Review - Queen Kelly

 February 5, 2021

 Queen Kelly – US, 1929

In Stephen Michael Shearer’s book Gloria Swanson, an entire chapter is devoted to Swanson’s unfinished film Queen Kelly. The chapter itself is fascinating, but one particular part came to mind as I watched the film. In one of the film’s most important scenes – the first meeting between the handsome and playful Prince Wolfram (Walter Bryon) and the spunky commoner Patricia “Kitty” Kelly (Swanson) – the film’s director, Erich von Stroheim, made an unusual request of Bryon. In the scene, the Prince is leading his platoon on a routine exercise when they pass a procession of young ladies from a local convent. One in particular catches his eye. On any other occasion, he would probably put on the charm and delight in making the young lady blush and smile, but on this day, he notices that the young lady’s underwear has fallen down, and he is overcome by a serious case of the giggles. After expressing a gamut of emotions, Kelly settles on anger and hurls the exposed garments at the unsuspecting prince. In the take referenced in Shearer’s book, the prince brought them to his face and smelled them. Needless to say, that did not make the final cut.

And yet, the action would have been more in keeping with a character like Wolfram. Wolfram is a playboy trapped in what looks to be an arranged engagement with a brutally oppressive queen that he has no feeling for whatsoever. More to the point, he’s someone whose idea of a romantic reunion involves starting a potentially deadly fire, using chloroform as a substitute for sweet serenades, and making sure that the woman he has supposedly fallen for has nothing to wear but her nighties. At the very least, these actions hint at a rather perverse idea of courtship. Now imagine the impression that would have been made had he actually put the lady’s undergarments to his nose and become instantly intoxicated.

Alas, that is not the film that either Swanson, who financed the picture as part of her deal with United Artists, or Stroheim had in mind. For his part, Stroheim envisioned a five-hour epic, one that followed Kelly’s journey from naïve youngster to jaded adult, and it would have ended with Kelly perplexingly assuming the throne. However, Swanson, according the film’s Wikipedia page, felt misled by Stroheim’s script and was uncomfortable with the parts of the film set in the Tanzanian city Dar es Salaam. The rift was apparently unresolvable, and Stroheim was fired. It would be the last directing job he ever received.

And so, unable to complete his vision, we are left with an unwise courtship, a violent punishment, and a tragic decision that reflects the reality of the social norms at the time of the film’s release. From there, we get fragments: stills of a letter announcing a sick relative and a long journey by sea, followed by scenes in which Kelly finds herself in the same position as her royal amour. From there, we get references to Stroheim’s script and the complete turnaround that would have occurred in Kelly’s character, and it is perfectly clear that Stroheim intended for the film to be an epic

 Fortunately, there’s a lot to admire about Stroheim’s efforts here. First, the character of Patricia Kelly is an interesting one, and Stroheim elicits some amazing emotional moments from Swanson, ones in which she is asked to display a range of conflicting emotions. We can see each one and recognize their progression. In one scene, she perfectly conveys the dread and shock of a woman who has incurred the wrath of a jealous and violent queen. The result is a tough scene to watch. Stroheim also gets a terrific performance from Bryon. Playing the cad, the naturally alluring Bryon infuses the character with charm and wit, making it perfectly sensible that women would keep picture postcards of him under their pillows. Matching them is the indelible Seena Owen, who plays Queen Regina V. She makes it perfectly understandable that Wolfram would not be able simply to walk away from the engagement, and her facial expressions are the stuff of nightmares.

Ultimately, Swanson’s instincts were correct: Under Stroheim’s direction, the film veers into questionable territory, and not simply because what develops seems superfluous to the main plot. The first hour depicts an unwise and unresolved courtship. Conventional wisdom says to stick with that story line, yet under Stroheim’s direction, Kelly was to have been married off to Jan Vryheid (hammily-played by Tully Marshall), one of the most overtly lecherous characters ever to grace the silver screen. Just what Kelly’s aunt sees in him that makes her think he would be a suitable husband is anyone’s guess. And that would not have been the end of Kelly’s misery.

It would also not have provided an adequate resolution to the film’s love story, for Kelly and Wolfram have known each other for just two days, and few of their conversations are the kind from which he could realistically conclude that he’d found his soul mate. In an attempt to salvage the film, Swanson filmed a brief ending, and to her credit, it more than adequately completes Kelly and Wolfram’s story. This was the ending audiences in Europe and South America saw when the film was finally released in 1932. It would be more than twenty years before audiences in the United States were afforded the same opportunity.

To watch it today is to see a divided film. It is clear that Swanson wanted a Shakespearean love story, while Stroheim wanted a much more perverse and fractured fairy tale. The differing visions ultimately hurt the project. While the personalities of Kelly and the Queen remain consistent, Wolfram’s is all over the place. Does he love Kelly? Certainly not at first, and believing that he suddenly does requires a certain degree of amnesia on the audience’s part. Still, we feel for Kelly, and we grow to want a better life for the Prince. So, it works. It just needed another thirty minutes to develop their relationship more fully and for the film to end without the African journey. Swanson got that. (on DVD from Kino)

3 stars (Stroheim’s version)
3 and a half stars (Swanson’s version)

Review - Sadie Thompson (1928)

July 30, 2020

Sadie Thompson – US, 1928

I am always fascinated by people like Alfred Davidson. Davidson is one of the lead characters in Raoul Walsh’s exceptional Sadie Thompson, yet men like him have existed for millennia. They don’t have faith that there is a god – they have certainty - and that conviction has led many of them to venture to faraway lands, where they seek to stamp out traditions that they are certain God disapproves of.  And the reward they offer for converting is a state of grace that will only be had if what they are certain of is actually true. It’s a tough sell, but one made much easier with the backing of the military or, in Davidson’s case, a like-minded local official.

In the opening scene of Sadie Thompson, we watch as Davidson (Lionel Barrymore) and his wife approach the capital of American Samoa, Pago Pago. He has come to rid the island of its moral failings, one of which appears to be the love of dancing. Also on the ship is a young woman from San Francisco named Sadie Thompson (Gloria Swanson), and she is an immediate hit with the American soldiers stationed on the island. She encourages their attention, openly flirts with a few of them, and is not offended by some of their more juvenile actions. She even invites them into her room to listen to jazz. In other words, she is the kind of woman that Davidson considers in need of either saving or punishment.

What follows is thoroughly fascinating, a game of one-upmanship, in which Davidson clearly has the upper hand. Soon his obsession begins to resemble road rage, for in his eyes, the ends – Sadie’s moral salvation – clearly justify the means, regardless of the trauma it inflicts. He is never a completely sympathetic character, yet I found it hard to cast his as a villain. True villains are usually aware of the destruction they seek to inflict; this description doesn’t quite fit Davidson. He just doesn’t know any other way, and there’s a satisfaction that creeps across his face when he begins to succeed which reveals an absence of malice. His enemy seems to be sin, not the individual. Well, at least for a while, that is.  

Throughout her career, Swanson excelled at playing strong characters, and with Sadie, she hit the jackpot. Her body language exudes confidence, her facial expression early on is one of pure joy, and her demeanor reveals a character aware of the importance of making the most of each moment. Surrounded by adoring young men, she is in heaven, yet unlike so many later heroines, nothing indicates that she is looking for someone to save her. Quite the opposite, in fact. Sadie, it turns out, is on her way to begin a job on a different cruise ship. I guess you could call her an example of the modern woman, and Swanson is the perfect actress to convey this.

There is, of course, Sergeant Tim O’Hara (played by Raoul Walsh himself). In a movie like this, there almost has to be, but I find myself wishing that weren’t so. O’Hara is first introduced as shy and quiet, but we know it won’t be long before Sadie brings him out of his shell. The scenes with the couple are interesting, and they certainly make a good case for love eventually developing.  However, if you think about it rationally, the timeline is ridiculous. A two-day courtship; three-day separation; a proposal on their sixth day of acquaintance. It’s the kind of set-up that makes a mother pull his son aside and ask him if he’s sure he’s given the whole thing due consideration. But there’s another reason why the inclusion of the romantic storyline seems unwise. If Sadie is truly an example of the modern woman and if the movie is advocating for acceptance of type of woman, it seems counterproductive for it to reward modernity with traditionalism.

In her later years, Swanson lamented that some of what she regarded as her greatest films no longer existed. Sadly, according to Wikipedia, 19 of her films have been lost, including Bluebeard’s 8^th Wife and Madame Sans-Gene, and who knows what the conditions of her lesser-known films are. Thus, we are lucky to have Sadie Thompson, and it is one of the best showcases of Swanson’s talent, as well as a reminder of why audiences made her the second most popular actress in Hollywood behind Mary Pickford. However, it too is incomplete; the film’s finale, containing a dramatic interaction between Sadie and Davidson, no longer exists. I watched Kino’s DVD of the film, and fortunately, they have recreated the scene using new intertitles, stock photos, and a few moments from the 1932 remake, Rain.  I’m grateful for the effort, even as I lament what once was.

I feel like I’m not fully expressing my admiration for the film. Here is a perfectly-paced film of great intensity involving two fascinating characters and the tragedy that ensues upon their chance encounter. It spotlights a time of great change in American culture, when the population was still coming to terms with the effects of technology, medicine, music, movies, psychology, and the right to vote on society. It is no surprise that the first reaction to a woman like Sadie is shock and disapproval. After all, just look at the difference between Sadie and Mrs. Davidson. One blurts out profanity like a sailor; the other covers her ears and runs out of the room. Guess which one Mr. Davidson married. Now guess which one he secretly pines for. (on DVD)

4 and a half stars

*Gloria Swanson was nominated for Best Actress for her work in Sadie Thompson. She lost to Janet Gaynor.

Review - Male and Female

February 13, 2020

Male and Female – US, 1919

There is a stanza of William Ernest Henley’s poem “To: W A” at the center of Cecil B. DeMille’s century-old film Male and Female. It goes like this:  

            “Or ever the knightly years were gone

              With the old world to the grave

              I was a King of Babylon

              And you were a Christian slave”

It is read and reminisced upon by a pampered daughter of privilege named Mary Loam (Gloria Swanson) as well as one of the family servants, Bill Crichton (Thomas Meighan), and - as interpreted by Crichton, at least - it implies that there was a time when their souls found themselves placed into different social roles. The powerful was once powerless; the poor was once rich. It is a rather bleak assessment, for it implies that there is never a time when society is classless, and, therefore, the protagonists in this film will never be allowed the bliss of a happy ending in either this life or the past or future. If that isn’t a spoiler alert, I don’t know what is.

The film has an intriguing opening scene. In lieu of showing us the characters and informing us who is playing them, DeMille introduces us to the members of the Loam family through the eyes of a young servant as he peers through the key holes of each of their rooms. It is mildly amusing, but it serves a greater purpose, one that I’m pretty sure DeMille was intending. Simply put, by looking through the boy’s eyes, we become similar voyeurs. We are looking at the men of the house as they wearily greet the new day, and it is our eyes that fix on the removed clothes of Lady Mary. The boy is soon forcibly removed by Crichton, and he, ever the gentleman, shows incredible restraint. We, on the other hand, follow Mary into her rather enormous washroom, where her servants are preparing her bath. We watch as she approaches her servants, one shoulder exposed. Then the servants hold up a translucent cloth, one that, I might add, then falls, fully exposing Swanson’s shoulders and bare back, and briefly giving them an obscured glance at her backside. The scene doesn’t serve a narrative purpose, but I’m sure it made Swanson a permanent fixture in many young boys’ fantasies.

But I digress. The film also introduces us to Tweeny (Lisa Lee), a servant who is in love with Crichton. How do we know? Well, she has a picture of him in her room, and she places a kiss on it before she begins working. We also meet Lord Brockelhurst (Where do they come up with these names?), played by Robert Cain, another member of the upper class and a suitor for Lady Mary. After getting engaged, Mary and her family embark on a trip to the South Seas. Along the way, their boat crashes into some rocks and the family is forced to take shelter on an island that just happens to have an ample supply of fruit and meat, but no humans. There are even ruins, hinting at previous inhabitants, which, if you think about it, doesn’t make any sense. Humans have rarely abandoned areas that still could still provide them with the means to survive. Pitcairn, this is not.

There’s a naiveté to the rest of the film. For much of its duration, the film places eight individuals – 5 men and three women – on an island, and the consequences of this are remarkably trivial. Sure, there’s the intriguing, if not slightly predictable repositioning of authority – Crichton is the only one who knows how to survive in such a place – yet beyond that the only question the film seems to want to pursue is just who will be successful in their pursuit of the big man – Mary or Tweeny. This part of the film is much more akin to Swiss Family Robinson, a book that is even reference in one scene, than Cast Away. In other words, no one suffers any mental trauma or depression. Instead, they build amazing huts, erect fences for livestock, and even become rather skilled hunters and gatherers. Everyone smiles, the family patriarch does silly things, and the ladies all remain visions of beauty – their hair sparkles, their cheeks remain rosy, and their figures ensure that they’ll return to civilization in the same shape that made the actresses playing them so desirable in the first place. Who knows? Maybe there was a pharmacy on the island.

Into this fantasy world, DeMille inserts one of the most superfluous sequences in film history. In it, we are swept back in time to ancient Babylon, where we see a king that looks remarkably like Crichton and a Christian slave who is the spitting image of Mary. From there, we witness a visual representation of Henley’s poem, one which ends with Swanson’s character choosing death at the hands of lions over a forced life with her Babylonian enslaver. In other words, DeMille did not trust the audience to understand the implications of Henley’s words on their own; we had to see them.

There is a stronger version of Male and Female to be made, one that could not have been made in 1919 or even in 1935, and that version would resemble Lina Wertmuller’s Swept Away far more than Gilligan’s Island. There would be madness, savage competition for companionship, perhaps even pregnancy. There would be more to the switch in power than the realization that only one of them was equipped to made soup, and there would be growing resentment that someone who was once an employee was now be proclaiming himself king. Instead, we get joviality, outdated humor, and one of the chastest pursuits of the only available man on an otherwise uninhabited island that you’ll ever see. It’s a G-rated version of what would likely be an R-rated reality. (on DVD)

2 and a half stars

*Male and Female is a silent film.

Review - Beyond the Rocks

December 15, 2019

Beyond the Rocks – US, 1922

To be able to fully appreciate Sam Woods’s 1922 film Beyond the Rocks, it would be wise to reflect upon the qualities of Charles Dickens’s and Jane Austen’s novels. From Dickens, we must absorb the notions of a great and final chivalrous act, one done at the benefit of another but at great peril to oneself; from Austen, we must remember those ideal worlds where a young woman can be pursued by two young men – one from a wealthy family and the other from an even wealthier one. And to these common narrative elements, we must off course add Hollywood’s propensity to portray physical attraction as real love and to depict it as only requiring a paucity of time to develop. In other words, it takes a real suspension of disbelief. Then again, what are movies if not the creation of worlds with their own rules, many of which require viewers simply to let go of rationale thought and enjoy the ride?

In Beyond the Rocks, Gloria Swanson plays Theodora Fitzgerald, the youngest daughter of an aging widower and the half-sister of his two opportunistic daughters. Early on, we eavesdrop on a conversation in which they talk about needing Theodora to marry rich for both theirs and their father’s sake. Fortunately, fate – or is it destiny? – takes the wheel and tosses Theodora into the young playboy hands of Lord Hector Brocandale. I mean this literally, for on a boating excursion, Theodora is flung from her paddle boat into the sea, and it is Hector’s strong hands that pull her to safety. Fate sees fit to intervene again later on when Theodora, now on her honeymoon, finds herself hanging precipitously from the side of a mountain after take one step too many behind her. Again, it is Hector to the rescue, and you know what happens when a male character risks death for the sake of a damsel in distress? Feelings can’t be too far behind.

And here is where the film takes the easy way out and “Jane Austen” events begin to occur. In this kind of world, love, no matter how illogical or poorly developed it is – simply must develop, and it cannot be a puppy-dog kind of love; instead, it must be the genuine, powerful kind, the kind that makes you ache when you think of what cannot be. The problem is that Hector does not seem to have that as his motivating force; instead, he seems like your average horny adult male who, when alone with a woman in a semi-romantic environment, can’t resist the urge to hit on the beautiful woman in his company – regardless of her unavailability. He even seems to be using a well-worn tale of forbidden love that he considers too powerful to resist as a means of putting Theodora in a more suggestive state.

Here again, we must remember that we are in something akin to Austenland, a place where lust simply cannot exist in the male protagonist, so no sooner does Hector make his unsuccessful move, he dons the expression of a heartbroken, mortified man, thus re-establishing his noble character. Perhaps it was simply the wrong era for a movie about two people brought together solely by their immense physical attraction. That said, the film would have made more sense if that indeed had been the way events played out.  This is not a knock on what follows, for the film hits its stride when depicting the agony and anguish of a love denied. Still, one wonders at the masterpiece that could have been.

Unfortunately, the film enters Silly-land in its final act and requires a suspension of disbelief that many will find impossible to muster up. Here is where we must remember our literature, for many early films drew upon the classics for inspiration. And we must also remember the world available to a divorced woman in the 1920’s. Seen in this context, the actions of Theodora’s husband are no less ridiculous, but at least they are somewhat logical, as well as commendable.

I’m left with a mostly positive opinion of Beyond the Rocks. I quite enjoyed the set-up to the love affair, yet felt letdown by the need to make what is clearly attraction into something more. However, the film does an excellent job of detailing how hard it is to let a love like theirs go, and Swanson and Valentino are stunning in these moments. I also liked the way the film handles Theodora’s husband – he is neither vengeful nor idiotic. Rather, he’s just too old for her, and his mannerisms around her are those of a gentle man comfortable with his life. He has everything he wants – he just doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. A later scene involving correspondences is sweet and heartfelt, and it excellently established that neither man in Theodora’s life is the villain of the picture. Things like this just happen. And then, sadly, there’s the ending, that ludicrous, predictable, problematic conclusion that employs the oldest play in the books. Perhaps the less said about it, the better. (on DVD)

3 and a half stars

*Beyond the Rocks is a silent film.

Review - Zaza (1923)

July 26, 2019

Zaza – US, 1923

When I first saw Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot, a film that frequently appears on lists of the top 100 American films of all time, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Here was a film that was essentially about deception and greed. Think about it. Marilyn Monroe’s dream man is wealthy and has a yacht, Tony Curtis, after learning this while in disguise as a woman, then engages in a little more trickery by masquerading as a wealthy yacht owner. Meanwhile, his partner in fraud starts being just as materialistic by entertaining the advances of a millionaire he clearly doesn’t love, all in the name of achieving security. I found it hard to laugh, and even though I’ve had the film in my collection for a few years now, I haven’t been able to convince myself to give it a second try.

The problem, it seems to me, is that the characters are not entirely likable, for who really wants someone to succeed in finding “love” under these circumstances. In the end, Some Like It Hot rewards the very qualities that are loathed in countless other films, films in which love is portrayed as superseding evils such as classism. In fact, Monroe herself made one such film, How to Marry a Millionaire, in which she, Lauren Bacall, and Betty Grable announce their plans to marry rich in the first scene and then spend the rest of the film learning that the pursuit of financial security may prevent you from seeing that Mr. Right Enough is standing in front of you. The characters openly talk about the changes they’re going through and the decisions they make, and in the end, they are better people. In Some Like It Hot, no one learns anything. The guy gets the girl, and the girl doesn’t care that she was lied to. Even Lemmon’s character has the option of being pampered for life.

I mention these two films because Allan Dwan’s 1923 film Zaza makes many of the mistakes of Some Like It Hot while denying its characters any of the soul-searching and growth found in How to Marry a Millionaire. Its central character is Zaza (Gloria Swanson), the star attraction of a music hall in France. Just why she is so popular is a mystery, for the only thing we see her do onstage is swing on a giant swing and toss her shoes to patrons who all have one thing on their minds. Adding to Zaza’s peculiarities is the fact that she is one of the biggest divas to ever appear on the silver screen. She abuses her maid, hurls insults at anyone who gets in her way, attempts to sabotage a rival’s act, and, in one scene, violently goes after a fellow performer, nearly stripping her in the process. These early scenes hardly establish her as a character we root for to get her man.

Zaza is being pursued by a duke, but she has her heart set of winning Bernard Dufresne (H.B. Warner), a French official who has a habit of showing up just before her act and leaving shortly after. Now normally when a movie presents us with a scenario such as this one, we start to see a bratty character differently through exchanges with a loved one. Therefore, we expect Bernard to bring out the best in Zaza, and that when he does, we will come to see her behavior in earlier scenes as a survival technique and not reflective of the real her. Not so here. There is never a moment in which Bernard explains what he sees in Zaza, and nary a moment in which the two of them do much conversing at all. Sure, he fawns over her, she dotes on him, and they steal quick kisses, and all of that hints at a connection. Alas, it is simply never convincing. In fact, after Zaza is injured onstage and her knight in shining armor flies to her rescue, she makes her maid promise not to tell him that she is better. See, he might leave, and she wants to keep him there as long as possible – even under false pretenses.

There is a transformation in the second half, yet it comes across as half-hearted, mostly because we are expected to just take the film’s word that Zaza just wakes up one day and decides to be a better person. Sure, there’s a nice scene in which Zaza makes up with her former rival, and a scene in which she meets a young girl who confirms a heartbreaking truth, but having spent half the film seeing example after example of Zaza’s bombastic and unhinged persona, it’s hard to accept such a sudden change. And because the film spends so little time exploring the feelings between Zaza and Bernard, their eventual reunion, seven years and one World War later, lacks the emotional pull that it requires.

As Zaza, the normally reliable Swanson is all over the place, and her manic persona hurts the first half of the film, especially when every other member of the cast seems to be avoiding the physical excesses that are sometimes found in silent films. She tones it down in the second half of the film, and these scenes work better. I felt that I was seeing a real person, rather than an overly-excessive persona. As Bernard, Warner does a decent enough job, but, then again, not much is expected of him other than looking conflicted, ashamed, and forlorn.

By the end of the film, I still had no clue what he saw in her – other than sheer physical attraction. And there’s nothing wrong with that, all long as we’re clear that that’s what is intended, Here, alas, we are disappointed. We are meant to see Zaza and Bernard are having a love so strong that is could stand a long separation and years of no communication. In other words, we are supposed to be see their love as one that is pure and meant to be. What this really means, though, is that greed and a focus on the superficial win out in the end, and that’s hardly a message worth celebrating. (on DVD and Blu-ray from Kino)

2 stars

Review - Manhandled

November 2, 2018

Manhandled – US, 1924

The title of Allan Dwan’s 1924 film Manhandled has a double meaning. The literal definition is handled roughly by dragging or pushing, and we get a good sense of this in the film’s opening scene. I believe, however, that word is intended to conjure up a different image, one that would have been easily understood even back in the supposedly simpler days of the 1920s, that of a woman handled roughly by men who think that wealth and power give them such privileges. It is a sentiment that unfortunately still exists in many countries today.

The title also of course suggests a drama, for what comedic moments could one honestly expect from a movie with such a scenario as its central plot? It came as a pleasant surprise then that Dwan devotes much of the first quarter of the film to making his audience laugh. These moments document the daily struggles that a young lady named Tessie McGuire (Gloria Swanson) endures during her commute home, and the results are side-splittingly amusing. We witness the pushing, the shoving, and the jostling that riders must put up with, yet we see them through the lens of a slapstick comedy. Hats get stepped on, belongings get dropped, and for some time, Tessie finds herself stuck between two men’s armpits. Oh, the indignity. However, my favorite part of the scene is a clever bit in which Tessie gets her arms stuck in the other men’s arms, and because of the two men’s height, finds herself levitating between them. It’s an excellent bit, and it reinforces my view of her as a comic wonder.

For here, though, the film turns somewhat dark. We get a sense of Tessie’s longing for an escape from the daily drudgeries of the department store she works at. To make matters worse, her boyfriend, Jimmy Hogan, a mechanic by day and taxi driver by night, is so busy that he can’t find time to take her dancing. In one of the film’s best moments, Tessie grabs a ukulele, yet can’t summon the joy to play it. She just sits there, her face swelling with disappointment and despair. All Jimmy can do is promise to take her to the movies the following night. Additional frustrations, though, lead Tessie to accept an invitation to a party fully of upper-class playboys, the last place that a decent woman like her should be.

What follows provides a good example of both the toxic nature of the playboy lifestyle and its enticing allure. We see the joviality, the blatant flaunting of Prohibition, and the confidence boost that comes with appearing in your best outfit. Swanson also makes us understand the appeal of moving up in class. Her face practically lights up in the presence of so many rich admirers, even though pleasing them seems to involve more than a little bit of self-mockery on Tessie’s part.

Manhandled, or at least what survives of it, is just over sixty minutes long, and so it is inevitable that it will have to pick up the pace in order to reach its predictable conclusion. That it does so in a way that casts all of her affluent suitors in the same light and renders them indistinguishable for one another is a mistake, though. Scenes fly by with little in the way of narration to explain where Tessie is, who she’s with, and why she chose to accept his invitation. Eventually all of them reveal themselves to be cads in similar ways, and this is less interesting not because the world is not full of them, but because, ironically, we saw it coming much earlier in the film, and this makes what follows an affirmation of our predictions, not a discovery. I could also quibble with the way the film devotes so little time to fleshing out Jimmy’s character. Sure, he’s romantic and hard-working, yet he’s also whatever the film needs him to be without establishing that it is in his nature to be so many things.

By the end of the film, Manhandle has gone in the direction it had to and ticked off all the boxes of a film of this sort – misunderstanding, competition, rejection, reunification. This does not mean the film is not worth watching, of course, only that the potential demonstrated by those opening moments on the train home are never quite equaled. The comedy we are teased evaporates and becomes a drama, and characters that we think are up to no good prove to be just that. And if only it were so easy to go from average joe to millionaire in one day.

Still, I enjoyed the film for Swanson’s performance. The beginning of the film demonstrates her superb comic skills, the rest her dramatic chops. I also admired the way she physically alters the way she walks and acts when she is playing the role of a Russian countess. Swanson was a revelation, and I’m eternally grateful for the opportunity to witness that for myself. (on DVD and Blu-ray from Kino)

3 stars

Review - Stage Struck

October 5, 2018

Stage Struck – US, 1925

The world has always had celebrities, but one look at the walls in Orme Wilson’s room is all it takes to know just how much had changed from the days when there were only local theatrical productions and occasional traveling performers. Sure, there have always been nationally known singers and actors, but perhaps never so many at one time. And just what was the effect of these new stars and starlets, with their dashing good looks, hourglass figures, and luxurious attire? Well, probably to create in more than one person an abnormally high level of angst and the recurring thought that you just didn’t stack up to those famous figures in either looks or desirability.

This is the situation that Jenny Hagan (Gloria Swanson) finds herself in in the beginning of Allan Dwan’s Stage Struck. After an entertaining opening scene in which we are privy to Jenny’s private daydreams, ones in which she envisions herself as the most greatest actress to have ever graced the earth, we see the reality - that Jenny has an ordinary job and that the man she loves, the aforementioned Orme Wilson, does not seem to return her affection. He even has a somewhat condescending pet name for her – Mouse.

In one scene, we see her enter Orme’s room and register utter amazement at the sheer number of pictures of actresses that envelop his room. Her envy is all too apparent, and in a cute scene, we see her mimic some of the poses struck in the pictures. It’s as if she saying, “See. I can do that, too.” She stops short, however, at emulating one that is wearing a particularly revealing gown. There are some lines, it seems, that her modesty will not allow her to cross.

The central conflict in the film comes when a show boat named the Water Queen arrives, bringing with it the latest crop of actresses. Orme’s expression could not be more telling. Upon arriving outside the boat, he adopts the aw-shucks look of a teenage boy who’s being flirted with by someone way out of his league. He is the poster child for the boy who’s just happy to be there, and when given a chance to take the hand of the newest leading lady, he is so innocent that he doesn’t pick up on the fact that she is waiting for him to kiss her hand.

So, just what is a woman like Jenny to do? Why, become an actress herself of course. I don’t need to tell you that things don’t quite work out the way she hopes, but the good news for the audience is that they unravel to hilarious effect. Gloria Swanson, known to a generation as the elderly version of Rose in James Cameron’s Titanic, proves to be quite versatile, which is important because the role called for one. Swanson has to be confident and bold in her fantasies, fun and silly in interactions with Orme, and hopeless and lovelorn at times of let-down. She is also called upon to be a shape-shifter, changing herself to such a wide extent that she could very well be the actresses in Orme’s pictures. She adopts a sly, furtive demeanor in a scene in which she tries to sidle alongside Orme and casually take his arm while he is walking with another woman, and then has to play the moment as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. I can understand why in 1925 one critic referred to her as “Chaplin’s nearest rival.” She is that good in the film.

The film falls apart slightly toward the end, as characters begin to reveal motivations that don’t jive with what previously transpired. The introduction of a character who has a peculiar relationship with his drum is ill-advised and unexplored, and the insertion of a female boxing match at the end of the film is slightly off-putting until you recall that boxing was very much a part of traveling circuses. Whether the audience for a rendition of Uncle Tom’s Cabinl would cheer it to the degree that the one in the picture does is debatable. Perhaps the film’s greatest mistake, though, is the insertion of possible physical violence on the part of a character that had up until that moment been a pillar of calm, as well as its use of suicide as a comic device. I suspect neither of these things is likely to strike contemporary viewers as deserving of laughter.

Still, Stage Struck is a mostly a joy to behold. Along with Swanson, we get to see Lawrence Gray in all his splendor – humorous, skilled with a pancake skillet, openly flirting with the young ladies who stand outside the restaurant window to watch him work, and utterly childlike in the presence of a beautiful actress. He and Swanson make quite the cinematic pair. In short, Stage Struck is an excellent introduction to Gray, and it is an absolutely incredible showcase for the immensely talented Gloria Swanson. (on Blu-ray)

3 and a half stars