To Thine Own Celt Be True

Aye and begorrah! If it isn't everyone's favorite swashbuckler* Tyrone Power playing the part of one Stephen Fitzgerald in the 1948 film The Luck of the Irish. And is not it just great that Fitzgerald just happens to be an Irish-American freelance journalist -- not to be confused with one F. Scott Fitzgerald -- who has gone back to the old sod on his way back to New York from Europe? And who should he come across in this odd enchanted land save a not so wee member of the wee folk (played by Cecil Kellaway). A leprechaun, that is, who looks uncannily like the guy who played Veronica Lake's father in I Married a Witch.

Fortunately, Power's adventures with the supernatural prove a lot more benign in this movie than Fredric March's were in I Married a Witch. If anything, one may say they prove too benign. Fitzgerald wins over the trust and affection of a centuries-old shoemaker so quickly that one might be tempted to dismiss the whole affair as a load of cobblers.

But then Fitzgerald meets Nora (played by Anne Baxter), a local colleen whose charm is such that she may be a supernatural being as well. Unfortunately, Fitzgerald is also engaged to a rich American girl named Frances (played by Jayne Meadows) and has promised to take a job with her father David Augur (played by Lee J. Cobb), a powerful newspaperman seeking to make a run for the Senate. Fitzgerald does not agree with many of David Augur's political stands but he finds the combination of Frances' glamour and her father's money to be a powerful temptation.

Of course, one does not have to have seen many American movies to guess whom Fitzgerald will choose when he is forced to decide between the poor and humble Nora and the not-so-poor and not-so-humble Frances. But I must admit I found the way to that decision to be quite interesting. However, I did find it unusual to see a movie made in the Yankee Doodle Dandy era which actually encouraged the audience to cheer on a fellow who ultimately chose to emigrate back to his ancestral homeland rather than to stay and make a go of it in America -- moreover, one which encouraged the audience to applaud his decision to pass over a nice red-blooded American girl in favor of some foreigner.

Then again, if I had a certain bright-eyed colleen waiting for me in the Emerald Isle, I would be tempted to make the same choices Stephen Fitzgerald ultimately made -- and I would not need any supernatural intervention to help me make up my mind.

* Apart from Errol Flynn, natch.

Mother of Mercy! Is This the Middle of My Favorite Brunette?

When we last tuned into In Medias Res Theatre, actor Victor Moore was demonstrating to Dorothy Lamour in On Our Merry Way how easily one could create a sarong by simply sewing together three extremely large handkerchiefs. Personally I was a bit surprised that the Hays Office let them get away with that scene since the last thing they usually tolerated was the implication that a film’s leading lady could get away with wearing little more than a few handkerchiefs. But those were different times and different mores. Besides, the past is a difficult country; we are not supposed to make sense of what they do there.

Anyway, this week in In Medias Res Theatre, Dorothy Lamour and Bob Hope got captured by a gang of nogood-niks at a local sanitarium who took away their clothes so that they could not escape. Fortunately, for the sake of the Hays Office, they left them both big fluffy robes to put on and in any event, it soon became evident to even the most disinterested viewer, that the bad guys did not take all of Ms. Lamour’s wardrobe but only her outer clothing, allowing her to retain a modest black slip which they no doubt justified on the principle that they might be depraved thieves and murderers but even they would not dare stoop so low as to deprive a woman of her modesty.

Needless to say, there was a lot more to the 1947 movie My Favorite Brunette than that one scene and indeed, I found this film a lot more enjoyable than the usual Bob Hope vehicle. Perhaps it is because it was made near the beginning of Hope’s career when he still gave a damn about his movies or because it is because one of the first films Hope had a financial stake in, giving him an incentive to make things as audience-friendly as possible.

Of course, not all the credit for the movie went to Mr. Hope. Ms. Lamour had her share of good scenes too -- and without once having to slip into a sarong though there were a few scenes in which she was forced to don a surprisingly well-fitting maid’s uniform. My favorite character among the film’s various bad guys was Peter Lorre’s Kismet, a mysterious foreign-born doctor whose favorite pastime -- apart from knife-throwing -- seemed to consist of taunting native-born Americans with how much more he knows about American history and politics than they do. Of course, he did all this while studying for an upcoming citizenship test, a practice that would seem to indicate that even no-good evil foreigners were intent on becoming American citizens back in the 1940s.

Also memorable was a minor role by Lon Chaney, Jr. as Willie, an orderly on the sanitarium who had a fondness for walnuts and the strength to bend iron bars. Hope, of course, tried to use this last trait to his advantage but things did not quite work out that way.

In any event, despite a less than flattering cinematography which made more than a few scenes seem a lot darker than they should be -- which might be related to the fact that the film is now in public domain -- I quite enjoyed My Favorite Brunette. I could have done without a certain cameo towards the end but apart from that, I liked it just fine. I just wish I could say the same about all Bob Hope movies.

Merry Meredith and Goddard the Goddess

Burgess Meredith, you sly old dog. If I had been a producer in the 1940s, I probably would have done my best to arrange it so that I, too, could end up playing the spouse of a devoted Paulette Goddard -- even if I was not fortunate enough to be one of Ms. Goddard’s real-life spouses like you. After all, Ms. Goddard was quite the dish in her day -- not only managing to hold her own against her boyfriend Charlie Chaplin in the 1936 comedy Modern Times but also stealing the show away from even her most famous co-stars in the 1939 film The Women. There was just something about her personality which said, “I’m a fun girl to be with” and it was no doubt that very something which made her so watchable on the big screen even when there was little else watchable.

If nothing else, Goddard’s presence in the 1948 movie On Our Merry Way as Martha, the artistic spouse of Meredith’s character Oliver M. Pease, explains why Oliver is so devoted to pleasing his bride of seven months. Who wouldn’t want to please a woman like Ms. Goddard? And yet as the movie progresses, it becomes obvious that Oliver’s attempts to please Martha have had their dark side. Oliver has lied to her about his real job on the local newspaper, bought her furniture with borrowed money he cannot repay and lost money he could not afford to lose trying to make up for his financial shortcomings at the local track. In other words, he has lived beyond his means -- which is certainly not something anyone in the 21th Century can possibly relate to.

But seriously, folks.

On Our Merry Way is an interesting movie which is never quite as funny as the list of famous co-stars (James Stewart, Henry Fonda, Dorothy Lamour, Fred MacMurray and old Preston Sturges regular William Demarest) may indicate but it has its moments. Of course, most of these occur when Mr. Meredith or Ms. Goddard are on-screen but the others get to have good scenes too. Ms. Lamour gets a nifty song-and-dance number which gently mocks her island girl image; Mr. Stewart and Mr. Fonda get to portray two down-on-their-luck jazz musicians who end up auditioning a scantily-clad Dorothy Ford; and Mr. MacMurray and Mr. Demarest get to re-enact for the umpteenth time O. Henry’s “The Ransom of Red Chief.”

The main plot begins with Oliver attempting to please Martha by bluffing his way into the editor’s office and passing himself off as a roving reporter handpicked by a conveniently unreachable publisher to replace the current roving reporter. (Oliver had been telling Martha all along that he was the writer of the roving reporter's column but actually he just took phone calls for the want ads department.) Throughout the rest of the movie, Oliver poses as a journalist and interviews his more famous co-stars which at the same time dodging a collections representative for a local bookie. His goal is to come up with an article so good that the editor will have no choice but to promote him to the roving reporter beat for real but the odds are against him. Can he make it? And what happens if he does not and his wife finds out?

For the answer to these questions and more, you will simply have to see the movie. As long as Ms. Goddard or Mr. Meredith are on-screen, that is hardly the worst thing you could be doing. As for the rest of the movie, well, that is the chance you will have to take. Then again Meredith and Goddard never played a married couple again after this movie so perhaps it is better to describe this film as an acquired taste some of you old movie buffs may not wish to acquire. Anyway, I liked it but then I liked it best when Mr. Meredith and Ms. Goddard were in view.

Quote P. Raven Nevermore


That Philip Raven. He don’t stick his neck out for anybody. Besides, he was once hurt by a woman. Really hurt. And now the only things he trusts besides himself are his gat and his cat -- and sometimes not even his cat.

We first see Philip Raven (played by Alan Ladd) at a boarding house in San Francisco where he is planning his latest assignment.: the murder of a blackmailer. He shows kindness to a stray cat but not to the maid who cleans his room. Instead he attacks her and tears her dress because she objects to his feeding the cat. But that does not matter because he has been hurt, you see. Really hurt.

Raven then goes to murder the blackmailer only to find that he is with a female companion, so he shoots her too. On the way out, he contemplates shooting a crippled girl on the stairway who is the only potential witness to his arrival. Then she asks him for a dropped ball and he realizes she is blind. Which is just as well because he was not hurt by a girl. He was hurt by a woman. Really hurt.

He shows up at a local diner for his payoff, which he receives from a fat man who likes peppermints. The fat man (played by Laird Cregar) is the type who allegedly abhors violence but does not mind paying for it as long as someone else does the dirty work. When he is greeted by someone who addresses him by the name “Dr. William Gates,” the fat man promptly claims such a greeting to be a case of mistaken identity. But Raven is not fooled.

Then Raven discovers that he has been paid with stolen money and that the serial numbers of the bills had been given to the police. He vows to track down the mysterious “Gates” who set him up but first he runs across the path of nightclub entertainer Ellen Graham (played by Veronica Lake). Graham recently talked Gates into giving her job at his club in Los Angeles. Shortly before she meets Raven, we find out that she has been recruited by an U.S. senator who has heard about Gates meeting with suspected foreign agents. Ms. Graham’s role as a true-blue patriot is to find out what is going on with Gates and those agents. But her assignment is so secret she cannot even tell her police detective boyfriend about it.

Then she crosses path with Raven. She and Raven sit side by side in the same railroad car and while they’re sleeping, Gates -- who is also on board the train -- sees the two of them together and concludes that they are connected.

Suddenly Graham is being set up by Gates and her only hope is Raven the hired killer. The same Raven who at one point of the movie, contemplated killing her to eliminate a possible witness. Because he has been hurt by a woman you see. Really hurt.

As you might guess, the main themes of this movie are deception and redemption. Gates deceives Raven, Graham deceives Gates, Gates deceives the police and Raven deceives himself. Indeed, apart from the police detective, everybody seems to be deceiving someone else at some point in this movie. (And when the police detective proposes to Graham and takes seriously her words about giving up a successful career in show business to take up housekeeping and baby raising, I cannot help but wonder if the police detective is not deceiving himself as to Graham’s eagerness to do all that. But I digress.) However, even an evil hired killer like Philip Raven might -- just might -- be capable of a good deed. Like saving Ms. Graham from Gates and his Axis-loving associates.

Toward the end, Graham attempts to appeal to Raven’s patriotism only to be turned down cold. Raven is not interested in being a good patriot; he is only interested in revenge. Does he get it? Does his vendetta against Gates ruin Graham’s quest to expose Gates’ ring of traitors?

For the answer to these and other questions, you will have to see the 1942 thriller This Gun for Hire for yourself. I suppose I could tell you how it all comes out but I don‘t stick my neck out for anybody.

A Man May Smile and Smile and Be a Villain...

Oh, that Baron Sardonicus. What a happy chap he must have been. Always smiling and grinning. And you just know he had a way with the ladies.

Unfortunately, between his lowly birth and the mask he wore, he suffered from an obvious inferiority complex -- which would not have been so bad if not for the way the not so good Baron felt the need to take it out on the world.

Then he married Maude Randall, a Victorian beauty who failed to appreciate his rather unique appearance. Ms. Randall had a former lover named Robert Cargrave, who had since come up in the world. He was once a lowly medical student but now he was a famous doctor with a thriving practice and he had been even knighted by the queen. Maude wrote to Robert and asked him to come examine her husband, warning him that it was most urgent to her well-being that he do so.

But what was up with the Baron Sardonicus? And what was up with the mysterious Krull, who is the Baron's very loyal -- and very creepy -- manservant? And what was up with the mysterious station manager who had all kinds of hints about the Baron that he dared not spell out? And why did someone put leeches all over the poor maidservant? For the answers to these and other questions, you have to see William Castle's 1961 production of Mr. Sardonicus, one of those old-fashioned horror films that seemed to work best as long as the late Castle kept off-screen.

But of course you all know how those horror movie director tend to be. Just as all actors live to play Hamlet, all horror movie directors live to play Hitchcock. And so did Castle. Thus, for the opening sequence, William Castle magically appeared in 1880 London -- almost as if he were a time traveler -- and proceeded to introduce himself to the audience as if he were an old friend -- or Alfred Hitchcock. Indeed, Castle did similar introductions for many of his films -- introductions which seemed like lowbrow knockoffs of the introductions Alfred Hitchcock used to do for the television series Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Poor Castle was never as memorable as old Hitch and I suspect that he knew that as well as anybody. Yet he managed to keep a sense of humor about himself just the same -- which is more than I could say about some modern directors.

To be fair, Mr. Sardonicus was one of Castle's better films and thanks to a good script by author Ray Russell, it remains very watchable despite the rather arbitrary use of torture as a plot device. Unlike some horror films from the early 1960s I could mention, it never descended to the Ed Wood level of badness but then again it was never comparable to the most inspired work of Hitchcock. Perhaps the best comparison would be to the Edgar Allan Poe movies Roger Corman was making for American International at roughly the same time. Like them, the movie was entertaining enough but in no danger of being mistaken for art by even the most liberal horror movie fan.

I must confess that as much as I liked the movie's old-fashioned approach to storytelling, I would liked the movie a whole lot more if Castle had not insisted in cutting in toward the end with a needless “punishment poll” sequence in which movie-goers were supposed to vote on the fate of a particular character. However, even that part did not subtract from what turned out to be a neat little B-film.

If I had only one additional quibble to make, it would be the fact that the one character I really wanted to see get a comeuppance never got one. Instead, the character was made responsible for punishing yet another character who also deserved a comeuppance.

Perhaps it was a bit too much to expect total justice in a film like this. Neither Russell nor Castle ever explained why the same servant who so eagerly tortured his fellow servants suddenly showed a twinge of conscience when it came to torturing a more aristocratic subject and I suppose we will never know why Castle insisted that one sadistic character got punished while another got off scot-free. Such is life and such is film.

Then again I suspect that both Castle and Russell realized that the only thing movie audiences would find as emotionally satisfying as seeing a sadist get his just desserts would be seeing the same sadist get a taste of his own medicine from another sadist. And indeed, if the sadists of this world have to pick on anybody, why not on another sadist? It certainly beats their picking on innocent victims. Of course, it would be far nicer if we would dispense with sadists in the movies altogether but unfortunately, no one ever bothers to listen to me about that.

Stealing across the Borderline

There’s something sad about watching old movies about Mexico at the same time the local news is just full of stories depicting that country as being more and more overrun by drug dealers.

Perhaps it is because so many of the movies made in the 1940s and 1950s had such a sunny, optimistic view of Mexican life. Granted, it seemed a lot easier to appreciate Mexican life in the 1940s and 1950s if you were a visiting American tourist than if you were an actual Mexican citizen. Mexico was all too often depicted back then as a worry-free paradise full of colorful dancers, beggars, cab drivers and bartenders whose sole function seemed to be waiting on visiting American tourists. The idea that Mexicans could have lives that did not center around visiting foreigners was all too often a quaint notion that Hollywood had little time for.

And to be fair, the image more modern Hollywood movies often paint is not much of an improvement. In some ways, I would almost prefer a downbeat movie like Traffic or El Norte which at least tries to deal seriously with the issues which still affect modern Mexico than yet another movie like 10 or the recent Heartbreak Kid remake which depict Mexicans as little more than background characters in their own country.

In any event, I recently watched two movies about Mexico: 1950’s Borderline and 1949’s The Big Steal.

Borderline was not quite forgettable but not really worth devoting a lot of time to. The film basically involves Claire Trevor going undercover to expose a big drug ring run by Raymond Burr, only to stumble across the path of a mysterious character (played by Fred MacMurray) who may or may not be on the same side. Along the way she sings a really awful Spanish song which serves as her way of establishing her credentials as a song-and-dance girl and gets wooed by one of Burr‘s assistants. MacMurray butts in, Burr gets wise, Trevor and MacMurray are forced to flee for their lives and the chase is on.

Along the way Trevor and MacMurray get a few good lines but nothing particularly memorable. None of the Mexican characters are depicted as being as evil as the American characters -- indeed, the film‘s absence of a conventional Latin villain is perhaps the best part of this flick. Then again none of the American characters are depicted as being as backward as a local Mexican lawman who shows up halfway through the picture. The guy is depicted as a well-meaning sort who nevertheless had the potential to prove a formidable adversary had his wife not been using as a clothesline the phone line with which he communicated with other Mexican lawmen. How truthful this depiction was, I do not know, but I doubt it was much appreciated by the local Mexican Chamber of Commerce.


1949’s The Big Steal is a big improvement on Borderline. As much as I liked MacMurray and Trevor, there is no denying that the pairing of Jane Greer and Robert Mitchum in this movie was truly inspired -- or at least as inspired as one can expect after seeing the same team-up in 1947’s Out of the Past. Indeed, The Big Steal seems very much a reverse version of Out of the Past.

Both viewed Mexico as a sanctuary for tourists fleeing the hecticness of American life and both films hint at disaster if certain characters were to make a premature return to the States. As most movie buffs know, Out of the Past ends on a more downbeat note than The Big Steal and is famous for being one of the more well-known examples of the film noir genre. The Big Steal is too upbeat to make for a good film noir and too full of car chases and gunshots to make for a good romantic comedy. And yet I found it just as memorable in its way as Out of the Past and even the presence of William Bendix as a very unlikely military officer did not change my mind about it.

Especially memorable in The Big Steal was Ramon Navarro’s performance as a local police Inspector General who used his poor English to disguise a cleverness that Columbo would envy. Navarro’s character might not always seem like he knew anything that was going on but he was a whole lot more smarter than any of the American characters ever realized and his commentary on the events that unfolded in this movie was often a joy to hear. If nothing else, I certainly found it refreshing to see a Mexican police officer in an American movie who never once fussed with telephone lines nor complained about not needing any stinking badges.

If only more Mexican policemen in Hollywood movies were like him. For that matter, I would not mind seeing more people like him in the real-life Mexico. But, alas, I fear that such an individual would not have a very long lifespan.

¡Qué lástima!

She’s Not Bad, She’s Just Written That Way




Is it not the way of the world that men like me who see themselves as being a lot like Dana Andrews inevitably fall for women who think we’re more like Percy Kilbride*?

Granted, it would be nice to pretend that a self-proclaimed nice guy would have nothing to do with a woman like the Stella character Linda Darnell plays in 1945’s Fallen Angel. But that would mean lying to myself about the attractiveness of Ms. Darnell, who was quite beautiful at the time she starred in Fallen Angel. And pretending I have not been attracted by women like Stella in the past. And also pretending that I am not a bit intrigued by that flower Darnell wore in her hair which seems reminiscent of the flowers sometimes worn in old movies by Latin or Polynesian women. Was director Otto Preminger hinting that Stella came not just from the other side of the tracks but also from the other side of the color line? We will never know but then some mysteries are more fun when you do not get definite answers.

It might be argued that the scene in which Stella first entered the diner where she worked and automatically attracted the attention of every straight guy in the place -- including Pop the diner owner (played by Percy Kilbride), who enjoyed a relationship with Stella that seemed more like that of a husband and wife than one of boss and employee** -- was a wee bit exaggerated. But not by much. After all, I have known women from backgrounds every bit as humble as Stella’s who nevertheless managed to attract a ton of boyfriends, both would-be and otherwise, while working in environments that were just as humble as the diner in which Stella worked. And anyway, realism was not really the point.



Fallen Angel can be said to be a reverse version of Preminger’s 1944 hit Laura, the movie in which a police detective (played by Dana Andrews) fell in love with a woman he believed to be dead. In this movie, Dana Andrews played Eric Stanton, a drifter who had little use for the police -- or any moral code, for that matter. Though he was quick to characterize himself as more sinned against than sinning, he had no scruples about playing advance man for a con man who liked to pose as a spiritualist. And equally little scruples about using his research skills to dig up dirt that would embarrass a potential opponent of said con man.

While waiting for his employer, Stanton stopped in at the diner mentioned above and met Stella. Instantly, he was smitten. However, Stella was not so quick to requite his affection. The lady not only demanded that he first put a ring on her finger but that he also provide her with a permanent residence as well. Though Stanton was quick to sneer at Stella’s dream of the traditional house with a white picket fence, he was also quick to realize that he would never win Stella over without having enough money to fulfill her wishes. Unfortunately, the fastest way for him to get said money was to marry wealthy spinster June Mills (played by Alice Faye) -- who just happened to be the same woman he just humiliated on behalf of his con man employer. And said spinster had a sister named Clara (played by Anne Revere), who was suspicious of Stanton's intentions toward her sibling. So Stanton’s work was cut out for him.

And once he did seem to be on the verge of getting everything he wanted, tragedy struck. And suddenly Stanton was left wondering why he ever wanted what he wanted in the first place.

But wait! There’s more.

Stanton was suspected of a major crime. The police detective investigating said crime was not above beating up suspects and Stanton obviously did not cotton to getting beat up. But if he did not commit said crime, who did? A romantic rival? Pop? Clara? June?

As usual in this kind of film, the posing of the mystery was a lot more interesting than its solution. But the film is still watchable even if Ms. Faye does not quite seem cut out to play a good film noir role.

As for Stella, I cannot help observing that for a so-called bad girl, she was very principled. She did not cheat on her dates. She did not go back on a deal. She did not kiss and tell. When Stanton told her his plans to get rich by marrying another woman, she rightly sneered at him. And though she never discouraged Stanton from going through with his scheme -- indeed, she sneered at him when he talked about calling it off -- I got the feeling that her prime motivation throughout the movie was not so much selfishness -- if she were truly selfish, she would be a lot more supportive of Stanton’s plan to marry into wealth -- as much as it was fear of abandonment. After all, Stella’s looks would not have lasted forever and since her lovers had a history of dropping her the minute she demanded a commitment, she had little reason to assume Stanton would not abandon her too once he got what he wanted. Hence her insistence on a wedding ring. Hence her insistence on a house. Hence her insistence on Stanton's proving his love in a way that would not vanish the moment he stopped being nuts about her.

Believe it or not, I have met women like Stella who have no trouble finding guys who want to go to bed with them but who have considerable more problems finding someone who is willing to stay with them afterward. And though I know the Hays Code would prefer that I feel differently, I must confess I feel more sympathy for Stella than I do for almost any other character in Fallen Angel apart from Clara and Pop. Even Stanton was not all that sympathetic compared to Stella. He made it evident early on that his original intention was for an one-night affair with Stella and that he only “settled” for something more permanent when Stella resisted.

Granted, Stella was a hard girl to like. Then again guys like me like a challenge.

* For those of you who can't tell, Percy Kilbride is the guy in the above photo who is standing next to the girl and he is most famous for playing Pa Kettle in the Pa and Ma Kettle movies. Dana Andrews is the guy standing outside the door. Linda Darnell, of course, is the girl.

** Of course, poor Pop seemed a tad more henpecked than most husbands and Stella, of course, was a bit more headstrong than most wives. But then I never said their relationship resembled that of a perfect marriage.

The Thousand-Yard Stare of Desire and Other Expressions



He was looking at her; she wished she could see his face. “You couldn’t have done this if you loved him, Natalie. You couldn’t have locked him up like an animal. It isn’t love you feel for him. It may be almost as strong, but it isn’t love. It’s something else. Something bad.”
--Robert Rodi, Fag Hag

Writing about movies you like is relatively easy. You think of your favorite parts, you try to describe in a way that does not give away all the fun for future viewers and then you try to describe all the emotions you felt throughout the movie.

For that matter, writing about movies you hate is easy. You think of your least favorite parts, you try to describe them in a way that would discourage would-be viewers without giving away too much to those who will probably go ahead and see it anyway and then you try to describe the emotions you felt throughout the movie.

What is hard to write about are the movies that produce mixed reactions. On one hand, you cannot really pretend you hated the flick. On the other hand, if you write too knowingly about the film, you might give away a part of yourself that you might not want to give away.

Take 1952’s Angel Face, for example. Like most movies in its genre, it is tempting to take the movie less than seriously and say, “Oh, yes, I would never act that way. Only idiots would act that way.”

But to take that route, one would have to believe that no one would ever act that way. That no one you know or care to know or used to know ever fell for someone who was all wrong for them, someone who was bad for them or someone who would eventually prove quite harmful to them. And I cannot do that.

I have known too many women who were beaten by spouses or boyfriends with whom they were once in love. Hell, I know too many people of both sexes who have gotten emotionally involved with people who brought them nothing but problems.

Moreover, while I am vain enough to pretend I would have made a different choice than ambulance driver Frank Jessup (played by Robert Mitchum) did in this movie, it is hard for me to take one look at Jean Simmons’s dark pupils and pretend there is not a part of me that would fall for her too.

Am I blind to the fact her character (Diane Tremayne) was a bit crazy? No.

But I am also not blind to the fact that men often like crazy. Blame on self-destructive tendencies, a mixture of the eros and thanatos instincts or even lives of quiet desperation, but people in the real world don’t always make the sanest choices -- especially if they believe there are no ideal choices to be made.

Thus, while part of me identifies with the character who did his damnedest to stay away from Ms. Tremayne and found himself a relatively sane girlfriend, part of me also identifies with Jessup, who, of course, made the opposite choice.

Then there was the whole murder question. Jessup suspected early on that Tremayne had it in for her stepmother and that she had even made an unsuccessful attempt on said step-mom’s life. Yet he was still drawn to her. He often insisted throughout the movie that he was still attracted to his old girlfriend Mary, who worked at a nearby hospital. But when it came to the temptation offered by a young and beautiful rich girl like Ms. Tremayne, Jessup did not put up much of a fight. Nor did he once consider alerting the local police about his suspicions -- even when they were proved right.

I will be the first to admit that I have never been attracted to a murderer. But I have known people who have been involved with either murderers or would-be murderers. Indeed, for a time, I even envied a cousin who had done jail time for murder -- not because I wanted to be a criminal -- I did not -- but because at the time, he seemed to be more successful at attracting women than I was. In the end, the cousin proved to be a person who was not worth envying, and I like to think that my life is a lot happier today because I did not even try to follow in his footsteps. Like the ghost in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, I have tried to leave all my girlfriends happier than I found them and while I am not conceited enough to pretend I was always successful, I am prideful enough to admit that I at least tried.

And yet there was something about the thousand-yard stare of desire Ms. Tremayne displayed in one scene when she played the piano while thinking of Jessup that lured me like some nocturnal winged insect to a lit candle. Or a clear-eared sailor to a Siren’s shoreline.

Yes, it would be nice if men like Jessup went only for the nice women. The women who had nothing wrong with them. The ladies who were not crazy. But people are not always attracted to that which is good for them.

I will admit though that I was attracted to Mary as much as I was attracted to Diane and I envied the guy who ended up with her far more than I envied Jessup. But then, given what happened to Jessup as a result of his choice, that would be a no-brainer.

Bordering on Romance--or Just Crossing Over?


Here’s a thought next time you are tempted to go on a rant about those damn Hollywood liberals: How likely is it that today’s Hollywood liberals would green-light a motion picture in which an entire police department comes to the aid of an illegal alien? Not likely, you say?

True, there has been more than a few movies produced during the last three decades in which individual various members of the law enforcement community -- especially members of the Border Patrol -- went to bat for undocumented individuals -- but most of these were generally characterized as mavericks suffering from a crisis of conscience. Even in the 2009 movie Crossing Over, it was generally understood that the immigration agent who bucked procedure on behalf on such an individual was not likely to expect a whole lot of support from his fellow agents. Indeed, the one agent in that movie who was most successful at “aiding” such an individual was doing so for obviously selfish reasons: the individual in question was a cute young Australian woman and by “helping” her, the agent in question managed to “rent” himself a mistress. (If that sounds like a disgusting plot development to you, rest assured that the screenwriter agreed with you and was not shy about having his characters point that out.)

So imagine my surprise when toward the end of 1935’s Romance in Manhattan, a movie made at a time when sympathy toward undocumented immigrants was hardly greater than it is today, a key plot twist involved an illegal alien getting aid from the local police department. Not just one conscience-stricken maverick helped out; the whole force did. And though it could be argued that their efforts went to a worthy end -- aiding a well-meaning immigrant in his quest to do the right thing and gain U.S. citizenship -- it still seemed like such an unlikely development as to seem like something out of a fairy tale.

Nevertheless, Romance in Manhattan seems more watchable than most entries in the “Lo! The Poor Illegal Immigrant!” school of filmmaking because it does not seem to be concerned with establishing political talking points as much as it is telling a story. In this case, the story involved a pretty young princess named Sylvia Dennis (played by Ginger Rogers) “masquerading” as a chorus girl who one day stumbled upon Czech immigrant Karel Novak (played by Francis Lederer), a hungry beggar who proved to be a handsome prince from across the sea. Okay, in actuality, he was more a pauper than a prince and Dennis really was a chorus girl but he was still handsome and kind-hearted and she was friendly and beautiful and it was no surprise to the movie audience that Novak and Dennis soon became romantically involved.

But, alas, there were obstacles to this couple’s happiness. Novak dared not express serious interest in Dennis because he feared she would be unwilling to marry a non-citizen. But when the landlady discovered that he had been staying at her apartment -- with her kid brother, Frank, around as chaperone, natch -- and local authorities threatened to take custody of Frank away from Sylvia unless she got married, Novak‘s hand was forced. Novak approached a local lawyer in hopes of gaining American citizenship so that he could marry Dennis only to find himself betrayed by the lawyer and slated for deportation. Could anyone prevent such a revolting development?

It could be argued that Novak was a lot more idealistic about America than most real-life immigrants and indeed, some of the funniest scenes in the movie involve the contrast between his immigrant idealism and Dennis’s native-born cynicism. For a change, it was the European newcomer who played the idealist and the American citizen who played the snarky cynic. But in this film, such a turnabout worked because both characters were portrayed as essentially decent types who wanted to do the right thing and who only ended up in trouble due to circumstances beyond their control.


Of course, it is hard to imagine this same scenario working nowadays. Too many American movies and TV shows depicting the darker side of American life are shown to foreign audiences for today’s immigrants to be as believably naïve as Novak. And indeed, one of the few virtues of 2009‘s Crossing Over is its willingness to realistically depict illegal aliens as both victims and victimizers.

One Jewish illegal, for example, attempted to scam the immigration authorities by posing as a Rabbinical student while, ironically, his Australian girlfriend became a victim of the unscrupulous immigration agent mentioned above. Moreover, another subplot involved a family of Iranian immigrants and their children which may or may not have been involved in an honor killing. Unfortunately, these three storylines are forced to interact with other storylines: one involving the adoption of an African refugee by the wife of the unscrupulous immigration agent, another involving the involuntary deportation of an assertive Bangali teenager who made the mistake of defending the 9/11 hijackers to the wrong audience, one involving a Korean-American cholo wanna-be who engaged in one last crime the day before his naturalization ceremony and one involving a dead Hispanic woman. Not all these subplots worked and while I admired the ambition of the filmmaker’s attempt to deal with subjects most Hollywood filmmakers would not touch with a ten-foot green card, I could not help but feel that the individual stories deserved better.

The young Australian immigrant’s story seemed especially underdeveloped. While Ray Liotta managed to be very convincing as the agent who exploited her, there was something about the way the camera focused on almost every square inch of the Aussie that could be legally uncovered in a mainstream Hollywood movie that made it seem as if the filmmaker was sending a mixed message: one that read not so much “oh, look how awful it is for such a nice young woman to be at the mercy of such a scoundrel” as “oh, look how awful such a nice young woman has it -- and how cute she looks without her clothes on.” Let us hope that that message was unintentional. And be glad that such scenes were not possible in 1935.

Mistaken Identity Crisis

Suppose you woke up one day and found out that you looked just like Osama bin Laden. Suppose almost everyone you met thought you were bin Laden as well -- including the local police. Suppose some guy tried to collect the reward for bin Laden's capture by ratting you out to the cops. Suppose the only way you could prove you weren't bin Laden was if someone in authority finally vouched for you. And suppose the only way the cops could come up with to prevent a similar mistake in the future was to give you a note verifying to all would-be arresters that you were not actually bin Laden.

Now suppose you came home one night and found out that the real bin Laden had broken into your home and was prepared to steal that note away from you at gunpoint. And that if you didn't cooperate, he would take the note from your corpse's cold stiff fingers. What would you do then?

The above scenario would work just as well if you substituted the name Timothy McVeigh or Jeffrey Dahmer for bin Laden. For the whole point of the scenario is not to draw focus on just one evildoer but to point out how much it would stink if you were a totally innocent person who just happened to look like said evildoer.

Such a scenario is at the heart of 1935's The Whole Town's Talking, a dark comedy directed by -- of all people -- John Ford, a guy not normally associated with dark comedies. Among other things, the film was actor Edward G. Robinson's second attempt at a movie comedy and the true start of actress Jean Arthur's career as a comic lead. (She, of course, had been in comedies before but The Whole Town's Talking was the first such film to get her major attention.)

Robinson plays a dual role as a humble office worker named Arthur Ferguson and a vicious gangster named “Killer” Mannion. Mannion just happens to resemble Ferguson and when a fellow office worker sees Mannion's picture in the newspaper and comments on the resemblance, it starts a chain of events similar to the scenario described above.

Arthur plays one of Ferguson's office workers, a woman named Wilhelmina “Bill” Clark. Initially, she has nothing to do with Ferguson but as events go on, she becomes more and more involved with him. Unfortunately, said involvement ends up getting her kidnapped by Mannion's thugs and it eventually becomes up to Ferguson to save her, an visiting aunt and himself from an early grave. Unfortunately, he does not have a clue how to do that. Not only is he unable to stand up to Mannion but Mannion tricks him into a suicide mission that might end up having Ferguson killed by the local cops.

The Whole Town's Talking can best described as one of those odd comedies -- and yes, it is a comedy -- that were made in the good old days that nonetheless slipped through the cracks and that today are only remembered by a few confirmed film buffs. It is not a perfect movie. Among other things, it sets up a gag involving an untended bathtub that never pays off.

But it is not a bad movie either. And the questions it asks (how do you tell the innocent from the guilty, how do you avoid punishing the innocent, what can the innocent do to avoid such punishment) are questions that are still relevant today. Indeed, if there is one thing that most bothers me about this movie, it is that the questions it asks are not asked enough nowadays -- and are even more rarely answered.

God Rest These Merry Gentlemen

Stop me if you heard this one but once upon a time, there were these three ghosts and they were haunting this guy, you see... No, I'm not talking about A Christmas Carol. As much as I love Dickens, I'd like to think that he would prefer that I not mention his name every December. And anyway, I'm talking about yet another story -- the 1940 film Beyond Tomorrow.

Beyond Tomorrow can be described as one of those old-fashioned holiday movies that really should not work but end up doing so anyway. Of course, it helps your appreciation of this movie if you actually like people and have gotten sick and tired of holiday movies that seem perpetually obsessed with gloom and misery. As much as I appreciate social realism, I cannot help but wonder if it's always a kindness to continually remind people of the down side of life at a time when most folks are getting all too many real-life reminders of such a side, especially when said movie does not really have anything novel to say apart from “Life really stinks sometimes, doesn't it?”

Anyway, Beyond Tomorrow does have enough dark scenes toward its end to satisfy the most determined pessimist but it also has a lot of likable characters and a genuine love for humanity. It may lean a bit too heavily on certain character types but it is never eyerollingly bad.

The movie begins in the mansion of three eccentric millionaires. One is a pessimistic Okie named George Melton (played by Harry Caray). Another is an optimistic Irishman named Michael O'Brien (played by Charles Winninger). And the third is an Englishman named Allan Chadwick (played by C. Aubrey Smith) whose temperament falls somewhere between Melton's and O'Brien's. Playing housekeeper for them is a White Russian refugee named Madame Tanya (played by Maria Ouspenskaya) who generally plays mother hen to the three aging bachelors.

The three men are awaiting guests for a Christmas Eve dinner, only to find that the guests have canceled at the last minute. Melton believes it had something to do with an old unnamed scandal he was once associated with; O'Brien tries to persuade him otherwise. When such persuasion fails to lift Melton's spirits, O'Brien decides to conduct a Twainian experiment by going to the window and throwing out three wallets containing only ten dollars and one of the millionaires' business cards. The idea behind the experiment is to select the ideal stranger to be a guest for dinner by seeing who among the passersby is honest enough to pick up a wallet and return it to its rightful owner.

One woman named Arlene Terry (played by Helen Vinson) blatantly flunks the test by taking the ten bucks and tossing the wallet aside. But a visiting young gentleman from Texas named James Houston (played by Richard Carlson) and a female refugee from New Hampshire named Jean Lawrence (played by Jean Parker) prove more honest and return their wallet to their rightful owners. The two honest folks get invited to dinner, get acquainted afterward and celebrate Christmas Eve with the three millionaires and their servants.

Pretty soon it becomes obvious to even the slowest observer that Houston and Lawrence are falling in love with each other and the three millionaires do their part to ease the path of Cupid. But then tragedy strikes and despite a warning from Madame Tanya, the three millionaires end up dying in a plane crash.

The two young people get an inheritance from the late gentlemen and do their best to honor their memory. But the path of true love is never all that easy and pretty soon the two lovers are parted by the above-mentioned Terry. Terry uses the promise of a singing career and her own rep as an entertainer to lure Houston away from Lawrence. At this point the movie enters rather questionable territory by modern standards because even though the movie has already established that Terry is hardly an honest person, it seems a bit much to believe that Houston bears absolutely no responsibility for allowing himself to be seduced by her. Indeed, for such an honest fellow, he seems to forget Lawrence -- his one true love -- remarkably fast.

The three old gentlemen return from the dead and witness all these goings-on but prove powerless to stop them. For a long time, O'Brien remains in denial about the situation, continually insisting to Melton that Houston is a good lad who will eventually see the light. But then Melton is called away to face his own version of the afterlife and it does not seem likely that he will be meeting St. Peter. Then Chadwick is called away to a happier fate and O'Brien alone is left to try to mend matters on the mortal plane. So obsessed he becomes with fixing things that he forgoes a chance to go to Heaven in order to stay on Earth and bring the two lovers back together. But, alas, Terry appears to have a jealous ex and he has other plans...

It is tempting to dismiss this film as yet another predictable soap opera from those thrilling days of yesteryear but I found it quite entertaining. Granted, I wish Lawrence and Houston showed a little more backbone toward the end but then there probably would not be much of a story. Besides, the best part of the movie occurs towards the beginning when we are being introduced to the main characters. Not every movie can make good people interesting and it seems ironic that despite all the palaver from critics about how bad guys are always more interesting than the good guys, this appears to be one of those rare movies in which the good guys are actually more entertaining. I'd rather rewatch that multilingual session of “Jingle Bells” that our heroes take part in during the Christmas Eve party than any scene Terry appears in. And though it's tempting to declare the fate of our characters to be hokey and corny, I kinda like the fact that for all its darker scenes, the movie actually ends on a happy note. Besides, my inner Catholic relishes the thought of an afterlife in which a heavenly messenger can be forced to change his plans because of an especially feisty deceased matriarch -- and I cannot help but wonder my own mother would think of this flick. Somehow I doubt she would hate it.

Rimplegars Rule!

Oh my! In this movie I've just seen, a family matriarch lost her entire fortune in the stock market while another family member speculated on the possibility of selling the family homestead -- and the impossibility of doing so in the current economic climate. If that is not bad enough, one family member collapsed due to hunger and overwork while another faced the choice of either meeting her boss after work for a “date” or losing a badly needed job. In other words, it was a movie just full of situations that most modern people can identify with all too well -- and yet it is set in the 1930s.

I'm referring to the 1933 film Three-Cornered Moon -- one of the first screwball comedies* and very easily one of the least known. The most famous member of the cast is Claudette Colbert who went on to become far more famous in films like It Happened One Night and Since You Went Away. Lyda Roberti of College Rhythm fame played Jenny, the linguistically-challenged Polish maid who does not speak much English -- and inevitably mangles what little she does know. The rest of the cast is not so well known as these two but they were entertaining as well in a story that illustrates what a lot of upper-middle-class families had to go through when they lost their money in the Great Depression.

It would have been very easy for the filmmakers to make this flick another “unlikable rich people get their just desserts” type of movie but to their credit, the rich family -- who go by the name of Rimplegar -- are actually quite sympathetic. Not only are their struggles likely to seem all too familiar to people like myself who have done their share of job hunting, but their plight moved me in a way that the plights of many characters in more recent movies did not.

The one scene that most struck home with me was the scene in which Colbert's character (Elizabeth Rimplegar) literally begged her boyfriend Ronald -- an aspiring novelist -- to help out the family by condescending to take an office job. However, the boyfriend -- despite having lived with the Rimplegars rent-free for quite a while and eating his share of groceries -- chose not to pursue the job offer -- not because of cowardice or ill health -- but because of his “artistic integrity,” apparently preferring to let his beloved's family work their fingers to the bone rather than help out with anything that does not involve his novel.

Needless to say, the Rimplegars were not too happy with Ronald's Rousseau complex and Elizabeth was especially unhappy. And although I have known enough people who had struggled to appease both Mammon and the Muses -- including myself -- I could not bring myself to sympathize with him either. Perhaps because most of the struggling artists I have met were unable to make the same choice in good conscience that Ronald made.

In any event, should not a true artist have felt some responsibility to help support the people who were supporting him -- or should he -- like Ronald -- have chosen to play grasshopper to the more plebeian worker ants? And what point is there in artistic integrity if it does not translate into sympathy for the people around you? In an age when it is becoming more and more common to see celebrity misbehavior excused on the grounds that so-and-so is a great artist and therefore not obliged to abide by the same rules as ordinary folk, I find this an intriguing question.

Anyway, even if you disagree with the movie's philosophy, I suspect that you would find this to be an entertaining movie.

* Yes, you read that right. It is a comedy.

Hades Can Wait

Wow! Apparently I’m in the mood for a Paul Muni film festival this week. How else to explain the way I went from one movie in which Muni played a gangster (1932’s Scarface) to yet another movie in which he plays a gangster (1946’s Angel on My Shoulder).

The premise of Angel on My Shoulder seems at first glance so silly I am surprised it worked. Paul Muni plays a Scarface-like gangster -- surprise, surprise -- named Eddie Kagle who gets out of prison only to be murdered by his own henchman. He immediately goes to Hell where he proves remarkably short on the uptake for such a streetsmart guy. Although he is in a region full of fire and brimstone, it does not occur to him where he might be until after he talks to just not one but two fellow inmates -- a brash young woman who was run over by a car and a talkative old man who admits to having poisoned his young wife.

Kagle prides himself on being an expert on prison breaks and he immediately plots to break out of Hell despite facing formidable odds. Fortunately, he catches the eye of the Devil (played by Claude Rains in a bit of diabolically inspired casting). The Devil has a grudge against an American judge who is steadily reducing the number of potential candidates for Hell, and since Kagle is a physical match for said judge and since the Devil hates judicial do-gooders almost as much as he hates cold temperatures, he plots to use Kagle against the judge.

The Devil talks Kagle into volunteering to escape from Hell in return for agreeing to possess the judge’s body. Kagle goes along in the hope of getting a chance to avenge himself on his murderer only to find himself falling for the judge’s girlfriend Barbara Foster (played by Anne Baxter). Complications arise and Kagle not only ends up foiling the Devil’s best made plans, but gets persuaded to join the other team, so to speak.

Is there a happy ending? Not quite. But the ending is not quite sad either. Some bad people get their just desserts, the judge’s reputation avoids ruin and Kagle even manages to pull one over on the Prince of Lies.

Is his victory a permanent one? Well, no one involved with this film ever saw fit to make a sequel so I guess we will never find out. But it would be quite heavenly to think so.

Top of the World, Sis!

I don’t know. Maybe because you’re me and I’m you. It’s always been that way.
--Ann Dvorak, Scarface (1932)

Mother of Mercy, could this line be the best of 1932’s Scarface? Okay, maybe not. After all, it does not exactly rank up there with “we’ll always have Paris” or “I am Heathcliff.” But it is still memorable in its own way if for no other way than the fact that that line is not delivered by the male protagonist’s wife or girlfriend -- it is delivered by his sister. And it says something about the spiritedness of Ann Dvorak’s performance as said sister that that scene does not come across as ridiculous as I would have thought.

To be fair, the entire movie hints at a rather odd connection between the title character Tony Camonte (played by Paul Muni) and his sister Francesca -- aka Cesca -- that goes beyond mere familial protectiveness. Whenever Tony sees Cesca kiss a boy, he gets jealous. He does not mind “rewarding” her for being a good girl by giving her part of his ill-gotten gains but he insists on “protecting” her honor despite her own wishes to the contrary. A gesture that seems even more hypocritical when he chooses to pursue Poppy, his boss’s blonde Anglo-American mistress. Apparently, Tony doesn’t mind pursuing his own version of forbidden fruit -- but he will be damned if he will allow Cesca the same freedom.

Although Tony’s mother is wise enough to suspect Tony’s true motive for being so zealous about his little sister’s honor, she is not strong enough to do anything about it. Neither Tony nor Cesca are inclined to listen to her, and since Tony is an up-and-coming gangster, forcing him to do her maternal bidding is hardly a realistic option.

Even Tony’s own boss cannot keep Tony in his place. Tony is bound and determined to gain as much power in the bootlegging business as he can get, even if it means trouble with rival gangsters and the cops. Toward the end, he manages to finally win Poppy away from his competition by literally disposing of his rival. But he is still not satisfied and keeps on pushing until finally his feelings for his sister prove to be his undoing.

The end shows a distracted Tony facing near-death from his own sibling until the arrival of the cops outside Tony’s residence prompts Cesca to have a change of heart regarding her brother. The two of them prepare to make a final stand against the cops but such a stand proves futile. In the end, Tony gets his long-overdue just desserts and justice is finally served. Sort of.

It’s tempting to negatively compare this version of Scarface with the more famous 1983 remake by director Brian De Palma, but I must confess that I like this version better. Granted, Muni’s accent seems silly at times and his character appears to be way too much an Italian-American stereotype -- but it never provoked the same giggles in me as Al Pacino’s laughable attempt at a Cuban accent in the 1983 movie. Nor is Michelle Pfeiffer’s performance in that movie quite as compelling as Karen Morley’s performance as Poppy.

Ann Dvorak, of course, is in a class by herself, regardless of whether her character is leaning out a window to look at an organ grinder or trying her best to seduce a gangster. Even the potentially silly ending of her character seems more compelling than the fate of a similar character in the 1983 film -- perhaps because Hawks does not quite end her character’s story arc on a safe, reassuring note but manages to hint at an even more subversive relationship between the two siblings than even the most liberal of movie-goers would have guessed. A relationship so daring that even a provocative director like De Palma did not dare to depict anything similar on screen -- though George Lucas undoubtedly came close.

But perhaps I’m reading a bit too much into the movie. After all, most Latins -- Italian and otherwise -- that I have met in real life are at best indifferent to their little sisters or at least are no more affectionate to their female siblings than their Anglo counterparts. While I must admit to being somewhat fond of my own little sister, I am not that fond of my little sister. And I assure you all that my feelings for her are strictly platonic. Seriously.

Although I guess I should find it somewhat disturbing that I seem to be developing a taste in my love life for blondes -- and my little sister, of course, is blonde.

Then again she doesn’t resemble Ann Dvorak so I should rest easy. Right?

Right?

Miranda Doesn't Have to Be a Little Mermaid to Make a Big Splash

Given the longevity of the mermaid myth, one would think there would be a lot more movies about mermaids. Yet apart from 1989’s The Little Mermaid, 1984’s Splash and 2006's Aquamarine, not a whole lot of movies about the subject come to mind.

The British 1948 film Miranda is one such movie and, ay, what a movie it is, indeed. On paper, this movie about a talkative mermaid who ingratiates herself with a British doctor on holiday and ends up producing all sorts of social chaos in his household should come across as being more than a little stupid.

Yet it says something about the charm of the lead actress -- Glynis Johns, who plays the title character -- and the light touch of the script that the movie actually proves to be very entertaining.

It does not hurt that Ms. Johns is backed up by an adept cast and that the script does not necessarily flow in the direction one would expect.

The film starts out with a British doctor discovering the mermaid Miranda while he is fishing. He ends up being kidnapped by her and Miranda agrees to allow the doctor to go back to civilization provided that she be allowed to tag along. The doctor chooses to pass off Miranda as a crippled patient and introduces her to his wife, his servants, and a newly engaged couple who are good friends with the doctor and his wife.

Miranda seems to win over every male she meets and even earns the respect of the eccentric nurse hired to watch over her. She goes sightseeing and even attends the opera, where in one scene she can't resist competing with the local divas. Eventually, her secret comes out but not in the way I expected and even the movie's last scene raises more than a few eyebrows -- as well as raising a question whose answer may or may not be obvious.

As noted, Ms. Johns’ performance goes a long way towards downplaying the potential preposterousness of the storyline, and I got the feeling the film would have been just as interesting if Ms. Johns’ Miranda had been merely a human girl who could not walk. Of course, I could not help raising an eyebrow at Miranda’s rather ironic appetite for fish and at the screenwriter’s repeated uses of the word “fishy.” But the dialogue never grew tiresome and I was actually sorry to see Miranda end.

Of course, when I ponder how a similar story might have fared in the hands of 21st century Hollywood, I am not so sorry that 1948 British filmmakers got a crack at it instead.

She's a Night Nurse and Proud of It

In many ways, 1931's Night Nurse is the type of movie critics love to ridicule. Never mind that it has memorable dialogue and memorable characters, it dares to have a sense of humor about it so obviously there must be something wrong with it.

The film starts off with a wild ambulance ride and then goes on to show us a busy city hospital. We peek at several characters in the hospital including a pair of expectant parents in the maternity ward and a Chinese family in the midst of a bilingual argument. Then we stop and focus on one character in particular: Barbara Stanwyck's Lora Hart.

Miss Hart wants very badly to become a nurse but she does not have enough academic credits to please the crusty nursing supervisor, Miss Dillon. She manages to gain the attention of Dr. Arthur Bell (played by Charles Winninger), the hospital's chief of surgery, and suddenly Miss Dillon warms to Miss Hart and agrees to let her start as a probationary nurse.

Miss Hart gets paired up with a fellow probationer (played by Joan Blondell) and even attracts the attention of a smarmy intern. But it is not until she graduates as a nurse and gets her first long-term assignment that she meets her most serious challenge.

Miss Hart starts working as a night nurse (hence the title) for two young girls, Nanny and Desney Ritchey. Both girls are allegedly under the care of a Dr. Milton Ranger yet they both show signs of starvation. The widowed mother never comes to see them and Hart has the girls to herself for the night. But she soon finds out that that is not an ideal situation.

On her first night in the house with the girls, she discovered Mrs. Ritchey to be passed out in a room across the hall. When Ms. Hart gets hassled by one of the mother's male callers, a mysterious bathrobe-clad figure (played by Clark Gable) steps in and punches out the creep, only to punch out Miss Hart as well when she tries to summon the police. This figure is Nick the Chauffeur, and it is one of the few roles I have seen thus far in which Clark Gable plays an out-and-out villain.

The next morning, Miss Hart tries to tell Dr. Ranger about the situation at Mrs. Ritchey's house, only to be scolded for acting like a troublemaker. In frustration, Miss Hart takes her concerns to Dr. Bell, and allows herself to be convinced to go back to Dr. Ranger and work undercover until she has evidence of wrongdoing.

Along the way, she makes the acquaintance of a golden-hearted bootlegger (played by Ben Lyon) whom she met while she was a probationer. Nick the Chauffeur finds out about her plans, things get serious, and of course, complications ensue.

Is this a good movie? Well, I liked it, and not just because Ms. Stanwyck and Ms. Blondell show more skin in this film than Ms. Stanwyck showed in any of the Hays-code movies in which she played an actual stripper. The dialogue is snarky, the 30s outfits Ms. Stanwyck wears are cute, and the plot actually resolves itself in an unexpected manner. The movie does stress the difference between ethics and humanity a bit much but never in a pretentious manner and I enjoyed it even when its humor came close to being unintentional.

If I had to pick the most memorable character in this flick after Ms. Stanwyck's, it would probably be a toss-up between Blondell's wise-cracking nurse and Mr. Lyon's good-hearted bootlegger. But I also have a soft spot for Charlotte Merriam's performance as Mrs. Ritchey, which is perhaps the best Harlow imitation I have ever seen done by anyone save Ms. Harlow.

Mrs. Ritchey is the type of dysfunctional mother audiences love to hate and it says something that her character manages to linger on in my mind for so long despite having some of the silliest dialogue in the movie. She laughs, she gets drunk, she shares her drinks with a dog, and she gets jealous. She talks down to Miss Hart in one scene but never even comes close to dominating her. I guess the saddest part about the Mrs. Ritchey character -- apart from the way she is so oblivious to her daughters' fate -- is the fact that I actually have known some real-life mothers who would make her seem like Mother of the Year. But that is a topic for another day.

Banking on American Madness -- But in a Good Way

The film begins with the sight of a weary switchboard operator beginning her workday with a stifled yawn and a brief glance at her compact. Before it ends, it shows us a boardroom dispute, a bank robbery, an attempted seduction, and a bank run reminiscent of a similar scene in Capra's It's a Wonderful Life. Only this isn't It's a Wonderful Life. It's American Madness, a 1932 film by director Frank Capra that anticipates many of the same themes as It's a Wonderful Life but which has been neglected by film buffs for so long that I almost expected Joan Blondell to show up and start singing about it.

Does the movie deserve to be forgotten? Not in my opinion. Indeed, I found the film to be quite memorable.

Although it is tempting to declare the film dated because of the way banking laws have made bank runs a thing of the past, enough of the film rings true that I have no trouble forgiving Capra for that. Especially since he and his screenwriter Robert Riskin have provided such a good story.

Unfortunately, the movie's set-up seems more well-done than its resolution. Capra and Riskin have no trouble establishing the various characters of the bank staff in a way that seems more interesting than an actual bank would seem. But the way the bank's customers are panicked by negative rumors into attempted withdrawals of their money is depicted so convincingly that it takes quite an effort to believe such events can be reversed by mere mortals. And it is a bit depressing -- no pun intended -- to speculate how likely such a positive resolution would be in today's world.

For that matter, the philosophy of Walter Huston's Thomas Dickson, the president of the bank where all this takes place, seems a thing of the past. In these times of multiple credit reports, the idea that a bank president would justify bank loans on the basis of a man's character seems downright anachronistic. Yet I found myself identifying with Dickson even though Huston is by no means as naturally likable as Jimmy Stewart.

Could we use a Thomas Dickson today? I would like to think so. But somehow I doubt we will get one. And don't get me started on the likelihood of another Frank Capra...

The Clarissa Complex

I probably can come up with a hundred theories if Frank Capra's Mr. Smith Goes to Washington became so popular but if I had to pick just one, it would be this:

Almost every American, male or female, can't help identifying with Jean Arthur's Clarissa Saunders character when we look at the American political world. We would like to be as idealistic as Jimmy Stewart's Jefferson Smith but I suspect most of us identify more with Ms. Saunders. Why? Because over the years, we can't help but grow a bit cynical at the difference between what our politicians promise and what they deliver. And although we would like to truly think the best of them, we can't help fearing that we'd end up like suckers if we do so.

Yet every now and then, we meet a politician that gives us hope that the world of politics does not have to be the way that it is. We do not necessarily develop the same type of relationship with them as Ms. Saunders does with Mr. Smith but we do come to trust said politico to the point of abandoning our cynicism in favor of idealism. Perhaps because said politico chooses to encourage our more positive emotions instead of encouraging our most negative ones.

I must confess that I have a tendency to wax more than a little cynical about politics myself. (For example, it is not a coincidence that "trust not in princes" is one of my favorite Biblical quotes.) And yet I am idealistic enough to prefer a politician who encourages me to vote in favor of something over a politician who encourages me to vote against something. A politician who chooses to run a positive campaign as opposed to one who runs a negative one.

In any event, I would rather take a chance that the candidate of my choice is a genuine idealist like Jefferson Smith than to assume that he is more a cynical rogue like the title character of The Great McGinty. And no doubt that is the real reason I like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington so much.

Either that or else I really like the chance to look at Ms. Arthur for about two hours...

All The Classic Movies That I Have Seen

1. Dancing Lady (1933).

One would think that a movie that stars both Clark Gable and Joan Crawford and which features performances from not only a former member of the Algonquin Round Table but also the Three Stooges would actually be pretty good.

And as long as the movie is focusing on the relationship between ambitious showman Gable and equally ambitious Crawford, the movie is not that bad.

However, in the end, it just was not my cup of tea. I suspect that I have been spoiled by both Busby Berkeley and Astaire and Rogers.

2. Thank You, Jeeves! (1936).

This is allegedly the film that first introduced actor David Niven to American audiences -- which is a big shame because this movie is not all that good. Perhaps because it was not so much inspired by the original P.G. Wodehouse books that first introduced Jeeves the definite English butler as it is by American spy movies. I suppose if you like slapstick, it is okay, but for the most part I found it a disappointment. And its use of a black character for cheap comic effect does not help matters.

David Niven played Bertie Wooster, the man who was Jeeves’s employer in the book but the way his character was written in this movie has almost nothing to do with the way the character was written by the original author. And the less said about Arthur Treacher’s Jeeves, the better. Though it does explain why Mr. Treacher is more famous today for his seafood business than for his acting career...

3. Step Lively, Jeeves! (1937).

This is just a tad better than its prequel, Thank You, Jeeves, though I can't help but find it funny that it accomplishes this by writing out Bertie Wooster as soon as possible -- David Niven apparently proved too popular to appear in the sequel so his part is played by a less-than-famous actor who does not appear on screen for more than two minutes -- and devoting the lion’s share of attention to characters that are not Jeeves. The plot revolves around the attempt by two con men to bilk Jeeves out of his hard-earned savings by convincing him that he is an heir to Sir Francis Drake. Their efforts eventually get covered in the legitimate media and attract the attention of a would-be social climber whose husband is a former gangster. The woman assumes that Jeeves is just what she needs to get the social respectability she has been so ardently craving and orders her husband to have Jeeves forcibly “invited” to their estate.

Poor Jeeves is under the assumption that his invitation is legitimate and only the con men suspect something is amiss. However, by the time they find out that they are right, they find themselves faced with the unpleasant task of having to confess all to the former gangster -- a man who is not above punishing bearers of bad news in a not-so-legal fashion. So the conflict is set. The would-be petty criminals (the con men) versus the real criminals (the former gangster and his thuggish employees) and it says something that the movie actually kept me in suspense as to which side would end up winning despite the fact that neither side was all that sympathetic. However, the movie was hardly true to the spirit of the original Wodehouse stories and certainly not something I would recommend seeing unless one is very, very desperate.

It's Not Easy Being Jean

Jean Arthur’s most memorable scene in Only Angels Have Wings involves a coin so I guess it’s no coincidence that her most memorable scene in 1937's Easy Living involves a coin as well. In this movie, she ponders breaking open her piggy bank to extract one last coin. And the expression that appears on her face while she’s doing this is almost worth the price of admission. So is her expression when she almost loses the coin, only to unexpectedly retrieve it.

The movie starts when Arthur’s character -- Mary Smith--accidentally receives a mink coat that has been thrown out the window by an irate businessman -- J.B. Ball -- who was attempting to punish his extravagant spouse. Ms. Smith is mistaken for Ball’s mistress and is eventually fired by her employer for setting a bad example. She eventually receives free lodgings in a nearby hotel whose owner hopes to parley Ms. Smith’s “reputation” as Ball’s mistress into free publicity for his otherwise failing enterprise. Poor Ms. Smith has no idea that she is the object of such controversy -- though it is fun to see how she adjusts to her new lifestyle. She spends her last dime -- the coin mentioned above -- in a local automat where she attracts the attention of an employee who just happens to be Ball’s son. And after that, things get really complicated.

It’s tempting to dismiss this movie as mere fluff but it’s still a lot better than what passes for mere fluff nowadays. Arthur does a great job of portraying someone who isn’t necessarily the smartest person in the room but not quite as dumb as the traditional blonde stereotype would have you believe. Her character has none of the child-woman qualities that one associates with the typical Marilyn Monroe character but she’s not as hard-boiled as your typical Barbara Stanwyck character either. Indeed, she occupies a happy medium between the two types that isn’t all that easy for an actress to pull off. I could see from this movie alone why she became such a popular actress because it certainly made me want to see more of her -- even more so than her appearance in Only Angels Have Wings.

Besides, the movie’s main points -- (1) that society often makes wrong assumptions about people and (2) society is more often prone to reward bad behavior than good -- are worth noting. While it’s tempting to see these points as being old-fashioned and out-of-date, one need only note how often the media trashes celebrities like Britney Spears for the most trivial of offenses -- and how often they reap attention upon people like Marla Maples who have little reason to deserve such attention -- to see that we haven’t come all that far from the era depicted in Easy Living. Given the weaknesses of human nature, we may never get all that far. But at least we can keep a sense of humor about it.