BD Scores Up Another Kill

 

Deception, Davis, and the Deal Breaker

Herewith elements of Deception: Bette Davis the kept woman of rich composer Claude Rains discovers former lover Paul Henreid, from whom she had been separated for six years and thought dead in Europe, except he's alive and arrived to New York. Soon upon reunion, he suspects she was and continues to be unfaithful. Much is embedded in Deception to confuse, in fact frustrate, viewership in 2025. I enjoy old films that baffle and even alienate modern watchers, enjoying their discomfit from go-back vehicle I drive to any year past, “Outdated cultural depictions” saying come-on-in to those that relish triggers pulled. What Deception classifies as a Deal Breaker makes little sense now and barely would fifty annums ago when late shows were haven to storms wrought by a presumed moral climate, many such starring Bette Davis. Said Deal Breaker is this: Davis as unmasked mistress of C. Rains will be full and final disqualified to be Paul Henried’s wife should he learn her scarlet past, object of Deception’s 115 minutes to keep Paul in darkest dark, even if Bette must kill to keep him there. To what lengths did women of the 40’s go to conceal a past consummation from husbands or fiancées? Laugh if one likes, but this was a serious complication then. I read of Hugh Hefner’s college-era sweetheart whom he chose as potential bride, till tearful confession re illicit involvement with one of her professors, leaving Hugh never to trust girlfriends again. So yes, to learn of a misstep however slight was a Deal Breaker for 40’s men, 30’s,  20’s, teens, why stop going backward, or forward? Question is, are there still such Deal Breakers? Is Deception so culturally outdated as we assume?

Rains Shows Disdain Over His Toy Taken Away

Deception arrived at ideal time for sixteen million lately discharged vets to consider a burning issue: Had their significant other been true through war’s separation? Expectation of yes to that critical question was absolute and nonnegotiable. Alan Ladd got a no in The Blue Dahlia and murder followed. Imagine if Fredric March had come through Best Years reunion door to realize Myrna Loy had dallied/was dallying, with “Mr. Milton” (Ray Collins). Harsh enough for Dana Andrews to bear such insult from Virginia Mayo, but we expect as much of her character. Deception despite elevated backdrop comes down to, was Bette faithful while once-lover Paul was away, any gray area purest black so far as returned from duty men saw it. But what of a serviceman’s conduct overseas? Let anyone prove it, most figured, and indeed, we must assume few were caught. To that, however, consider Gregory Peck in The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit, whose indiscretion follows him from Italy, ten years after the fact, to face Jennifer Jones wrath with him obliged to pay support for the kid borne by a Euro mistress. Said notion chilled not a few former G.I’s to the bone. Double standard enabled males to be forgiven, but cheating wives or sweethearts … well, that was at the least a choking offense, as demonstrated by Paul Henreid, who upon glance at Bette’s spacious loft and hung furs takes her firm by the throat and is barred but by BD lying her way out of his grip. Davis drips sincerity but turns from Paul toward us to register guilt and make it plain that yes, she’ll sucker him along, truth reserved for the camera and our vantage. This then was essence of BD projection of personality, who she'd be for patrons viewing as opposed to screen partners seldom dealt straight. We as watchers must be played fair, however Davis misleads men on screen. This keeps us in her confidence and makes the Davis persona, if not always sympathetic, at least understandable.

Maestro Claude Humiliates Hapless Paul Who Unknowingly Poached from Rains' Bed

Enter Claude Rains. The cuckolder. He is too old to have served, which means he had whole of the war to gather wealth and graze on Bette. Claude as “Alexander Hollenius” is effete, cruel … a lion who prowls over Manhattan society and will not loose BD from his iron hold. Fun aspect of Deception is Rains throwing out clutch that would keep narrative on convention’s line. Alex is Laura’s Waldo Lyedecker and then some. Deception director Irving Rapper would recall him as the whole show so far as a public’s and his own interest went. Shadow of Waldo/Alex looms over John Hoyt in a later and lesser with Davis, Winter Meeting, and Claude Rains would to degree be Alex again as a lethal radio commentator in The Unsuspected, which needed all of charisma the character star could supply. Any type an audience embraces will be back, Bitchy Males arriving with the war, if not having served in it, and staying long after. Were they presaged by Laird Cregar in Blood and Sand, or was the sort glimpsed sooner? We had the model to thank for George Sanders in All About Eve, Bette Davis on receiving end once more. Did Bitchy Males in classic sense survive the fifties? I can’t offhand think of memorable ones after. Either way, Rains’ mean line in wit makes his cause easier to root for rather than mopey, possibly violent, Henreid. Rapper said there was consideration of a Deception finish where the trio settle their difference a la Lubitsch and exit laughing, but fan-servicing Bette realized the show needed fireworks for a third act and so imposed a shooting. We could rather wish she’d dump strung-out Paul and repair again to Rains bed, which likely was Rapper’s wish as well, as he regarded Henreid unequipped to carry a co-star part, Davis stepping up to say we mustn’t break up the sure-fire Now, Voyager team.

Bette Sits While They Stand at Attention, a Familiar Sight on Davis Sets

He Likes Funny Papers, But Nobody (Save Us) Laughs with Rains Rage in Deception

Rains makes priceless comedy of meal selection, seven minutes to beggar belief. Did any among Method arrivers imagine they could supplant Claude Rains? Without him, Deception would sag under weight of negative cost at $2.8 million, most ever for a Davis film. WB prospered with prior BD A Stolen Life ($4.7 million in worldwide rentals), which Deception did not come near. In fact, Deception and future Davises for Warners would bleed red, Beyond the Forest a last straw and her exit off Burbank premises. Of course, good pictures can fail readily as poor ones, account books replete with such, and what matter to us so long as Deception pleases? The property was one Warners bought lock/stock from Paramount, having been made by latter as Jealousy in 1929 with Fredric March and Jeanne Eagels, a feature apparently lost now. Toward joy I derive from seeing the Code undone, as it often was where one divines code beneath the Code, Deception is to my satisfaction an instance, not a first, where the lead lady commits murder and gets away with it. Code films were made for two kinds of viewership, one the sort who bought a most apparent resolution, and two, those who’d dig below surface, narrative gold being after all where you find it. Artists of greater ability laid trail to endings they and many among us might prefer, quiet conspiracy by which to please by stealth if not via obvious means. Deception by my reckoning was an instance of this, so yes, I claim Bette Davis gets away with murder, evidence aplenty to accommodate whichever outcome we’d choose.

I Say It Was Deception That Did the Goading and Mocking, with the PCA on Receiving End

Defense for Bette looks solid if/when they reach trial, chance of even that less unless she was so careless as to confess, which based on her leaving the gun to suggest suicide, she had no intention of doing. Handy too is both Rains and Davis wearing gloves, so no prints to worry with. The houseboy is off for the night. Maybe he could testify later as to arguments overheard, but would that offer sufficient evidence of motive for her to kill? Bette blabs truth to Henreid, about the affair and the murder, but he assures her that “You’ll never lose me” and pleads that they “think it over until tomorrow,” and anyone who knows Davis wiles may be assured he’s lined up as accomplice after the fact from here on. He even tells her that “these things have to be planned,” and we can bet Bette has a plan already, of which her tearful admission is merely a part. She’s got this chump squared away before they even hail a cab. What system of justice can contain Davis When She’s Bad short of her owning up or eyeball witnesses. Were it Ann Sheridan or Alexis Smith or even Crawford sufficiently browbeat or sacrificial in Mildred mode, I’d concede capture, trial, maybe the rope … but knowing Henreid is a famed cellist, more so after this concert, why not let the two book a Euro tour for war-battered music lovers eager to hear him play, preferably in places with lax or no extradition policy. It doesn’t make sense for a Bette Davis character by 1945 to be conscience-racked for offing a guy who made her life such hell. She’ll instead have furniture, furs, Grand Piano, whole of her loft content, shipped to the Italian villa Paul will arrange once worldwide success is secured. He could end up being the next Alexander Hollenius.

Precode Picks #7

 

New Genius? Her Old Genius Was Plenty Enough for Me.

Unleash These Tigresses! Image Courtesy Mark Vieira/Starlight Studios

Precode: Clara Cat Fights, Connie Nurses Good, Harding Hardly Looks Herself, and Charley Chases Precode Placement

CALL HER SAVAGE (1932) --- Not enough savage I say, too much wage of sin. Parts I’m for rewatching anytime: Clara Bow whips Gilbert Roland and he apparently digs it, Clara smashes a guitar over a guy’s head after asking him twice to quit playing it, Clara wrestles at length with a Great Dane what is bigger than her, catfights with Thelma Todd, struts about in skivvies --- so where does Call Her Savage sag? I’d say where Bow breaks on wheel of parental meanness, no-good husband (Monroe Owsley, 30’s trust equivalent of Ray Danton), and midway resort to streetwalking which I didn’t get for disappointed dad having told her early on that should she need funds, get them from the family lawyer even though he never wants to see her again, plus there’s generous allowance from the estranged cad husband. It’s like they want to punish Clara’s character by contriving her to hit bottom, me for fast forward till Clara got back in comparative chips. Her “Dynamite” Nasa is “born bad” as in sins-of-ancestors (including Fred Kohler --- now that’s bad), biblical quotes underling the point. Had this been all for fun, as likelier case from Warners, I’d unspool Call Her Savage more frequent, but do acknowledge it for playbook of “don’ts” as soon would be hard-enforced by the PCA. Just wish they hadn’t gone so hard on Bow. I’d swear writers had it in less for Nasa then the actress playing her … Clara Bow the offscreen outlaw getting overdue spank? She’s unplugged to point where you wonder if it’s altogether acting, an electric merge of person with part. Watching Clara Bow is a gift to keep giving. There was obviously something here that lit her up. Poor kid was but 28 when she did Call Her Savage, miles of hard life behind her. Definitive story was told by David Stenn, him brains also behind a Bow documentary. Call Her Savage barely saw profit for Fox. Was it the star they rejected or harshness of the film? She was wise getting and staying out, whatever hiccups such as the night club or temptation to be Scarlett.

Turns Out the Star "Everybody Adores" Wasn't Adored Quite Enough, At Least for a Long Haul

BORN TO LOVE (1931) --- Movies deal from a cold deck where using crib death to resolve a story point, worse as device to unite a love-struck couple otherwise chained by convention bound up in the child. Audiences in addition to infants paid dear for queasy-arrived-at clinches to finish not just precodes but many a melodrama to come (Caught from 1948 further egregious example). Born to Love was meat processed by RKO for frugal $338K neg cost, similarity among Constance Bennett vehicles the more where her next, The Common Law, came in at $339K. RKO could set clocks with Constance, seeing profit with her until one day they didn’t, her a star that sank for sameness of parts and execution of same. She’s a WWI nurse in Born to Love. My impression based on fiction and other films is that nurses laid down more than wounded soldiers they treated. This time it’s Joel McCrea, on British leave and spending rapturous night with Bennett before death at the front, except he doesn’t die, her with child and marrying Paul Cavanagh who is a baronet and has old Baron Frankenstein for a Dad, all which could be exhausting if Born to Love ran more than 81 minutes (in fact, 71 would digest better). Great War leaves were near-always a matter of snatch-and-run romance, back to trench or flight goggles after stolen nights and never a parson to bless couplings. Love scenes got pride of place over battles for which staging took dollars, too few of those, especially at RKO, to risk even on Constance Bennett during brief period she prospered for them. McCrea is a flyer but we never see a plane, not even stock footage of one. Boudoirs are battleground upon which warriors engage, the male as prize bull and not a stock part Joel McCrea or any male lead could bring much texture to. He’d look later on these as mere price of all and sundries, the word “sameness” a burden sure as was for Constance Bennett. Difference was McCrea could sustain, stay a tall oak indefinitely, so long as horses held out and a public relied on his reassuring presence. Born to Love plays TCM, transfer soft as with most early thirties RKO.

Above is One of Those Heralds They Inserted in Newspapers or Put in Grocery Bags

Ann Harding with Morganton, N.C.'s Own Robert Williams

DEVOTION (1931) --- Ann Harding had common sense quality across board of performing in precodes and after. Must have been her unless all characters she played were written a same way. Line readings have a thought-out and sincere quality, as if Harding analyzed actions/motivations going in and had made up her mind how to improve on them. Shorthand is me believing whatever the set-up, be it The Animal Kingdom in 1932 and also with Leslie Howard, or frankly foolish former, Devotion for Pathe, that company of crowing logo rooster atop world globe that surely got laughs then as it’s sure to now. Cracked is the concept, Ann as Cinderella-ish daughter of wealth who I figured first for a servant, but no, she just likes serving everyone drinks and lighting their cigarettes. Enter Leslie Howard and it’s love at first sight on her part, so why not don middle-age disguise to apply for governess spot at Leslie’s country manor? Nuts I know, Devotion but faintly a comedy, Harding already having a mature look so we almost buy Howard taken in by her disguise. She fusses over him and his kid likes her almost to point where he’d be better off having her as caretaker/babysitter rather than wife for Dad she schemes to be. Enter Robert Williams as a wife-killer that lawyer Leslie gets off the hook, Williams also an artist who wants to put Harding on canvas, him having sussed her scheme but in love with her anyhow. This sort of thing is where old movies really earn “old” appellation. Skirts stay clean, spike to argument that not all precode tickled edges. I’m astonished but gratified that TCM still runs Devotion, having watched for liking Howard, Harding, and especially Williams who as told before was from Morganton, NC and the uncle of a friend of mine at college. 

Slight Off-Topic: Do You Think Roland West Confessed Offing Thelma to Pal Chet Morris? 

CHARLEY CHASE --- Many things long obvious to others come to me like bolts from blue, like why not Charley Chase for precode totem? In fact, he and Thelma Todd for placement among oracles of early thirties sinema. There was steppingstone that was jazz associated with both thanks to casting of Todd as vamp or gold digger in features, she for support but still prominent. Chase was up-to-minute too with comedy modern-set and attitude for emphasis. Sound came to the Hal Roach company in 1928 via disc-recorded music-and-effect scores, these to buoy fun enacted by Chase, Laurel-Hardy, Our Gang, the rest. Herewith jazz became escort to clowning, keeping them current (in Chase case and L&H, years). Live accompany had been there, yes, but catch-can music did not necessarily follow fashion as recorded escort now would. Viewers, at least ones with access to wired theatres, got popular tunes they could associate with favorite clowns. Charley Chase, who already had pep we’d associate with moderns, saw youth restored thanks to music sprightly where instrumental, saucy where lyric helped. Chase even sang as settings enabled, Thelma Todd along what with speech to enhance their byplay. Could all this add up to precode as we define it? Maybe not to desired degree, Hal Roach resolute at keeping his comedies clean, personnel tempted where chosen gags they thought funny tilted toward blue. We Faw Down got showman complaints from that, “dirt, vulgar, obscene” among words bandied. So were jazz lyrics complainers called suggestive. Charley Chase looks precode ready in the portrait above, a little dark (dissolute?), at the least ready for anything. Not like chipper Charley that Robert Youngson tendered us in 1970’s Four Clowns (“the original good time Charley whose Elk’s tooth had a cavity”), 1928-29 a peak period for recorded music to make Roach comedians more up-to-moment than ever before or since. For me to declare them precode is faint as supported by filmic facts, but support is there via the Laurel-Hardy disc scores presently available plus ones for Charley Chase to hopefully come with eventual release of surviving 1928-29 output.

UPDATE (6/24): Erudition requested (in the comments), and supplied, courtesy Scott MacGillivray

Hi, John — RKO Thrift Books (or Thrift Ticket Books) went into effect on Monday, October 24, 1932. It was a discount-ticket plan honored at RKO theaters, targeting bargain hunters during the Depression. Here are the slogans for the program, as published in the Rochester (N.Y.) Democrat and Chronicle:

:

Category Called Comedy #9

 

CCC: Charlie Calms Down and '72 Roll in Aisles for What's Up, Doc?

CHAPLIN TAKING SLOWER TRAINS --- To play features vs. shorts with Great Comedians may not be a fair contest. Each had to embrace longer form eventually, the marketplace leaving them little choice. Transition from skit to “three-act” undertaking went beyond ken of most, certainly those bred of vaudeville or music halls where on-off quick was necessity understood by all. I looked at Chaplin in The Rink and Easy Street, then Modern Times. In a way it’s like a different guy did them. Near-twenty years separated shorts from the feature, dog years as many experienced and understood then, Charlie having blacked hair gone premature gray after barrel Lita and family rolled him in. The Little Tramp of kicks to rears, shortest term employs, and all etcetera’s for bumming life was no good with narratives taking longer to unfold, Modern Times at 87 minutes a challenge to Charlie as giddyap and get gone reliable. Tempo was slower, as if fleet movement might topple house he's built. Buster Keaton talked about long-form requiring his team to tell “realistic” stories, which meant no more being chased by hundreds of cops, and who really cares why? Seven Chances had similar pursuit by as many would-be brides, a situation set up by reels of exposition, heavy burden Keaton carried for playing real people against real settings. Charlie does a same in Modern Times, job toiling as he never would in Mutual comedies, the Tramp’s independent spirit our assure that he’s for hitting solitary road soon as current crisis clears. We know he’ll not last as a waiter in The Rink, nor does he pretend concern for livelihood, eating from refuse pails or stealing sustenance OK in any pinch. Modern Times loads him up with Paulette Goddard plus eventually her urchin sibs, this to likely follow happy (?) walk into sunset, or is it sunrise?

Regular jobs were bane of funsters making features ---this implying normalcy and dread absorption by convention. We are meant to identify with clowns where they hold us an hour or more, downside their having to knuckle down and deal with frustrations we expect them to relieve us from. I like Charlie loose as a goose and skidding round corners, not being “misunderstood” by authorities (the labor march) and pitched in jail for it. Search for a next job would stink in the nostrils of Mutual-era Chaplin, as would slow-go set-pieces like the Bellows feeding machine and dropping food in Chester Conklin’s mouth while he’s trapped in machinery. Charlie for me was the one trapped. He skates in Modern Times and that harkens to freedom of The Rink, but grace ends there as struggle renews and back we are to victimhood of the Depression. On one hand the Tramp seems ideal for such context, me happier with Charlie a free spirit who’d snatch what could be snatched from a system broke down with rules of conduct suspended like carefree day past. Sound era Charlie however had to be more responsible, earn his bread, never again bite off a baby's frankfurter like in The Circus. A Great Depression seemed ideal opportunity for ultimate will of the wisp Charlie to whom the world owed a living. Prudent ending to any Mutual seems temporary and refreshingly insincere. He’ll wrap Easy Street having quelled villainy, keep his police uniform, and escort Edna to church, but not to worry for Who Cares Charlie will soon be back on the bum, no chance Easy Street would see a sequel any more than The Immigrant where for a fade he marries Edna. Chaplin features play too much for keeps, length alone requiring solutions for him to be permanent ones. City Lights was best for doubting he’ll keep Virginia now that she has seen him for the derelict he is. I prefer Charlie in such aftermath kicking up a heel and headed back for transient life as he effectively did in The Circus, such ending what we expect and prefer for a character that must never be tied down. Suppose Paulette will go a day, let alone night, without pressuring Charlie to go back and locate her orphaned relations, feeding of which will put him right back on assembly lines? Some happy ending.

WHAT’S UP DOC? (1972) --- You just had to be there. Our College Park Cinema of past celebration opened with What’s Up Doc? in 1972. Laughs were uproarious. Peter Bogdanovich’s screwball plus slapstick plus smart was bracingly new to a public not so inclined as Peter to sit up nights watching same tropes played against 30’s backdrop. “Somehow it doesn’t seem as funny” was what Ann said when last we sampled What’s Up Doc?, shorthand for Turn It Off, which I dutifully did. What comedies survive after half a century gone? … yet there are silent ones 100 years old to sustain aplenty, or is that my lone opinion? What’s Up Doc? I remember in terms of crowd reaction, a thing not had from old films short of see/hear first-hand with seat-neighbors for whom it’s fresh and new. Doc today is for fast-forward to scenes roof-raising in yore and again when Doc campus-ran at alma mater two years later. Most contempo-humor dates, but here is closest to one you’d play to moderns and possibly get by. I applied brakes for moments that “killed” then-audiences to guess whether still they might. First to loose howls was when “Howard Bannister” (Ryan O’ Neal) realizes madcap Judy (a sometimes too much Barbra Streisand) will be valuable toward his getting a research grant (you know the story so I won’t belabor). Mirth built while characters at a luncheon all stooped under a table as “Eunice Burns” (Madaleine Kahn) enters to demand she be seated with them. Moment when camera moves close on Howard and he says “I never saw her before in my life,” followed by Eunice dragged bodily out and leaving heel marks all the way to the exit got as huge a response as I ever saw at a movie, but the topper was still to come.

This was finish where Howard and Judy clinch as expected, him telling her he’s sorry for conduct before, to which she replies, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” her eyes blinking as Bacall’s did in a similar moment from To Have and Have Not. Cascade of laughter that began here drowned out Howard’s “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” O’Neal’s gag at the expense of previous Love Story, embraced by many now embarrassed to have done so and ready two years later to ridicule that film’s most quoted line. Porky Pig bursting from the Looney Tunes drum to say That’s All Folks is the perfect coda. In fact, crowds I saw What’s Up Doc? with were still laughing, and loud, when final cast credits came up. Good will attached to What’s Up Doc? with fond memory to carry for years to come. My college had a year’s contract with Warners Brothers Film Gallery, features to fill both semesters of which many were clucks, but not What’s Up Doc? Taking the package meant paying less per title, this a one and only that would fill every seat in our notably large auditorium. It seemed at the time that What’s Up Doc? would always please, forever more fill rooms with laughter, though like others before and since, it would retreat into recall increasingly distant and as with Ann, seem “less funny” where seen through eyes many years older. I hear tell of similar aftereffect Forrest Gump (1994) now has. Many who laughed and cried with that wonder now what made them do so. Best of movies are presumed to stay so, but how many do? We’ll none of us be here long enough to test the “forever” part, but when we see what we thought were perfect flowers wilt upon vines, it is safe to say that even those titles held most precious are fragile as are people who created them and those who’d embrace them. “As good as it ever was” is declared often with certainty, but who can begin to say for certain what will truly last among entertainments we cherish, assume never to part from, but ultimately do. My list is long … what of yours?

Better Off Where Words Fail ...

 

Never Mind Voices When We Had Such Interesting Faces

Has home viewing become a laziest of recreations? I choose flatness that lets Ann and I kibitz through Murder, She Wrote where a driverless car chases Stuart Whitman, Van Johnson and June Allyson, spam rather than red meat that is King of Kings just in from Flicker Alley, last Blu-Ray word for DeMille’s voiceless epic. Why Murder, She Wrote rather than a roadshow Passion Play? Hint lies in K of K’s silence, meaning you work at reading faces that convey everything short of words, paying close enough attention to know how un-essential speaking is. We divine what characters feel short of being told like in talkies, a concept alien to spoon-fed culture, but don’t we understand each other best from looks and body language? Speech is for most a least reliable gauge of everyday interaction. They say first impressions come in an instant, often before either party talks, so why not silent movies as most sophisticated indicator of human behavior we have? No one need “adjust” to voiceless film. We already have it in us to comprehend just fine. I blame baby food served over all our present lifetimes. Not that I underestimate babies. They take cues largely from sight and look how quick they learn to manipulate grown-ups. If a child was shown nothing but silent films for its first five years of life, we’d have a society fueling talkless disc releases. To screen silents seems a gone art for other stuff we do while “watching,” which really is every activity but what’s on a screen, Law and Order episodes as backdrop to clacking keyboards, replying to texts on inaptly named Smartphones, OK because we’ve seen most L&O’s three/four times (helps that most are easy to forget).

Blanche Sweet Tells It All Sans Talk

What became of dark rooms in which to watch? Such were called theatres. You ate in them, talked at risk of being shushed. They say in nickel days folks were entranced, nay hypnotized, by vital visuals. No lower of heads, looking at each other, or juggle of popcorn lest you miss something, and yes, there was much to miss where frames were filled and everybody acted at once. I see shorts at You Tube and come away wrung by interaction with a 1912 Vitagraph, a 1908 Nordisk, folk emoting, reacting, conflicting all over places, cameras not yet fixed on what we’re supposed to see. With multiples engaged at business of life, you choose which to follow, hefty load with priorities differing what with one crowd studying another crowd on a crowded screen, this before installation of a star system where eyes were naturally directed at the personality we’ve paid to see. Stars went a long way toward making films predictable, formulas then applied to seal the deal. Nickel drama found its level according to who looked. Like with plays, which earliest films mostly were, each audience member exiting with his/her own impression of what they just saw, and I wonder if any two were alike. Single-reel fables offer alternatives as to who we’ll observe closest, not a little like video games where eyes fasten to one or other corner before sudden, maybe urgent shift back, early squared frames a busy landscape. I tire of moderns always directing me where to look. And by modern, I mean everything for the last hundred years. A good Edison, Thanhauser, or Biograph leaves it all to yours and my judgment, knowing conclusions can, likely will, differ. I’ll hone on Henry Walthall while a next seat focuses on Blanche Sweet, neither of us right or wrong for doing so. Others roaming onto or out of the frame keeps it busy always.

They Came, They Saw, and Silent Movies Conquered

There was no place for popcorn in such charged environment, part reason for not offering it, nor Goobers, let alone nachos or hot dogs, in movies’ maiden years. Was patronage really a lot of unwashed imports? I claim they were more alert than films would play to again, engaged far beyond latter-day insta-watchers never more than seconds from changing screen partners, barely comprehending any the while, let alone retaining what they see. Say early viewers were stopped by titles in English because they couldn’t read the language or read at all? Some one or several amidst a crowd could translate aloud, or have a narrator up front to shout needed words. Imagine mosaic of languages to meet nickelodeon ears. Here’s where depth of melting pots was measured for viewership quickly learning because they wanted to learn, in fact had paid their ways in to do just that. How many such sits were needed to get them past a nickelodeon’s comprehension curve? I bet not many. You could call at-a-start watchers “illiterate” in terms of our language and habits, but movies taught quick, your neighbor in a crowd often able and generally willing to fill gaps where needed. Imagine the community movies engendered, crowd generated barn raisings all day or night. Remember also song slides where everyone joined in. What faster or friendlier path to varied and useful knowledge, a popular culture buffet for single coin admission. Present cinema serves all senses save smell and touch. Are these next to be overcome, or have they been already and I’m not aware of it? Possibly I don’t have the right software yet. Who today could enjoy, even comprehend, radio drama? Plenty did, millions in fact, once upon a distant time. There they had the hearing, but not the sight. Again, as with silent movies, imagination was summoned to fill gaps. Are none of us today able to apply our imaginations? If we won’t abide silents, or radio drama, well ... there's your answer. Will future generations look back and wonder why we accepted such obsolete format as feature-length films? Judging by what’s happened to theatre attendance of late, we could ask how far off such future actually is.

Walter Kerr called silent cinema as dead a language as Latin. So far I’ve met no one who speaks Latin, but will keep looking, just as I will for those who’d enjoy mute movies outside Greenbriar’s community. Let’s assume the number is few, but consider vastness of You Tube, thousands of silents hosted there, and wonder how much of that bulk is watched. Positive comments for YT entries, plus recorded number of views, are a help. Back in “Classic Film Collector” days, Blackhawk on 8mm, the rest, we had nothing like numbers recorded daily online. Fact it's all free is pertinent. Hundreds of pre-talk shorts are seeable at You Tube, Vimeo, elsewhere. I sift for nuggets often. Others are doing the same or there wouldn’t be so much treasure spread about. I’ll go on a limb and say the number of silent appreciators is many times what it was when I discovered and championed the format in pre-digital day. Trouble some of us had was not getting presentations right. I played The General to an art guild gathering in 1972 and set projection speed wrong, eighteen torturous frames per second where 24 should have been the minimum. I felt ice form round seating. Lessons learned in those days came always the hard way, or was it just me so continually inept? We now are at a place where silent film need not beg on any account. Where The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse looks and sounds at it does, and on home systems yet, why not see normies as potential converts? At least I don’t have to worry about fouling up The General again. Was my generation better for coming up the “hard way”? I’d swap that for being forty years younger now, gold fields of film stretched infinite before me and not a care about splices, scratches, or bungling my show. For plentiful education along this line, there is a new book by music accompanist Ben Model, The Silent Film Universe, where he analyzes the “immersive, dreamlike experience” that is watching pre-talk. To his mind, no talk is an asset rather than liability, his explanations plenty to attract and acquaint viewer flocks, along with (much) further education for those many who thought we understood a universe wider than I ever imagined it to be, The Silent Film Universe opening doors to greater knowledge, in fact showing me doors I never knew were there. In short, a splendid book from someone who has made a life’s work on understanding vanished time, and through his efforts, making it live again to the joy of audiences everywhere. Safe to say Ben Model has brought more disciples to his silent universe than most who toil on behalf of the art (order The Silent Film Universe here).

Doug Spoke to Us All, But Wished He Didn't Have To

Fun of silents was formerly in the getting. I’ve talked to Columbus collectors and each point out how “they” (moderns) need not drive/fly to preserves when click on a bid button will win or lose whatever it is you want. We feel superior for having long ago earned bounty our searches yielded, to which latters might answer, who cares how you get it so long as you got it. There used to be collector meets all over the map. New York had paper shows most weekends. Meadowland Sundays were plane in, frenzy buy, then wing out. Syracuse had its March blowout, plus there was “Cinecon” at a different Labor Day location until finally settling in Hollywood, now minus a dealer’s room. These ran rarities to a gathered audience, being an only place one could see The Bat Whispers for instance. Now we can saunter into dens and drop it on a Blu-Ray tray, a sinfully simple option you’d not imagine before. Silent days lasted (thirty years plus) till 1929 saw moving farewell, even if tempered by great-to-have-known-you but don’t come back (note ad above for Douglas Fairbanks in a "sound hit"). Elegiac end for The Iron Mask sent a differing message, not what merchandising intended but playing as such now and maybe did in '29 to sensitive enough viewers. Doug and his musketeers die in a third act, necessary conclusion to this story, but what they really do is usher out voiceless times by literally ascending from prospect of sound to Heaven that is forever silence, paradise for them if not for a public that must embrace talker ways or loosen embrace of movies altogether. It is one of the loveliest wraps in all of film and good arguing beyond its immediate effect for reality of an afterlife.

Stills That Speak #8

 

STS: More Clark Gable Captures

WELCOME HOME RHETT, SAYS TOOTIE --- The back caption says something about these two hoping someday to do a picture together. How realistic was that? Gable was great with Bonnie Blue, the more so after she flew off a pony and broke her neck. Might he similarly cry for Margaret? We could wonder if anyone floated CG as Bad Bascomb rather than Beery. Great stars, especially greatest stars, had to be cast carefully. Margaret O’Brien after 1945 was no longer Tootie. She played well with old men in support, each of Three Wise Fools born in the nineteenth century and imagine how O’Brien feels whenever she catches that on TCM (wait … is Three Wise Fools shown on TCM, for I don’t offhand recall seeing it listed). She’d be willful for The Unfinished Dance, cause real complication for adults, plus suggest maybe she’d not prosper in adolescence. To me she kept a little girl voice while getting gangly, and I wonder who gave the order to pink-slip her. Mannix? Mayer himself? There is an interesting color image of Margaret reunited with Judy Garland and Tom Drake, probably around Words and Music time, four years of water under a bridge. Gable too had his worries, Adventure successful even though he and everyone knew it wasn’t much good, grosses a pyrrhic victory borne of his being back from war and everyone eager to see how he’d comport. Problem was hanging on to what had been accumulated before years got lost, that a problem shared by all leading men who served. Suppose they got together and talked about it? Picture Robert Taylor confiding to Gable his concern at being cast for anti-heroes if not outright heavies (good direction for Taylor by my lights). Gable kept his public as well as anyone in his category. Aging and bad habits if anything made him more interesting.

DRAGON BETWEEN A PAIR OF LIONS --- First impression here is not Hedda Hopper, nor Victor Fleming, but Gable with a cigar. Since when did he take to those? Onscreen he used them as Rhett Butler, but I never saw him occupied so in candids or set stills. Gable indeed smoked cigarettes, enough of those to make me wonder if cumulative effect weakened his heart. I propose date here as 1944 when they were doing Adventure, perhaps later as Fleming was friend enough to Gable that they surely socialized on each other’s set from time to time. I understand Vic suffered grievous with kidney stones, less wherewithal in thirties-forties to deal with such malady. Hopper was doubtless said dragon in other circumstances, but Gable by this time was elder statesman enough to command her respect and besides, I always had the sense he knew how to deal with, and get along, with her. There was a Hopper memo I came across once at the Academy library where she talked about calling Gable (apx. 1955) while he was in midst of showing his 16mm print of Boom Town to a group of kids including wife Kay’s son by a previous marriage. Gable had a notable collection of his movies. Someday I need to write about what became of those prints. Again to Hopper, she was tolerated or hated, I doubt “liked” would occur to most. She got oodles of Christmas presents from stars and execs each year, joked that hers was “the house that fear built.” She had sort of a Winchell thing going with her column. There’s a lot of fascinating stuff in old Hopper writings, not all gossip but solid movie news historians could use if they dug through her output, but where has any compilation appeared? Hopper files are lush with off-and-on-record treasure. Somebody should someday mine it, or is it too late for anybody to care?

PITY THEY’D NOT CO-STAR AGAIN --- I propose that this was the last time Spencer Tracy and Clark Gable were photographed together. It isn’t like they fished, hunted, or made motorcycle runs. Gable pals were of sort that liked to crawl under cars, while Tracy idea of social was sitting round tables with talking colleagues or keeping company with K. Hepburn or shorter-term mistresses. Back caption reads The People Against O’Hara as the show in work when the old screen comrades met and chatted. Blurb says they “seem to share a mild difference of opinion,” though it doesn’t look that way to me. Gable is holding a book which I’d like knowing what it is. Tracy’s shirt fits like a few apple pies too many. Weight was often as issue for him, though it mattered less because by now he’s a character star and a little paunch was almost expected. Gable on the other hand had to watch weight for being still a romantic lead man. Remember the Dear Mr. Gable TV special from 1968 where they showed an unflattering clip from Lone Star and talked about how weathered he had started to look? I thought at the time it was unfair but that may have been because Gable vehicles of Lone Star and similar vintage was all the CG I could get from surrounding NC stations. No Red Dust or Mutiny on the Bounty for me until I bought prints later. Were Tracy and Gable a little jealous of one another? I never believed that, preferring to guess they were congenial, enjoyed talking when they did, but just did not have all that much in common other than sitting atop hill that was Metro at star-making zenith. Serious talk of re-teaming them for Green Fire took place in 1954, which you can tell from finished product was a Gable-Tracy show in conception and much of execution. I wonder how such a late co-starring would have come off. As suggested before, they would have been terrific head-to-head on Inherit the Wind, but what is that now but idlest speculation.

INTERESTING STAR ASSEMBLAGE --- How much notice were Gable and Lombard given to dress and show up at this benefit for Greek wartime allies? No such request could be turned down, unless you were in the hospital getting a gall bladder removed. Wish I had a date for this image, but no. Anyone care to speculate? Could it have been during that brief window between Pearl Harbor and Lombard’s death on 1-16-42? Seems likely to me. Note Lombard’s hand on Gable’s knee. Is she afraid he’ll get up and wander off? I’m guessing he didn’t care much for this sort of event. Gable liked being completely prepared for whatever appearance he made. This may have been a radio broadcast or just four stars making brief speeches to support objects of charity. Could this have been the first time Gable and Tyrone Power met? Perhaps not for Power having been at Metro for a good stretch doing Marie Antoinette in 1938 and surely he and Gable saw each other at the commissary, getting shoes shined, whatever. Myrna Loy was an old Gable partner on screen and had done The Rains Came with Power, but how well, if at all, did she know Lombard? I’m fascinated by stars tethered to differing studios thrown together. It happened lots with radio, for instance a time when Gable and Marlene Dietrich did a Lux broadcast for DeMille. Think of turning clocks forward, a year maybe, and what became of these people as result of war declared. They must have looked back on a night like this to reflect how simple life once seemed, not that there was anything simple about being among biggest names in pictures. Just think … two “Kings” of Hollywood together, plus a Queen which was Loy, her crowned with Power … or was it Bette Davis? I forget and what does it matter? Just noticed sheets Power is holding. Might that be a script for him to read off when they step before microphones? These people must have gotten sick of dressing to nines five nights out of a week, especially now with war on (or close) and need for their participation the more urgent. I wonder if Gable and Power found it sort of a relief to enlist and serve among ordinary recruits instead of carrying star banner for morale’s continuing sake.

UPDATE --- 6/2/25: Dan Mercer nails the date of Gable and Lombard's event appearance with Tyrone Power, Myrna Loy, and as you see below, others:

Not a bad guess, John, as to when that photo of Clark Gable and Carole Lombard with Tyrone Power might have been taken. Carole was very apprehensive about leaving him to make those War Bond appearances, as he'd become an item of speculation with Lana Turner, hence that no doubt reassuring touch of her hand on his knee. However, I think that he was a wandering sort, anyways, whatever his feelings for her or any woman. As with many men, he was able to separate affection and commitment from more, let us say, predatory behavior. So, such a picture might have been made at any time in their marriage.

As it is, however, the photo was actually taken on February 8, 1941 at Grauman's Chinese Theater, where an "America Calling" radio broadcast was being made for Greek War Relief. Sam Goldwyn had organized it, Bob Hope and Jack Benny were co-emcees, and just about all the stars of Hollywood made appearances.

You'll notice Frank Morgan, Melvyn Douglas, Charles Laughton, Dick Powell, Ronald Colman, Madeleine Carroll, Sam Goldwyn, Gable and Lombard, Shirley Temple, and Myrna Loy.

I understand that Gable performed in a "romantic skit" with...Merle Oberon!

It is indeed good to be king, especially in Golden Age Hollywood. And maybe that was the source of Lombard's apprehension. 

UPDATE --- 6/7/25 --- from Dan Mercer

That's a charming picture of Clark Gable and Margaret O'Brien. He seems to genuinely enjoy being with her. I noticed the sheets of paper each was holding and the acoustic paneling behind them, and wondered if they were participating in a radio show. It seems that on May 2, 1945, they did appear on the "Mail Call" show carried by the Armed Forces Radio Service, reading letters from American servicemen and women and offering encouragement to them. She would have been eight years old at the time. 

Here is another picture from that appearance:

So, studio stars did make a lot of personal appearances when not before the camera, no doubt strengthening the brand, whether that was of the studio or their stardom. Given his own service, however, I'm sure that Gable didn't begrudge the time in this case, and the pictures suggest that he was having a good deal of fun as well.