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| No Such Scene in the Picture We Have Access To, But We Can Dream, Can't We? |
Precode: Cagney with Blondell, Welcome to Hollywood, and Have a (Hard) Seat
BLONDE CRAZY (1931) --- The first starring James Cagney after a quartet
with him in support or unexpected lead (Public Enemy a surprise for Jim and
employers). He was difficult from a start, demanding more money he knew he
was worth, falling out also with the William Morris agency which he felt didn’t
do enough for commissions they extracted. This was a star not afraid of
courtrooms and immune to threats, which JL Warner issued regularly to no
effect. Cagney said he’d as soon return home and enter agricultural college, or
maybe study medicine, and yes, he was serious. We could all want to be James
Cagney’s kind of movie star, spit in mogul eyes and make them like it. Being
indispensable, which he was right off a start button, was advantage peers did
not enjoy, like for instance Bogart, who’d do a lot of crawling before he’d
walk, supporting Cagney in numerous incidents, plus Robinson, Raft, Bette
Davis, even Priscilla Lane. Blonde Crazy was frisky Jim up to tricks skirting
law, outright breaking same in fact, which even though this was precode, had to
have consequence. Thing is, no one enjoyed seeing Jim in jail, Blonde Crazy bit of a downer at departure, though it’s implied Joan Blondell will wait for him
(won't be for so long), saving goodies well worth the time. Here was a team almost
twins, same colorings, sassy mouths, as though sprung from a shared cradle. She
was five two, him five five, so were two-of-a-kind side-by-side. Both were for
adlibbing and made with tricks they knew a public increasingly liked, till
Jim’s wife told him to slow down the spasms, which he did (like Hitchcock,
Cagney got much advise at home). He was brave to play Mama’s boy and even
crybaby where same suited drama. Blonde Blondell tells him constantly what a
spoiled little kid he is. Most male leads would not have dared stuff Jim
regularly engaged. |
| Splitting Spoils Three Ways (They Think), But At Least One Has Other Ideas |
Blonde Crazy has him as dervish of a bellhop selling hootch and rolling
craps, Jim’s “Bert Harris” like everybody ignoring Prohibition and figuring the rest of us concurred, so long as we didn’t mind jail time or small town censure. Lots took
umbridge at law so blithely ignored, clash of attitudes in part
responsible for stricter enforcement of the Code. Bert keeps a scrapbook of
favorite shady schemes and wants to imitate perpetrators, he and Joan little crooks feeding off bigger crooks like Louis Calhern, who makes
the mistake of underestimating them. Blonde Crazy is raggedy but written well
and under eighty minutes, still on training wheels typical of 1931 as
opposed to later, even by a year, and thereby slicker, WB precodes. For
repeated views and thus forewarned, I switch off seven of so minutes ahead of
the end because I don’t like seeing Jim brought to book. Drat long arms of law says us who like precode for its letting crimes go unpunished. Cagney cites "Age
of Chiselry" as he outlines scams he’ll play upon suckers, them already
rich and underserving of it, or more dishonest than him which makes his fraud look fun,
and I wonder if young folk didn’t learn from Cagney, then go to do likewise. Was he recognized by parents early on as a bad influence? This worried Jim too,
who thought his stuff not only monotonous but unwholesome, a big reason why he
rebelled against sort Blonde Crazy and too many others were. He made up for a
life of movie crime by seeking class and culture offscreen, photographed among
his books and art, learning to play piano and right away composing for it. Jim
was quintessence of don’t-do-like-I-do in films, do instead like me at subdued and scholarly home. Seeking intellectual company got him in quicksand,
for some of these were Red recruiters that saw Jim for a prize get. J.L. called
him a Commie dupe and warned his star off bad company, a lesson Cagney had to learn maturing for himself. Best pal Robert Montgomery supplied corrective
in that respect. Blonde Crazy shows up at TCM looking pretty good if not
pristine like later Cagneys, and streams in HD at Amazon.
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| You Got to Be Pretty Hardcore at Home, and Have Plenty of Jack, to Rig Up An Outfit Like This |
8 Comments:
1960s: The back rows of the Granada in Morgan Hill were Loge Seats. They rocked a little and cost a dime or a quarter extra. The next big thing I remember was paired seats with a middle arm that folded up, like the back seat of a car. Sadly, never had a date where that could come into play. Still think of cupholders as a recent and long overdue innovation; half-finished sodas set under the seat on a slightly sloped floor were likely a major contributor to stickiness.
The multiplex nearest me now has in-theater dining. Your order by app and it's brought to your seat, which has a table like the desk in fancy college lecture halls. Also, all the seats are powered recliners. This requires wider spacing between rows, a good thing even if you're not eating or reclining.
If I had the space and money for a home theater, I'd make it look like a miniature neighborhood house. It would have a bit of a stage in front of the screen, a working curtain, and a bit of the echo you usually had in college revival houses. And old-style seats.
If I had Musk money, I'd have a second one modeled on the Sci-Fi Dine-In at Disney World. Look it up.
I don't remember a theatre where particular seats cost a greater amount to sit in. The Joy Theatre in Kings Mountain did have a "crying room," glassed in, where noise could be confined to the enclosed space.
Never dined-in at the movies except for burgers snuck by the boxoffice in overcoat pockets. That would have been at the Hanes Mall Cinemas in Winston-Salem circa late seventies for SUPERMAN or SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER.
I'd ask how many folks have home theatres now, but would have to inquire ... who watches feature-length shows anymore?
The only "lap of luxury" for the average theater goer was air-conditioning. Nothing did more to keep people in seats during the Summer.
Dan Mercer talks about Lindbergh's visit to Hollywood and specifically, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (Part One):
The picture of Marion Davies, Col. Charles A. Lindbergh, and L. B. Mayer would have been taken in September 1927, when Lindbergh visited the M-G-M studio during the national tour following his celebrated New York to Paris flight. He was greeted by Mayer and Harry Rapf and several of the studio’s stars, and got to see Davies filming a scene for “The Fair Co-Ed.” The next morning, Davies hosted a special breakfast for him in her private suite at the studio, with guests including Greta Garbo, John Gilbert, and Norma Shearer.
Lindbergh was a phenomenon then, perhaps the phenomenon of a phenomenal time. His flight across the Atlantic had been dangerous in the extreme—he’d succeeded where other fliers had died in the attempt—he’d done it alone in a small, single-engined airplane, and he was tall, youthful, and very handsome. He became a god before a public wild with enthusiasm for someone who seemed to have what Tom Wolfe would later call “the right stuff.” The press both celebrated and lampooned him as “Lucky Lindy” or the “Flying Fool," but to his admiring fans he was more reverently referred to as the “Lone Eagle.”
It was during this period that Marion Davies’ paramour, the newspaper magnate, William Randolph Hearst, was trying to persuade Lindbergh to appear in a film based on his life and the New York to Paris flight. It would be produced by Hearst’s company, Cosmopolitan Productions, then based at M-G-M, and co-star Davies. Lindbergh would receive $500,000 in salary and 10 percent of the gross, which was expected to be at least as much as his salary. Adjusted for inflation, that $1 million would be worth $19,192,649 today. It was an extraordinary offer, but the popularity of the aviator was such that the film could have been a fabulous commercial success, had it ever been made.
Lindbergh demurred, however. He already distrusted the media and had no intention of subjecting his personal life to public scrutiny. He believed in aviation as a way of linking the people of the world but saw his place in it as a consultant to the aircraft industry and the new airlines. It may come as a surprise, but he was a fan of Davies—visiting the set of “The Fair Co-Ed” had been at his request—but the idea of co-starring with her immediately exposed what the film would have been like. He hadn’t even had a girlfriend at that point.
Part Two from Dan Mercer:
The following year, Lindbergh flew his airplane, the “Spirit of St. Louis,” from Washington, D.C. to Mexico City at the behest of the United States government. It was the first non-stop flight between the two capitol cities and had been proposed by the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, Dwight Morrow, as a way of alleviating the troubled relations between the countries.
Lindbergh stayed with Morrow and his wife while he was in Mexico, where they were joined by the Morrow children, off on summer holiday from the schools they attended. The press immediately speculated about a relationship between him and the eldest Morrow daughter, Elizabeth, a vivacious blonde Botticelli-like beauty, but it was the middle daughter, Anne, a shy, petite brunette with violet eyes and an ambition to write, whom he had actually noticed. Two years later, after she’d graduated from Smith College with honors and literary awards, he asked whether she’d care to go on a flight with him. She did, as she had been utterly infatuated with him ever since that Mexico visit. A few months after that, they were married and about to embark on a life of adventure together, though one not without tragedy or heartbreak.
Years later, the Lindberghs would stay with William Randolph Hearst at his Wyntoon Ranch, a lavish estate built in the shadow of Mount Shasta, as Lindbergh conferred with him about opposing the intervention of the United States in the war that had broken out in Europe. Despite the earlier disappointment of the movie venture, in this they saw eye to eye.
The Liberty's summer ads during the early sixties always had the theatre's name encased in icicles.
Dan Mercer back with this week's Web observations (Part One):
Norma Shearer in “Marie Antoinette”
Shearer is marvelous in this, from the innocent girl cast upon what she believes is a fairy tale romance made real to the woman going to her death, utterly shattered, the heart bleeding out. It is one of the great performances on screen and a reproach to anyone who thought that she was ever cast for any reason other than her talent and beauty.
David Larrabee meeting Sabrina Fairchild at the train station in “Sabrina”
William Holden is driving a Nash-Healey sports car, which, as can be seen, was intended for jaunty young men who would as likely vault in and out of it as to use its doors.
Portrait of Louise Brooks
Perhaps the most iconic of her images, the whiteness of her face and hands and the string of pearls creating a geometrical balance between the poise of her profile and dynamism of the pearls.
Portraits by Clarence Sinclair Bull
Every studio had a stills department to provide photographs that could be used in the publicity of its stars. C. S. Bull headed the one for M-G-M but also took many of the photographs of its biggest stars. Technically skilled in lighting, retouching, and printing, he had a genius for capturing a pose that suggested not only the marketable appeal or beauty of a star, but also something else beyond the moment. In this set, the pictures of Eleanor Powell, Lon Chaney, and Gary Cooper are especially well done, being superbly lit and suggesting something of their character, though in Chaney's case, his ability to get into a character.
Norma Shearer in “Let Us Be Gay”
"Let Us Be Gay" was one of the first films I saw Norma Shearer in, something a bit stagy and for some, a bit dated, but captivating for me for her delightful performance. Actually, I rather preferred the "plain wife" she played at the beginning, because it suggested the true beauty of her character, which came from within, as did her own.
“Charge of the Light Brigade” (1936)
The charge of the Light Brigade during the Battle of Baklava of the Crimean War was a blunder, also a display of arrogance and stupidity on the part of the officers involved. It made for great spectacle, but as a French officer observed, “It is glorious, but it is not war.” This movie did well to capture the spectacle but substituted a clever story of revenge for the arrogance and stupidity. The preference of Olivia DeHavilland for Patric Knowles rather than Erroll Flynn remains implausible, but given that the truest heroism remains that of self-sacrifice, Flynn would have it by pride of place, leaving Knowles with DeHavilland, which some would regard as ample compensation.
Pictures of Sally O’Neill
I wonder what ideals of beauty say about a particular time or people? As with many stars and starlets of the late 1920s, Sally O'Neill had delicate, precise features, large eyes, clear forehead, a finely shaped, upturned nose, and a small, almost rosebud mouth. There was a fineness to her face, as though an idealization of her femininity.
Pictures of Gene Tierney
Pretty girl, beautiful woman—gay, vivacious, sensitive, and yearning—not a bad time at all to post her pictures, when her beauty is timeless.
John Gilbert
The fascination with Gilbert persists. He was not the most handsome of men, the decisions he made in his life were sometimes erratic, even absurd. Yet he remains the epitome of the romantic, for his utter commitment to romance. His eyes are a revelation, for the heart given over to someone--something—who fascinates him. There was nothing before that moment, there would be nothing after, only this moment that must be entirely realized or lost. In this is a kind of eternity. The absurdity is really in how far he will exceed the limits of the commonplace to obtain it.
Part Two from Dan Mercer:
Mel Gibson
One day, Mel Gibson will be seen as the great director he is, with his rare gift for composing dynamic and cinematic scenes to reveal the emotional and spiritual depth of his stories.
Early Carol Lombard
Early in her career, some suggested that Carole Lombard was like Garbo in appearance. Perhaps it was because a link to such a prominent star would have been flattering to her. At most, the similarity was superficial: fair blondes with well-defined features. As for personality, though, they couldn't have been less alike. Their careers, too, diverged, Lombard's becoming devoted to comedy, where she had a talent, Garbo's forays in the same so rare that a smile became a tagline.
“Nosferatu”
The producers of "Nosferatu" sought to run parallel to "Dracula" without coming too close to its copyright protections. They veered into the ever weirder and odder, where another world found a nexus into our own. Alas, as vast as the realms of strangeness are, copyright laws are vaster still.
Helen Chandler and Bramwell Fletcher
Bramwell Fletcher may have been using Helen Chandler in some way, but not in Hollywood, where her career was running down. Four pictures of hers were released in 1934 but only one in 1935. No others would be released until 1938, when her last one was. She was having problems with alcohol, but this didn't prevent her from appearing in various stage productions during the late 1930s, including "Lady Precious Stream" in 1936 with...Bramwell Fletcher. Possibly Chandler was less a wife for Fletcher than a life buoy.
“Anne of Green Gables” House
To a contemporary sensibility, at least of one who doesn't live in a cramped apartment, the houses of those who lived at the turn of the previous century would seem overly filled and cluttered. I find them homey, though, with such things as provide pleasure in their lives easily within reach or available at a glance. In the parlor or living room, the chairs and sofa are comfortable and arranged so that people might be together and engage in conversation, if they wished. There are books for a time more literate than ours and pictures of ones loved or respected. And there are textures, in the color of the walls, the rug, wallpaper, and furnishings, which also convey a sense of people with a tactile engagement of their world. To look at this room or the others is to know the people who loved there and, perhaps, to love them.
Louise Brooks in “Rolled Stockings”
I think that the studio was well aware of what Brooks could be, in playing types that would prove popular with the public, but didn't realize or care about how much her personality and ambition overreached those. It would lead to her European adventure and the indifference concerning the studio's desires that would ultimately end her career.
Carla Laemmle
Carla Laemmle was dark, exotic, and beautiful; and as a Laemmle, you might understand that she was intelligent as well. Astonishingly, there is a woman active today, Antonia Carlotta, who is an actress, film historian, and influencer who shares that same beauty. She is thoughtful and well spoken and displays great insight into the classic movies made by Universal Pictures. Perhaps not surprisingly, she is also a Laemmle, the niece of Carl Laemmle.
John Gilbert
Some say that his career faltered with the coming of sound when his voice was found to be inadequate. His talkies, however, reveal a mellifluous, well-modulated voice. The problem was not the voice but what was said with it. More particularly, there was an apparent belief then that everything should be said aloud, even things that might be better said in silence. His eyes revealed the depths of his feelings, when words could only provide a pretext, not a resolution. By the end, there was a greater understanding, if only by him, but by then the silence was borne by a profound sadness.
John Gilbert
He lived with such utter self-belief and commitment. He began to die when it seemed to be only the stuff of delusion.
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