes-out-there-and-becomes-a-star, and Frank McHugh plays a director whose inevitable response to almost any situation -- “It can't be done, Mr. Kent, it can't be done” -- gets funnier and funnier every time.

The movie is not quite as politically correct as it could be (there is some acting in yellowface as well as a Jewish stereotype) but then again there are signs that it could have been worse. At one point, the Cagney character talks quite seriously about staging a blackface number but fortunately, we never see it. And when one black character appears in the final musical number, “Shanghai Lil,” he actually speaks in a normal voice instead of the stereotypical Amos and Andy style of speaking that was so often forced upon black actors of this period.

Hugh Herbert also appears as a nepotistic censor and I got the feeling that his character was meant to be a not so subtle negative comment on censorship. Of course, that still does not change the fact that Herbert comes across as the same poor man's Edward Everett Horton that he plays in most of his movies, but it was an interesting point. (As you might guess, I do not think a lot of Herbert, and I tend to like the movies in which he appears in spite of him.)

Anyway, I can watch this film over and over again. And I just might do so again tonight.

Busby Berkeley's 1934 followup, Dames, however, is a film I am not quite so fond of. Not only do we get a lot more of the would-be-funny-but-more-often-just-annoying Hugh Herbert (this time playing a moralizing millionaire) but we also get a surprisingly bad musical number by Joan Blondell called “Girl By the Ironing Board.” To be fair, there are two musical numbers in this movie that I liked: the title number and “I Only Have Eyes for You.” But I do not quite have the same affection for this movie that I do for Footlight Parade.

All the Classic Movies That I Have Seen

1. George Washington Slept Here (1942).

Jack Benny used to devote so much time on his TV show dissing his film career that it was actually quite shocking for me to see this movie and realize that he actually made movies that were quite good. This movie, of course, is not as famous as To Be Or Not To Be, the most famous film in Benny's career, but it is amusing. Ann Sheridan plays his wife, Hattie McDaniel plays his maid, Charles Coburn plays his uncle-in-law, and Percy Kilbride plays the same type of comical rustic that he played in the Ma and Pa Kettle movies.

The plot, such as it is, involves Benny's wife buying a house out in the country that proves to be more of a fixer-upper than she thought. Complications ensue, and yes, the title actually has something to do with the movie, but I won't tell you just what.

Anyway, it made me laugh and not every movie I see nowadays does that. Especially the new releases...

2. Dinner at Eight (1933).

A classic film comedy that goes to some surprisingly dark places. It is perhaps most famous for a scene toward the end involving Jean Harlow and Marie Dressler, but Billie Burke and John Barrymore give memorable performances as well.

I could talk all day about this film but it is hard to say anything about it that most classic film buffs have not already heard, so I won't.

But if you have not seen it yet, then for God's sake, go see it.

Or else you will drive poor Billie Burke out of her mind.

The Paradise Paradox: Lost Horizon

Ain't it always the same? You finally find the one place on Earth where you really feel comfortable, where the people really seem to get you, and you finally have the opportunity to meet the girl of your dreams. Then, wouldn't you know it? You end up having to leave because of your pesky little brother.

Of course, there is a lot more to Frank Capra's 1937 epic Lost Horizon than that. Yet the gist of the film's plot revolved around a sibling conflict between two characters played by actors Ronald Coleman and John Howard. Coleman played the older brother, Robert Conway, a man who was already famous the world over for his work as a British author and diplomat. Howard played the younger brother, George Conway, who was not so famous and who dwelt for the first part of the film within his brother's shadow. Granted, the two actors for all their talent did not seem all that convincing as siblings especially since Coleman made no effort to disguise his English accent and Howard sounded about as American as Clark Gable.

Perhaps this was intentional, and Capra meant to allude to the age-old relationship between Great Britain and America by casting an English actor to represent the older sibling and an American actor to represent the younger sibling. Perhaps the casting was just a cynical attempt to appeal to both the British and the American film markets. More likely, the casting director had other things on his mind apart from appeasing the tastes of nitpicking movie-goers like myself.

Anyway, as the film began, the brothers Conway were organizing the escape of the last few Western refugees from an Asian city about to be swept under by an oncoming revolution. Scenes of this escape seemed oddly reminiscent of accounts I have read about the Fall of Saigon, especially when it came to the part when the Westerners deliberately tried to prevent the local Asians from trying to board the planes being used for the Westerners' getaways. (Of course, this movie predated the Fall of Saigon by at least three-and-a-half decades, but the parallels are still eerie.)

Being the noble person that Coleman normally played in movies like this, Robert Conway waited until the last plane out before choosing to escape the city. And even then his departure seemed to have more to do with his brother George's efforts -- and the responsibility he felt toward the last three Western refugees -- than his own free will. Once on board, Conway proved to be the only Westerner concerned enough to fret about the fate of the Asians who had been left behind to face the fury of the oncoming rebellion, all the other Westerners being content to congratulate themselves on being the last white people to escape. (Yes, they actually put it that way. But then this was the 1930s, when people were less diplomatic about saying things like that.)

Eventually the refugees found out that their pilot was not the British one they had been expecting but a pistol-toting Asian. Any attempt to retake the plane was immediately smashed by Robert Conway, who pointed out the futility of retaking the plane when the Asian hijacker was the only one on board who knew how to fly a plane.

Then the plane crash-landed and the refugees ended up being taken to a Tibetan lamasery known to the locals as Shangri-La. There they were told about the difficulties of traveling to the outside world due to the surrounding mountains and the harsh climate and about how they would have to stay in Shangri-La for an indefinite period. Needless to say, the five refugees were not happy to hear this about this involuntary layover. However, Robert Conway was more philosophical about the situation than the rest.

Eventually all the refugees save George Conway learned to enjoy life in Shangri-La. Robert Conway himself proved to be the most well-adjusted of them all, not only meeting a kindred spirit in the lamasery's mysterious High Lama (played by Sam Jaffe) but falling in love with an equally enigmatic Western girl named Sondra (played by Jane Wyatt). Unfortunately, his younger sibling was not as content with his surroundings. Even after he fell for yet another mysterious Western woman (played by Mexican actress Margo), George Conway talked of nothing but leaving.

Eventually he not only got his wish but he also talked his older brother into leaving with him despite his brother's best judgment. His departure unfortunately proved to be a mistake when he found that the reason Robert had initially warned against the trip was true. He killed himself in despair and Robert Conway, alas, was left alone to tell the tale. And maybe, just maybe, attempt a return trip...

So what is there for modern audiences to learn from this film? On one hand, I have to salute the much-maligned American Film Institute for actually doing a decent job of restoring as much of the original film as possible. Even a brief nude scene that must have annoyed the heck out of the Hays Office was restored (though it did not seem all that daring by 2008 standards). I must confess that I must found the performances of Ronald Coleman, Jane Wyatt, Thomas Mitchell and the always memorable Edward Everett Horton to be pretty interesting as well. John Howard I did not care for that much -- and not just because he played the obligatory fly in the Tibetan ointment -- and Margo's casting as a Russian character I found to be more eccentric than anything else. (Nice to see that the old Hollywood tradition of the interchangeable ethnic actor still existed back then. Well, I suppose that is why they call it acting -- among other things.)

Yet the philosophy of the film seemed more than a bit over-idealistic, even by Frank Capra standards. I can readily understand the appeal of the film to a country that was then in the midst of the Great Depression and on the brink of World War II. Indeed, I can understand the appeal the film might have to even today's jaded movie-goers. And yet just as some film critics take Capra's Mr. Deeds Goes to Town to task for over-romanticizing the small-town lifestyle of Depression-era America (noting that it couldn't have been that wonderful if so many rural folks abandoned it to go to the big city), I can't help wanting to take this film to task for over-romanticizing the rural lifestyle of 1930s Asia. I especially can't help wondering how accepting of Shangri-La the Western refugees would have been had they been expected to do any of the menial tasks routinely expected of the local Asians. After all, it is easy to pretend you've living in Paradise if you are being waited on hand and foot, but when you are the one who has to scrub the floors and tend the sheep and cook the food and make the beds, then life does not seem all that idyllic.

Nor can I avoid seeing the irony of how many of the refugees wanted to show their appreciation to the hosts of their new-found home by immediately trying to change it. The Horton character wanted to educate the local children in a Western science, the Mitchell character wanted to install a modern system of running water. Even Sondra, who grew up in Shangri-La, chose to instruct the local children in Western ways. In short, the reaction of the Westerners to Shangri-La appeared to be: this place is just perfect... now let's change it.

Then again change is a part of life, and it could be argued that without such change, few of us would ever be truly happy. Perhaps the efforts the Westerners made to change their surroundings were the only way they could have ever been truly content -- which makes me wonder whether the true inspiration for this movie came not so much from the James Hilton novel of the same name as it did from that most legendary of hard-to-please characters, Faust.

Ginger Rogers: Single Mom

Hey, everybody, it's everyone's favorite actress Ginger Rogers playing an unwed mother in 1939's Bachelor Mother. (And here I had gotten the impression from all those Fred Astaire movies that she was a nice girl.)

Okay, seriously, the character Ginger plays in this movie, Polly Parrish, is a nice girl, and the process through which she becomes an unwed mother is more of a comedy of errors than the usual way would be. The whole thing starts one day when Parrish sees a woman leaving an infant on the doorstep of the local foundling home. Fearing for the baby's safety, she takes it upon herself to take the baby inside. There she gets caught up in a huge misunderstanding when she is mistaken for the child's birth mother and well...things escalate from there.

One subplot involves a feisty co-worker talking her into joining a local dance contest. (Though where the writers got the idea that Ginger Rogers was a good dancer, I'll never know...) Yet another subplot involves her tentative romance with a patrician character named David Merlin (played by David Niven, natch) who just happens to be the son of her boss. (And in a way, he's her boss as well.)

Since this is a comedy written during the Code era, the writers do not mention the most obvious drawbacks to being a single mother like Parrish, but to their credit, they do not pretend that the experience is a day in the park either. Even though Ms. Parrish gets help from a kindly landlady and David Merlin, she still ends up losing a lot of sleep due to an infant which is not even hers. Nor can she escape the unwanted stigma that all too often came with being an unwed mother in that era.

Fortunately, she gets a happy ending of sorts. But unfortunately, said ending requires her to play a role she never really wanted to play to begin with: that of the child's mother. More than a few of the movie's male characters have to deal with embarrassing misunderstandings too but Ms. Parrish proves to be the only character in the movie who is never truly vindicated.

Here's hoping she at least got a heck of a gift on Mother's Day. The poor dear definitely earned it.

All the Classic Movies That I Have Seen

1. Wife vs. Secretary (1936).

It's blonde bombshell Jean Harlow as you have never seen her before, playing an ultra-efficient secretary. And, oh yes, Clark Gable and Myrna Loy are in this movie too. Gable plays Harlow's boss and Loy plays Gable's wife. All goes perfectly until Loy starts listening to female acquaintances who fear Gable is getting along too comfortably with his secretary. Suddenly Loy gets jealous and all Hades breaks loose.

Okay, to be fair, the movie is not quite as melodramatic as the title makes it seem. And I found it hard to imagine any character played by Myrna Loy having cause to be jealous of anyone, even an internationally famous sex symbol like Jean Harlow.

And yet after seeing how quickly my own relationship with my former novia was undermined by the insinuations of mi novia's parents (mi novia would say one thing and after a five-minute conversation with her parents, turn around and say the exact opposite), I find the plot of this movie a lot easier to believe than I used to.

Still, Myrna Loy being jealous of another woman...who would have thunk it?

2. Blonde Venus (1932).

No, Marlene Dietrich isn't the most convincing actress in the world when it comes to playing German hausfraus. In fact, she seems more convincing in this movie when she puts a veil in front of her face and pretends to be a Spaniard than when she plays a loving German housewife and mother.

And one has to wonder just how serious one should take a movie in which the main romance starts off as the result of blackmail. (Oh, those oh so romantic Europeans!)

Yet this movie manages to be intriguing despite itself. Among other things, it features an early appearance by Cary Grant, who plays a gruffer character than his usual persona, and a surprising number of nude scenes (none of which feature Ms. Dietrich, alas).

Since the movie begins when Dietrich's future husband catches her skinny-dipping with her co-workers in a local pond, it's tempting to see this movie as an updated version of the old Swan Maiden legend. But Ms. Dietrich never dons any type of bird outfit in this movie. Indeed, the closest she comes to such an outfit is when she puts on a gorilla suit for a musical number.

For that matter, one can see a parallel between this movie and Ibsen's The Doll's House since like Nora, Dietrich's character is forced to do something not quite kosher in order to help out her ailing husband. Word gets out about what exactly Ms. Dietrich did and the couple separate.

Do they get together again? See the movie and find out. But, given the sentimental nature of certain scenes, you can probably guess the ending long before it happens.

All the Classic* Movies That I Have Seen

1. Only Angels Have Wings (1939).

Cary Grant played a snarky guy who had been jilted by a former girlfriend and now had difficulty relating to any female. So totally not the type of guy I can identify with right now...

The film was one of those subtle thrillers in which the arrival of a key character was announced with a flash of lightning and a sound of thunder.

And yet in spite of it all, I kinda liked this film. If nothing, its ending was very memorable and emotionally satisfying.

Though I was kinda surprised to see Jean Arthur of all people -- an actress best known for playing homebodies like the mother in Shane and demure reporters like the one in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town -- playing a showgirl. Granted, she didn't fit the image one usually thinks of when one thinks of showgirls. (There's no way Ms. Arthur would ever be mistaken for, say, Jane Russell or Joan Blondell.) But she managed to pull it off.

I was even more surprised to see Rita Hayworth make an appearance. And though she played a character named Judy, Cary never once said the obvious “Judy, Judy, Judy” line so often attributed to him by celebrity impersonators. Yet another Hollywood myth bites the dust.

2. Holiday (1938).

Yet another Cary Grant movie. No, I don't have a thing for Cary Grant but I do admire his movies. And quite frankly, who wouldn't want to be a member of any club that has Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn in it?

This movie has been eclipsed by its more well-known successor The Philadelphia Story, which is a shame. Both Grant and Hepburn gave memorable performances, and Lew Ayres actually managed to play the type of character I didn't think was possible -- an alcoholic character which was actually sympathetic.

Perhaps, it was because Ayres's character displayed a certain self-awareness about his drinking that certain characters in more recent films (Sideways, Crazy/Beautiful, etc.) have not. Ayres' character did not really ask us to pity him for his condition; indeed, he showed far more pity for his sibling (played by Katharine Hepburn) than for himself. And though we were not really told the reasons for his constant drinking (there was some hint of a riff between him and his father but it was never fully explained in detail), director George Cukor wasn't above dropping a few hints that might or might not have meant something. (For example, the way he responded to certain remarks Ms. Hepburn's character made about Mr. Grant's character.)

Anyway, the result was an enjoyable movie that really deserved to be far more well-known.

* “Classic” in this case meaning “made before 1970.”

Thoughts on The Umbrellas of Cherbourg

I cried the first time I saw this movie.

I rarely cry when I see movies.

I especially rarely cry whenever I see movies that are supposed to make me cry.

Yet this film managed to touch my heart in a way that so many recent musicals (yes, I'm looking at you, Moulin Rouge!, and I'm looking at you, too, Rent) have not.

I don't have the words to do this film justice.

Suffice it to say that this is the first film that made me realize why people made such a fuss about the young Catherine Deneuve.

Although the story is a simple one (a man and woman fall in love, then get separated by circumstance, only to meet up again after quite a long time), it is nevertheless a moving one.

And that ending. Alas, all too realistic and yet moving in a way that far more blatant tearjerkers can only dream of.

And the song Catherine's character sings to her boyfriend just before he goes off to war manages to be all so touching in any language.

Some things just don't need translation.

Things I Loved About Gold Diggers of 1933

1. The “We're in The Money” number.
2. That Möbius strip shot in the “We're in the Money” number in which the camera pans from singer Ginger Rogers to a chorus girl on her right, and then to the chorus girl on her right, and then so on until the camera gets back to Ginger Rogers -- without once going left.
3. The way Ginger maintained her dignity through that “We're in the Money” number despite having to sing one chorus in Pig Latin -- and while wearing apparently nothing below the waist save heels, a body stocking and a giant coin.
4. The pre-Code antics of the “Pettin' in the Park” number.
5. Ned Sparks's big speech about the Depression.
6. Joan Blondell's “Remember My Forgotten Man” number. Very easily the highlight of the movie, and deservingly so.

Busby Berkeley: Social Realist?

The depression, dearie.
--Ginger Rogers, Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933)

Whoa! Where did that line come from? I thought good old-fashioned Busby Berkeley musicals were too escapist to mention anything as humdrum as the Great Depression.

And what's up with that “We're in the Money” number that opens Gold Diggers of 1933? Film anthologies cite that song so often as evidence of 1930s Hollywood's obsession with escapism that it is a bit ironic to note that that number ends with the local sheriff's men coming in to confiscate the singers' props and costumes in order to make up for all the producer's unpaid bills. I'm sorry but that does not seem very escapist to me.

You could argue that some of the movie's other numbers (“Pettin' in the Park,” for example) are a bit more escapist, but then you get to the show's big finale, “Remember My Forgotten Man,” in which young Carol King (played by Joan Blondell and not to be confused with the songwriter with a similar name) laments the fate of unemployed WW I veterans while receiving vocal accompaniment by Etta Moten Barnett, and suddenly this whole escapism argument seems at best dubious.

True, one is never likely to confuse any Busby Berkeley movie with the works of John Steinbeck. But they do not seem as disconnected from reality as one would expect.

And I, for one, consider that a good thing.

The Road to Stardom Starts at 42nd Street as Well

Oh. My. God.

42nd Street is the first Busby Berkeley musical I've seen and it is as addictive as anything. I can't resist watching and rewatching that scene in which little Ruby Keeler sings the title song. Or for that matter, watching and rewatching the big dance number that follows that song. Or for that matter, watching and rewatching the really really really BIG dance number that follows that number. And here I was thinking that I could never see myself ever voluntarily watching a Busby Berkeley musical.

Maybe it's the “old and quaint” element that works for it, but then Shirley Temple movies are old and quaint and I get the heebies jeebies just thinking about watching one of them.

So what makes this so addictive for me?

Could it be the delightful tap dancing of little Ruby Keeler?

The equally delightful performance of a pre-Fred Astaire Ginger Rogers?

The shamelessly over-the-top choreography of the aforementioned Busby Berkeley?

That silly Irish accent used by Dick Powell toward the end of the movie?

Or that final melancholy scene toward the end in which director Julian Marsh (played by Warner Baxter), having worked his heart out to produce one last success and having delivered that most classic of lines about Peggy Sawyer (the Ruby Keeler character) going out a youngster and coming back a star, hangs out backstage to “enjoy” his success in a way that makes All That Jazz's Joe Gideon seem like a happy-go-lucky person?

Whatever the reason, it seems obvious why this picture went on to become successful enough back in 1933 to financially rescue the studio that made it.

And why writer John Sayles had his character Polly Franklin adoring this movie in his 1979 gangster film The Lady in Red.

All movie musicals should be this good.

Holly Go 'Round The Roses

If there's truth in the old saying about a true sophisticate being one who can listen to the William Tell Overture and not think of the Lone Ranger, then what does it say about me that I can't think about a certain Audrey Hepburn movie without being reminded of a certain pop song with the same name?

Anyway, mi novia and I went to a free screening of Breakfast at Tiffany's last night and we both enjoyed the movie. We had both seen bits and pieces of the movie on TV when we were teenagers but this was the first time we had ever seen the whole movie all the way through.

Does it hold up?

Well, I like to think the fact that mi novia enjoyed it despite not even being born when the movie was first released says something in the film's favor. And I must confess I found the movie's rather old-fashioned approach to sex and nudity -- much hinted at but never really shown -- to be a refreshing alternative to the more explicit -- and boring -- approach taken by many of today's films.

Of course, not all aspects of the movie was that admirable. Mickey Rooney's portrayal of the Japanese landlord/neighbor/whatever was in at best questionable taste back then and it hasn't improved with age. Nor is it particularly admirable that the film's view of New York City seems to be almost totally devoid of dark-skinned people. The one non-white I remember seeing on screen was a Japanese extra in a party scene and she, of course, had no lines.

To be fair, few movies of the early sixties seem all that PC by today's standards. And the movie does have many virtues of which political correctness knows nothing. It's smart and witty and subtle. Audrey Hepburn looks absolutely adorable even when her character first wakes up, and even George Peppard -- who wasn't exactly the Kennedy era's answer to Clark Gable -- comes across as rather charming.

I must confess to being a bit surprised by how much this film manage to get away with by 1961 standards. Not only does the film hint that both Holly (Ms. Hepburn's character) and Paul (George's character) support themselves by means that wouldn't exactly be endorsed by the local clergy, but there's also a hint towards the end that Holly just might be in the family way. And then, of course, there's a scene in a 1960s-era strip club that is especially interesting. On one hand, the scene doesn't hide the fact that Holly and George are in an actual strip club. On the other, it doesn't show any actual nudity. And Holly's humorous yet restrained reaction to the stripper's grand “unveiling” says more than a thousand double entendres.

All in all, this was an interesting movie.

A Bit With Two Dogs In It

My favorite niece -- okay, my only niece -- had her sixth birthday Saturday. Among her presents was a DVD copy of the Disney film Lady and The Tramp.

Ironically, one of the first movies my mother ever took my siblings and me to see in an indoor theatre was Lady and The Tramp. So in a sense, my niece is inheriting a family tradition...