tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91439012299250857602024-03-12T18:54:23.006-04:00 A PERSON IN THE DARKA site designed for all of the wonderful people out there in the dark and dedicated to the unabashed passion for silents, early talkies, all stars and all films.FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.comBlogger367125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-28614375724532918162024-02-15T16:12:00.002-05:002024-02-15T16:12:58.867-05:00I Don’t Care How the Sausage is Made: Give Me the Magic, Give Me the Make-Believe <p><span style="background-color: black; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">I've been blogging a long time (13 + years) – lately not so much. I mean, after a while, you kind of run out of novel things to say. Plus – man, are there some great classic film bloggers out there. I am amazed, not only at their writing ability, but at their intricate knowledge of all the things that go into making movies. You know, all that behind-the-scenes stuff, like writing, directing, cinematography, etc.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdLlhTdIVxxw7E2MSDpLX5aun6pTRx8zx-i7j0pl8Hte5HXMiUAU4sBJDALrJkV7a9nWhJt2XpMmW-CflDBrOWAQf7X6O7LT-FFvHcmzXQSMOCWG6yYbTYkGW-f-ElyiNVsTLV5laRsRCxj2-8dQy72U0pA_KGfpRTw0yScKGm-jUTWT2xDAidR9oTHTs" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img data-original-height="405" data-original-width="540" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdLlhTdIVxxw7E2MSDpLX5aun6pTRx8zx-i7j0pl8Hte5HXMiUAU4sBJDALrJkV7a9nWhJt2XpMmW-CflDBrOWAQf7X6O7LT-FFvHcmzXQSMOCWG6yYbTYkGW-f-ElyiNVsTLV5laRsRCxj2-8dQy72U0pA_KGfpRTw0yScKGm-jUTWT2xDAidR9oTHTs=w400-h300" width="400" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">It might be hard to keep your mind on the screen here....</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Alas, I am nowhere in the same league. Sometimes I just feel like throwing in the towel because I am not an expert in anything (and don’t have the nerve to pass myself off as one).</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">But.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">But I do admit you would have to go a long way to find my equal when it comes to being starstruck. Those pictures you see of the enraptured movie goer, sitting on the edge of their seat, hand poised between popcorn and mouth, eyes wide and glued to the screen? Yup, that’s me.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnp4T2MjThk3wW9DwK-9f9mTVoWClYrFgTRI3UxvkoMZr1Db5baSuZePOBLl5wiibWfZg5AyTnmvQ8764eBtEFch4uaqajzZhGWNDg_ckyQ7TMMJoxIyJ3HHQA-wvN79TkMTc_JWV0CxWe401YXPkc4EUdwcjkqvi4X-XAZGWuJa-Jm2-2FMkdCElwLAg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="672" data-original-width="1280" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnp4T2MjThk3wW9DwK-9f9mTVoWClYrFgTRI3UxvkoMZr1Db5baSuZePOBLl5wiibWfZg5AyTnmvQ8764eBtEFch4uaqajzZhGWNDg_ckyQ7TMMJoxIyJ3HHQA-wvN79TkMTc_JWV0CxWe401YXPkc4EUdwcjkqvi4X-XAZGWuJa-Jm2-2FMkdCElwLAg=w400-h210" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yes, Mia, I totally get it.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Billy Wilder has William Holden as Joe Gillis in “Sunset Boulevard” say “Audiences don’t know somebody sits down and writes a picture; they think the actors make it up as they go along.” Of course I know that. But, when I’m lost in a film, I don’t care. I want to believe. Maybe that’s the filmmakers curse – they work so hard at make believe that their own contribution is ultimately ignored. Do you sit though all of the interminable credits at the end of the film these days? I don’t. I just want to see who was in it.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">You know how you can pretty much find a Seinfeld episode that relates to every incident in life? Well, I can pretty much do that with movies. I have to keep those references in my head most times, because I’ve had the “poor thing: can’t relate to real life” look too many times. Or worse, the “WTF is she talking about?” look. Actually, I kind of like that one.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvgLBlmigZawWjEdIRFm5VADCUulouQ6zvP7O_86Foq4ef3jYzPpcyJ6BcjMTWAfvgwdnZVkQuFepqy-U94ibR8HzdGhF88WqL_cFOfZCQ_mKkYqFpScrcHvG9o4R5olo637-cWqGZE06J0Um_IkrhZfOFgs3wr2vGfZ0ckNWXkf8J7PVDurHEpUsQowE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="352" data-original-width="480" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvgLBlmigZawWjEdIRFm5VADCUulouQ6zvP7O_86Foq4ef3jYzPpcyJ6BcjMTWAfvgwdnZVkQuFepqy-U94ibR8HzdGhF88WqL_cFOfZCQ_mKkYqFpScrcHvG9o4R5olo637-cWqGZE06J0Um_IkrhZfOFgs3wr2vGfZ0ckNWXkf8J7PVDurHEpUsQowE=w400-h294" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">There is nothing like a great star of the classic era. I’m aware that it took an entire industry to produce such glorious beings for our consumption, but I don’t want to know. I don’t care that Rita Hayworth had her hairline painfully altered, I only care to see her shimmering image on film. I want to believe that they emerged – full-fledged and fascinating – on the screen.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Charles Foster Kane had his Declaration of Principles. No matter that he betrayed each and every one of them, but he had them. And here are this lowly starstruck willfully ignorant fan’s Seven Rules of Classic Film Fascination:</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="outline: none !important;">1. </span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;">There must be music in the background: Does mood music follow you around all day? Well, in the movies it does and it is perfectly normal. No questions asked.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="outline: none !important;">2. </span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;">Do you wake up in full make-up and perfectly coiffed hair? Only movie stars do. They really do.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="outline: none !important;">3. </span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;">Can life’s stories be brought to conclusion in approximately 2 hours or less. In the movies they can. Or at least, in most classic films they can. Anyone see “Oppenheimer” or “Killers of the Flower Moon”? Either learn to tighten it up, give us a potty/snack bar break or make a streaming series.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="outline: none !important;">4.<span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; outline: none !important;"> </span></span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;">Only a great star can invite the illusion of intimacy. All the behind the scenes stuff can't make that.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="outline: none !important;">5. </span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;">There is always, always, an elegance about a star. And something unique – they neither look, nor sound, nor move quite like anyone else.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="outline: none !important;">6. </span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;">A film is not totally absorbing unless there is a star. A cast of unknowns don’t cut it.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="outline: none !important;">7. </span></span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;">How will you know 1-6 combine to create the brew that is a star or an unforgettable film? You will know it’s magic when it lingers in you thoughts and dreams, when it interjects itself into your real life, and when you never tire of repeated viewings of images or a film.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">I am not now and never will be a film scholar, although I have lots of odd facts rumbling around in my brain. Please don’t ask me about geography, but I can tell you a lot about Clara Bow. I was what the movies was made for: open to magic, open to dreaming, open to the secret life that lives within.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHEiDdjLwF4DFlepWWqCz3UdaI-7E-8gbTzYOUs2T1uncJj62IdvJq4kYnlSmdB4tUIFSc_mWtEIPaxOL9Zjzs0__DZqkFAwm7ZVcHH0ebeZgACrY6KqbRrqerOz-k8amMHZqJD7EwtRXd5I1j_amZgR6SI2GYQOqttm-pagZp4WaPDqf9SL5KOpVZHcg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHEiDdjLwF4DFlepWWqCz3UdaI-7E-8gbTzYOUs2T1uncJj62IdvJq4kYnlSmdB4tUIFSc_mWtEIPaxOL9Zjzs0__DZqkFAwm7ZVcHH0ebeZgACrY6KqbRrqerOz-k8amMHZqJD7EwtRXd5I1j_amZgR6SI2GYQOqttm-pagZp4WaPDqf9SL5KOpVZHcg=w287-h400" width="287" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Go on...ask me</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Maybe I’ll go on blogging, maybe not. I started blogging because I felt the need to share my love of the movie-going/watching experience, but maybe this one entry is all I have left to say. I do like participating in some blogathons because it forces me to write, but right now my only topic is that of surrender – surrender to the magic of the finished product. It's bliss in a world filled with anything but at times.</span></span></p><p class="yiv5245157217ydp2fbc77fcMsoNormal" style="outline: none !important; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: black; line-height: 17.12px; outline: none !important;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-45245943233796231482023-12-17T15:53:00.000-05:002023-12-17T15:53:29.606-05:00Lina Lamont and Billie Dawn: Sisters From A Different Mister?<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Sometimes things are so obvious you just can't help but wonder: Were Lina Lamont ("Singin' in the Rain") and Billie Dawn ("Born Yesterday") related?</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPfl-doRhl2nRgBqSQjx_1G5_pCeZZ2Yueyt_fJm9xpIpIhKNbloEfx_BRh6NbkfD4YFi1GXv-tlnWag0n7vk3DXOq8dQvz3kVgPLsWFtgPsyxmm-Yd9jEenaDb-nh-JJiq1iP5SOvtlJd7TwigfExXb9ONnplJvH4jOJX0QYmjjcJ2ncXA-MLfu5nqw/s760/Billie%20Lina%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="760" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPfl-doRhl2nRgBqSQjx_1G5_pCeZZ2Yueyt_fJm9xpIpIhKNbloEfx_BRh6NbkfD4YFi1GXv-tlnWag0n7vk3DXOq8dQvz3kVgPLsWFtgPsyxmm-Yd9jEenaDb-nh-JJiq1iP5SOvtlJd7TwigfExXb9ONnplJvH4jOJX0QYmjjcJ2ncXA-MLfu5nqw/w640-h314/Billie%20Lina%203.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">We don't know anything about the parentage of Miss Lamont and only know that Billie's dad worked for the gas company. Let's take a look at a few undeniable truths.</div></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">First: obvious physical and seductive resemblance. You see it, right? Sisters? Mother and daughter?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegFApEQPJGvLblYApXRPOPIK4bp3iqflavj1FCAURYwUSTCzGBZe4A8Qtg_Fuoh-EuhzHrguA9KxqmQoGvHagLvPT8CgfwOVYK0s4GIjaJ84MhRqeLtnvgSAebWxo3TunHMCPdB7Dek2uuBseboNvBmJvNykgJc0G0qQGnEKwzDl05UEMZ2JJRdQBS2o/s998/Lina%20slant%20board.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="998" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegFApEQPJGvLblYApXRPOPIK4bp3iqflavj1FCAURYwUSTCzGBZe4A8Qtg_Fuoh-EuhzHrguA9KxqmQoGvHagLvPT8CgfwOVYK0s4GIjaJ84MhRqeLtnvgSAebWxo3TunHMCPdB7Dek2uuBseboNvBmJvNykgJc0G0qQGnEKwzDl05UEMZ2JJRdQBS2o/w640-h216/Lina%20slant%20board.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Second: the even more obvious vocal resemblance. I mean, really - can there be any doubt that these two have a memorable -shall we say - tone? </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/q3OkXi5osfU" width="320" youtube-src-id="q3OkXi5osfU"></iframe></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/upJ5pZdyZlM" width="320" youtube-src-id="upJ5pZdyZlM"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Sorry for any ear bleeding here,</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Third: the shared impression that both were not bright when, in fact, they were smart cookies. While Billie mastered her civics and brought down a millionaire crook, Lina knew all the ABCs of her studio contract.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lj6zprO4203wBaG2inLtGbYFbuPkYOYWFgqFQoY_5XEZy7PojbOrPl8JZ_CQ0bf3TeCN4O_b5Ywfc7HAg3wTD-4AJyw-u8Rz7HwmZHrz-FU31fZ9-sz8Yf8KqThUKf29lTjEK46MvliE0BdD6i0IL82qjereznIbp8gKMYsCtQxQ9TOZOgFgb_gxf9c/s1600/Billie%20Smart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lj6zprO4203wBaG2inLtGbYFbuPkYOYWFgqFQoY_5XEZy7PojbOrPl8JZ_CQ0bf3TeCN4O_b5Ywfc7HAg3wTD-4AJyw-u8Rz7HwmZHrz-FU31fZ9-sz8Yf8KqThUKf29lTjEK46MvliE0BdD6i0IL82qjereznIbp8gKMYsCtQxQ9TOZOgFgb_gxf9c/w400-h299/Billie%20Smart.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQGfWQZkxiuT8KFpQDbIVxBBHNX9Eknf52JzYSNsL5YRYIQIc310Y8bbBhdBGJ7oMK6x_2Q919VZuDcog_Kb32XWal4O607xtDzISok-DRIrHiA1_VGt9tyQigA7PtJSZYMxMMT243aCeCX1fbgmBJV6WfESsLKEgAu9SKhjSn3Se4tfvRCTQ1s1T8Gc/s400/Lina%20smart.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQGfWQZkxiuT8KFpQDbIVxBBHNX9Eknf52JzYSNsL5YRYIQIc310Y8bbBhdBGJ7oMK6x_2Q919VZuDcog_Kb32XWal4O607xtDzISok-DRIrHiA1_VGt9tyQigA7PtJSZYMxMMT243aCeCX1fbgmBJV6WfESsLKEgAu9SKhjSn3Se4tfvRCTQ1s1T8Gc/w400-h300/Lina%20smart.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fourth: while we know that Billie's first name is really Emma, we don't know her given last name. And it's a pretty good bet that Lina Lamont is not the lady's real name. It has proved impossible to obtain actual birth certificates for each gal and back then there were no DNA tests.</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">So, I'm going to posit, without any proof, of course, that somehow these 2 are related. Billie would have to be the kid sister, of course or...could it be that somewhere, somehow, Lina had an affair with the gas man?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">I leave it to you to ponder. </span></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-13831897182388467592023-11-19T18:40:00.000-05:002023-11-19T18:40:09.655-05:00The Sweet Smell of Success: The Cat's in the Bag and the Bag's in the River<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><i>My local library is kind enough to indulge my desire to share my passion for classic film by allowing me to show a classic film once a month. And once in a while, a few film fans wander in and share the enjoyment. </i></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">November's Film: </span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Sweet Smell of Success</span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwDCvaDSeW_xmZAg2CSuaqDUTRjBbs6xhTsMZIyWgI8o0pOMmoIlg45Y3ApGSepPMvOz5CTweOh0ntKU8TZSOJTuV8cWpAcT82sCNyo_oCribCG1z7q15cVthlc289v71hTBEjwHxEw_3j7nYpmv6SO0Wnny57TSkaxoi2T5NbPbUf-iuLa_3Sw_xAKo/s515/sweet2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwDCvaDSeW_xmZAg2CSuaqDUTRjBbs6xhTsMZIyWgI8o0pOMmoIlg45Y3ApGSepPMvOz5CTweOh0ntKU8TZSOJTuV8cWpAcT82sCNyo_oCribCG1z7q15cVthlc289v71hTBEjwHxEw_3j7nYpmv6SO0Wnny57TSkaxoi2T5NbPbUf-iuLa_3Sw_xAKo/w311-h400/sweet2.jpg" width="311" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">1957's "The Sweet Smell of Success" is a glamorous black and white vision of the seedy New York gossip world of the 1950s. Before <i>TMZ</i> and the internet's instant update on the rich and infamous, there was the gossip columnist. While Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons were well known on the west coast, New York City had Walter </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Winchell, a columnist who wielded his power to make or break people with an iron and vicious typewriter. In "The Sweet Smell of Success," Burt Lancaster is J.J. Hunsecker, a thinly disguised version of Winchell. While he cloaks himself in a cynical suit of respectability, his is a world devoid of morals and filled with sleaze. His chief officer in charge of sleaze is struggling publicist Sidney Falco, played by Tony Curtis in a dynamic performance. Hunsecker's downfall is his shall we say "unusual" attachment to his sister, Susie. Isn't that always the way? Anyhow, to watch J.J. and Sidney weave a spider's web of malice only to be caught in it is a joy to behold.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJgSAN1HovMB-RoMswR8_YpoIGQbWZKDmNWTGKlGg5lNR0zi8I1uOosgsYyP-XSpXD-rfJbs3gcxdxzIN_h3MagDNfSA6R4M9iGEq-Ag_caG3GRp9YYzZ3lZRZDeR6QqA6HX2-_-tE_G_c43-1IvRHU9thZ43OzT7lMjTGEmlmMfP7xdwYrNSD_Ddv2U/s1920/sweet3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJgSAN1HovMB-RoMswR8_YpoIGQbWZKDmNWTGKlGg5lNR0zi8I1uOosgsYyP-XSpXD-rfJbs3gcxdxzIN_h3MagDNfSA6R4M9iGEq-Ag_caG3GRp9YYzZ3lZRZDeR6QqA6HX2-_-tE_G_c43-1IvRHU9thZ43OzT7lMjTGEmlmMfP7xdwYrNSD_Ddv2U/w400-h225/sweet3.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Aside from the two stars at the top of their game and dialogue that snaps and crackles, New York City, backed by a great jazzy Elmer Bernstein score, is the third star of the film. The film captures the city in the last glittering days of nightclubs, cocktails and fur coats. It's fun to spot the long gone stores you knew in the street scenes and to see legendary nightspots like The 21 Club and Toots Schor's in all their glory. </span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXsftyG7Ci-dRzMKc4-FBgrc3i22ONVpqHikLmZEDpJEqU84yL8YSOQdcqgmNITkUC8HdYnfRBRznfUNd40ZYFhcMd9x72PWUly_FOX_vNZJ-9Wcifm6TwVZS1eVAEnfsh7dzrg9-Y-Vws5dtmJm2u4DNypXwJcpB0baWqqARd78PXVgFi_yF3LLwEr8/s448/sweet4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="448" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXsftyG7Ci-dRzMKc4-FBgrc3i22ONVpqHikLmZEDpJEqU84yL8YSOQdcqgmNITkUC8HdYnfRBRznfUNd40ZYFhcMd9x72PWUly_FOX_vNZJ-9Wcifm6TwVZS1eVAEnfsh7dzrg9-Y-Vws5dtmJm2u4DNypXwJcpB0baWqqARd78PXVgFi_yF3LLwEr8/w400-h225/sweet4.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">A couple of special mentions: Barbara Nichols tugs at your heart as a cigarette girl (remember them?) who is badly used by the men she knows. </span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhv4TA6ePe8n5P1Mc6f_pEqkhmCGcS-Dw9b_cuEGs0CD1-Vbw7qJ1KFtSwCc7dXO48hFoMM9SOkvhAPCM8GomNvyBHkaqnYUc5f5z6M32IhaYYj8Ah8LMIEiZiT0B-OwspdwADs2onYXGhm21mQGTwc-QrPgz5V_DWmKSzTe5qMTOTf4y9aIw6PYa3haM/s1280/sweet5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="1280" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhv4TA6ePe8n5P1Mc6f_pEqkhmCGcS-Dw9b_cuEGs0CD1-Vbw7qJ1KFtSwCc7dXO48hFoMM9SOkvhAPCM8GomNvyBHkaqnYUc5f5z6M32IhaYYj8Ah8LMIEiZiT0B-OwspdwADs2onYXGhm21mQGTwc-QrPgz5V_DWmKSzTe5qMTOTf4y9aIw6PYa3haM/w400-h245/sweet5.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's also a chance to get a glimpse of the great vaudeville artist Joe Frisco playing a nightclub comedian. It's a small part, but just the thought that he was cast is a bit of a bow to New York's entertainment past.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-large; text-align: justify;"><br /></i></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-10675653216063172822023-11-05T12:59:00.000-05:002023-11-05T12:59:24.418-05:00Leave Her to Heaven: When Beauty Disguises the Beast<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my contribution to the <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Classic Movie Blog Association's</a> <i>Blogathon and the Beast</i> event. Click <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2023/10/introducing-fall-2023-cmba-blogathon.html" target="_blank">here </a>for more beastly good reads.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>Leave Her to Heaven: </b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>When Beauty Disguises the Beast</b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYZP_Sv4jTF_1JAcCyzNo8XbSKBIGpnbZvWzMf_N-AHiiXQ-Hz1h0nv-6bwgUrsi5sdrjFx-gzJRLOoqzUDAvTt-IEZsdsbQVcYnIre9b8g5IA1eg-V6J5TXWw3iIdZlwjWfUyPltUqkwXyAJt5o9vpSQJm7fXpzJPdW5ybcVcBPevZOXUjBshFTyjgo/s590/gene.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="590" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYZP_Sv4jTF_1JAcCyzNo8XbSKBIGpnbZvWzMf_N-AHiiXQ-Hz1h0nv-6bwgUrsi5sdrjFx-gzJRLOoqzUDAvTt-IEZsdsbQVcYnIre9b8g5IA1eg-V6J5TXWw3iIdZlwjWfUyPltUqkwXyAJt5o9vpSQJm7fXpzJPdW5ybcVcBPevZOXUjBshFTyjgo/w400-h300/gene.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">In the eternal cinematic battle between good and evil, virtue must always contend with the beast. Now, when the beast looks like these guys, he's not so hard to resist.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyNGCtJSzBV0VyMfpJlAweayUxmmYMwcjvaqSXkIMvTd8SIjh3pM62A_MXzYg0WXG9u0dlA3mhsrXtsSJ-OQPVSsKGI86Mmccc6CA2JucC7xdEJDIhLnm1goOcqK6Xi-Wf-_4v200ksqILpWl8wP4Veo7RtKfWdtOKf84R9pSkZ3evcNiAKQEoqragEs/s921/beast.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="597" data-original-width="921" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyNGCtJSzBV0VyMfpJlAweayUxmmYMwcjvaqSXkIMvTd8SIjh3pM62A_MXzYg0WXG9u0dlA3mhsrXtsSJ-OQPVSsKGI86Mmccc6CA2JucC7xdEJDIhLnm1goOcqK6Xi-Wf-_4v200ksqILpWl8wP4Veo7RtKfWdtOKf84R9pSkZ3evcNiAKQEoqragEs/w400-h259/beast.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJM3ObQSA-YjTnpg7I_w5yHcQSva7u17n2UcALDLmYnDA0oT9RkEXdawb7hzZLSxKw4dQmLZdaXRzyYxqO25y6f6eWhmLfdN9Ie40HDFNcGxUeFTvZd-MGG3QrpHQS37nracusJoCiKUcZqz_9M0poJtwcI3-9Api9Mkqa4bWjQI_mgERMZ4Cw4WmNiJo/s640/frank2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="640" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJM3ObQSA-YjTnpg7I_w5yHcQSva7u17n2UcALDLmYnDA0oT9RkEXdawb7hzZLSxKw4dQmLZdaXRzyYxqO25y6f6eWhmLfdN9Ie40HDFNcGxUeFTvZd-MGG3QrpHQS37nracusJoCiKUcZqz_9M0poJtwcI3-9Api9Mkqa4bWjQI_mgERMZ4Cw4WmNiJo/w400-h245/frank2.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoolqwl5YAa2VENOiZR57nBU7Mgsd9Lgv0X1DWcB8vb4QPJOxWwiqyjqGNdEB56n2N16akNBOlZRqfovz-un0WrLdOUFUCu9V8vh-uTvmn0bXQM_b1lzJjUBwzmtGG7oI0radyAQUneYEEYfecAKpmifiIGPZyM_XHnHSFb27dwZn5RV5s2FFDMzLxs0k/s620/frank%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="620" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoolqwl5YAa2VENOiZR57nBU7Mgsd9Lgv0X1DWcB8vb4QPJOxWwiqyjqGNdEB56n2N16akNBOlZRqfovz-un0WrLdOUFUCu9V8vh-uTvmn0bXQM_b1lzJjUBwzmtGG7oI0radyAQUneYEEYfecAKpmifiIGPZyM_XHnHSFb27dwZn5RV5s2FFDMzLxs0k/w400-h259/frank%201.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But, when the beast looks like this, well, it certainly complicates things. And that's what makes "Leave her to Heaven" so much twisted fun.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gdAR6YwG_8z8lBQFCz6hIw62_ythV74sqEZlH95BKvPn7Yr1D1ISSaLfJE22K_QQlHQlno1bdw97qJUQni0RWnkpJLglRMQDtMfgSds8vDVbZRJsTDLMvvVEM4aENPlNL3yx4w8h7sRz_2reDNPNugNQLxsyF8aMQl0RH8JVf5j2gWmlG9l9FukRdhU/s1920/gene3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gdAR6YwG_8z8lBQFCz6hIw62_ythV74sqEZlH95BKvPn7Yr1D1ISSaLfJE22K_QQlHQlno1bdw97qJUQni0RWnkpJLglRMQDtMfgSds8vDVbZRJsTDLMvvVEM4aENPlNL3yx4w8h7sRz_2reDNPNugNQLxsyF8aMQl0RH8JVf5j2gWmlG9l9FukRdhU/w640-h360/gene3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">As
with the serpent of old, the beast in Ellen Berent (the impossibly gorgeous
Gene Tierney) reveals itself slowly. It takes time for poison to settle in
and work to its full potency, even in the host.</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">Our
beauty is a predator, and the beast in Ellen is a maniacal, possessive jealousy
that causes her to destroy anyone who threatens her prey's singular fascination
with and devotion to her. </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XwSpHMjPgrSa_yrKOo1YN3toje6-YGHenVY4YLICutxA1Em5gBKds_366onGjOzT4JarATkjJgRwTgYtSPbgEEuak-FtEjHz-RZEj0vR0gIgwqbFzZbov2zYZuC4SytDF3V_8SIJnVGlPiUJV0F1-ClaUAa3n9i7_FTpfsxnqLekICN_IQ8nMxFbmlQ/s1200/genetrain.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XwSpHMjPgrSa_yrKOo1YN3toje6-YGHenVY4YLICutxA1Em5gBKds_366onGjOzT4JarATkjJgRwTgYtSPbgEEuak-FtEjHz-RZEj0vR0gIgwqbFzZbov2zYZuC4SytDF3V_8SIJnVGlPiUJV0F1-ClaUAa3n9i7_FTpfsxnqLekICN_IQ8nMxFbmlQ/w400-h300/genetrain.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">strangers on a train</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">The
prey in this story is author Richard Harland (a totally
interchangeable-with-any-leading man Cornel Wilde). They meet cute on train in
New Mexico. Ellen is just getting over the death of her father to whom she was
VERY devoted and who, it appears, was very devoted to her. What to do with all
of that singular and obsessive devotion? Why, transfer it all on to Richard,
who reminds Ellen of her dad. Naturally.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZjj6Csh44zgRcbyD3TtR_5mNWBBjTpC5ej1ZP7DWxDSRD31lOngY4H0KDhwg1-8M30EurT-axJp5dJBf6CcK9HV3X3DLYb0iziBZu6fuOHR8_sT4ZPWrsWd41Lhb1yZ2kvaNAYtaecvzzqtqRXVKcdZnwWGm3xKcAocZWnSejsM8-zhGJoiPRHpOvFqM" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="470" data-original-width="640" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZjj6Csh44zgRcbyD3TtR_5mNWBBjTpC5ej1ZP7DWxDSRD31lOngY4H0KDhwg1-8M30EurT-axJp5dJBf6CcK9HV3X3DLYb0iziBZu6fuOHR8_sT4ZPWrsWd41Lhb1yZ2kvaNAYtaecvzzqtqRXVKcdZnwWGm3xKcAocZWnSejsM8-zhGJoiPRHpOvFqM=w400-h294" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>off to a happy start...</i></span>.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">As
with all doomed love stories (movie-wise), things get off to a great start. Richard meets
the family. It's all so lovely, but there are warning signs. Mother Berent
seems resigned to have been the third wheel in her dead husband’s and Ellen’s
relationship. Cousin Ruth (a virtuous Jeanne Crain) keeps mom company and kind
of fills the emotional space where daughter Ellen should be.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;">Ellen </span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 24px;">coolly</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;"> ditches her attorney newly ex-beau Russell Quinton (Vincent Price) in favor of Richard and announces that
she and Richard are to be married. That’s news to Richard, but Ellen’s power is
too alluring to overcome. They wed. Ellen’s little paradise seems to be working
– she is completely adored by her new husband. But is she?</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">It's
the word “completely” that causes the beast to rear its ugly head. Richard has other
loves – a disabled younger brother and his career. This makes the beast unhappy
and you can hear the gears clicking in Ellen’s brain – how can she destroy
them?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Richard
loves his home, called Back of the Moon, in Deer Island, Maine. The remote
location is perfect for him to write. Ellen hates the place.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHC1FhWCdPeKPpMtvuBALd2Es5kFoGDdOJv9VIDCn92I1wlWLIZxx52grUrRMkxRZKbCcLQ3BHYw1BosDns4xnv8jbThGM-QbI8zLpkEKtIIdAgoxjZ_ugtK7XdP5yZDzeDf-QS_1nvI-9PQjHctpVZxPHEy6Hnq2DmTxPfn4gRoCvak3FjanwZqaS1g/s1274/gene5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="1274" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHC1FhWCdPeKPpMtvuBALd2Es5kFoGDdOJv9VIDCn92I1wlWLIZxx52grUrRMkxRZKbCcLQ3BHYw1BosDns4xnv8jbThGM-QbI8zLpkEKtIIdAgoxjZ_ugtK7XdP5yZDzeDf-QS_1nvI-9PQjHctpVZxPHEy6Hnq2DmTxPfn4gRoCvak3FjanwZqaS1g/w400-h300/gene5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Ellen "helps" Danny with his swimming regimen</span></i> </td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">The tense situation only gets worse when Danny comes to visit. Taking the boy out
for a swim, the unthinkable occurs and Ellen watches the boy helplessly drown
before her eyes. A truly unforgettable scene of detached and compassionless
evil.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi589j2PeZW2XbZVam68lDjSuTUaXbKTdp3AvXjydodbeiEgXbWpMc8FkIN36BbrC6pYaVnksgN5u6VFM2X204Fxzld2c7ndofdYaYwnR_WhLioIAt2YZjoSftpvre7GBfo8u-4sqMjShDi_05pw3SMVF0IzVdtBnboGydt_Cn2yDxgzsMBv2L2PWApaAY/s1920/gene6.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi589j2PeZW2XbZVam68lDjSuTUaXbKTdp3AvXjydodbeiEgXbWpMc8FkIN36BbrC6pYaVnksgN5u6VFM2X204Fxzld2c7ndofdYaYwnR_WhLioIAt2YZjoSftpvre7GBfo8u-4sqMjShDi_05pw3SMVF0IzVdtBnboGydt_Cn2yDxgzsMBv2L2PWApaAY/w400-h225/gene6.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">and then watches him drown</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">From
there, things go from worse to worser (I know, not really a useable word, but
what’s worse than worse?). Cousin Ruth offers Richard a sympathetic ear. While
Ellen may have driven Richard to Ruth, Ellen's jealousy Spidey sense here was not
off base.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzKAk4xBlqwBN96MVH2PBGdTxWMhJZw2CbSJCfYNmW0Rhky6uv_qfNORwBSxYD2IXW5BGbUUEecUzaBLL2UeRQQQWP-y-h0XcpPeOXipBt2SyVdDRLzQovM1ovhTMlKk_szX23vT4ZOZKIV9geOKmHkqwN-WynwESEgeWifbu3DHQF35iNDKRWbc-d8ys/s1200/crain1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzKAk4xBlqwBN96MVH2PBGdTxWMhJZw2CbSJCfYNmW0Rhky6uv_qfNORwBSxYD2IXW5BGbUUEecUzaBLL2UeRQQQWP-y-h0XcpPeOXipBt2SyVdDRLzQovM1ovhTMlKk_szX23vT4ZOZKIV9geOKmHkqwN-WynwESEgeWifbu3DHQF35iNDKRWbc-d8ys/w400-h300/crain1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Cousin Ruth: a pretty shoulder to cry on</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">Eventually
the beast begins to consume its host. Faced with an unwanted pregnancy, Ellen goes
full beast. In fact, she refers to her unborn child as "the little beast."
Unless a Rosemary’s Baby is cooking in the oven, she is fingering the wrong
beast.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvkvCwkGOxd-KnyMUuxobcChD6Kwm8Rn0t1VDP7ne9G22p3BJVTRu9o9pOBauLL1GbcWB3y2YymuaBurppdfGZR39pmx8na0Edz74x3hi_ATMWxvqdYCIXwNL_T0uMkmOiE5A75B1SVnlOo0VYHDoDAeF0qX5pn8yAg8EvsNUWWGN_TYU-PzdsIuiiN4/s1023/gene7.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="654" data-original-width="1023" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvkvCwkGOxd-KnyMUuxobcChD6Kwm8Rn0t1VDP7ne9G22p3BJVTRu9o9pOBauLL1GbcWB3y2YymuaBurppdfGZR39pmx8na0Edz74x3hi_ATMWxvqdYCIXwNL_T0uMkmOiE5A75B1SVnlOo0VYHDoDAeF0qX5pn8yAg8EvsNUWWGN_TYU-PzdsIuiiN4/w400-h256/gene7.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">before the fall...getting it just right</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">She
is a clever cookie, though. Why not kills 2 birds with one stone? Ellen manages
the old fall down the stairs to terminate the pregnancy move. When she
confesses her actions to Richard to prove the depth of her singular devotion,
Richard leaves her. To add insult to injury, he dedicates his next book to
Ruth. At this point Ellen is fairly glowing green.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8e1Ge4ZRSm6cTkL40eXsduYFlEZhlOF8fl4QaqP-X4trXam-62uJ6rgtFZxvTNVPEBoQbnN-KccJYSh3aFeAwtS1NZH84duHMnGriaf2bhYEbnX5cDTf9PQM3oDfEbVL-n-OFZz9BAtXiYCUmctwBOTEw5pAB5pOInnRYOdN3tB74U7Z44jHwjwBgnFw/s959/gene8.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="959" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8e1Ge4ZRSm6cTkL40eXsduYFlEZhlOF8fl4QaqP-X4trXam-62uJ6rgtFZxvTNVPEBoQbnN-KccJYSh3aFeAwtS1NZH84duHMnGriaf2bhYEbnX5cDTf9PQM3oDfEbVL-n-OFZz9BAtXiYCUmctwBOTEw5pAB5pOInnRYOdN3tB74U7Z44jHwjwBgnFw/w400-h272/gene8.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Poison comes so naturally to Ellen</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">The
last act of this beautiful beast is to take poison and try and frame Ruth.
While this proves a bit of a headache (which involves some over the top
theatrics from Vincent Price’s attorney) and some jail time, the beast is dead
and Ruth and Richard are free to live happily ever after.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKSEcq05utasjHMN_Tocb5RnetixxTmQTbDRkJDN-Ty7zTAqduX31ZFiOKWki-qb75Yc3o-IIbPcPLwI_SThyphenhyphenzOYuQMTTwQC-jBBkZ3-_ykByFoNaACgo0d6XhDsBwZSvSo-Pj01rphK8Jhi_4Vp2OyF0SlIgnOPYrofYN6Ota2N39LMpO4zc5i6-ZPI/s882/crain2.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="694" data-original-width="882" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKSEcq05utasjHMN_Tocb5RnetixxTmQTbDRkJDN-Ty7zTAqduX31ZFiOKWki-qb75Yc3o-IIbPcPLwI_SThyphenhyphenzOYuQMTTwQC-jBBkZ3-_ykByFoNaACgo0d6XhDsBwZSvSo-Pj01rphK8Jhi_4Vp2OyF0SlIgnOPYrofYN6Ota2N39LMpO4zc5i6-ZPI/w400-h315/crain2.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Old flame Russell Quinton grills Ruth. <br />Ellen is dead, but her spirit is in a courtroom painted green with envy</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">It
wasn't that Ellen loved too much, as her mother told Richard, it was that
she smothered (and drowned) anyone who her beloved dared to love or
admire besides her. Face it, the girl just couldn't stand to share.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">The
beauty of the film is not only Ellen. The costumes, the color, the settings, all
contribute to a feast for the sense that leaves you rather full like a dinner
where you've had too much to eat. It is all too tasty, all too uncomfortable
and all too </span><span style="font-size: 24px;">deliciously</span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"> much in a most discomforting yet satisfying way. </span></span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">As mentioned, Gene Tierney's costumes (designed by her husband Oleg Cassini ) and the various homes featured in the film are simply to die for. Here's a sampling:</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"><b>The Costumes</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgOvGkGH0V4B5hL1fQ106yaP0FaTF-j_ScZ6e-iExoHHTC2LIEiVy6yWhDkBMNHpfWSC-MSdatJ1gG4uH2gwJFbHFwrIFP9IiSFBGdMCkG9FW3NT5HH2C9oFGy_r_5ZFXLVlcKrI8kjgu9dfExHjDwKp1i3pFzxnzZJzyrSL1AX8jJfYUofJfIwNARfK0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgOvGkGH0V4B5hL1fQ106yaP0FaTF-j_ScZ6e-iExoHHTC2LIEiVy6yWhDkBMNHpfWSC-MSdatJ1gG4uH2gwJFbHFwrIFP9IiSFBGdMCkG9FW3NT5HH2C9oFGy_r_5ZFXLVlcKrI8kjgu9dfExHjDwKp1i3pFzxnzZJzyrSL1AX8jJfYUofJfIwNARfK0=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZUiNuRk33Kv0ctO3HX3awZCsb4keYqJg-SESNpZDrFZeUx-MMSsKzPZtTI9n33ESwT21pTmpDFG9xRiaB1sZS05tkkCI_W8iw3OEAzuz6EbjWX-onwWTe-hU0K8rExVpDUgaQabAzs7ROWhTiT8fL_0Neowm_EGp6pbf4-jxZsskwJxcyyDyMvgcJECg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="373" data-original-width="500" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZUiNuRk33Kv0ctO3HX3awZCsb4keYqJg-SESNpZDrFZeUx-MMSsKzPZtTI9n33ESwT21pTmpDFG9xRiaB1sZS05tkkCI_W8iw3OEAzuz6EbjWX-onwWTe-hU0K8rExVpDUgaQabAzs7ROWhTiT8fL_0Neowm_EGp6pbf4-jxZsskwJxcyyDyMvgcJECg=w400-h299" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhjQEcsiMvHWKX3srjv00oNlxDOCm3K3pTJAaCL6wyHB29qvK8x-x8ooVCtviGvSiidyiZPMb4dIDTxdg1SSetx9BYWgX52Ve1eygfwAUR6hlfkEIXCYzthWpV6_wsQBX73izFBZ-E3htSfgJ6szvG8Mg8CkyH_2D3MUN4YMFzwX-9vXugt8mQHvmCo8Y" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="443" data-original-width="590" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhjQEcsiMvHWKX3srjv00oNlxDOCm3K3pTJAaCL6wyHB29qvK8x-x8ooVCtviGvSiidyiZPMb4dIDTxdg1SSetx9BYWgX52Ve1eygfwAUR6hlfkEIXCYzthWpV6_wsQBX73izFBZ-E3htSfgJ6szvG8Mg8CkyH_2D3MUN4YMFzwX-9vXugt8mQHvmCo8Y=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">notice her initials?</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;"><b>The Homes</b></span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">1. The New Mexico Home (my favorite)</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ReJYWNToxV0JAS-Sw4C3TuT9TGN6X2pwzXgWV-NR6_dP_T9dmn5RCDlaRqIyGI1rYOgRXLezWwArhzgmvOQdkqBsfJnG4C7pHhKfUf34DR9ciLKWtG1TaOzRnTofY5pNMEyj0yJiBKnlYkdBTldFi50gyboezlVEO8yIo5w7q7Lk-UcRwONq4SXy3yg/s600/New%20Mexico%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ReJYWNToxV0JAS-Sw4C3TuT9TGN6X2pwzXgWV-NR6_dP_T9dmn5RCDlaRqIyGI1rYOgRXLezWwArhzgmvOQdkqBsfJnG4C7pHhKfUf34DR9ciLKWtG1TaOzRnTofY5pNMEyj0yJiBKnlYkdBTldFi50gyboezlVEO8yIo5w7q7Lk-UcRwONq4SXy3yg/w400-h300/New%20Mexico%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqguSAxj9N0PHRLO_gvz3zXD67XGWYGPSeTc53ej9hK4CF8NiihyphenhypheniD0iIle-1kil7vulu2r4TOGEKtyODwcU4G4sW3ihDi2WcxzQ9L4hcTYrcUrVL4vr6zxNfGegC1HHxGwlReo-1JB10p4-BH9fPk0Ec-8NWfi4g5cL-SK5LgDwHeCDVGXkPpp6B1a4/s600/New%20Mexico%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqguSAxj9N0PHRLO_gvz3zXD67XGWYGPSeTc53ej9hK4CF8NiihyphenhypheniD0iIle-1kil7vulu2r4TOGEKtyODwcU4G4sW3ihDi2WcxzQ9L4hcTYrcUrVL4vr6zxNfGegC1HHxGwlReo-1JB10p4-BH9fPk0Ec-8NWfi4g5cL-SK5LgDwHeCDVGXkPpp6B1a4/w400-h300/New%20Mexico%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PEY3zOf-qZv9kTT2RzeycoJzcyTYXSxl9wg66rgC3d_GnJBIk0Xweor7e8UxYNhOoPMY_uzY-Yu6caQPjQcjAOZFraoKIHcKC3WxaSCgrG-UHLrVMQjU1iA356BLJnJ5kClXXB3FBRnSw6GzL83jmAtdj8kuJK8OTh9T2aIygMRM3R039wCykyrEoX4/s600/New%20Mexico%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PEY3zOf-qZv9kTT2RzeycoJzcyTYXSxl9wg66rgC3d_GnJBIk0Xweor7e8UxYNhOoPMY_uzY-Yu6caQPjQcjAOZFraoKIHcKC3WxaSCgrG-UHLrVMQjU1iA356BLJnJ5kClXXB3FBRnSw6GzL83jmAtdj8kuJK8OTh9T2aIygMRM3R039wCykyrEoX4/w400-h300/New%20Mexico%203.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">2. Back of the Moon (Deer Lake, Maine)</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7VI9cMNYme8n8wyr7R047KY6kI52Povw3pPW0pGxGvFkokGeJByLHpJl0V0j6I7PwWgretCS3wOgq4fT3Gnl956q_ghy7vSzZGZfg5xtFWEz2jVBb1HfSwDe4PsNhelTtFda1oUbHfqYJr0dQ9_tFjyWw_yjpmrld59MdAuXkjJTTirkiOkqaikOz3c4/s600/Back%20of%20the%20Moon%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="600" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7VI9cMNYme8n8wyr7R047KY6kI52Povw3pPW0pGxGvFkokGeJByLHpJl0V0j6I7PwWgretCS3wOgq4fT3Gnl956q_ghy7vSzZGZfg5xtFWEz2jVBb1HfSwDe4PsNhelTtFda1oUbHfqYJr0dQ9_tFjyWw_yjpmrld59MdAuXkjJTTirkiOkqaikOz3c4/w400-h318/Back%20of%20the%20Moon%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fIMSFR12SpB-oveSRgZawoZogFt7mVAJi1-f3bRiMUFRGWb-TMgRf6o-pC8QPV0-1sAIsvXY_m9AvEndy-XR8Oj5AwuSyKD_JAWsCl6Jc7J0mAgvQ2zh14GtB6ICzqJ_D6e8mXcdtr-bWfF8xy2DeOFXyTUOscAonaHP0RW1P9pp8pLH5yO9WJ5sFB0/s600/Back%20of%20the%20Moon%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fIMSFR12SpB-oveSRgZawoZogFt7mVAJi1-f3bRiMUFRGWb-TMgRf6o-pC8QPV0-1sAIsvXY_m9AvEndy-XR8Oj5AwuSyKD_JAWsCl6Jc7J0mAgvQ2zh14GtB6ICzqJ_D6e8mXcdtr-bWfF8xy2DeOFXyTUOscAonaHP0RW1P9pp8pLH5yO9WJ5sFB0/w400-h300/Back%20of%20the%20Moon%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18pt;">3. The Bar Harbor Maine House</span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLS5ye8eGJIdfI3ApGIyuS1Lhlq7TKpmTCRVMoWNk3DJ2ZpX9769nQ1RCAJ4KK4HYHAr0dfKwQRziAdCkjTzkR6l-FjUU3d7n2zvZCLL8WUEYDEP2xyCnK7_KiL0KhiJvFMP1UCf5S5OSK0WynvphQbZB_SLzCgm6kDIyRf6p9Ohgegvc9wIdogrKe7i4/s600/Maine%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLS5ye8eGJIdfI3ApGIyuS1Lhlq7TKpmTCRVMoWNk3DJ2ZpX9769nQ1RCAJ4KK4HYHAr0dfKwQRziAdCkjTzkR6l-FjUU3d7n2zvZCLL8WUEYDEP2xyCnK7_KiL0KhiJvFMP1UCf5S5OSK0WynvphQbZB_SLzCgm6kDIyRf6p9Ohgegvc9wIdogrKe7i4/w400-h300/Maine%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0Sp9Dp0eQTZd9LWKsi2_Z8XZaXz9tJzl1PqphtI2kg9HGAgZ6ZfhMDPWeFccbrB9dBbbeY_z2JQ3FMBtML8Bb9wAxHoNTbOxkhBhcsX-J9HJPTKLPIZZ7K6JHcOAX1J-14CJOb5MxTj8d-YJsxDdrQCNJVr4JpKa7kMU6Pul7Qe2Z2sKRMEl6_RdNoY/s600/Maine%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0Sp9Dp0eQTZd9LWKsi2_Z8XZaXz9tJzl1PqphtI2kg9HGAgZ6ZfhMDPWeFccbrB9dBbbeY_z2JQ3FMBtML8Bb9wAxHoNTbOxkhBhcsX-J9HJPTKLPIZZ7K6JHcOAX1J-14CJOb5MxTj8d-YJsxDdrQCNJVr4JpKa7kMU6Pul7Qe2Z2sKRMEl6_RdNoY/w400-h300/Maine%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpOupKyMzDb54UipzKgkXrBrsGV0cXRpMKADQHiNGTuw0-QtnUW-f5zCPiXvEU-xqLxbT4yqaoDj0CABBksCeRu0RJazHfGDYdJBMm5yX8kqF8GAs7iB0-hURcP7HMJGzz_6ALQoHpVYI9H5_0WK96UxqmrTcJkIoNAu3lHxCKFSTmf0Bu7CMeDRvTMSI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="762" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpOupKyMzDb54UipzKgkXrBrsGV0cXRpMKADQHiNGTuw0-QtnUW-f5zCPiXvEU-xqLxbT4yqaoDj0CABBksCeRu0RJazHfGDYdJBMm5yX8kqF8GAs7iB0-hURcP7HMJGzz_6ALQoHpVYI9H5_0WK96UxqmrTcJkIoNAu3lHxCKFSTmf0Bu7CMeDRvTMSI" width="309" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-23242076221522459962023-09-30T18:53:00.003-04:002023-09-30T18:53:46.687-04:00This Month at the Library : I Married a Witch (1942) - Bewitched, Bothered and Charmed<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><i>My local library is kind enough to indulge my desire to share my passion for classic film by allowing me to show a classic film once a month. And once in a while, a few film fans wander in and share the enjoyment.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4p-13YgvhxVMWdl1h8dRFE0LM-XtkgDuQ2k_8-JoGPaUuW_gqafxzXOZHUJlSHAqt8Kcu9t-CDacA3cwTLroBug-t2xYVZgXv4nCZGUevA_qffERmhr0ANjQfo5AUUPw0uwnzFSnCpo_62VkyE_5pzmICtCHWiGY-xB7lAYCKbe6xBgsYLXZ2ImFbwY/s1000/Witch%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="1000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4p-13YgvhxVMWdl1h8dRFE0LM-XtkgDuQ2k_8-JoGPaUuW_gqafxzXOZHUJlSHAqt8Kcu9t-CDacA3cwTLroBug-t2xYVZgXv4nCZGUevA_qffERmhr0ANjQfo5AUUPw0uwnzFSnCpo_62VkyE_5pzmICtCHWiGY-xB7lAYCKbe6xBgsYLXZ2ImFbwY/w640-h360/Witch%201.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>October's Film: </b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>I Married a Witch (1942)</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">I admit I approached this film with a kind of blah attitude the first time I saw it. Fredric March is part of that group of leading men (including Franchot Tone and George Brent) that prompt a mental yawn from me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUm1uoSj7pboekx15QFMCJ51dQc_i-kt2yagIlPF1BMNKaMYZHhLNGkm04xXQqxJZUELUdJdEatwPYwThzUJyDhCixjmvAPtJTf5s-OQEUDKGBmyqWFthLm-y8lUOtCvEp9FYRPFk53GX2L2acXbKGcL_doXhCjARSpE0NPqFZIPPCqjs24ikFZcAMio/s510/Witch%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="510" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUm1uoSj7pboekx15QFMCJ51dQc_i-kt2yagIlPF1BMNKaMYZHhLNGkm04xXQqxJZUELUdJdEatwPYwThzUJyDhCixjmvAPtJTf5s-OQEUDKGBmyqWFthLm-y8lUOtCvEp9FYRPFk53GX2L2acXbKGcL_doXhCjARSpE0NPqFZIPPCqjs24ikFZcAMio/w640-h492/Witch%202.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As for Veronica Lake, my opinion of her more influenced by things I read about her rather than her actual performances (more about this later). And Susan Hayward, one of my most favorite actresses, has only a supporting role here.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqPa0BY16RDNOoF5KWn3dRbQzajromFLDA5khIinlDPlDmC8IP_LTuB119msqRt9A7jCmBVsvGD9zr6EmxxgC2TjeH4Qa-cCJRbwspEcxp_qmH3PX2pqY0dNCiwmE7DfPHs_j_EhBoeXGSsUooJY3v-bNkZt27JR_2_nRGRbbZinomXAjI3Sqz2SwkJc/s1016/witch%203.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1016" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqPa0BY16RDNOoF5KWn3dRbQzajromFLDA5khIinlDPlDmC8IP_LTuB119msqRt9A7jCmBVsvGD9zr6EmxxgC2TjeH4Qa-cCJRbwspEcxp_qmH3PX2pqY0dNCiwmE7DfPHs_j_EhBoeXGSsUooJY3v-bNkZt27JR_2_nRGRbbZinomXAjI3Sqz2SwkJc/w640-h510/witch%203.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So imagine my surprise when I was completely charmed by this little fable. If it reminds you of the television show "Bewitched" you would not be wrong, as this film was one of that show's inspirations (the other being "Bell, Book and Candle."). The chief charm here is Veronica Lake. She is a pint sized sprite, alluring and adorable and simply perfect for this role. Old Freddy March does quite all right for a two time Oscar winner (even though I rate him with zero sex appeal while Ms. Lake oozes it out of her every pore). Susan Hayward is stuck in one of those before-she-became-a-star roles and her main purpose here is to be as bitchy as possible (making you root for the witch). But, she is mighty beautiful. Cecil Kellaway pops in as the witch's dad and might remind you of Agnes Moorehead's Endora character in "Bewitched."</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBB4BLJTEZ2Sxeyq3Sv1tgAy00lddu6iNYsGkbxgXxQ5Ewu-_TR3Wtg1_VMMlPE-hw9LP_qHDjkY3prhv9hCJT_YIREmfRQANCtvKwyT29eSBWl_ybsFg3pg6TF-b_vKjijPjsPogjMshqiF-1I1DxZDns_7ltVhtfnIXNSQBb57t80e1MMgVPl7yAyM/s322/witch%205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="322" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBB4BLJTEZ2Sxeyq3Sv1tgAy00lddu6iNYsGkbxgXxQ5Ewu-_TR3Wtg1_VMMlPE-hw9LP_qHDjkY3prhv9hCJT_YIREmfRQANCtvKwyT29eSBWl_ybsFg3pg6TF-b_vKjijPjsPogjMshqiF-1I1DxZDns_7ltVhtfnIXNSQBb57t80e1MMgVPl7yAyM/w640-h480/witch%205.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Speaking of the b-word, apparently Ms. Lake was so unpleasant to work with that March renamed the film "I Married a Bitch." Joel McCrea was originally cast as the leading man and seemed a better choice, but he balked because he had had enough of Ms. Lake after "Sullivan's Travels." No matter. I'm sure anyone who views this film will fall under her spell.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOkjEwSMaHy_PV5c3hiVymf4vV_lAgsDWmUmzLFBOsOVBxheRR_ztKwKiLGLsZh9qN7pyUYtYTodTW5S41w5jtnCL2BvNnyvLzrlVo1Mf7qL7LCVWXegNVycX8yYzq7wO7LnJjPRLxFc4k6TqAjVwu1BZpS9mG-rf6vMo9jpnGe_TL5MZDTml8BV4idw/s672/witch%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="672" data-original-width="590" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOkjEwSMaHy_PV5c3hiVymf4vV_lAgsDWmUmzLFBOsOVBxheRR_ztKwKiLGLsZh9qN7pyUYtYTodTW5S41w5jtnCL2BvNnyvLzrlVo1Mf7qL7LCVWXegNVycX8yYzq7wO7LnJjPRLxFc4k6TqAjVwu1BZpS9mG-rf6vMo9jpnGe_TL5MZDTml8BV4idw/w562-h640/witch%204.jpg" width="562" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-large;"><br /></span><p></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-4868380928296708422023-07-02T20:47:00.003-04:002023-07-03T06:32:25.176-04:00Down the Rabbit Hole with Cagney's Coat: This is when you know you've got a problem<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">So, during covid I decided to indulge my obsession with James Cagney and watch all of his films - in order, mind you. And I did. And I liked it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDeTIPJjYYSt0PrQG-Zsop06FjeTRhfSizID_hg6ScrfJtyWdmwfRgp8IIMv5QC7mGPvgO3ayF3x_qZQ32IchYF-ts9iI2XmzwIwl7tLnISw4fXJ-LEprKMRYj-1Sd_TTklSDc2Mw7m5bdaLlJa2Lb4u-CS3y9vxwswHo1gDjz2o1Mqah0D-pPOMst2g/s740/coat%201949.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="537" data-original-width="740" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDeTIPJjYYSt0PrQG-Zsop06FjeTRhfSizID_hg6ScrfJtyWdmwfRgp8IIMv5QC7mGPvgO3ayF3x_qZQ32IchYF-ts9iI2XmzwIwl7tLnISw4fXJ-LEprKMRYj-1Sd_TTklSDc2Mw7m5bdaLlJa2Lb4u-CS3y9vxwswHo1gDjz2o1Mqah0D-pPOMst2g/w400-h290/coat%201949.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">However, when you spend a lot of time with someone, you get to notice things. Things like clothes, for instance.</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">I kept seeing this coat over and over - in film and in real life photos I happened to come across going down the movie rabbit holes we movie maniacs know all too well.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">My conclusion:</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">a) I need to get a life (which is a whole 'nother story), and</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">b) Cagney must have really liked that coat.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">If ever a garment deserved billing, it is what shall now simply be referred to as "the coat."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwn_3NycjElqiKt53YNeFI_IXCh0Gq0fFCrt_vB99IV0NkkJxYGscI0MWPIeOcvqQJJlm75HxdTd5pH64mhwGxw7nDIshYlltaCE5UM_mTvKrS0aTNxpEmUisXOGn4a0QE6Zt_0tto2gBrgSoPcQiw2UkTR6Gu2MM9_ZYxPWdv_In1FOKcGoEb77T4r4/s813/coats.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwn_3NycjElqiKt53YNeFI_IXCh0Gq0fFCrt_vB99IV0NkkJxYGscI0MWPIeOcvqQJJlm75HxdTd5pH64mhwGxw7nDIshYlltaCE5UM_mTvKrS0aTNxpEmUisXOGn4a0QE6Zt_0tto2gBrgSoPcQiw2UkTR6Gu2MM9_ZYxPWdv_In1FOKcGoEb77T4r4/w261-h400/coats.jpg" width="261" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><p style="text-align: justify;">If this photo was taken during the filming of "Smart Money," the only time Cagney and Edward G. Robinson appeared on screen together, then this would have been taken in 1931 and, so far, would be the earliest sighting of the coat.</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukCQXgrXBC9eXc3-s9PDyCrq57EteiPBB55N94lCyUcQiNjxiuHv2TKRSZYCRk1oCsXvDSSN9ld-u_Vr-YYqWFeog79K8d2cfyRHvPnYd8e1tV6NXz5h5VveVDmuyRuUSVa-oIkc0b1bGq7VSopWgEGOqElujtvtB6d7omocRuvYsADHZLoo4OzpDfBQ/s685/coat%201936.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="685" data-original-width="602" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukCQXgrXBC9eXc3-s9PDyCrq57EteiPBB55N94lCyUcQiNjxiuHv2TKRSZYCRk1oCsXvDSSN9ld-u_Vr-YYqWFeog79K8d2cfyRHvPnYd8e1tV6NXz5h5VveVDmuyRuUSVa-oIkc0b1bGq7VSopWgEGOqElujtvtB6d7omocRuvYsADHZLoo4OzpDfBQ/w351-h400/coat%201936.jpg" width="351" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">This photo of Cagney and the missus was dated 1936, so this would make the coat at least 5 years old. Apparently, the coat did on and off screen duty. I've kept coats for 5 years, so not feeling too strange....yet.</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqns59HdMDO7j9zUPL83_4nThZjt4fVePlxlk6ge2-daIQ69jW8rZutOSNxL8lrYE26R-xXwbqeEk0Q3qdeKIVA2NN1wSqIpQGkFkSZvMPnc9RirFM3CCj11jJr_VnTJVfDPqIuGWvy_wKBKrMyAkWZR2y-QySy5A4UzX3QjEwIc_ttB2sD5qgsjqbiY/s720/coat%20boy%20meets%20girl.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqns59HdMDO7j9zUPL83_4nThZjt4fVePlxlk6ge2-daIQ69jW8rZutOSNxL8lrYE26R-xXwbqeEk0Q3qdeKIVA2NN1wSqIpQGkFkSZvMPnc9RirFM3CCj11jJr_VnTJVfDPqIuGWvy_wKBKrMyAkWZR2y-QySy5A4UzX3QjEwIc_ttB2sD5qgsjqbiY/w400-h300/coat%20boy%20meets%20girl.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">1938 appears to have been a good year for the coat. First up, "Boy Meets Girl." The coat is prominently worn. </span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm32_OXWBhKi9mwwcIl2MDF1OdVtdjse-K59FzZOwWvSdbustlHaNVMVXZVJhpwyYXkcJq5hWqUEFE_HhRvd3kHEyO2wnYGEYrzBGzIktAn2xjIAkfIbcyAzpjr2II7SAvyP38-CCvcU91U16HGQL5Xn2j2V5qPB3yv-T2T1nCe-quCCcodNpfBgO0QNM/s902/coat%20-%20angels.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="902" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm32_OXWBhKi9mwwcIl2MDF1OdVtdjse-K59FzZOwWvSdbustlHaNVMVXZVJhpwyYXkcJq5hWqUEFE_HhRvd3kHEyO2wnYGEYrzBGzIktAn2xjIAkfIbcyAzpjr2II7SAvyP38-CCvcU91U16HGQL5Xn2j2V5qPB3yv-T2T1nCe-quCCcodNpfBgO0QNM/w400-h241/coat%20-%20angels.PNG" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The coat then has a cameo in "Angels With Dirty Faces," also 1938. Cagney doesn't wear it, but it is draped over a chair and searched by the cops when they enter Rocky Sullivan's room. The coat is now 7.</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRndXAuKqTB1WAMdCa54TGDdtr6W0NRCUOoa6gQ4KqwsD6yDWnTS1CcTw-dwH5Jcr-Y9_Q7Bxq2kwOboH8f-pS25pts45Kbv8A3Q4jfWixeP9hsmDBOUKz7gmZqd_iM1hCg0jBjtrRJgVWKi6UEemWG7ZSnTbRb6n2VbYY7zyHQWmIuVRNVFikIXc-cb8/s1128/coat%2019492.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1128" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRndXAuKqTB1WAMdCa54TGDdtr6W0NRCUOoa6gQ4KqwsD6yDWnTS1CcTw-dwH5Jcr-Y9_Q7Bxq2kwOboH8f-pS25pts45Kbv8A3Q4jfWixeP9hsmDBOUKz7gmZqd_iM1hCg0jBjtrRJgVWKi6UEemWG7ZSnTbRb6n2VbYY7zyHQWmIuVRNVFikIXc-cb8/w400-h294/coat%2019492.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">All right. Now it's getting weird. The coat has a major role in 1949's "White Heat." Coming out of retirement, the coat is now at least 18. I'm not sure what that means in "coat years."</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-oF0qJEdWgCCQ9_1PbFNTQT-aTNdXmYmu9sVnfhzsprFFtYOEXLouCRsxfvPdAKZpCPY-6R5ziUSTDy6z4DlfE3j7uxA-wwRdO1L8d-J9gbolEhwI6_dTWEzl7tOHvj3maXf0ziI-o1YOK65aCrnEzXfCsTh1iHe7-Xs0GsBa9Jm-FZSYhZO9m8Lh1o/s619/coat%201955.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="619" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-oF0qJEdWgCCQ9_1PbFNTQT-aTNdXmYmu9sVnfhzsprFFtYOEXLouCRsxfvPdAKZpCPY-6R5ziUSTDy6z4DlfE3j7uxA-wwRdO1L8d-J9gbolEhwI6_dTWEzl7tOHvj3maXf0ziI-o1YOK65aCrnEzXfCsTh1iHe7-Xs0GsBa9Jm-FZSYhZO9m8Lh1o/w400-h323/coat%201955.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The coat's last appearance (as far as I can find) is in this candid shot during the 1955 filming of "Love Me or Leave Me." Assuming</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> there was not a role for the coat on screen, Cagney trotted the 24 year old war horse out for a photo shoot. The old boy can now vote, drink and get married.</span></div><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, let's hear it for the coat, winner of the most durable piece of outerwear in cinema history. But honestly, Cagney, was this your lucky coat or something? I'd love to know.</span></span></div></span><p></p><p><br /></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-46770898246929322102023-05-31T18:56:00.002-04:002023-05-31T19:35:14.121-04:00Giveaway! Warner Bros. 100 Years of Storytelling<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">If you know anything at all about me
through this blog, you know that I'm a Warner Brothers girl. One look at that
distinctive shield and I'm instantly happy. I don't exactly know why. Maybe it
has something to do with all of those Saturday afternoon films shown on
television during my adolescence. Or maybe it has something to do with that
suave, naked bunny lounging confidently atop it. Munching a carrot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RwfIkj1r3VL7yTYClP5BaWzzzvXB6ibbAjtdLubWo62Z-1iFvo6Q3ks0e1Y3saEhzYZuqe_UsyBNQpofadcFkk-CSSTCDKOhauknYNwQhwnHheSvqro0peYRkg58UisnmOAJw6r8Wslv1H65sveKC_jhFM99CAiMxzpZGdUuv87_zglxv1DXTIQ1/s388/warner-bros-bugs-bunny.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="388" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RwfIkj1r3VL7yTYClP5BaWzzzvXB6ibbAjtdLubWo62Z-1iFvo6Q3ks0e1Y3saEhzYZuqe_UsyBNQpofadcFkk-CSSTCDKOhauknYNwQhwnHheSvqro0peYRkg58UisnmOAJw6r8Wslv1H65sveKC_jhFM99CAiMxzpZGdUuv87_zglxv1DXTIQ1/w640-h462/warner-bros-bugs-bunny.gif" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anywho,
that's how it is and always has been with me. And I'm so grateful that in this
world that continually changes at an ever faster pace that symbol still
endures. I'm sure its founders wouldn't recognize the entertainment business
today, but still, 100 years is pretty impressive.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">By the way, anyone catch that recent
Jeopardy final answer about the name of the brothers who missed the premier of
"The Jazz Singer" because one of them was ill? Were you, like me,
screaming "WARNER!" at the television screen? Did you feel pretty
darn smart when each one of the contestants didn't know the answer? Of course,
I kind of doubt my score would have been on the plus side leading up to Final
Jeopardy, but that's another story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So now to the giveaway. In honor of
hanging in there for 100 years, <i>A Person in the Dark</i> is conducting a giveaway
of the newly published "<i>Warner Bros. 100 Years of Storytelling. The
Official Centennial History by Mark Vieira</i>" with a forward by Ben
Mankiewicz.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAiwpqUjrgdSaMpjlu4GIbSi1Ae9IuOTxVgstnSFQe_3RSQgCXxs_65qzJrsXtq0o73XVazU-JzC_ziETrHKPwOj6GtrVlRrMyxaJJb550NuHVNCTTvGwi41ZfzL8l6QlK-zNQFoOXSGiIPRdGfrOhhnkaAI6HlDJaCNduXIBGp2_9HWX-bl3fG4q/s1000/WB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="785" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAiwpqUjrgdSaMpjlu4GIbSi1Ae9IuOTxVgstnSFQe_3RSQgCXxs_65qzJrsXtq0o73XVazU-JzC_ziETrHKPwOj6GtrVlRrMyxaJJb550NuHVNCTTvGwi41ZfzL8l6QlK-zNQFoOXSGiIPRdGfrOhhnkaAI6HlDJaCNduXIBGp2_9HWX-bl3fG4q/w502-h640/WB.jpg" width="502" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="background: black; color: white;">From the Preface by Mark A. Vieira:</span></b><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.5pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background: black; color: white;">Four
brothers from Ohio started a film company. Their first star was a dog. Their
next star was Broadway’s greatest actor. They climbed to the top of the
industry with the technology of sound, but they lost a brother in the process.
They not only survived the Great Depression but also thrived by making musicals
such as Footlight Parade. Their studio was the home of unique stars: Joan
Blondell, James Cagney, Kay Francis, Edward G. Robinson, Bette Davis, Humphrey
Bogart, Paul Muni. Theirs was the only studio to blow the whistle on fascism.
They boosted morale during World War II with films such as Casablanca. In the
1950s, after adapting to 3-D, widescreen, and stereo, Warner Bros. was one of
the first Hollywood studios to enter television production.</span><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.5pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background: black; color: white;">Warner
Bros. started as a family business. This book could be the family album…. It’s
a record of extraordinary entertainment history, a panoply of the greatest
names, faces, and talents in Hollywood lore</span><span style="background: black; color: white;">.</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.5pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10.5pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>Interested? Okay, here are the rules:</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></span><p></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0in 0in 10.5pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>1. One entry per person</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0in 0in 10.5pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>2. Email your name and email address
to me at flickchick1953@aol.com. Please write "Giveaway" in the
subject line.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0in 0in 10.5pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>3. The drawing will be held on
Thursday, June 15th.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0in 0in 10.5pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XjYHpVoSWGidQ5k4Z8FRYBWVQQsjY66z4WEEEagj4MpORSby2Db3hpVa2NOqS_gCo0kZSCLvjnWrDeE8Ee1gyALrBa17hdFznzzaO0jA2UF0hXnGKMoAjvp64c9k4j3eq7GPpMd_wF-JiAPt0sNljAhnL420LkB9VptzkwvGl3kmBeC209tRVtlN/s736/casablanca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="736" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XjYHpVoSWGidQ5k4Z8FRYBWVQQsjY66z4WEEEagj4MpORSby2Db3hpVa2NOqS_gCo0kZSCLvjnWrDeE8Ee1gyALrBa17hdFznzzaO0jA2UF0hXnGKMoAjvp64c9k4j3eq7GPpMd_wF-JiAPt0sNljAhnL420LkB9VptzkwvGl3kmBeC209tRVtlN/w640-h384/casablanca.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.5pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
</p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0in 0in 10.5pt;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">That's it! Good luck. And, as always,
here's looking at you kid.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-52326651503973743222023-05-15T19:16:00.000-04:002023-05-15T19:16:06.062-04:00The Hollywood Palace: Hello, Lover<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">May 16th is National Classic Movie Day. In honor of that day that is near and dear to our hearts, I offer my entry in the <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2023/05/the-cmba-presents-2023-spring-blogathon.html" target="_blank">Classic Movie Blog Association Spring 2023 Big Stars on the Small Screen Blogathon.</a> Click <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2023/05/the-cmba-presents-2023-spring-blogathon.html" target="_blank">here</a> for more television memories.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiP1_6LnPo-tZvgKO4iKIgFFDufA8VVOoy1GvuYy4osL_wd_1--kMYfr8Vv7tVdsq6rEIywBc6QNKbsgXH-prf-aQ8IVkn7P5cfcDMmEO8-3yxWHWe_m67v6z2vvAjCIaPK62m54Egmo5-OE_uaJP8Ht_296MWFV62GZlF7v047Ic90DGD-g9i0uMM/s400/HP%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiP1_6LnPo-tZvgKO4iKIgFFDufA8VVOoy1GvuYy4osL_wd_1--kMYfr8Vv7tVdsq6rEIywBc6QNKbsgXH-prf-aQ8IVkn7P5cfcDMmEO8-3yxWHWe_m67v6z2vvAjCIaPK62m54Egmo5-OE_uaJP8Ht_296MWFV62GZlF7v047Ic90DGD-g9i0uMM/w400-h200/HP%201.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anyone here old enough to remember a television show called "The Hollywood Palace"? It ran on ABC from January 1964 through February 1970. It was a variety show like so many that were popular at the time, but it had a few features that spoke to my little but growing classic movie loving heart. </span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The show had a revolving door of guest hosts that served as emcees, but the most frequent host was a fella named Bing Crosby. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusNCleOt_i5aXx-lsLOHXAz6XqiE1thG5a5qFZN2H5R9YAO5ZxpFPgsHC5h5r0x1lHb9uMIETVynEnXa-RyqKByHNtHQcwiHSUvv6TklDYTmjoBV05kIg0TOUlHOmaLTdpPwoS3-4WSj34JTbUeQyrjTzt20tPF01k1K_1kgX5RBmM66jzH5W5Rrm/s1414/HP%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="930" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusNCleOt_i5aXx-lsLOHXAz6XqiE1thG5a5qFZN2H5R9YAO5ZxpFPgsHC5h5r0x1lHb9uMIETVynEnXa-RyqKByHNtHQcwiHSUvv6TklDYTmjoBV05kIg0TOUlHOmaLTdpPwoS3-4WSj34JTbUeQyrjTzt20tPF01k1K_1kgX5RBmM66jzH5W5Rrm/w263-h400/HP%203.jpg" width="263" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, I probably was familiar with Bing even at a young age because he was on television quite a bit and was always selling Minute Maid Orange Juice, but I kind of liked the guy and looked forward to seeing him and hearing him most every week (please do not tell John, Paul, George & Ringo). He was warm and casual and always seemed to fit so comfortably into our living room. Bing seemed to know everyone! And it was there, at the Hollywood Palace, that I first encountered performers who apparently were big stars some time ago and were - tonight!- gracing us lowly television audience members with their glittering presence. Who were, as Lina Lamont would say, these "shimmering glowing stars in the cinema firmament"? Thankfully, my mother was there to fill in some blanks.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The show was run as a sort of high class Vaudeville show with placards announcing each act. It was here I found out these people were movie stars:</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgre5fD5f6b0rbnEbV4xF3wRcJHinzRTN7T_p6ZrycC1y5x0wLZmLqbKUpyS7Tg8Cgju3rv_DQZExUE2tfh6tYD-Rak8qFFyZwG0BJ_yfHdiUCqi0lNAgCwAMU0-4X_99AyYxXFhxO4eFzxKhjGsFhd0LIAEeRfJoRYwjhDJZHoLxQK_8BhZqYDehDl/s852/HP%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="513" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgre5fD5f6b0rbnEbV4xF3wRcJHinzRTN7T_p6ZrycC1y5x0wLZmLqbKUpyS7Tg8Cgju3rv_DQZExUE2tfh6tYD-Rak8qFFyZwG0BJ_yfHdiUCqi0lNAgCwAMU0-4X_99AyYxXFhxO4eFzxKhjGsFhd0LIAEeRfJoRYwjhDJZHoLxQK_8BhZqYDehDl/w386-h640/HP%202.jpg" width="386" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Groucho Marx: well, he was funny. I think I'll check out one of his movies when they are shown.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Dean Martin: He made movie with Jerry Lewis? How did he stand him?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Fred MacMurray; He always seemed so nice. Little did I know he had thing for ankle bracelets.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Betty Hutton: Wowee! where can I see more of her?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Donald O'Connor: Fred who? Gene who? This guy could dance! Wait - is this the guy with the mule?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Betty Grable: My first look at a real glamour girl.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Olivia de Havilland: I needed my mother to tell me who this was. Later one of my most favorite actresses.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Ginger Rogers: Ah, more glamour. I knew she and Fred were a team, but had yet to see any of their films. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Ann Miller: Yikes! Tap-a-palooza! Years later I caught her on film, but always remembered my first sighting.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Jane Powell: Gee, she's tiny, but has a big voice. She was treated like a star, not just another singer booked for the week.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Van Johnson: He seemed so very nice playing himself. later he just seemed so always nice in the movies.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Bette Davis: Okay - I knew who she was, but I had yet to see her in a movie. She seemed like she was trying to be nice, but really wanting to be anywhere but there. <b><i>Please</i></b> check her out her singing "Single." It's kind of unforgettable.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qvX5b9tfWQg" width="320" youtube-src-id="qvX5b9tfWQg"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Edward G. Robinson: Quite a dapper man. I knew him from the Warner Brothers cartoon parody and he seemed nothing like a gangster. Boy, did I have a lot to learn.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fred Astaire: Yes, I knew Fred, but, as with Ginger, I had not yet seen any of his films. He was on the small screen as he was on the big screen: elegant, modest and wholly charming.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Bob Hope: well, of course I knew Bob Hope, but did not yet know he had made all those films with Bing Crosby. Who knew these guys were such big movie stars?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But it was this gal that really wowed me:</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Alice Faye: Now, I never heard of Alice Faye, but she was on with her husband, Phil Harris. However, my mother, who seemed to know things, said that her true love was her first husband, Tony Martin.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ww0VWDoULHU60-4Fdu_8VveY3iNs4WXVw0u0aQqeUxlZ5CfuGprRhjc1U_bvDABjwCAJr6Av8XwpK9XlvuB1JLK4Mgx60Yl-B15pw17eO-MZGRnDY4oOfwrr9WCPS2QjYRDCayrNpnni963mAOXqKUtA2DvufYhbZaLgRxRzSd8IOR0Z0uIvORZ0/s500/HP%204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="492" data-original-width="500" height="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ww0VWDoULHU60-4Fdu_8VveY3iNs4WXVw0u0aQqeUxlZ5CfuGprRhjc1U_bvDABjwCAJr6Av8XwpK9XlvuB1JLK4Mgx60Yl-B15pw17eO-MZGRnDY4oOfwrr9WCPS2QjYRDCayrNpnni963mAOXqKUtA2DvufYhbZaLgRxRzSd8IOR0Z0uIvORZ0/w640-h630/HP%204.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Later there was a show with Cyd Charisse: Awkward! Here was Cyd with her husband, Tony Martin. But, wait, wasn't he Alice Faye's true love? I watched for signs of discontent. Didn't see any.)</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But back to Alice Faye. To me, she conducted herself like a true movie star. Crosby treated her as an absolute queen. Yet, she was warm and funny and lovely; just like she was, as I eventually discovered, in the movies. Of all the star performances I remember from that show, I recall her being greeted with the most warmth and affection. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Since that time I have always adored Alice Faye. It was her genuine sincerity, naturalness and wonderful talent that made me a fan, and I am so very, very thankful to all of those 60s and 70s television variety shows that introduced me to stars I would later fall in love with.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIXcZ-toP4VteJX-dOLEPOjg95G8Fla4Ke9AQEwoS3gxl6O4FLh_6stckjvEYKFO14ltg-WI7uaxnGmx2d1J2QdIoqlTMn0M9iwFalCN7Q3DnDxZEbyYLAqA-oYU_ATJeCSRC4WXTRxL4w8e1qcKNFJ_CzdLxTSqk2grIoOmdbhLExTgb5hApAsSX/s3500/AliceFaye.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="3500" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIXcZ-toP4VteJX-dOLEPOjg95G8Fla4Ke9AQEwoS3gxl6O4FLh_6stckjvEYKFO14ltg-WI7uaxnGmx2d1J2QdIoqlTMn0M9iwFalCN7Q3DnDxZEbyYLAqA-oYU_ATJeCSRC4WXTRxL4w8e1qcKNFJ_CzdLxTSqk2grIoOmdbhLExTgb5hApAsSX/w400-h260/AliceFaye.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">And while not big movie stars (yet), may I give a shout out to other frequent <i>Hollywood Palace</i> guests such as the great Carl Reiner and the still great Mel Brooks, the incomparable Victor Borge, and the sort of creepy Marquis Chimps? And who can forget Enzo Stuarti?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>One more thing (no, not <i>Columbo</i>):</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">While not my selection, I'm going to sneak this one in:</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Za0QjqwnbX8" width="320" youtube-src-id="Za0QjqwnbX8"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Candid Camera</i> with Buster Keaton. His performance as a man at a lunch counter was unforgettably funny and had hosts Allen Funt and Durward Kirby laughing out loud. Oh Buster, it took me a while get get from <i>Candid Camera</i> to <i>Beach Blanket Bingo</i> to your great films, but, as with Alice Faye, it was love at first sight.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just as movies gave us records of great stage performers that we would never otherwise be able to see, television, that much maligned medium back in the day, let us kids see what a great movie star looked like.</span></span></p><p><br /></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-86330532823865686722023-01-07T19:03:00.001-05:002023-01-07T19:55:24.794-05:00Ruth Donnelly: The Sneer With No Peer<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my entry in the "What a Character" Blogathon, hosted by the wonderful bloggers at <a href="https://aurorasginjoint.com/">Once Upon a Screen</a>, <a href="https://paulascinemaclub.com/">Paula's Cinema Club</a> and <a href="https://kelleepratt.com/">Outspoken and Freckled</a>. Please check out their sites for more of those unforgettable characters that put the support in supporting characters.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZ2lRnBfNYz4YmAiK5jo0BE5Tx2e1ThD1LCQGeA2cPS050dizaXGvXRAzLNSQgd9hIbxRWXkMEI0_vFVu0PVABjaLzwLtOfsIn3d4TzhWMpyNse3OKKj0a0cYS3HWDPmWubag6_6FkVm1D7cgTwHpbNYlnT6rC_thzFTfMQI2Xul5_JXZesqp799g/s598/RDf5.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="376" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZ2lRnBfNYz4YmAiK5jo0BE5Tx2e1ThD1LCQGeA2cPS050dizaXGvXRAzLNSQgd9hIbxRWXkMEI0_vFVu0PVABjaLzwLtOfsIn3d4TzhWMpyNse3OKKj0a0cYS3HWDPmWubag6_6FkVm1D7cgTwHpbNYlnT6rC_thzFTfMQI2Xul5_JXZesqp799g/w251-h400/RDf5.PNG" width="251" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The peerless sneer of Ruth Donnelly</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In those heady pre-code days (1927-1934), Warner Brothers had the most marvelous stable of supporting characters. Standing tall among such unforgettables is the indomitable Ruth Donnelly, the lady with a face full of priceless expressions. She was paired with Guy Kibbee many times and they made a perfect portrayal</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> of a married couple whose ties now (as the great Erma Bombeck said) bind and gag.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikAB9wItruOQjnDQc5KPmRyYDugX2HLdX2vRLAWow3-nC_l2hJs8f4TqnUt1AgGTd879UH082WFP78G7FPbrJdz13HHAgJioGdYMqAQPkFe8BlWC9-OedzqrhsOAeDT_ZW-gMKRPEmLmM7knYrvEx5MmUr9-nxw4qVEotChIj6jlm0RbgYpXqQDX0s/s677/rdd.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="677" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikAB9wItruOQjnDQc5KPmRyYDugX2HLdX2vRLAWow3-nC_l2hJs8f4TqnUt1AgGTd879UH082WFP78G7FPbrJdz13HHAgJioGdYMqAQPkFe8BlWC9-OedzqrhsOAeDT_ZW-gMKRPEmLmM7knYrvEx5MmUr9-nxw4qVEotChIj6jlm0RbgYpXqQDX0s/w400-h225/rdd.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ruth and Guy Kibbee: this is what <br />mature married love looks like, kiddies</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Ruth was a successful Broadway actress before she came to movies in a big way in 1931 (no less that George M. Cohan liked her comedy chops), and she certainly had a long and busy career playing not only comedy, but dramatic parts. However, it is her work as a pre-code wise-cracking, morally flexible woman of a certain age that tickles my funny bone.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">My favorite Ruth Donnelly performance is in 1933's "Hard to Handle." As Mary Brian's mother on the make, she is simply hilarious as she veers from support to disdain to the financial status of the girl's suitors. As the dollars ebb and flow, so does her opinion of the men. When James Cagney, as her chief suitor, asks Ruth if his daughter told her he was in town, she replies, with that disdainful sneer, "yeah, you and the rest of the Depression." Her work with Cagney is tops. Both players never are afraid to be "too much" and they operate on a plane completely different, yet wholly compatible, from the rest of the cast.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgweKLDxGmvjDwLVl1w76oqvC9jc7SYjnnTQ7kbPEXEbpnamySkTJLteIcFOx_F_3390C-n9897CULHNkF5qo2CoZN3uPnA2Nwt_FoGiBGAOTjnc5_vshE27ZyNbk5ACi4R8ccms7iUmpE3WxforIpodzQ2kCdOimPOh8oTRzEguTXioR2wS-PZK9HF/s899/RDh2.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="899" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgweKLDxGmvjDwLVl1w76oqvC9jc7SYjnnTQ7kbPEXEbpnamySkTJLteIcFOx_F_3390C-n9897CULHNkF5qo2CoZN3uPnA2Nwt_FoGiBGAOTjnc5_vshE27ZyNbk5ACi4R8ccms7iUmpE3WxforIpodzQ2kCdOimPOh8oTRzEguTXioR2wS-PZK9HF/w400-h258/RDh2.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ruth Donnelly: never afraid to go big</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As the protective mama bear, Ruth keeps a very close watch on her pretty daughter who is her meal ticket to a comfortable life. Hey - things were tough then and a woman of a certain age had to be tough <i>and</i> shrewd. "Hard to Handle" is typical of those quick and dirty Warner's pre-codes. There was not much subtlety, but lots of snarky, funny jokes are thrown all over the place. As Ruth and her daughter (a very platinum blonde Mary Brian) frequently appeared in the same outfit, I couldn't help thinking this was a humorous slap at Jean Harlow and her mama Jean.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOfcr8bVYEwUacnv7ukaLXRr7mi8KlRqGrNSMF7iq75LQm8G-LqztJEqMYZqQTBiLHDozm_uPyt_ZEs--bX2bQcemUHz7PQ7Z8czoyaf1STRy1VYb9ImfxFrcInjrxyKR4vr9lQEALFBWrXM2K3XU3MogfqpOpARDckyVX7nmzZr3La_n9_BJyP1y/s712/RDh6.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="712" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOfcr8bVYEwUacnv7ukaLXRr7mi8KlRqGrNSMF7iq75LQm8G-LqztJEqMYZqQTBiLHDozm_uPyt_ZEs--bX2bQcemUHz7PQ7Z8czoyaf1STRy1VYb9ImfxFrcInjrxyKR4vr9lQEALFBWrXM2K3XU3MogfqpOpARDckyVX7nmzZr3La_n9_BJyP1y/w400-h271/RDh6.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ruth and daughter (Mary Brian): <br />like mother, like daughter #1</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTe6My1o9u4gz1lJeBEKVt6IeX4ami-DJyU3I1pwqcvWI2JV6cEVOOTvfjn2Lw7xR1DTFOJKLbzUTm8C5v2AGtINHHMwYmQZcQf29CIISTSudBoUtf-YMnFYFAG0p0XxP2IKJsgZUuzIAFdXG86AOgHBiFSXEE_q2t-6ywG8XEIQ6Lz3CkFvvHyLl/s693/RDh9.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="693" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTe6My1o9u4gz1lJeBEKVt6IeX4ami-DJyU3I1pwqcvWI2JV6cEVOOTvfjn2Lw7xR1DTFOJKLbzUTm8C5v2AGtINHHMwYmQZcQf29CIISTSudBoUtf-YMnFYFAG0p0XxP2IKJsgZUuzIAFdXG86AOgHBiFSXEE_q2t-6ywG8XEIQ6Lz3CkFvvHyLl/w400-h364/RDh9.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Ruth and daughter (Mary Brian):<br />like mother, like daughter #2</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdaxMeLZG9BcKdrSLLfyx9EXvURv8yFbLprZFjvOgzRnmCFjNFIMTNe1D_oKYv4qjatySAfD-n9J2gn_8LiiEPjVnEa1a_d1I3seQTcGUA597lTutBqqNcgP6f4OMNKsNtFNp8f4yQX-M6OERxJktTJq--frDGxMN1w71iBC87I3eZPwQlu-0Mkqw/s600/mamajean.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdaxMeLZG9BcKdrSLLfyx9EXvURv8yFbLprZFjvOgzRnmCFjNFIMTNe1D_oKYv4qjatySAfD-n9J2gn_8LiiEPjVnEa1a_d1I3seQTcGUA597lTutBqqNcgP6f4OMNKsNtFNp8f4yQX-M6OERxJktTJq--frDGxMN1w71iBC87I3eZPwQlu-0Mkqw/w400-h400/mamajean.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The real Mama Jean and daughter Jean Harlow</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinu6PxRVjyXOA1hqyfnmFHTKP_AQnRj5M5u1746QgvVrCsUMBIUqwqC1tUSybz9doiIuOQUbnMz30j4kmx3at5Oen7w3Lce4UTdcX7R2OS3XGiSnP0O6FB-f9BuLske6joaejkbQASxuirbrkvdbI6KaPN7BEdL4-wYllRuLQqHrIfLzEr1NCQOAmU/s884/RDh3.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="884" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinu6PxRVjyXOA1hqyfnmFHTKP_AQnRj5M5u1746QgvVrCsUMBIUqwqC1tUSybz9doiIuOQUbnMz30j4kmx3at5Oen7w3Lce4UTdcX7R2OS3XGiSnP0O6FB-f9BuLske6joaejkbQASxuirbrkvdbI6KaPN7BEdL4-wYllRuLQqHrIfLzEr1NCQOAmU/w400-h289/RDh3.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ruth sells the rented furniture for some quick cash</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">As Ruth's character sells rented furniture, schemes with friends and foes, and holds her daughter's charms like the crown jewels (when preparing for a date, Ruth counsels her daughter to wear a different dress, one that shows more of her "girlish laughter"), she steers this crazy ship of her daughter's romantic desires, Cagney's fortunes and her extraordinarily focused ambition for financial security to a safe harbor. Of course she did! The woman was on a mission.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8CCzjySsyR70ih90CwUDb9-NrJV3INYvfKXSzsSB-G_9D-TyylehWC_XGadnQwAzuZI7xPYVuK6W_jt5J_hzN4zTQD6hxpn6XVwXYO369iUHs6OR2momGfseKea7pe_teWxnlRSrwJAjXLKiWJBQub1h799ufeqX1bOnCwlEcE_yzVv_TLNTj9gg/s893/RDf3.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="893" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8CCzjySsyR70ih90CwUDb9-NrJV3INYvfKXSzsSB-G_9D-TyylehWC_XGadnQwAzuZI7xPYVuK6W_jt5J_hzN4zTQD6hxpn6XVwXYO369iUHs6OR2momGfseKea7pe_teWxnlRSrwJAjXLKiWJBQub1h799ufeqX1bOnCwlEcE_yzVv_TLNTj9gg/w400-h271/RDf3.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>She likey: Ruth and her "Footlight Parade" boy-toy Dick Powell</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">My other favorite Ruth Donnelly role is (again with Cagney), in "Footlight Parade." Although she is married to Guy Kibbee, she seems to have a parade of young, male "protégés." And, since it's pre-code, Kibbee doesn't seem to mind. As the film begins, her latest young man is Dick Powell, who soon gets a yearning for Ruby Keeler. Ruth shamelessly promotes her young man to Cagney to place him in the show (lucky for him the boy can sing) and gives epic shade to younger rival Keeler throughout the film. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPLlDkxjEIkIfXAEHOdZDOkNZFAXTirk6SJCqcxJkJ4NuaHRtYZbTHhJSin6Fr0JObWatOtDY29ChCQdsQajPVB2JMtPb7YMZqLmNt3CFULG8vRKd4fto4RbOGXCzxi4s84BOpYJKRvHC7Z9njzmeXhE6coQImRY8kvwK29fyM21hUN0LtTodL6ND/s846/RDf4.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="846" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPLlDkxjEIkIfXAEHOdZDOkNZFAXTirk6SJCqcxJkJ4NuaHRtYZbTHhJSin6Fr0JObWatOtDY29ChCQdsQajPVB2JMtPb7YMZqLmNt3CFULG8vRKd4fto4RbOGXCzxi4s84BOpYJKRvHC7Z9njzmeXhE6coQImRY8kvwK29fyM21hUN0LtTodL6ND/w400-h274/RDf4.PNG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>That look says it all. Nobody looked as though she was <br />smelling something foul better than Ruth Donnelly.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">When she finally sees the writing on the wall that Powell has thrown her over for Keeler, she finds a new squeeze and makes sure he gets a part in Cagney's prologues. She is a woman who knows what she wants.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Great character actors usually have great presence and, many times, great faces. They may not get top billing, but their presence in any film brings a bit of satisfaction and comforting familiarity to the viewer. When I see Ruth Donnelly in the cast, I breathe a little contented sigh. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXGFR4KSYKAxhOLV62ZqNRp4ZG_ulhwuqSdtsqmSsORtxTKq8Hhy4l9QdxWwa4DTABukw2c2iOcDjwMW4qiglc_zbDJJG573QyElHo82W31YH76eVUkPzTu-LRPjsNlWLuqbu98z73wksaNfYtqKcbl12ioTVMzph5RsqCItspOQ6WuvsK7Y33bGr/s215/Ladies-They-Talk-About-13.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="215" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXGFR4KSYKAxhOLV62ZqNRp4ZG_ulhwuqSdtsqmSsORtxTKq8Hhy4l9QdxWwa4DTABukw2c2iOcDjwMW4qiglc_zbDJJG573QyElHo82W31YH76eVUkPzTu-LRPjsNlWLuqbu98z73wksaNfYtqKcbl12ioTVMzph5RsqCItspOQ6WuvsK7Y33bGr/w400-h298/Ladies-They-Talk-About-13.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ruth as a women's prison warden in the crazy <br />"Ladies They Talk About." And you thought <br />Allison Janney was the first dame with a bird.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Don't forget to check out more great characters in the What a Character Blogathon. I hope you find a favorite or two there.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNOBLAwufI0BQZc108OD3OlDhviLUEx5l-dXRpLCAJuC2lyCgoqV9heFCxig_dY2C31PLdLoGf36SCA2xYaneg7Q7y9bx8yrZx1Ic4I9z2YAyDeWetTTVVwruUuFJwzN0V8l-Cy5U7eCNiQ1jkbfh9tUoLOyVZvIbSsTxZxF9drNPQd8lJ7kZmLqA/s1080/wac-2022-graphic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNOBLAwufI0BQZc108OD3OlDhviLUEx5l-dXRpLCAJuC2lyCgoqV9heFCxig_dY2C31PLdLoGf36SCA2xYaneg7Q7y9bx8yrZx1Ic4I9z2YAyDeWetTTVVwruUuFJwzN0V8l-Cy5U7eCNiQ1jkbfh9tUoLOyVZvIbSsTxZxF9drNPQd8lJ7kZmLqA/w640-h640/wac-2022-graphic.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-61666779552398878232022-12-26T16:32:00.003-05:002022-12-26T16:32:45.634-05:00Babylon: Damien Chazelle, Have a Little Respect<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I knew I was going to have a strong reaction to "Babylon," but I just had to see it for myself. And I just had a small, teeny tiny bit of hope that the greats of the era would not be disrespected. Alas.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1ADXNWLFkC1mlpkigznlZ0wHvz41KkdGBdTbiBPRVOUt9iucTx39m7QS_ghtRujd1EMhTXud8Kj5gP_oOa7nql_34KS7zTFMvv4lC1CeEVVf_CeiYlwpo8IjADgx18L_fpJi1t-JaYJOgb54Jl-a2ldAiE_Ow62r0XpxXz0YHbBzcK84abXbEaER/s1200/bab1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="1200" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1ADXNWLFkC1mlpkigznlZ0wHvz41KkdGBdTbiBPRVOUt9iucTx39m7QS_ghtRujd1EMhTXud8Kj5gP_oOa7nql_34KS7zTFMvv4lC1CeEVVf_CeiYlwpo8IjADgx18L_fpJi1t-JaYJOgb54Jl-a2ldAiE_Ow62r0XpxXz0YHbBzcK84abXbEaER/w640-h198/bab1.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I've seen most reviews that pretty much call this a hot, steaming mess and I can't disagree. There are, however, moments that capture the incredible and emotional impact of the movies that kept me engaged and hoping, hoping, hoping.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As a fan of silent film and early Hollywood and all that jazz, the references to actual people and to film and literary sources are hard to ignore. Brad Pitt's character of Jack Conrad is clearly based on John Gilbert, although it is not completely factual. His is the most compelling character, and Pitt is very good. His portrayal of a self-aware star in twilight is probably the most insightful one in the film. Pitt is getting that world-weary bon vivant thing down pat.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHzXm5SCKiNDFaHTO7TOsXDRUmG1ewPsKIE2O33WSwj2yDYoIvvx_ViRDreIoEP9hAcuPYPPFuCCA-8tUYZ5iG6UpoBL_vy19KHQ_yO2CoPcW9q6NasRMy1YefVJkG5WokvBT7rfXh2KZjtzE4tPkKDaOrDVqfL2lhZnuVA-cOHNTwVpah_iMwvet/s225/John%20Gilbert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHzXm5SCKiNDFaHTO7TOsXDRUmG1ewPsKIE2O33WSwj2yDYoIvvx_ViRDreIoEP9hAcuPYPPFuCCA-8tUYZ5iG6UpoBL_vy19KHQ_yO2CoPcW9q6NasRMy1YefVJkG5WokvBT7rfXh2KZjtzE4tPkKDaOrDVqfL2lhZnuVA-cOHNTwVpah_iMwvet/w640-h640/John%20Gilbert.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The Real Deal: John Gilbert</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Margot Robbie's Nellie LaRoy is a cruel portrayal of a star based, I'm sure, on Clara Bow. She is wild, her ridiculous father is her manager, her mother is in an asylum, she can cry on cue by thinking of home and, horror of horrors, she comes from New Jersey and sounds it. I can hear Louise Brooks in Kevin Brownlow's series "Hollywood" talking about Bow and the fact that nobody would know what Clara would do at a party because she was from Brooklyn. But if the character is based on Clara Bow, this great star with a truly tragic life deserves better. Margo Robbie is fine in a poorly written role, but I pray someday David Stenns' "Runnin' Wild" is made into a film and that Clara's life is treated with the respect she deserves. And honestly, I don't think anyone ran around town quite as naked as Ms. Robbie's character.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6zlMZQ7h64wNkVZ0BCeRT7EnXQB0es3a2s4WWOebYKwYWsVxDEcpX8AELs9ds9NWl9seweTZNHWTowsBupG5Hf4VJudnweaHrjdXhEV7e7hM6PUczri1fN2EDLd_HJyuoiHL-OFq90jpinXVog2QBXQLexI3nk1B7CRpT5hg-sQ8bpyi5-3_Leyo/s640/clarabow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="640" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6zlMZQ7h64wNkVZ0BCeRT7EnXQB0es3a2s4WWOebYKwYWsVxDEcpX8AELs9ds9NWl9seweTZNHWTowsBupG5Hf4VJudnweaHrjdXhEV7e7hM6PUczri1fN2EDLd_HJyuoiHL-OFq90jpinXVog2QBXQLexI3nk1B7CRpT5hg-sQ8bpyi5-3_Leyo/w640-h460/clarabow.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The Real Deal: Clara Bow</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Speaking of respect, nobody in this film seems to have any for themselves or anyone else. And the scenes of ridiculously wild parties - well, I'd just say to the director that you don't have to actually become a debaucher yourself in order to show debauchery. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Jean Smart probably makes the most sense as a gossip queen with the deliciously mashed up name of Elinor St. John (Elinor Glynn + Adela Rogers St. John), She gives Pitt's Jack Conrad a dose of reality amid his world of fantasy: namely that your career is dead, but you'll live forever on celluloid. Deal with it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">There is a character who is sort of Anna May Wong and a particularly nasty caricature of a Fatty Arbuckle type. It can be kind of fun trying to pick out the thinly disguised celebrities of the era.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I could go on and on about this thing, but the sad part is that every once in a while the love of the magic of film that sneaks in and that makes it tolerable. It's all wrapped up with a character from the silent era watching "Singin' in the Rain" in a theater and, at first weeping with nostalgia for that time and then, finally, becoming one of Norma Desmond's wonderful people out there in the dark, caught up in the story, lost in the magic of movies.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">See it if you're curious or just watch Gene Kelly and company. </span></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-22547457018632442482022-12-04T11:34:00.000-05:002022-12-04T11:34:25.895-05:00Alone at the Movies<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">To share or not to share... It is a question for this movie lover. All my life I have longed to share this love, to discuss and share this particular passion with enthusiasm. And yet yesterday, when I settled into my theater seat, alone, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of sheer bliss.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2l37FYJQBlgZLzF0cadzQX0FpwnN2cwNvU7FumJUtTURrfsfbPTnaQ8HYgnzemeuE6qV81dWxE8foEIthr-iUrYH7dji4kSz9MevhrbHYtcsMnkJdvRhkjmp9rvOECfW8pdNIB52PUGyeDcVKMXc9rkcum_dKld2BmETW3_mf_dKczgcpF9_hODj/s640/purpleroseof.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="640" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2l37FYJQBlgZLzF0cadzQX0FpwnN2cwNvU7FumJUtTURrfsfbPTnaQ8HYgnzemeuE6qV81dWxE8foEIthr-iUrYH7dji4kSz9MevhrbHYtcsMnkJdvRhkjmp9rvOECfW8pdNIB52PUGyeDcVKMXc9rkcum_dKld2BmETW3_mf_dKczgcpF9_hODj/w640-h366/purpleroseof.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It is only alone in the dark that I can truly make that magical connection. My heart space opens to its inner landscape and allows whatever is happening within those silver shadows to take over. It is all so very private. Tears flow freely when I am alone, my chest swells with love when I alone, and I truly allow something to touch my true self, something I can never do in the company of others.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Maybe this happens because my initial love of film happened while watching television. It was a lonely pursuit which even called for passing up a trip to the mall with friends because Wuthering Heights was on. Shopping at Lerner versus getting lost in the brutal romance of Laurence Olivier...not much of a choice for me. But I was a solitary kid and have remained so after all these years; the perfect candidate for a single seat in the dark.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8CC9BQG9fn2JFAC1nTP7ZuvRMA_8pE4L6Qj1DisgiVLHBQ8V6p5lZZiEuR44rq7f4wpna7DdMXYL1Ff_CzZ5rS4WtjqSJCnbdgANz9WvQk-HDe7UITRVEelmwf15XTHUlZmPA8kfedDkbTh0YQiBlqfUYHcdq2gH3sI7EQBXoecRe3nz7XkPgoG4/s500/wuth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8CC9BQG9fn2JFAC1nTP7ZuvRMA_8pE4L6Qj1DisgiVLHBQ8V6p5lZZiEuR44rq7f4wpna7DdMXYL1Ff_CzZ5rS4WtjqSJCnbdgANz9WvQk-HDe7UITRVEelmwf15XTHUlZmPA8kfedDkbTh0YQiBlqfUYHcdq2gH3sI7EQBXoecRe3nz7XkPgoG4/w640-h480/wuth.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It's not that I don't love sharing this passion by blogging, going to festivals or on social media (which allows me to share while remaining solitary - kind of a jackpot).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As an adult, those solitary experiences have become a road map or guide to that innermost space in me , the one behind and beneath those carefully constructed ramparts that life demands we build to survive. And when the castle is breached, oh what joy. When Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin engage in a silly, uninhibited dance as the credits roll at the end of "All of Me," I unfailingly burst into tears. I think they are tears of happiness, but I'm not sure. The sight of such unbridled, primal joy always cracks through that armor and finds its way to my true heart. And, oh, when Rocky Sullivan, in all of his swagger and power lets that light into his heart at the end of "Angels With Dirty Faces," yes, my own heart opens in recognition and surrenders.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Sy5aWu5vP08" width="320" youtube-src-id="Sy5aWu5vP08"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Surrender. That seems to be the right word. A surrender in the dark that allows that sliver of light to find its way to a place where there in no judgment. Oh cinema, I open to your power and your story and together there is total trust alone there in the dark.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But there is something else - a bit of a paradox. Experiencing it truly alone, even in the company of others is one thing. It is private and precious. Yet how to explain that joy when shared with strangers in the same space. One of my most treasured movie-going experiences is this shot of Clark Gable in "Gone With the Wind." The theatrical re-release in 1967 was so exciting to this barely teen-aged kid. I remember they gave out beautiful color programs (I'm sure I still have it somewhere) and in a packed theater there was an audible and collective gasp from probably every female in the audience. Yes, my heart stopped for a second, too, but knowing that everyone felt what you felt was sublime and fun. Just remembering that moment fills my heart close to bursting. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTumDEp0rWLoQn5gLvUV0L6OP_7N4gvzyLh313AFXWDx7LAQn1PfD4WNPW_6Dm_5vtlbAOikmN_5u_WAc20cg346XbBqVYugNu-LOtp8lV7oJpho2lLXN85CnTXWoKEkhIXA3E4z_xT-0KmlLly1YsgrZrcbuI4xtN6OBe_o9ZfsegUdwavbYpuNGF/s640/gwtwss5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTumDEp0rWLoQn5gLvUV0L6OP_7N4gvzyLh313AFXWDx7LAQn1PfD4WNPW_6Dm_5vtlbAOikmN_5u_WAc20cg346XbBqVYugNu-LOtp8lV7oJpho2lLXN85CnTXWoKEkhIXA3E4z_xT-0KmlLly1YsgrZrcbuI4xtN6OBe_o9ZfsegUdwavbYpuNGF/w640-h480/gwtwss5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">And, truly, I will never forget the laughter during the baked beans scene in "Blazing Saddles." The dialogue was drowned out by laughter.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwJ9jZt8KeIQoV9HaK0J4lj7dDTyGPQY_k-NPPeP6ykq2adjIqstMclH-NZYm79aTKRHgp-LFEvJ3LbDWMhEx_X4w0A8EY1kceHXmQmlflypdSqJ0v-kc2cVHKlwHZWYPuBdfw0RtunKHoiE8yp2YMqQwnWx2PvxbdhmoDPJnQ8WcmoRK-zRvX0-M/s1330/blazingsaddles.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="1330" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwJ9jZt8KeIQoV9HaK0J4lj7dDTyGPQY_k-NPPeP6ykq2adjIqstMclH-NZYm79aTKRHgp-LFEvJ3LbDWMhEx_X4w0A8EY1kceHXmQmlflypdSqJ0v-kc2cVHKlwHZWYPuBdfw0RtunKHoiE8yp2YMqQwnWx2PvxbdhmoDPJnQ8WcmoRK-zRvX0-M/w640-h360/blazingsaddles.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="font-size: xx-large; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Preston Sturges got it in "Sullivan's Travels."</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"> </span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-LjFUrRdEMrK1SypQISb3FUK8GbHxvRcmsDdTBEqFO9jOO9E0lKfoSUZzfF5FYBsnlVzTPQguaey3uVQP8_94MvE0Mv0M3iX3dEwqpf4j9ezxMBnl3NcMiHxl71QVnZS3lYKowUGT1msn0Gdvm-hOzGh_DT0k0GU8tjqnbw4FDVODmLiEZilCNoR/s281/sully.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="281" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-LjFUrRdEMrK1SypQISb3FUK8GbHxvRcmsDdTBEqFO9jOO9E0lKfoSUZzfF5FYBsnlVzTPQguaey3uVQP8_94MvE0Mv0M3iX3dEwqpf4j9ezxMBnl3NcMiHxl71QVnZS3lYKowUGT1msn0Gdvm-hOzGh_DT0k0GU8tjqnbw4FDVODmLiEZilCNoR/w640-h410/sully.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Times do change and a lot of what is considered entertaining has passed me by, I fear (although I've always had at least one foot firmly planted in decades before my time). The theater yesterday was almost empty and even though talking, crunching, sniffing, strange body parts too near me and cell phones glowing in the dark irritate me, I felt a little sad. I'm torn between sharing with live strangers, sharing in silence (as here), and holding that experience close within my heart because, in the end, there are no words to adequately describe the love. But, being human, we try. One thing our Covid experience has taught me: even though I think I don't like people, I guess I need them. Go figure!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-OF59B5LCMprtBPSnyRVTWbMiAkqgN8Brff3TB0KAo72SZNvpXJJW5LsfS2GFfKOtjRs4yj3KSZHg7zHIGL44cR5oV9qy8mYgUNP3VNQdb_TV2OmTA8T0hL6Ccv_8UV_czDVbP6loZ9NqhiHKmBintXiyOEEzzHHFVGgVzz8KK_wKdfkQYx39wou/s1024/Hannah-and-her-Sisters-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-OF59B5LCMprtBPSnyRVTWbMiAkqgN8Brff3TB0KAo72SZNvpXJJW5LsfS2GFfKOtjRs4yj3KSZHg7zHIGL44cR5oV9qy8mYgUNP3VNQdb_TV2OmTA8T0hL6Ccv_8UV_czDVbP6loZ9NqhiHKmBintXiyOEEzzHHFVGgVzz8KK_wKdfkQYx39wou/w640-h360/Hannah-and-her-Sisters-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg5rJ5M7M8SJj1m_WBneYu2U4bY11SXmTtH3SHIhpwJNY4wnuQ3wMUjr5e9X0ij85Mzjd1S0uAt5X25snFHwlywZ7dL3K0oyHd8h6ue1_ZEuGeNwoxEbQx2HA6raGv1-RhkLQDlbf5pjlMNxTffZc3D2UsDF3_4nMCLr1UIxOw23CpKRyuqfOC1TiH/s1024/Hannah-and-her-Sisters-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg5rJ5M7M8SJj1m_WBneYu2U4bY11SXmTtH3SHIhpwJNY4wnuQ3wMUjr5e9X0ij85Mzjd1S0uAt5X25snFHwlywZ7dL3K0oyHd8h6ue1_ZEuGeNwoxEbQx2HA6raGv1-RhkLQDlbf5pjlMNxTffZc3D2UsDF3_4nMCLr1UIxOw23CpKRyuqfOC1TiH/w640-h360/Hannah-and-her-Sisters-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Woody Allen finds faith in a world where the Marx Brothers <br />exist in "Hannah and Her Sisters."</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-56501504496182383862022-11-07T17:58:00.003-05:002022-11-07T17:58:38.261-05:00The Public Enemy (1931): Did They have to Rub Out the Horse?<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my entry in the <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2022/11/its-time-for-fall-2022-cmba-blogathon.html">Classic Movie Blog Association's Movies are Murder Blogathon</a>. Click <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2022/11/its-time-for-fall-2022-cmba-blogathon.html">here</a> for more movie murder and mayhem.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Public Enemy: </b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Killer Must Be Killed</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gWQ2ICF0eNs2Qp2cb0L1suPaeYo1jT7Yn2jCJgRLWNTNFTR8xAWjbO-FSQ3YvYyGp_QUUJBBq3DnbHL0gHCAL-nW1bTLMUsghCNlgG2SqoHFc9BeHAbAw4XOdHLrL9iYQYCZPewmnl8zcbe2zAkn05xGX5JZ0DAW10xWp5PgFLxYVyF_cPz6Jfd-/s462/PE1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="462" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gWQ2ICF0eNs2Qp2cb0L1suPaeYo1jT7Yn2jCJgRLWNTNFTR8xAWjbO-FSQ3YvYyGp_QUUJBBq3DnbHL0gHCAL-nW1bTLMUsghCNlgG2SqoHFc9BeHAbAw4XOdHLrL9iYQYCZPewmnl8zcbe2zAkn05xGX5JZ0DAW10xWp5PgFLxYVyF_cPz6Jfd-/w640-h426/PE1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As most likely know, there are murders aplenty in The Public Enemy (1931). There are those anonymous gang members caught in the spray of a tommy gun and there are those of the specific nature - retribution for disloyalty or double crossing <i>ratness</i>. And then there are those of the innocent. The innocent deaths are the ones that hurt the most.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjG5IeybOypxfESari_jWGb0NQ7Wd8j7yUSAxGXcLIoH6Vb4lejYjrLH06D1u-_KfsOkL9LBw17FMhCxDoww0yAev_yXxrfxSToyVZKublFLVvroy4K_nmyeVPfSGVB91lXj8AZlY7REZ3c6ASu-T3_XjXb1FzFWdr5BeiMtxsJHVDJTKjFziSMeB/s260/PR2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="260" height="477" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjG5IeybOypxfESari_jWGb0NQ7Wd8j7yUSAxGXcLIoH6Vb4lejYjrLH06D1u-_KfsOkL9LBw17FMhCxDoww0yAev_yXxrfxSToyVZKublFLVvroy4K_nmyeVPfSGVB91lXj8AZlY7REZ3c6ASu-T3_XjXb1FzFWdr5BeiMtxsJHVDJTKjFziSMeB/w640-h477/PR2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Tom and Matt handle a gun for the first time</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I don't mind saying that the first time I saw "The Public Enemy," it scared the bejesus out of me. From the eerily disconcerting "I'm forever blowing bubbles" played on a gramophone to that final murder, it still gives me the chills to this day. That dull thud of a lifeless body before the fade out is right up there with all of those movies that deliberately try to scare you (thinking "The Exorcist" and "The Omen" and the like).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjN13QpETzvtV9BjkzuNl-DhXj9V2YSvMO-ibkCpT0Rma_5jAyxr7hsZ5ysqWqziJGBkyTcxLrSG0LTefGGmTaLiAsbbKKaQSaghMrkbJuuPW_twGzzu1cwU8HAuqZJaxd9sN8_gsMOL3h-cD4pYHyWwi3YZUoZQ2fb6VWU2f4m62Nui4fO9ckdE54T" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1061" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjN13QpETzvtV9BjkzuNl-DhXj9V2YSvMO-ibkCpT0Rma_5jAyxr7hsZ5ysqWqziJGBkyTcxLrSG0LTefGGmTaLiAsbbKKaQSaghMrkbJuuPW_twGzzu1cwU8HAuqZJaxd9sN8_gsMOL3h-cD4pYHyWwi3YZUoZQ2fb6VWU2f4m62Nui4fO9ckdE54T=w640-h483" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Oozing murderous charm<br /><br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span>And yet there is also something compelling about this film that makes it so complicated, something that jazzes the whole nasty story up, and that disconcerting something is James Cagney as Tom Powers. Cagney was originally and famously cast as second banana Matt, but director William Wellman demoted Edward Woods, the original Tom, to the role of Matt and re-cast Cagney as Tom. It proved to be a brilliant move. His on the make charm, that jaunty little spin he takes when he see he has a chance with Jean Harlow's Gwen, his self confident strut when he shows up in his new clothes, all make for an unsettling confusion. If this guy is so bad, why can't I dislike him?</span><span> </span></div></span><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As Tom and boyhood buddy Matt Doyle drift from a brutal and impoverished childhood into a life of petty crime (they never rise above being trusted lieutenants to boss Paddy Ryan), the first murder they witness is that of their boyhood friend, Larry Dalton. Tom and Matt and Larry, all barely men, are enlisted by gangster Putty Nose to rob a fur warehouse. Things go wrong and Larry is shot and killed by a cop, who Tom shoots before escaping with Matt. Frightened, they go to Putty Nose for help (he has promised to protect them), but they are turned away and forced to fend for themselves. As the neighborhood mothers weep over the loss of a young man who went wrong, Tom and Matt get their first glimpse of a dead body at Larry's funeral. But it won't be their last.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjk9pg1NTyggtyP9H_EJEWCobpd-_Vr28qBaBfPfz2VvwKbMGpWKyWK-ASKn6so9zZumLIYsule2Ag8GegBzPJ2VOcIJ0sqRVwHKL8Iql3C00dArvUusXcsbj1eEroLjmuw4helpBx5GDS8YhbDC8o-9vxms_cQX5R0iusCrXFbrlDYHgFZ0j7IMV/s707/funeral.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="707" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjk9pg1NTyggtyP9H_EJEWCobpd-_Vr28qBaBfPfz2VvwKbMGpWKyWK-ASKn6so9zZumLIYsule2Ag8GegBzPJ2VOcIJ0sqRVwHKL8Iql3C00dArvUusXcsbj1eEroLjmuw4helpBx5GDS8YhbDC8o-9vxms_cQX5R0iusCrXFbrlDYHgFZ0j7IMV/w640-h448/funeral.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>After you see your first friend in a coffin, it gets easier</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">As Prohibition becomes the law of the land, Chicago crime boss Paddy Ryan recruits Tom and Matt as his "beer salesmen." Strong-arming saloon keepers for their bootleg beer, Tommy and Matt muscle their way through their life of crime. </span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRmeTuW4zTM1pmTIV0IfNmZVSVvZd8iXz8onwfjXp7anirOGmpcEkJibUcXA9dv1F-nLsmZB9-Gb4zaBldj09bHYor96UzFACu6fMMX8c2QLLgPLpWwx1B1dsFL4PQrRGCOPNqeFjiX1kmh5H466m4hozO7X1niR7T4mt7KcijWKWQEbbOZrGm_vQ/s700/PEbeer.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="700" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRmeTuW4zTM1pmTIV0IfNmZVSVvZd8iXz8onwfjXp7anirOGmpcEkJibUcXA9dv1F-nLsmZB9-Gb4zaBldj09bHYor96UzFACu6fMMX8c2QLLgPLpWwx1B1dsFL4PQrRGCOPNqeFjiX1kmh5H466m4hozO7X1niR7T4mt7KcijWKWQEbbOZrGm_vQ/w640-h454/PEbeer.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Tom makes clear his distaste for a rival supplier's product </i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">For a while, they are riding high. New clothes and new women make life even sweeter. Tom is a charming brute. He picks up the unfortunate Kitty, but eventually tires of her, giving her the famous "citrus massage" in her puss. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Hg0Kb9hS93G6YNtw4-kT0nVWUKMqhUVf3nDtUnzGekw32fosofQm_I5204r_Suw5GApX-Swo7zMTQ7nxgB5tY4r8UsSilnCFUdkSUaKDT1Q-spU-0vxuW4_WQiGrck9j8wzKzcF9xJ3oyFLM9Wkaymka16V6KdKwVPvmCuP_MKDPPTdEu2J5IT4g/s432/PE%20harlow.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="432" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Hg0Kb9hS93G6YNtw4-kT0nVWUKMqhUVf3nDtUnzGekw32fosofQm_I5204r_Suw5GApX-Swo7zMTQ7nxgB5tY4r8UsSilnCFUdkSUaKDT1Q-spU-0vxuW4_WQiGrck9j8wzKzcF9xJ3oyFLM9Wkaymka16V6KdKwVPvmCuP_MKDPPTdEu2J5IT4g/w640-h386/PE%20harlow.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Harlow as Gwen: her acting is green, but her allure is platinum</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpafhDgJ48AdAzBrSHEIjuowWOEBmCqLFZ05m3e31HYZOJf4hlTmpUfDJ73szvDwU0clCy3QiRYp9Tav-SQyBdU1ok8Orj4V55Pcgw_wNDtZrqKf9ksqanFMKv6v5czHvk-eW4sPFccLVJcMguTuiha0rhZMi9seGZCcKn_qrJa-0Dh5q52YHSA02/s720/PEgrapefruit.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="720" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpafhDgJ48AdAzBrSHEIjuowWOEBmCqLFZ05m3e31HYZOJf4hlTmpUfDJ73szvDwU0clCy3QiRYp9Tav-SQyBdU1ok8Orj4V55Pcgw_wNDtZrqKf9ksqanFMKv6v5czHvk-eW4sPFccLVJcMguTuiha0rhZMi9seGZCcKn_qrJa-0Dh5q52YHSA02/w640-h426/PEgrapefruit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Mae Clarke as Kitty receives the cinema's most famous facial<br /></i><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">He moves up to the more glamorous tart Gwen. Jean Harlow, in an early performance, is pretty terrible. But, as bad as she is, there is an undeniable allure about her and she sure wiggles her caboose in an unforgettable manner. Tom is also is taken under the wing of fancy gangster, Nails Nathan. Nathan is a sort of mentor to Tom, a "class" guy that Tom look up to aspires to emulate.</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">And then there is Putty Nose. Ah Putty Nose, the dirty double crossing rat who left Tom and Matt holding the bag after the bungled fur warehouse job. Tom does not forget and poor old Putty Nose - well, he had it coming. Can't say I felt bad. He was the groomer who lured Matt and Tom into a life of crime. After doing away with the craven Putty Nose who begs for his life, Tom coolly turns towards the door and wonders if he can still get together with Gwen. A psychopath does have his needs.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBAAur6ijAN0Oie92Y510xkB0yidOG3TeycBaNt9gviabSA9tJqiTkYZaxRi0Jk7D7KDcDY8ssBiOYqfOM2EDwl45OR3qALOxeRtPNWkQPJYegpIBLQ5ThwsbtX7JzJD00yceAwA7lT4P3e_U9IJSqbXyS2zy80Pui-f0FToXehCg_Jdj71mlB0Ah/s550/PublicEnemy%20putty.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="550" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBAAur6ijAN0Oie92Y510xkB0yidOG3TeycBaNt9gviabSA9tJqiTkYZaxRi0Jk7D7KDcDY8ssBiOYqfOM2EDwl45OR3qALOxeRtPNWkQPJYegpIBLQ5ThwsbtX7JzJD00yceAwA7lT4P3e_U9IJSqbXyS2zy80Pui-f0FToXehCg_Jdj71mlB0Ah/w640-h350/PublicEnemy%20putty.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Say your prayers, Putty Nose</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So, the thing about Tom that softens me to him, beside his obvious charm, is his admittedly twisted code of honor. In a world where people are double-crossing and selling out one another so fast it makes your head spin, Tom's loyalty to his friends is kind of admirable. I told you this was complicated.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqgRqjcwIg7S6MirPBGbjWyWWcIiPneApQA3DuL-gbFNQM-RqxnU4cR7pvY2wHRtz6CLmEcZ8eYDHP4WCx1g_FzxTsSLFZJGQkioiBm07DN7nNU51MLV15ZnHZ-GDXcWyuzLnGbZmlBLxlfAJavuJx-R7m5zS44JimLN7ystBbfWtVeDkV7c7mGAQ/s720/PE%20nails.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="720" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqgRqjcwIg7S6MirPBGbjWyWWcIiPneApQA3DuL-gbFNQM-RqxnU4cR7pvY2wHRtz6CLmEcZ8eYDHP4WCx1g_FzxTsSLFZJGQkioiBm07DN7nNU51MLV15ZnHZ-GDXcWyuzLnGbZmlBLxlfAJavuJx-R7m5zS44JimLN7ystBbfWtVeDkV7c7mGAQ/w640-h426/PE%20nails.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i>Nails Nathan before his fateful ride<br /><br /></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Matt's murder in a shoot out with the rival Schemer Burns gang (live by the gun, die by the gun, I suppose), sends Tom on a vengeful mission. He is outgunned, but somehow manages to survive. Well, that wasn't his enemies' plan and, wrapped like a junior king tut, his lifeless body is delivered to his annoying mom and goody two-shoes brother, the final murder in a murderous tale</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">.</span></div></span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdeQUcQd8pDDN2MCtirrHq14DvYIyA6sFmaqztl4l66cOB7QFJ2C5nUc2EPTvlF40NjOWB230WeLn77lLmYFu9LlT8KxWXT7ZZikzeXEYLhRwE9of7ghl1gDfjetVmJKvrO_f9CofRNFTY5GeTQ5Nl4bXNZqSvxV2u4bG0zIvPHMtNLOSlwdMFggP/s400/PE%20rain.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdeQUcQd8pDDN2MCtirrHq14DvYIyA6sFmaqztl4l66cOB7QFJ2C5nUc2EPTvlF40NjOWB230WeLn77lLmYFu9LlT8KxWXT7ZZikzeXEYLhRwE9of7ghl1gDfjetVmJKvrO_f9CofRNFTY5GeTQ5Nl4bXNZqSvxV2u4bG0zIvPHMtNLOSlwdMFggP/w640-h480/PE%20rain.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Vengeance is Tom's</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tom Powers is no better or worse than so many of his contemporaries, but there is one other murder in "The Public Enemy" that I can't accept as remotely justified. Unlucky for Tom, just when he is finally making some headway with the hard to get Gwen, Matt appears and tells him the bad news: Nails Nathan has been killed. And not killed by a rival gang, but by his horse. Dandy-wannabe Nails, decked out in his best English riding habit, was thrown by his mount and died as a result of a hoof to the head. Tom, true to his code, has to kill the killer of the man he so admired and, with a single shot, committs </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">equinecide</i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> (I know, not a word, but it could be). Honestly, if the guy was a better rider he probably would not have been thrown*. Mercifully, the murder takes place off screen. There is a shot and a sad neigh.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-xqCzBskplM9dId-aNoHAbKsWFZevxWznuo5xnSm7BansJAejv_jQg8qkzJJz_eaD9SEdtoIdNADevB0Ot8TELmhhrCMldtW72W9lxVP5SE5m5fUysmsKbnn1LhVwQzPdxTuUcC5pBFOxdBfwjROmVmtiyMANo-SRuKPZngoWpUDlHSh7yUvU6ph/s700/PublicEnemy32.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="700" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-xqCzBskplM9dId-aNoHAbKsWFZevxWznuo5xnSm7BansJAejv_jQg8qkzJJz_eaD9SEdtoIdNADevB0Ot8TELmhhrCMldtW72W9lxVP5SE5m5fUysmsKbnn1LhVwQzPdxTuUcC5pBFOxdBfwjROmVmtiyMANo-SRuKPZngoWpUDlHSh7yUvU6ph/w640-h469/PublicEnemy32.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Where's that horse?</i></span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And so, I find myself sadder and madder over the murder of an unknown and unseen horse than over the murders of Larry, a cop, Putty Nose, Matt and, ultimately Tom. In a way (other than the cop, who faced potential harm in 1920s Chicago), they all had it coming. But not the horse. If you're the person who cries harder when the dog dies in the film than when the human does, you know what I'm talking about. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">And when Tom Powers takes that final flop at the feet of his mother and brother, I am pretty sure, to paraphrase Zuzu in "It's a Wonderful Life," </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">every time</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> a horse-murdering gangster buys the farm there is a happy neigh in heaven.</span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: x-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpE-c_-xC1_CZ-YbQ-q2EYG-cKSJOTR0PjgmlgGb6Lg100m0XWOhyBuVUjGRgPXtwi62-YxCfjtiL-VmCVMNu1BGF8b65ruwT4shhZ3DJQZGZjn-ycuWTCcmv-WIQuM5inn2SPA3Q4-R-77zLV_OjsDz4YbLVnA3gx-rYWSZRAtx_-wVutzNhR1gz5/s700/PublicEnemy37.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="700" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpE-c_-xC1_CZ-YbQ-q2EYG-cKSJOTR0PjgmlgGb6Lg100m0XWOhyBuVUjGRgPXtwi62-YxCfjtiL-VmCVMNu1BGF8b65ruwT4shhZ3DJQZGZjn-ycuWTCcmv-WIQuM5inn2SPA3Q4-R-77zLV_OjsDz4YbLVnA3gx-rYWSZRAtx_-wVutzNhR1gz5/w640-h458/PublicEnemy37.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Special delivery</i></span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span><div style="text-align: justify;"><i style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">* The murder of the horse is actually based on a true story (as is much of this film). True life gangster Samuel "Nails" Morton was a flashy mobster who took a liking to riding his mount in Chicago's Lincoln Park. When his horse (obviously one on the side of law and order) threw Morton and then fatally kicked him in the head, Morton's compatriot Louis "Two-Gun" Alterie, took the horse out for a ride, shot him and left him for dead. </span></i></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1P-ek0ZSJvQOQs6oqjbPGPaVCPg_4I7QC2VK-44PIcwdtTnaJjvqvdjuxH7jhTDJzxqBYH_57ENhP5sn-GN7grtvxqEd-Blc6rnfhgwfWQqSHH4dykb-EeInKbq2ts_rh6kfPOOXG2qPK5M4Og3yBZKHJ8dlwi161E530Yz18oZsBbKo-WJwVAMH8/s1200/CMBA_Fall%202022%20Blogathon%20Banner13.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1200" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1P-ek0ZSJvQOQs6oqjbPGPaVCPg_4I7QC2VK-44PIcwdtTnaJjvqvdjuxH7jhTDJzxqBYH_57ENhP5sn-GN7grtvxqEd-Blc6rnfhgwfWQqSHH4dykb-EeInKbq2ts_rh6kfPOOXG2qPK5M4Og3yBZKHJ8dlwi161E530Yz18oZsBbKo-WJwVAMH8/w640-h534/CMBA_Fall%202022%20Blogathon%20Banner13.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-59440898343402009272022-10-20T08:38:00.000-04:002022-10-20T08:38:18.754-04:00The Take Two Blogathon - Strawberry Blonde is Better the Second Time Around<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is my entry in the <b>Take Two Blogathon</b> hosted by <a href="https://hometownstohollywood.com/" target="_blank">Hometowns to Hollywood</a>. Click <a href="https://hometownstohollywood.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a> for more remarkable remakes.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-yr92-tN2nJZ2Tubn-i8zGJdBxS7Weg9AdHLQW760CE2_qHvBM1nPm8gME57cRp1PqnbSKfsiDyx8q5R14Rly2HfVw0nzguPWVgpWJS_SGNCfvLwT0FyVvRRnSv0w2-nyPWHFIsUbueM2Qt6EV6IxAgqhvw_iDwPNzFWGJMUyYPAx0T51UuQz-bC/s749/berry3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="749" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-yr92-tN2nJZ2Tubn-i8zGJdBxS7Weg9AdHLQW760CE2_qHvBM1nPm8gME57cRp1PqnbSKfsiDyx8q5R14Rly2HfVw0nzguPWVgpWJS_SGNCfvLwT0FyVvRRnSv0w2-nyPWHFIsUbueM2Qt6EV6IxAgqhvw_iDwPNzFWGJMUyYPAx0T51UuQz-bC/w640-h512/berry3.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Some films just don't get it quite right the first time around. Remake</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> "Gone With the Wind"? Unthinkable. Remake "A Star is Born"? Maybe the perfect version is yet to be made. </span></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9a2D4kPkxLPdUQ6lcJ8aLVgL3q8nKTU0n6G9wdPF5vlSrOTer_Zn2rYyhE9lnIKA-53qDArHSjdfrHJVSAbw-USihVZwqXqLnCj0yYfAFfI3QxTiHpzP3Jl4LsNeHb7R7Bed5ukRnXwN-dE7-U3oEBtH0bu9-zJjcbP2N5eAQKo_BO4XPhKRmgz8/s1605/biffnamy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="1605" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9a2D4kPkxLPdUQ6lcJ8aLVgL3q8nKTU0n6G9wdPF5vlSrOTer_Zn2rYyhE9lnIKA-53qDArHSjdfrHJVSAbw-USihVZwqXqLnCj0yYfAFfI3QxTiHpzP3Jl4LsNeHb7R7Bed5ukRnXwN-dE7-U3oEBtH0bu9-zJjcbP2N5eAQKo_BO4XPhKRmgz8/w640-h202/biffnamy.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Biffs and Amys</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">"Strawberry Blonde" (1941) first saw cinematic life as "One Sunday Afternoon" in 1933. Based on a stage play of the same name, "One Sunday Afternoon" boasted an intriguing cast headed by Gary Cooper and Fay Wray. The story of dentist Biff Grimes (Cooper) who carries a torch for Virginia Brush, the local beauty (Wray) who marries his rival (Neil Hamilton) has some small town charm. However, there is a certain darkness about this film despite some comedy and the bucolic setting that is a little off-putting. Cooper's performance as Biff Grimes lacks the actor's usual charm. To be honest, he comes off just downright nasty and disagreeable. The beauty and her conniving husband (who causes Cooper's character to go to jail) are also a nasty pair without too many redeeming characteristics. Only Biff's wife Amy, as played by Frances Fuller, is likeable, but she is so sweet and nice in the face of Biff's indifference that I found myself wondering what she saw in the lout and wanting her to leave him a goodbye Charlie note. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For some reason, Warner Brothers thought they could remake this story, but it needed a few tweaks</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">. First, writers Julius and Philip Epstein took the story out of the country and put in in New York City at the turn of the 20th century. The title change to "Strawberry Blonde" not only referred to the beauty of the story, but to the song that has such meaning to Biff Grimes. Once the story was moved to New York, who better to play the combative and cocky dentist but James Cagney? While he had some misgivings about being cast in the film, once Raoul Walsh signed on as director, Cagney was in. Add Olivia de Havilland, Rita Hayworth and Jack Carson to the cast and things were really starting to shape up.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnRvXMnAXzMADRFCCNHa8UEAXXWFrn9IXxCpVQoA0GcxHNDEY-EGlN3811vuOBkjktriri_4fRLmxymRmW1OKk2gcJciMF_8Gpb0BohXLM7r6scmh6knGj0yXUP8LU3BtmnUfR3dPzhqqc_GgVK-DWf4Qkj1B9HQp_2E4WJ08cQycss9rpXY_i2wN/s400/berry5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="400" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnRvXMnAXzMADRFCCNHa8UEAXXWFrn9IXxCpVQoA0GcxHNDEY-EGlN3811vuOBkjktriri_4fRLmxymRmW1OKk2gcJciMF_8Gpb0BohXLM7r6scmh6knGj0yXUP8LU3BtmnUfR3dPzhqqc_GgVK-DWf4Qkj1B9HQp_2E4WJ08cQycss9rpXY_i2wN/w640-h469/berry5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Virginia, Amy, Biff and Hugo meet for their first date</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>The difference between the 2 films is literally night and day. While the earlier version is dark, "Strawberry Blonde" is light and endearing. Gay nineties music is always in evidence and the very cardboard characters of the first film come to life in a most endearing way. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgFAr0ljVFo7z1l1O4m4TWh_I9sHjcGAnkXrnIRFyNy1LwHf5-kVdgAUAlGoNtZKOBqT-dhR96zegYvhkiF-_EeVSEQGR378Ccd7DgHaHDR1-92XK1t3gxvAexMycYqtb4_bQiYv8cZO5VQxibG1q7Gkc9iGhnZwlvwMYBUJtnT1OH_H8Z9ZS3PMu/s800/berry8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="800" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgFAr0ljVFo7z1l1O4m4TWh_I9sHjcGAnkXrnIRFyNy1LwHf5-kVdgAUAlGoNtZKOBqT-dhR96zegYvhkiF-_EeVSEQGR378Ccd7DgHaHDR1-92XK1t3gxvAexMycYqtb4_bQiYv8cZO5VQxibG1q7Gkc9iGhnZwlvwMYBUJtnT1OH_H8Z9ZS3PMu/w640-h474/berry8.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Biff sports his ever present shiner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The icing on the cake is the perfect casting. Where Cooper's Biff was moody and resentful, Cagney's Biff has a little boy charm that makes all his antics forgivable. He sports a perpetual back eye from all of his scrapes and when trying to explain himself simply offers "that's the kind of hairpin I am." Aww.</span></div></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfXC97XqeZ--vEMeIHZFnSU9jlyXjLYriPe7hPzCmjHL-tLeLsBO9Chvs8KB2mFzXUh1uw9x6ewVhGHVHkKAmE8QUDJ68CB8kjiIFDkECUKZDnR1joqlZcPHl6lii94JeefW-8T4E-AXsHpQ6cpAqQhiduXoIUIgAi0tQVCxB3lswcPQic7UlJJm8m/s966/berry6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="722" data-original-width="966" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfXC97XqeZ--vEMeIHZFnSU9jlyXjLYriPe7hPzCmjHL-tLeLsBO9Chvs8KB2mFzXUh1uw9x6ewVhGHVHkKAmE8QUDJ68CB8kjiIFDkECUKZDnR1joqlZcPHl6lii94JeefW-8T4E-AXsHpQ6cpAqQhiduXoIUIgAi0tQVCxB3lswcPQic7UlJJm8m/w640-h478/berry6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>It took Biff the entire film to comment on Amy's beauty. <br />Maybe those shiners affected his eyesight?</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">Olivia de Havilland's Amy darn near steals the film. Unlike Frances Fuller's too sweet Amy, de Havilland is a spitfire who winks, loves her man and looks impossibly beautiful while doing it. In fact, I think she wins the beauty contest over her pal, the strawberry blonde of the title, hands down. And since that strawberry blonde is Rita Hayworth, that is saying something.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Speaking of Rita Hayworth, the part of Virginia Brush was originally envisioned for Ann Sheridan, an actress who had demonstrated some chemistry with Cagney in earlier films. Sheridan, however, like a good Warner Brothers rebel, went on strike and the part went to Hayworth. While Wray is very pretty, her Virginia is a rather bland character who goes from small town beauty to tramp. Probably due to the enforcement of the production code, Hayworth's Virginia devolves into a shrew instead of a tramp, but nonetheless she sparkles with allure and good humor. Who could blame all the boys having a crush on her?</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXP3QKghjioOXtxWgr_TQcifGb9QKHSoFmLGQ--0yXLqvAv0MR0z9Ph8aYjLbshszAXNJNM8EbyyiQ3JxNX4pclJ-G_XexJJd2zB6uUjYNfU32GB8nhYLcOuo2nB1nYcXSpiCdjTpbu0IYtGT6ywR2A6_do8bxhHVMZoio5j1sAx4Px0Xq0j-L616r/s905/berry7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="735" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXP3QKghjioOXtxWgr_TQcifGb9QKHSoFmLGQ--0yXLqvAv0MR0z9Ph8aYjLbshszAXNJNM8EbyyiQ3JxNX4pclJ-G_XexJJd2zB6uUjYNfU32GB8nhYLcOuo2nB1nYcXSpiCdjTpbu0IYtGT6ywR2A6_do8bxhHVMZoio5j1sAx4Px0Xq0j-L616r/w520-h640/berry7.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The Barnsteads</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The villain of the piece is Hugo Barnstead, the thorn in Biff's side. As played by Neil Hamilton in the first film, Hugo is an insufferable blowhard. He's still an insufferable blowhard in the second film, but, really, can you ever dislike Jack Carson? We know he's a creep, but he's such a funny and pompous creep. Cagney was a little unhappy at being paired with an actor who surpassed 6 feet in height, but the physical difference between the two men only emphasizes their differences in social standing and ultimate cuteness.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIL4hOQqMhF2xDRIBasyTiyFfcJ4GbN6Edxv1MrqcEZnI3oaUoFU2Rxqdy3ld8xB0yVxXFVbypH57TOOlO_gVgiAkFaKSZAIBJ5pWw4N5B6gDnJgW0NsYMG8BA9MNwz9mgkzmKixOxI3h8P0t3QFX28qk-LuTD7Cn7-mcrBTqIC-mPwJ29_h9P6hrn/s381/berry12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="381" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIL4hOQqMhF2xDRIBasyTiyFfcJ4GbN6Edxv1MrqcEZnI3oaUoFU2Rxqdy3ld8xB0yVxXFVbypH57TOOlO_gVgiAkFaKSZAIBJ5pWw4N5B6gDnJgW0NsYMG8BA9MNwz9mgkzmKixOxI3h8P0t3QFX28qk-LuTD7Cn7-mcrBTqIC-mPwJ29_h9P6hrn/w640-h482/berry12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Biff looks up to Hugo, but it's only because he's taller</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But it is the love story between Biff and Amy in "Strawberry Blonde" that elevates the film far above the original. Cagney and de Havilland blend so well both physically and in temperament. For once he gets a leading lady who can hold the screen with him and not disappear in the face of his personality. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mOSBx3JS6TMuP59UeqB9KnLBIbGmtyAZ8Dzg6SYBg7Gz-ceP-lgrPcKTzOZzD1KzzpigXbTxlhSxLaLTxrkhmEaOY52lwM1wsBfeyNYHtP3_93GhKejOFtagxNxuHBhh5JcDNwGlqcE3gPu4_DbDftGeyWZOIo2R5SI8aKV3onUtNBaFdwsdKPoc/s554/berry10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="415" data-original-width="554" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mOSBx3JS6TMuP59UeqB9KnLBIbGmtyAZ8Dzg6SYBg7Gz-ceP-lgrPcKTzOZzD1KzzpigXbTxlhSxLaLTxrkhmEaOY52lwM1wsBfeyNYHtP3_93GhKejOFtagxNxuHBhh5JcDNwGlqcE3gPu4_DbDftGeyWZOIo2R5SI8aKV3onUtNBaFdwsdKPoc/w640-h480/berry10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>It's all about the love story</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">There are three lovely scenes between Biff and Amy, all taking place in a park, that show their developing love story.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaWankUbt-mFlVwqdBFTKazJlCWC_kWjGLp74I8-j8yukvDYtcylaUyVDEMNg-H9kzw-qL9Goe-2UTAMfbrGtybqV-dULXolM_AW1vpfeorex_Sg53NlK2pYRZbg-XaIvATBItQu4ujmbW2CpTsjVKBdzyeMVjKDsqZATDlq9R5ntZFKVAa7myUs_/s1600/park1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1281" data-original-width="1600" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaWankUbt-mFlVwqdBFTKazJlCWC_kWjGLp74I8-j8yukvDYtcylaUyVDEMNg-H9kzw-qL9Goe-2UTAMfbrGtybqV-dULXolM_AW1vpfeorex_Sg53NlK2pYRZbg-XaIvATBItQu4ujmbW2CpTsjVKBdzyeMVjKDsqZATDlq9R5ntZFKVAa7myUs_/w640-h512/park1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Biff would much rather be with Virginia</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First, when they are set up on a blind date, Biff clearly wants to be paired with Virginia, but Hugo, of course, outmaneuvers him. This leaves Biff "stuck" with nurse Amy. He is disagreeable and annoyed. Her talk about bloomer girls, smoking and perhaps unmarried sex shocks Biff. She is way too fast for him, with the soft and feminine Virginia representing his ideal woman. Cagney and de Havilland play perfectly off one another. You can see she is a gal who can give as good as she gets and that she is the better girl for him. But, being a guy, he's blind to the obvious.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfbIemjv-O4iG3_3CRjcQHTatjEv-7DtbT7ZIbaXNyx8SMcSOLwuGst4mt6TO-D4FYISXn2yuCk3a5yWUC8S3bUo0EFhp1BZ7rLkf9KCXotYCnyORgY-SZFnPIoulpPN47FIqjBQnUbOyrAkBhuXyZgdlAmQ2H7ZYZE6nxnqneP1MvUwM63sfcueV/s254/park2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="254" height="501" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfbIemjv-O4iG3_3CRjcQHTatjEv-7DtbT7ZIbaXNyx8SMcSOLwuGst4mt6TO-D4FYISXn2yuCk3a5yWUC8S3bUo0EFhp1BZ7rLkf9KCXotYCnyORgY-SZFnPIoulpPN47FIqjBQnUbOyrAkBhuXyZgdlAmQ2H7ZYZE6nxnqneP1MvUwM63sfcueV/w640-h501/park2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Amy saves Biff some humiliation when he <br />finds out Virginia and Hugo have eloped</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The next park scene has Amy coming to tell Biff that Virginia would not be keeping her date with him because she eloped with Hugo. After some huffing and puffing, and Biff's advances exposing Amy as being all talk about the pre-marital sex stuff, Biff finally sees that Amy is a more quality person than Virginia. Here they agree to go steady and eventually marry.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjTJpNc1PqlndhSQYj-kbLYJ7BNytCMPadU7eR-YUIuNtHM1e8gTALGn11-TvUkSDIvAG1wLqbFOqqUqVVul7_m9RhAiEMbjn9FRx4ZAf7BSZSLldGN0OxAoTC7vRE4EliiePuoIMOS8t90PsRIpESIwUNMp8qdFK77VT8u1tdWSPJ-WZgo_u7FKe/s975/strawberry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="975" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjTJpNc1PqlndhSQYj-kbLYJ7BNytCMPadU7eR-YUIuNtHM1e8gTALGn11-TvUkSDIvAG1wLqbFOqqUqVVul7_m9RhAiEMbjn9FRx4ZAf7BSZSLldGN0OxAoTC7vRE4EliiePuoIMOS8t90PsRIpESIwUNMp8qdFK77VT8u1tdWSPJ-WZgo_u7FKe/w640-h472/strawberry.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>At last Amy is appreciated</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The last park scene is one of the most beautifully acted scenes of any film I've ever seen. It's not big, it's not over the top, but it is quiet, tender, real and moving. Upon returning home from prison (where Hugo's double crossing landed him), Biff meets Amy in the park where much of their love story unfolded. Biff is humble and grateful that Amy has stood by him and Amy is overcome with love as she reaches for her man. Their ultimate embrace has you cheering for them. Who cares about Hugo and Virginia?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Biff's final act of revenge when Hugo presents himself with a tooth ache highlights the essential difference between the two films. In the earlier version, Biff gives Hugo almost enough gas to kill him before Biff comes to his senses. In the remake, Biff contemplates gas, but elects to pull the tooth without the pain killer, causing Hugo a great deal of pain and giving Virginia a good laugh. It's a great scene and I can't forget how Hayworth stubs out her cigarette in Biff's spit sink. Some lady.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT98FjLFG3-WOhmmWxWFx3uQLodr3BroqR5xe9KJdLotQa6f9VlBwCR0e2JYQRCZ-zzVH_pf3djcLAKP0yLm08C4FR0-vHCbMHmNuumgzwHp0jHx__C3DAK4-e0-FYi7mPksd1skywuA_7BTv5a-RjgBRxShsd-vEeaxeOEsUSbeENEByQYk6seSaU/s500/berry9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="500" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT98FjLFG3-WOhmmWxWFx3uQLodr3BroqR5xe9KJdLotQa6f9VlBwCR0e2JYQRCZ-zzVH_pf3djcLAKP0yLm08C4FR0-vHCbMHmNuumgzwHp0jHx__C3DAK4-e0-FYi7mPksd1skywuA_7BTv5a-RjgBRxShsd-vEeaxeOEsUSbeENEByQYk6seSaU/w640-h498/berry9.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Hugo and Virginia. Turns out, they deserve one another</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Of course, there is a happy ending for "Strawberry Blonde." Amy, adorable as always, whispers in Biff's ear, presumably that she is expecting, and the two take their Sunday walk together in smiles as wide as the screen.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBFyKl3E-injnvj02QBR0mfHRw7KqJay3H_FuMmNwYDSGnHbtn3dfRPbxSSeE4_Yns1tUy-WrvXHl9l-kSxnJORA3NSBXGn45nbJmcFDHR0I1Vg7gQGSofSJHUhIP8DCpzwDc1MR0oqIEfoxZw2g7VTcnIXaAJ5a2NJVO_ANFj_V6tBC_BJa84V3k/s979/berry14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="979" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBFyKl3E-injnvj02QBR0mfHRw7KqJay3H_FuMmNwYDSGnHbtn3dfRPbxSSeE4_Yns1tUy-WrvXHl9l-kSxnJORA3NSBXGn45nbJmcFDHR0I1Vg7gQGSofSJHUhIP8DCpzwDc1MR0oqIEfoxZw2g7VTcnIXaAJ5a2NJVO_ANFj_V6tBC_BJa84V3k/w640-h474/berry14.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Exactly!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PYauR6tR7eLXek56cEkAyCWzcCf8lBlGY0RlDjLX9805fR9YwxPeVbEgqMvq1sFaw_CrmOJMy8yfQN8Vsb6qzbWA9T9xD37pMW-iw6euQ-p4E4BsmOgeoaBN6hYHEADrxCAPpvk29V_j1mIOBdrDcZpHV-DNapI2jBZFTsp5Kpx-goTq8xXv8eLd/s460/berry13.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="460" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PYauR6tR7eLXek56cEkAyCWzcCf8lBlGY0RlDjLX9805fR9YwxPeVbEgqMvq1sFaw_CrmOJMy8yfQN8Vsb6qzbWA9T9xD37pMW-iw6euQ-p4E4BsmOgeoaBN6hYHEADrxCAPpvk29V_j1mIOBdrDcZpHV-DNapI2jBZFTsp5Kpx-goTq8xXv8eLd/w640-h474/berry13.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The happy couple</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj65Urn_DU6geO8jpNsgTUZZ85ClZbGXU-XVqvdiUL7-5KdL44mEcNVHwW2u-pw6QY1QB8Xu3qK7bSz45YptXJi2FvTdeFVWqGAkLTF1zqHIaYLZz1vOrSJH_WNQPpDpaa3Uc16GiurtrvFTG5pOVBmFrqZVryJORy9CVXBhu1C7G8wLhvD2ouAuqjX/s1024/cagney-and-hale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj65Urn_DU6geO8jpNsgTUZZ85ClZbGXU-XVqvdiUL7-5KdL44mEcNVHwW2u-pw6QY1QB8Xu3qK7bSz45YptXJi2FvTdeFVWqGAkLTF1zqHIaYLZz1vOrSJH_WNQPpDpaa3Uc16GiurtrvFTG5pOVBmFrqZVryJORy9CVXBhu1C7G8wLhvD2ouAuqjX/w640-h480/cagney-and-hale.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Alan Hale as Biff's dad with the troubled teeth</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">"Strawberry Blonde" has even more added attractions: Alan Hale as Biff's ne'er do well father is a hoot, as is the one and only Una O'Connor as a lady he flirtatiously chats up. And then there is the ever reliable George Tobias as Biff's pal, a marked improvement from Roscoe Karns in the earlier film.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtg8xmZFgNAv09j2SDSq1d1agNGcH37Fxs0UqeRyCWo0sPL5u9oTfilmq-0xpojkMJTYNyME--PccusLipYSPzg0toXGsstXoPw_qYiXTBFP7l7QpbxtUSzLBuahX_5X6J4uY_aMPD63TWv5brg25UHrufQxM7rGw-dKtQJOvZXj2WaMwnZMYX9rp/s960/berry11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="960" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtg8xmZFgNAv09j2SDSq1d1agNGcH37Fxs0UqeRyCWo0sPL5u9oTfilmq-0xpojkMJTYNyME--PccusLipYSPzg0toXGsstXoPw_qYiXTBFP7l7QpbxtUSzLBuahX_5X6J4uY_aMPD63TWv5brg25UHrufQxM7rGw-dKtQJOvZXj2WaMwnZMYX9rp/w640-h484/berry11.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Mrs. Mulcahey has Mr. Grimes' number</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">"Strawberry Blonde" ends with a gay nineties sing-along for the audience to seal that old time nostalgic flavor. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">When asked once what if he had a favorite film, Walsh said it would have to be "Strawberry Blonde." It also counts as one of Cagney's favorites. The love and affection and just plain old good humor pours off the screen. Walsh liked the story so much he directed a third, musical version of the story in 1948 starring Dennis Morgan and Janis Paige. However, the less said about that version the better. No, the second time, in this instance was the charm.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnrXA8gQb9g1OREhOAYicPsqiPZzjjiMLmbeB0fXxZaQ5J-y9zrCmx-PRS-1a1_b5ezVTlSJktVuzslDR3Sd_lkKSsKf6-u5JbnDYRwBufqgGPBXyQH7XJsHnJ3-GiUIf9gqCA2rPSHEUF5ninb30yPrlYZX1LnXHLRzLI4hkbYEvulPse-weJ_Jo/s500/berry10.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnrXA8gQb9g1OREhOAYicPsqiPZzjjiMLmbeB0fXxZaQ5J-y9zrCmx-PRS-1a1_b5ezVTlSJktVuzslDR3Sd_lkKSsKf6-u5JbnDYRwBufqgGPBXyQH7XJsHnJ3-GiUIf9gqCA2rPSHEUF5ninb30yPrlYZX1LnXHLRzLI4hkbYEvulPse-weJ_Jo/w640-h480/berry10.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA9vxQhLospaDOl7Cwejg4jb9VSQOS_c6bGZqWjUxeHjRAw5BJ1dIpf-W6Xq630bHJOCFS35E2rNFiKgYEaVcegfwc2ByXZ6uNQiHKvzxt5IpzorPre463rwrTQ7dbasdEapmteSvpqLIlN8BVTKKFIgqXuUHwM8fy3I-Bsj90VIvgWtBXmFGp2Fb/s1604/take2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1604" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA9vxQhLospaDOl7Cwejg4jb9VSQOS_c6bGZqWjUxeHjRAw5BJ1dIpf-W6Xq630bHJOCFS35E2rNFiKgYEaVcegfwc2ByXZ6uNQiHKvzxt5IpzorPre463rwrTQ7dbasdEapmteSvpqLIlN8BVTKKFIgqXuUHwM8fy3I-Bsj90VIvgWtBXmFGp2Fb/w640-h334/take2.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-19643376503173336352022-07-08T12:01:00.000-04:002022-07-08T12:01:16.669-04:00The Lina Lamont Fan Club: Still She Persisted!<p> <b style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">Greetings from the Lina Lamont Fan Club!</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv33BDtjXPxUwzJVQ7Le0NP7_qsItgYjnA36iQL4uKuBhXp1WQYyJuOBjKU6gjDcVawE-KAovY9TIZRSipyf2DoOqTWBMN7mCUOxfbnxsp4tfENzG63YnqhZh72hV1b3OP6yZb6hIMSAo/s1600/lina.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv33BDtjXPxUwzJVQ7Le0NP7_qsItgYjnA36iQL4uKuBhXp1WQYyJuOBjKU6gjDcVawE-KAovY9TIZRSipyf2DoOqTWBMN7mCUOxfbnxsp4tfENzG63YnqhZh72hV1b3OP6yZb6hIMSAo/s400/lina.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i>This is my entry in <a href="https://theclassicmoviemuse.com/">The Classic Movie Muse's Singin' in the Rain Blogathon.</a> Click <a href="https://theclassicmoviemuse.com/">here</a> for more of that glorious feeling.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Yes, loyal fans, we are still here. No matter how hard her enemies try to destroy her legacy, Lina Lamont's fans will not rest until the truth is known and Lina is awarded her proper place in the history of film.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuCvw0u26svluE8CiytACEZTsY2zHwSXsFcJUDbW09-EY3VpCF9GsFJgvw7_MHsEFYRU_HUKlJ_ntOB4QsXQ1fISiY9A3I_eAaSpHxhYCn1dCd2yZtolicofZ-lUOV5O6ZZlVyLBxVnlA/s1600/john+gilbert.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuCvw0u26svluE8CiytACEZTsY2zHwSXsFcJUDbW09-EY3VpCF9GsFJgvw7_MHsEFYRU_HUKlJ_ntOB4QsXQ1fISiY9A3I_eAaSpHxhYCn1dCd2yZtolicofZ-lUOV5O6ZZlVyLBxVnlA/s320/john+gilbert.jpg" width="159" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">He could too talk!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Just as John Gilbert's legacy was harmed by those who sought to destroy him, Lina's reputation has suffered. For those not familiar with Mr. Gilbert, he was a huge star whose career was destroyed when his enemies made his perfectly adequate voice seem inadequate when talkies changed movies forever. Once the great lover of Greta Garbo, Gilbert made powerful enemies and - poof! - bad sound, bad scripts, good-bye. Garbo, on the other hand, had scripts tailor-made to her vocal abilities and the best directors, sets, co-stars and costumes. Funny how that happened.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Lina's story is not unlike that of John Gilbert. From 1923 - 1929, Lina Lamont was Monumental Pictures biggest and brightest star. Women copied her and men longer for her. She especially excelled in historical romances and, once paired with Don Lockwood, was one half of a screen duo that rivaled the aforementioned Garbo and Gilbert. During the height of her popularity, Lina received more fan mail than Swanson and graced the covers of more magazines than Bow and Brooks - put together!</span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE44gFrLSYOAZv3389xK2b9Ua68cKIyZZ_eKPQsvZOpoAHstzSzPQBDPp_z_CHrpnkR7MjJizdHUiuP2v7j92IBM0luXd6AYLyfxCwSwcdzHUWyd94UNP__Z0MEwgH4y5s6W6ISYrcv2k/s1600/genejean.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE44gFrLSYOAZv3389xK2b9Ua68cKIyZZ_eKPQsvZOpoAHstzSzPQBDPp_z_CHrpnkR7MjJizdHUiuP2v7j92IBM0luXd6AYLyfxCwSwcdzHUWyd94UNP__Z0MEwgH4y5s6W6ISYrcv2k/s400/genejean.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><i>Garbo and Gilbert could not compare to Lockwood and Lamont</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Naturally, Lina was Monumental's </span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">highest paid star. When talking pictures took over, the "masterminds" (as Norma Desmond called them) saw a way to force Lina to take a giant cut in pay. They did virtually nothing to prepare her for talking pictures, giving her only a few lessons with a half-baked vocal coach. MGM not only gave Garbo time to get up to sound speed, but also waited until they found just the right screenplay for her talkie debut ("<i>Anna Christie</i></span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">"). Poor Lina was forced to transition at the snap of a finger from the silent "<i>The Dueling Cavalier</i></span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">" to "<i>The Dancing Cavalier</i>,</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">" which showcased the much lower-paid Lockwood's strengths and set the stage for Kathy Selden,</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> the </span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">chippie</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> who was sleeping with the star, to claw her way to the top on Lina's back.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyPPivcXNgHvwWpa9OtnSnwKfNwAiNI_kq4iK4o_hgblOTXOCTrBMMWj1EqqGOlJWz-dKEjO9nhHhGfmDCh5q6Vv_PM8AoEErK_RrAOv8nKpimZh0Y9dmqKZeR5L0gq4iuOFIhOKpyJ4/s1600/SingingLina.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyPPivcXNgHvwWpa9OtnSnwKfNwAiNI_kq4iK4o_hgblOTXOCTrBMMWj1EqqGOlJWz-dKEjO9nhHhGfmDCh5q6Vv_PM8AoEErK_RrAOv8nKpimZh0Y9dmqKZeR5L0gq4iuOFIhOKpyJ4/s640/SingingLina.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><i>Lina had a perfectly lovely speaking voice that<br /> was manipulated by Monumental Pictures</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Lina was also falsely accused of being a "dumb blonde." Lina was a high school graduate with straight "B"s. Her business savvy was legendary. In fact, Mary Pickford was known to admire Lina's negotiating tactics. But besides being Monumental's highest paid and most glamorous star, Lina also had a keen, inventive mind. Not many people know this, but Lina Lamont was the real inventor of the internet. </span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYLOUL93HYFhLRHNrRS2QVMQ2xYQMpANSbWCNIN2DbKQUwNJiDHHOx5fZgj9b3UNCCBSTzU61Z76NsM_Z2XlVrIH3XljV1ezQCO3bLRQ-9iOy1QIyejJGMFz2sA0O6e6rD4fxaZMjAHw/s1600/lina+and+dora.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYLOUL93HYFhLRHNrRS2QVMQ2xYQMpANSbWCNIN2DbKQUwNJiDHHOx5fZgj9b3UNCCBSTzU61Z76NsM_Z2XlVrIH3XljV1ezQCO3bLRQ-9iOy1QIyejJGMFz2sA0O6e6rD4fxaZMjAHw/s1600/lina+and+dora.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><i>Lina loved to keep current with the likes of gossip columnist Dora Bailey</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Others stole the credit, but those who know Lina's keen interest in electronics and gossip know that she was in the forefront of merging technology with up to the minute information. Even today, the 512 x 512 pixel standard test image is known as a "Lena." Coincidence? We think not.</span><br /><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Fans of fashion know Lina as one of the best dressed stars in Hollywood. Whether it be in a period romance, as in this sumptuous costume from "<i>The Royal Rascal</i>,"</span><br /><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEDEVIhKqWEpscvaUQllCjp7vjNW46u92Fnuo3MaQW7-jgOCNrCp5DWS_KnbNET0AAbtNe9lOp9YUKKo9yKe4Y7fwlWLlhlAr2Z008UCP454ZJzGvy1I3WsvLpFLW3VUsV3b_Za9S-V4/s1600/lldress.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEDEVIhKqWEpscvaUQllCjp7vjNW46u92Fnuo3MaQW7-jgOCNrCp5DWS_KnbNET0AAbtNe9lOp9YUKKo9yKe4Y7fwlWLlhlAr2Z008UCP454ZJzGvy1I3WsvLpFLW3VUsV3b_Za9S-V4/s1600/lldress.jpg" /></a></div><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">or this chic and modern monkey-fur trimmed jacked, Lina knew how to accessorize and always looked better than any star in the room.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1eFmGlZCeiR-BbUKiQUjDk6tNOhmenm0DFz_RHtBs6rbqV-34Y-zUwpAV1Mtz9UJ_Cu_bPXBGW8Z4zYH9U98RDf7qBzzMElkES-Glvz2JxtUd7rjEpDQ3bzboOytmKnd5eRRkt6lNuM/s1600/SITR_LinaLamont_SS.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="439" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1eFmGlZCeiR-BbUKiQUjDk6tNOhmenm0DFz_RHtBs6rbqV-34Y-zUwpAV1Mtz9UJ_Cu_bPXBGW8Z4zYH9U98RDf7qBzzMElkES-Glvz2JxtUd7rjEpDQ3bzboOytmKnd5eRRkt6lNuM/s640/SITR_LinaLamont_SS.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid93sEEJlx4gSkcwemnaDtj8ntewgIn8Dcx8u89M-IWD8SGH9Scw6vXPYl47Ph1YJ4DB5usMg5qtxLeDIKrLWhTn_iWlZlVDCuLHrmxbYJLZWTFtR3-uAoCSXTriuv4fXiVS5zxr3Mj1U/s1600/monkeycoat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid93sEEJlx4gSkcwemnaDtj8ntewgIn8Dcx8u89M-IWD8SGH9Scw6vXPYl47Ph1YJ4DB5usMg5qtxLeDIKrLWhTn_iWlZlVDCuLHrmxbYJLZWTFtR3-uAoCSXTriuv4fXiVS5zxr3Mj1U/s1600/monkeycoat.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLLYTxxG57ZOjd3MBZLvdoVL7wMr5udANq9QzWROG24kVJPwbUrs-pVwqu3O7OhezDz-Bwvb8IknH8YwZnpLHLMbxZj-GZBTiUre0FK5KARw9YerP8-aBrDqO9gOpFalz-JflmLReoI0/s1600/lina4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLLYTxxG57ZOjd3MBZLvdoVL7wMr5udANq9QzWROG24kVJPwbUrs-pVwqu3O7OhezDz-Bwvb8IknH8YwZnpLHLMbxZj-GZBTiUre0FK5KARw9YerP8-aBrDqO9gOpFalz-JflmLReoI0/s400/lina4.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">So, here's to you, Lina Lamont. Your fans still love you and will never rest until you have been recognized as the ultimate shimmering, glowing star in the cinema firmament.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5MJ6sJPVBGt64BCKuFTDAONGn93PXcHikFfjSRTb8owvdwp7_DUbb_zmHF_HM3DAwxBf6iJhI1gK-E8DwiqPVZBl4z2bI9pKfVtKp7yboRROOwhW5Nud3Z6-yFhm2IUoHZlvnYTcoZE/s1600/Lina+Lamont+leaning+board.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5MJ6sJPVBGt64BCKuFTDAONGn93PXcHikFfjSRTb8owvdwp7_DUbb_zmHF_HM3DAwxBf6iJhI1gK-E8DwiqPVZBl4z2bI9pKfVtKp7yboRROOwhW5Nud3Z6-yFhm2IUoHZlvnYTcoZE/s1600/Lina+Lamont+leaning+board.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">Lina and whats-his-name</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">They have rediscovered Louise Brooks. Now it's time for a Lina Lamont revival!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-43358431227936903552022-06-26T05:22:00.001-04:002022-06-26T05:22:24.995-04:00Joan Crawford: Channeling the Spirit of Norma Desmond<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my entry in the <a href="https://silverscenesblog.blogspot.com/">MGM Blogathon</a> hosted by <a href="https://silverscenesblog.blogspot.com/">Silver Scenes.</a> Click <a href="https://silverscenesblog.blogspot.com/2022/05/announcing-mgm-blogathon.html" target="_blank">here</a> for more great posts about the Hollywood Golden Age's most golden studio.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl--SwMLOzVJA1q3zgYbrCGiy7Pr-AXSL60C8Eqi9Xuk638WCfo_x9zX_oroctc4wUyzqJmqqI0aP-X_Fz-TbDTopHOfuVhxJPUnmnBLEBPLQWRY-uJBK7a_KVbwXRATej4Mla0uRcTENfxlVa79Jsy4w104GApYwcbZCKz_prqeHjHs-wWAjB9TNE/s960/Crawford%201.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl--SwMLOzVJA1q3zgYbrCGiy7Pr-AXSL60C8Eqi9Xuk638WCfo_x9zX_oroctc4wUyzqJmqqI0aP-X_Fz-TbDTopHOfuVhxJPUnmnBLEBPLQWRY-uJBK7a_KVbwXRATej4Mla0uRcTENfxlVa79Jsy4w104GApYwcbZCKz_prqeHjHs-wWAjB9TNE/w360-h640/Crawford%201.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Joan</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First, let me state unequivocally that I am 100% on Team Joan. There will be no hating, no snarkiness and certainly no wire hangers found here. Second, in my eyes, Norma Desmond was a woman who spoke the truth (but wrapped, I admit, in a slightly - shall we say <i>unusual</i> - package). And yes, I know Norma worked at Paramount, but stay with me on this.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqi1cnLoWsYirYC4f5NorD3BAGh5zXqWFslHqtfuxfj5w4I78TvBlv970f7IEQc7z3XZNtft3u9XYVqquQRdV542JKfbJwZu9-gXzwHKwJESSyQhya7M0ONdivLyHFu3IXw9OoTyhHhLv8pvEvApkXIr9U7Vb7EUTg-rl1TtQTjLW1zGvTQyAGpwh/s600/Crawford2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="376" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqi1cnLoWsYirYC4f5NorD3BAGh5zXqWFslHqtfuxfj5w4I78TvBlv970f7IEQc7z3XZNtft3u9XYVqquQRdV542JKfbJwZu9-gXzwHKwJESSyQhya7M0ONdivLyHFu3IXw9OoTyhHhLv8pvEvApkXIr9U7Vb7EUTg-rl1TtQTjLW1zGvTQyAGpwh/w402-h640/Crawford2.jpg" width="402" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Joan before the MGM star transformation. Looking a bit like Bonnie Parker. <br />Clearly some work needed to be done.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The 1920s saw a hunger and desire for anyone to achieve the American Dream. Dusting off an uncomfortable past and inventing a new, shiny, more desirable one seemed possible. Just ask Jay Gatsby.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="803" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmo335OFgax-8ZXEGVDmb_IdgioDXYb9fICAR3VP5iiCP9-gg_keKSfJGjBrlqECosCt7a_TKCCTnHvFfEYyttBsv2NtVV1JbUIn1tY11evhWDIuyv0xA3ZBA38D6dEo1g2C9RCBssKq94zf0agH_zZscL3gkj8X65EEnsJ0KgGVHFsskF0yIsQDC9/w502-h640/crawford7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="502" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">When you're a starlet you have to pose for <br />all kinds of silly publicity pictures</span>.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmo335OFgax-8ZXEGVDmb_IdgioDXYb9fICAR3VP5iiCP9-gg_keKSfJGjBrlqECosCt7a_TKCCTnHvFfEYyttBsv2NtVV1JbUIn1tY11evhWDIuyv0xA3ZBA38D6dEo1g2C9RCBssKq94zf0agH_zZscL3gkj8X65EEnsJ0KgGVHFsskF0yIsQDC9/s1024/crawford7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></i></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Joan Crawford's story has a Gatsby-esque quality. Born </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Lucille LeSueur</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> into a poor and broken Texas family, she worked her way up from dancing in a traveling show, to Broadway chorus girl (using the name Billie Cassin) to MGM starlet with a determination that more than matched her beauty or talent. And it was at MGM that Lucille was given a chance to reinvent herself, obliterate her past and live the American Dream.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkWUBO8GwaRB9Faa-VxiZLsXZ6-CRqHTcwNbWirWHpW7cb87mJAreKo86rWrKGAsDT_PKKwouXh5C8rZv1HwNB2rbkHdH48RaDGXqelkWLoOBrIK4l_T0kVcy88HQ_J6vVOJbqBBSOPBR_9nHQi5XNzhGcbLbHVEZycO_CRrZXQHqZMCzX6SqXNYR/s700/Crawford3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="540" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPkWUBO8GwaRB9Faa-VxiZLsXZ6-CRqHTcwNbWirWHpW7cb87mJAreKo86rWrKGAsDT_PKKwouXh5C8rZv1HwNB2rbkHdH48RaDGXqelkWLoOBrIK4l_T0kVcy88HQ_J6vVOJbqBBSOPBR_9nHQi5XNzhGcbLbHVEZycO_CRrZXQHqZMCzX6SqXNYR/w494-h640/Crawford3.jpg" width="494" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>"Our Dancing Daughters" showcased Joan as the perfect flapper.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Something about the $75 a week starlet told the MGM publicity machine that Lucille had potential. Her look was being transformed (alleged massive dental work among other things) and she learned how to walk, talk and act through lessons in all manner of self-presentation. But that name! The studio didn't like it (sounded like sewer) and decided to let the public rename her. In a bold stunt, <i>Movie Weekly</i> magazine selected the name of Joan Crawford. From then on, the studio/public created person by the name of Joan Crawford moved front and center and Lucille LeSueur was buried in the past.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: verdana; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0flakObWVyYwT4tt4oADRd6jJ5lnWwMPN1CMDzevFz2dDV1KYcBajAfFocYeFt48dbZqsFPsv1f14GoY-NkpwivDPiHlun7M5Ur378AoyZJOH9L2-MhQhvB49mHnbTeFQ1vWnTwfd5dkw9z9DQioAh5XHa7rzlCppFjK-dhBCwNApkc1KSQSw4hs4/s1277/Crawford4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1277" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0flakObWVyYwT4tt4oADRd6jJ5lnWwMPN1CMDzevFz2dDV1KYcBajAfFocYeFt48dbZqsFPsv1f14GoY-NkpwivDPiHlun7M5Ur378AoyZJOH9L2-MhQhvB49mHnbTeFQ1vWnTwfd5dkw9z9DQioAh5XHa7rzlCppFjK-dhBCwNApkc1KSQSw4hs4/w640-h514/Crawford4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">"Grand Hotel" proved she could hold her own with the best of them.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Slogging her way through silents and embodying the image of a flapper (F. Scott Fitzgerald called her "the best example of the flapper") and really coming into her own with sound, Joan Crawford became MGM's biggest money maker. It was said that it was Norma Shearer who got the big productions (she was, after all, as Crawford wryly noted, sleeping with the boss), Garbo who supplied the art, and Joan Crawford who made the money to pay for both. Like all great stars, it was the public who made her one. Her 1930s glamorous shop girl films sold like wild fire. And then suddenly they didn't. By 1938, she, along with Katherine Hepburn, Marlene Dietrich, and Greta Garbo, was labeled "box office poison" by the Independent Theatre Owners Association of America. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkbdVnlMd7uPGUZG0eZkwvfM8UPmofXBBi5pEWEgNdZvxNQggVeAFseQeF_Ofm4oCO34XtzJDDAPSyV0zKqlB8uUhsz046YU2SfWRUZmvPactO1DEcehYazwjUnfeaS36ekF8Sr5KwtLXvxpDiKc9yhUgv9rPo3UeLBzWpuG5KJjpWVGam2xovXRX/s886/Crawford5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="886" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkbdVnlMd7uPGUZG0eZkwvfM8UPmofXBBi5pEWEgNdZvxNQggVeAFseQeF_Ofm4oCO34XtzJDDAPSyV0zKqlB8uUhsz046YU2SfWRUZmvPactO1DEcehYazwjUnfeaS36ekF8Sr5KwtLXvxpDiKc9yhUgv9rPo3UeLBzWpuG5KJjpWVGam2xovXRX/w640-h478/Crawford5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>With frequent co-star and occasional <br />lover Clark Gable in "Strange Cargo."</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But Joan was nothing if not resilient. Starting with 1939's "The Women" and followed by "Strange Cargo," she proved she was not quite out of the game. However, after 18 years, she and MGM, the place she professionally grew up in, parted company in 1943. Was she bitter? She says "no", although that feeling might have been realized in hindsight. Studio head Louis B. Mayer is not always considered to be a beloved figure, but according to Joan in a 1965 interview with John Kobal, "To me L.B. Mayer was my father: my father confessor; the <i>best</i> friend I ever had." While Joan went on to some victories (notably her Oscar for "Mildred Pierce" at Warner </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Brothers), she also suffered the indignities of an aging woman in a world that worships female youth.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1-viWQ3QDorBNqiY5C3GMuK1OXZeLCCC40K3wNSdxt5B4JPi0stvWG6CUo48HEyIsotaArvetrbAfaNnB-ORnUVfSOg0Uxcbh8YnBUmvmY0F_HbuRmsAMaZ0X0GLTsFOZNXRvxx65di63-HUSvSvDOUY55Cm2LDq5E1xVUTCdNzaxPOhnRd7q1LZ/s768/norma%20crawford.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="768" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1-viWQ3QDorBNqiY5C3GMuK1OXZeLCCC40K3wNSdxt5B4JPi0stvWG6CUo48HEyIsotaArvetrbAfaNnB-ORnUVfSOg0Uxcbh8YnBUmvmY0F_HbuRmsAMaZ0X0GLTsFOZNXRvxx65di63-HUSvSvDOUY55Cm2LDq5E1xVUTCdNzaxPOhnRd7q1LZ/w640-h280/norma%20crawford.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>We should listen to Norma</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So here's the Norma Desmond connection. She might as well have been speaking of Joan when she said "I am big. It's the pictures that got small." Like Joan, she embraced the life and persona of a movie star and was always grateful for all of those wonderful people out there in the dark. But, as George Carlin said, "the reason they call it the American Dream is because you have to be asleep to believe it." The demons that clipped at the heels of Lucille LeSueur, no matter how fast she ran, never really went away. While the public's tastes and movies changed, Joan Crawford could not. Reality always rears its ugly head, even in Hollywood. Added to personal drama, Joan committed the unforgiveable sins of aging and remaining big while everything around her got small.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgll3Tb_qGbGfz0O_MBDqQqIAiF56Zzv77bIiHI7E9ddlg62tHedNvQa09cEZIH6Atijz3w8jAOy16vdcTu1_-Ew4PShMiMcn5r0o4XzpAKQGzolH_WkoyEKc_Jg2l1OMV6QZnu3h7KwzMYpHD72eJOWLN2Wo7puUycL3gOZkms1_oecvnWutkZ-Y/s900/letty.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="685" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgll3Tb_qGbGfz0O_MBDqQqIAiF56Zzv77bIiHI7E9ddlg62tHedNvQa09cEZIH6Atijz3w8jAOy16vdcTu1_-Ew4PShMiMcn5r0o4XzpAKQGzolH_WkoyEKc_Jg2l1OMV6QZnu3h7KwzMYpHD72eJOWLN2Wo7puUycL3gOZkms1_oecvnWutkZ-Y/w488-h640/letty.jpg" width="488" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Joan in the Adrian designed "Letty Lynton" <br />dress that took American by storm</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">While many stars rebelled against the studio system, Joan Crawford embraced it. She never appeared in public unkempt and never less than every inch a star. She always, always gave us glamour and famously said "if you want to see the girl next door, go next door." She loved her public and her job. "I have nothing but gratitude for this fine, great industry that I love and worship. It has given me everything that I have in life."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhos8c68bxtCz9nufsc9bfzAPtdF7kDYoxjXFH8T1h3kL6fRuGR4ItHnN9TQFA4_YMhKf-hdy6SqrI4em2_O5_8QC89bY3P4kOiBRzmQsw89h-uQQ82sJOs82O0R2gpKZ0Yh6LDw4ceI9CJkMAnLMOejGC1bow9eyLTvDi2Cw3Nx5xDJoGvOgY1H-w2/s3000/Crawford6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhos8c68bxtCz9nufsc9bfzAPtdF7kDYoxjXFH8T1h3kL6fRuGR4ItHnN9TQFA4_YMhKf-hdy6SqrI4em2_O5_8QC89bY3P4kOiBRzmQsw89h-uQQ82sJOs82O0R2gpKZ0Yh6LDw4ceI9CJkMAnLMOejGC1bow9eyLTvDi2Cw3Nx5xDJoGvOgY1H-w2/w426-h640/Crawford6.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>This is what a movie star looks like</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Joan Crawford Movie Star, your public really appreciates that.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-16841225566772274252022-05-17T22:15:00.000-04:002022-05-17T22:15:26.175-04:00Fun in the Sun: A Trip to Trouville<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my entry in the <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/">Classic Movie Blog Association's Fun in the Sun Blogathon</a>. For more sun-kissed movie moments, click <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/">here</a> and feel the warmth.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSuoj6LJkmiOP8vsAURfNvFI0HoFCmNIDGGZd4K7j_blM2-rowNjMFyfYzI0lPd-TMvhAqsnTQBYK0ZbJNRvicm2VryOKN2CMzFXpreVeKqdmoAaCVhjPUAlKo6AGrLWM6rItfeMavdC-8v7sT0KDpwZ-lq1PY8wNCDY6SwHkVzqc4KLJjWZhqElWb/s680/gigi%20-%20bathing%20suit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="680" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSuoj6LJkmiOP8vsAURfNvFI0HoFCmNIDGGZd4K7j_blM2-rowNjMFyfYzI0lPd-TMvhAqsnTQBYK0ZbJNRvicm2VryOKN2CMzFXpreVeKqdmoAaCVhjPUAlKo6AGrLWM6rItfeMavdC-8v7sT0KDpwZ-lq1PY8wNCDY6SwHkVzqc4KLJjWZhqElWb/w640-h268/gigi%20-%20bathing%20suit.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Isn't it great when everyone on a little trip has a good time? For all five participants, the seaside jaunt to Trouville in "Gigi" proves to be a memorable and joyful experience. That's quite an accomplishment, because someone in "Gigi" - until the end - is always feeling a bit out of step or sorts with the others (Gaston with Liane, Madame Alvarez with her sister Alicia, Gigi with Alicia, Gigi with Gaston, Gigi with Parisian lovers in general and on and on. Only Honoré seems unperturbed, but even he is annoyed</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> at Gaston's ennui).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, imagine the bracing sting of the sea air, the warmth of the sun on your face and the glow of love in all its seasons and enjoy this little trip to the charming town beloved by Flaubert, Proust, Monet and, oh yes, our 5 main characters.</span></div></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>1. Gigi</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/C9J6G_rdSDI" width="320" youtube-src-id="C9J6G_rdSDI"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">After winning a card game with Gaston (at which she flagrantly cheats), Gigi persuades him to take her and her grandmother, Madame Alvarez, to the seaside resort town of Trouville. She has never been to the sea shore before and her excitement leads to toasting the upcoming holiday with a glass of champagne. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8odYhBFpsgkI-uyG7ji8oSGnVeNzDcm0TApt6iS9cZhMxh3P5_qvUM0hhbHFRAmftUXzrNBgAaNr7g3YbtGUb68wznpPoGi0MA3daTCxkoy-DFfKcUzQ2MwZDRaBWu9S7E7gExQaMr7qzGVXvlnC3je5aBsxtS8ENUAd7y6yp5yep12vG366aWMpl/s700/gigi%20donkeys.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="700" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8odYhBFpsgkI-uyG7ji8oSGnVeNzDcm0TApt6iS9cZhMxh3P5_qvUM0hhbHFRAmftUXzrNBgAaNr7g3YbtGUb68wznpPoGi0MA3daTCxkoy-DFfKcUzQ2MwZDRaBWu9S7E7gExQaMr7qzGVXvlnC3je5aBsxtS8ENUAd7y6yp5yep12vG366aWMpl/w640-h264/gigi%20donkeys.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Once there she and Gaston swim, ride donkeys and play tennis. Unlike the other staid and elegant ladies at the resort, Gigi delight and excitement is authentic and infectious. Their obvious joy in one another's company is on full display. </span></p></span><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="664" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_4uxaXes6MoLTRbYAmY4HZ7rSUenw2CVzceXo24R2wpoF3klkmrir-A5aZXDrNSO8z-thmeUGwpdB4mY7RQGbqXhq99ToDkx1awGuFWcF4OH_mMZRonemavg9W7DCS-ymAh0rE0KjAAmVXKWxMaxVTHWlmwy8NTdZrhsaDPRb0BsYb7dWDS8GkF_/w640-h278/gigi%20-%20tennis%20with%20gaston.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_4uxaXes6MoLTRbYAmY4HZ7rSUenw2CVzceXo24R2wpoF3klkmrir-A5aZXDrNSO8z-thmeUGwpdB4mY7RQGbqXhq99ToDkx1awGuFWcF4OH_mMZRonemavg9W7DCS-ymAh0rE0KjAAmVXKWxMaxVTHWlmwy8NTdZrhsaDPRb0BsYb7dWDS8GkF_/s664/gigi%20-%20tennis%20with%20gaston.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>2. Gaston</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyC54JeDaJqlCV5KGbpPzwgLSfzXpuBfSw2N3oRSn8EUPB4YDyCms2PjbdN9pttzM33PnjDcQqKYOqS9dHgsID3doKFSfrP7ZbUn6a7DmZuArH68JsXvSnswMoFL3V4sBSBVA7QwHQcu-4K9jTcv92io7Pbc5iFonToBfJHGGI91JC7ITD_0kCFgTi/s845/Bored.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="845" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyC54JeDaJqlCV5KGbpPzwgLSfzXpuBfSw2N3oRSn8EUPB4YDyCms2PjbdN9pttzM33PnjDcQqKYOqS9dHgsID3doKFSfrP7ZbUn6a7DmZuArH68JsXvSnswMoFL3V4sBSBVA7QwHQcu-4K9jTcv92io7Pbc5iFonToBfJHGGI91JC7ITD_0kCFgTi/w640-h446/Bored.PNG" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">For a man so bored with the shallow and jaded life of Belle Époque Paris, the weekend in Trouvillle with Gigi is just what the doctor ordered. Gigi's uninhibited display of happiness is an unfamiliar feeling for Gaston, but one he finds he can not live without. Love is blossoming, as sometimes happens when young people frolic in the sand and the surf.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">3 & 4. Madame Alvarez and </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Honoré</span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngvKTBurOg2Oiv1wJijcUHjbZHq7CLLwLSx7kgGHbl2hX495_Bj3hccpg65gW20DJZv000pISZXTFZYpF1g1sFpmbdNGQhVHdJwQcfG0HN5zSvA_9Ba5SQ4Qyf0SOYUwOAR0-WUMXMKphtUIpEHK6_kl2vOf5GBpCU8Z5C5kJ7Ts0Hfj0s8gazQ-Z/s266/gigi%20madame%20alvarez.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="136" data-original-width="266" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhngvKTBurOg2Oiv1wJijcUHjbZHq7CLLwLSx7kgGHbl2hX495_Bj3hccpg65gW20DJZv000pISZXTFZYpF1g1sFpmbdNGQhVHdJwQcfG0HN5zSvA_9Ba5SQ4Qyf0SOYUwOAR0-WUMXMKphtUIpEHK6_kl2vOf5GBpCU8Z5C5kJ7Ts0Hfj0s8gazQ-Z/w640-h327/gigi%20madame%20alvarez.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Gigi's grandmother will pay for her scandalous decision to allow Gigi to be seen with Gaston at Trouville, but in the moment she is filled with joy at the sight of the two young lovers having some innocent fun by the sea. She also encounters an old love from the past and, with a wry and gentle spirit, takes a wistful walk down memory lane with someone who was obviously a great love. Time truly does heal all wounds. Seen in the sunset of life, only the fond feelings remain.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/J-OyvRQD9E0" width="320" youtube-src-id="J-OyvRQD9E0"></iframe></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Honoré, this weekend does not turn out quite as planned. The old hound dog pursues a young and obviously boring beauty, but is, as he says, sidetracked by an old wound. He and Madame Alvarez share a charming literal and musical sunset reminiscence of their love. Seen from afar, what once caused pain now brings pleasure. If memory is a virtue, forgetfulness can be a blessing.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>#5</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">And who is that 5th visitor at Trouville? Of course it is us, the audience. How lucky we are that we get to accompany these marvelous characters on their little adventure and to experience love in all its seasons under the hot sun of youth and the elegant and mature glow of a rapturous sunset.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTKirG7ACiyhQKhHIhgRI5skhOQG2yV-ddzsp-uQeR2RJN8TdQ_GtONm4_B3PWCeTzhSpKIl2RHVeFi1MLn1PHGand2sQl1t0vGhvWwCNqSQ47clg8hCj0nh93E1IDCSRKa36YlzYFWjwwD-LH4cpWGjeLnnbjyVGu7ymXFlkHjN3nARHjMKS0evG/s2216/0-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1108" data-original-width="2216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTKirG7ACiyhQKhHIhgRI5skhOQG2yV-ddzsp-uQeR2RJN8TdQ_GtONm4_B3PWCeTzhSpKIl2RHVeFi1MLn1PHGand2sQl1t0vGhvWwCNqSQ47clg8hCj0nh93E1IDCSRKa36YlzYFWjwwD-LH4cpWGjeLnnbjyVGu7ymXFlkHjN3nARHjMKS0evG/w640-h320/0-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-87447258399872964072022-05-14T14:07:00.003-04:002022-05-19T14:26:25.328-04:00Four Favorite Noirs<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">May 16th is National Classic Movie Day. As has become tradition, Rick at <a href="https://www.classicfilmtvcafe.com/" target="_blank">Classic Film and TV Café</a> is hosting his annual blogathon in honor of the day. This year's theme is "Four Favorite Noirs." Click <a href="https://www.classicfilmtvcafe.com/2022/03/film-noir-blogathon.html" target="_blank">here</a> and dive deeply into more of those shady dames and tortured guys.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">When I learned the topic of this year's National Classic Movie Day blogathon, my heart sank a little. There are so many film folks who are really knowledgeable about Film Noir and I am definitely not one of those people. So if you are, please forgive my limited exposure to the genre. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm not sure what qualities define a film noir (I always see people asking "is it noir?" so maybe nobody really knows). There seem to be characters who are cold and cruel, yet there are also those who mask a romantic heart with cynicism. Oh, and at least one nutty, improbable thing happens to drive the story forward. Like I said, I'm no expert, but I am game, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">so here goes:</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>Too Late for Tears</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfOK7yQ_Pnh7Fu-4_i0NYJD4ZzGEQmMmVOS-mFZDiKzHb36A-HhWb_Z6B9bVdqnKuy5aDF0XdPQ7j9GySS5jJRNSMquA_X1YK2dADGmmpbTCYO-8y-cKjXs8AgIbFm9rK6fQVcvqhsa8z6gHbPmB23boim1MKWW_Dfcc319J75nkUxb-6unqnJvVH/s800/tears.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="800" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfOK7yQ_Pnh7Fu-4_i0NYJD4ZzGEQmMmVOS-mFZDiKzHb36A-HhWb_Z6B9bVdqnKuy5aDF0XdPQ7j9GySS5jJRNSMquA_X1YK2dADGmmpbTCYO-8y-cKjXs8AgIbFm9rK6fQVcvqhsa8z6gHbPmB23boim1MKWW_Dfcc319J75nkUxb-6unqnJvVH/w640-h494/tears.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Finders keepers, right?</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I like this film because it is a great justification for driving a convertible in California. Not only is the weather great, but a bag of money might just happen to be tossed into your back seat. Hey, you never know!</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUyae9HjeqLRm5xrc37F5aK6E3cOa4kSUTjYwpfZyFxA8wb5wxmezaCytBdk8GCpuuJjogIV2LVPkG8S12488MXH9v2Dp8t-9auWBcn5IXeAiRE76ONwSkszwNTm4aG5aek_my2LkxM5a3s8SC3hif2NTQCgXPaps2PRdDkkOaPjEfdc2w5PijtWS/s3500/toolatefortears1949.5793.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="3500" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUyae9HjeqLRm5xrc37F5aK6E3cOa4kSUTjYwpfZyFxA8wb5wxmezaCytBdk8GCpuuJjogIV2LVPkG8S12488MXH9v2Dp8t-9auWBcn5IXeAiRE76ONwSkszwNTm4aG5aek_my2LkxM5a3s8SC3hif2NTQCgXPaps2PRdDkkOaPjEfdc2w5PijtWS/w640-h416/toolatefortears1949.5793.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ugh..he's still breathing</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">I have to figure that Lizabeth Scott is on perfect noir babe and that Dan Duryea fits the bill as the guy who is bad but who underestimates the badness of his female partner </span><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">in crime. Remember what I just said about a nutty plot device? I mean, Liz and her husband, poor Arthur Kennedy, are taking a ride in their convertible with the top down and a satchel</span><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;"> full of money just lands in their back seat. When does that ever happen? The sight of all that dough really brings out the materialistic, faithless minx in little Liz and before you know it, she's involved in murder, blackmail and double crossing. What's a girl (who it turns out was a baddie before we even met her) to do when cornered? </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAict1h7ZnjnUEMyoKapjmpBbmxW9W85DrNEH6buhusPVnV5tmubc0PIiICYI6Nlxxf7GypUfjlOIlkzXIW0T1GYgkcbFrPsIDmeecYpMNyCg2eh8FHvwRR4wztVCoqzzDfZy7zcdfJ83N_XN-3y900PLLZb2Row_IWLrcnS6r0keOcBckt1jI_K9/s992/tears3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="992" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAict1h7ZnjnUEMyoKapjmpBbmxW9W85DrNEH6buhusPVnV5tmubc0PIiICYI6Nlxxf7GypUfjlOIlkzXIW0T1GYgkcbFrPsIDmeecYpMNyCg2eh8FHvwRR4wztVCoqzzDfZy7zcdfJ83N_XN-3y900PLLZb2Row_IWLrcnS6r0keOcBckt1jI_K9/w640-h464/tears3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Every girl needs an assistant</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Why accidently fall off her balcony in a fancy Mexican hotel, paving the way for the good guys to find peace and happiness, that's what.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWgS2uKGPxlTaDgdl4QTjB-0U6W9hMQOcH5ohXqTa1FvCgCiyEgCJzgU0qR6uNLxteh2HFVeQqrqzbqbmUVtE5yKyrqLd2DQvgEn-WOrU3fnXvK2uSirARp9NETISBrASrLe93RjFP7m6hzm7SSPLims_dkxNkO3myMdnM_08cHCphwCE0xN8e_PR/s2048/tears2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1352" data-original-width="2048" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWgS2uKGPxlTaDgdl4QTjB-0U6W9hMQOcH5ohXqTa1FvCgCiyEgCJzgU0qR6uNLxteh2HFVeQqrqzbqbmUVtE5yKyrqLd2DQvgEn-WOrU3fnXvK2uSirARp9NETISBrASrLe93RjFP7m6hzm7SSPLims_dkxNkO3myMdnM_08cHCphwCE0xN8e_PR/w640-h422/tears2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Just in case you were feeling a little sorry for her</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><b>Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye</b></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9PsFODRMRc_YYJLxEVj4SYHPSpHVV33AIdKY1ttr1N6JWrQT0EHZC5KmC8_y9l4iDnv1I-iRfrb49givE05Ouxj9W2_Xwdb6fEhqlKBuDNb98WjE00BfgaeTzC9Z9Xbdkye-mDJyD1OrNVaclkHwqqxnNpNRUlkSKA2xdLEJoMxGxMUmEsh7xkece/s500/ktg6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9PsFODRMRc_YYJLxEVj4SYHPSpHVV33AIdKY1ttr1N6JWrQT0EHZC5KmC8_y9l4iDnv1I-iRfrb49givE05Ouxj9W2_Xwdb6fEhqlKBuDNb98WjE00BfgaeTzC9Z9Xbdkye-mDJyD1OrNVaclkHwqqxnNpNRUlkSKA2xdLEJoMxGxMUmEsh7xkece/w640-h640/ktg6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>A rule of film noir: never mess with a seriously messed up dame</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Oh my, James Cagney's Ralph Cotter makes Cody Jarret look like an honorable guy (didn't he always give his gang their fair share?). Cagney can't help but appear sympathetic, but he has a hard time of it here, especially after swatting Barbara Payton with a wet towel (well, she did throw a knife at him first). </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This film in no way comes close to "White Heat," but it does have some goodies to make it interesting in a I-can't-stop-watching-this-but-need-to-shower-afterwards kind of way.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First of all, it features the notorious Barbara Payton as some broken doll named Holiday. Initially she seems a little too nice for Cagney. She goes along for the ride with him for quite some time because I guess she has a yen for somewhat charming psychopaths. But - and this may be a film noir rule - never cross a crazy dame. How do we know she's crazy? After Cagney beats her with the aforementioned wet towel, she falls into his arms sobbing "I'm so alone!"</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N6nSJPXsLpuHhcIpd0yXf9IcBb449wXYoFEsNrMDSYmN3vJzR_G_3yNYw3X3nt96cc8rrqkR4SRX2mWUNZEh4NDXN8VsNBdn-DYS8gv_pzIxBSU_2c374fGTEAgQtjd-NkCSBIHTwqMxoAu0i9rzbADoLTiDAWmkY8JPiGgLk4_CYU7ODiFix1ae/s500/ktg1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N6nSJPXsLpuHhcIpd0yXf9IcBb449wXYoFEsNrMDSYmN3vJzR_G_3yNYw3X3nt96cc8rrqkR4SRX2mWUNZEh4NDXN8VsNBdn-DYS8gv_pzIxBSU_2c374fGTEAgQtjd-NkCSBIHTwqMxoAu0i9rzbADoLTiDAWmkY8JPiGgLk4_CYU7ODiFix1ae/w640-h480/ktg1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WkAkAkoqKVrudTxpFxCjWPwsq6do_kn5DucXJhdsnP3Dp23JShioCiIUJZQyd6E_3poqVSHNQsfnTi1Bt4HkBRLlTpn_6T_tGLK5Wk4o2sNFSoelAKcOK9D0CEcdlBr1wth__oRwKrS08ZRlhk4XHnO4nr4QV2LNHlxpvyD2YHCuNitC_CRUX9xx/s500/ktg2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="500" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-WkAkAkoqKVrudTxpFxCjWPwsq6do_kn5DucXJhdsnP3Dp23JShioCiIUJZQyd6E_3poqVSHNQsfnTi1Bt4HkBRLlTpn_6T_tGLK5Wk4o2sNFSoelAKcOK9D0CEcdlBr1wth__oRwKrS08ZRlhk4XHnO4nr4QV2LNHlxpvyD2YHCuNitC_CRUX9xx/w640-h484/ktg2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Cotter knows he's got one crazy dame here</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is a neat and weird little subplot about a New Age spiritualist church (that practices the psychology of knowledge) and Cagney's desire to seduce an heiress (Helena Carter) associated with the church.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSy4ul6c2ckbM2vGXfL25ibb26rY8rfTu5mVK0RvoIrLaZH8pur99L6FbK-993nnbqH0D5kQGCEGx_CFmQyfZjXM8Zi7gBsmTENtF9UktdAFCYYdukUS-H3h5QAWIzlIhNkjLDuEPwdUBZAtGEtjbHP76hmE-O9PUn6OqO7RHZvtUbyNOQ35W5SWj6/s600/ktg5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="600" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSy4ul6c2ckbM2vGXfL25ibb26rY8rfTu5mVK0RvoIrLaZH8pur99L6FbK-993nnbqH0D5kQGCEGx_CFmQyfZjXM8Zi7gBsmTENtF9UktdAFCYYdukUS-H3h5QAWIzlIhNkjLDuEPwdUBZAtGEtjbHP76hmE-O9PUn6OqO7RHZvtUbyNOQ35W5SWj6/w640-h438/ktg5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Cotter has only one philosophy and it ain't this one</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He marries the heiress and they spend their wedding night in separate</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> beds. Ah, 1950.....</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI9qVYNzP02Pi-8f9f1m6FAzwCjHUKW4b1StibF4DVx_XMkU86hUwb33bcmZZ5Kk5sJJCVIDqQNXhRDB_mdjMEMRLYkFQrsTQXFjUAvhUQ05qUK226AzB7uTpDGEpnxoTbSRRFmxXucq2A736CHjkXrBmp6cdSr-705STIOo_WEIFfeP4nat_xsXM/s960/ktg3.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="651" data-original-width="960" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI9qVYNzP02Pi-8f9f1m6FAzwCjHUKW4b1StibF4DVx_XMkU86hUwb33bcmZZ5Kk5sJJCVIDqQNXhRDB_mdjMEMRLYkFQrsTQXFjUAvhUQ05qUK226AzB7uTpDGEpnxoTbSRRFmxXucq2A736CHjkXrBmp6cdSr-705STIOo_WEIFfeP4nat_xsXM/w640-h434/ktg3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Movie wedding night 1950 style: not only <br />separate twin beds, but full PJs, too</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As Holiday finally has her fill of Mr. Nasty (his cheating and the fact that he murdered her brother finally push her over the edge), Cagney gets to deliver one more awesome death scene. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nobody died like Cagney. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmHZfz8owqfmU4dNSXMz7tJOgsCczvDAbhBkTCZTAfNDfvtuw09SLJdUV3dRwdcXe0L7ssp1wvK6uCuFK5aJxIJgE9EbqJBhuP8Je_Vg7QINWPs7gwrFgFPEGDOZlLKvfTRKN74Ijtk1NH1RqFyUQUsHqv9uiVH0Y_Anrxhw-oYv7kOPbSmNyrDDL/s650/ktg7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmHZfz8owqfmU4dNSXMz7tJOgsCczvDAbhBkTCZTAfNDfvtuw09SLJdUV3dRwdcXe0L7ssp1wvK6uCuFK5aJxIJgE9EbqJBhuP8Je_Vg7QINWPs7gwrFgFPEGDOZlLKvfTRKN74Ijtk1NH1RqFyUQUsHqv9uiVH0Y_Anrxhw-oYv7kOPbSmNyrDDL/w640-h480/ktg7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>A broken champagne bottle is no match for <br />Holiday and her heater. Bye bye Ralph.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>Brighton Rock</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUu615EnLJhataK23G6sxBdDaJhekm2Fxz1viryYWOE7wKc5vGZ4so10XptB01lyxEIivmFyDJcp4_N4WMtX-U99EchplXLEjONvfkPcL6cLrZR9r1IOZlapA0S3SEL-352qTsq1CkyJ6kdl8aoBb4Nxc70TjwutbJk_gtWmGea9YP1O_StG_elsbn/s1200/BR1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="931" data-original-width="1200" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUu615EnLJhataK23G6sxBdDaJhekm2Fxz1viryYWOE7wKc5vGZ4so10XptB01lyxEIivmFyDJcp4_N4WMtX-U99EchplXLEjONvfkPcL6cLrZR9r1IOZlapA0S3SEL-352qTsq1CkyJ6kdl8aoBb4Nxc70TjwutbJk_gtWmGea9YP1O_StG_elsbn/w640-h496/BR1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Pinkie and Rose</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">The most hateful character by far in my four chosen films is Pinkie Brown, the small time hood with a heart of pure lead. We never learn anything about his background or what makes him tick. He is simply presented to us, a fully grown psychopath. Pinkie is masterfully realized by Richard Attenborough, but this film adaptation of a Graham Greene story (and play) is downright depressing and fascinating at the same time. Maybe this is another rule of noir?</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2VFLzSgifHKcD08Ebm8cbG1MELMTFdNqzlfFGR3rwHIyM-m1JBiaWCV69r3oWfRX4Ay1b4gBsbJ3B_Wj_31J6YZ3_1ZJd_sriLBEx7dac-8PwLQsGcaEY01hwWCPZyg9syoQo3RAbuZVO2SVq-3Fl6_srSJy1LqvIucTnnQwIaIvEjwe1lW1TDuKB/s1431/BR4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="1431" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2VFLzSgifHKcD08Ebm8cbG1MELMTFdNqzlfFGR3rwHIyM-m1JBiaWCV69r3oWfRX4Ay1b4gBsbJ3B_Wj_31J6YZ3_1ZJd_sriLBEx7dac-8PwLQsGcaEY01hwWCPZyg9syoQo3RAbuZVO2SVq-3Fl6_srSJy1LqvIucTnnQwIaIvEjwe1lW1TDuKB/w640-h480/BR4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9ExEiV3_GAudznn0pIyTT1LfoZiIOkVT5I4DKYLi6TIU352xUKd4lBaHsFAXvEEZiM3zv7kX4mDrhMVyoivrpHtpZosxIEgP5Hiyksdw7ZILfkiUs4H7MMLQCl9pDyPbBvko8QUGJEmwTf3zUk1WoalIhz-QJ600ucq40X1NE4LnhIgupP9vselh/s1431/br3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="1431" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9ExEiV3_GAudznn0pIyTT1LfoZiIOkVT5I4DKYLi6TIU352xUKd4lBaHsFAXvEEZiM3zv7kX4mDrhMVyoivrpHtpZosxIEgP5Hiyksdw7ZILfkiUs4H7MMLQCl9pDyPbBvko8QUGJEmwTf3zUk1WoalIhz-QJ600ucq40X1NE4LnhIgupP9vselh/w640-h480/br3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Set in the English seaside town of Brighton in the 1930s, Pinkie runs a brutal crime gang in a town that is crawling with brutal crime gangs. The Brighton Borough Council was so disturbed by the film's depiction of their city that a disclaimer was added to the beginning of the film stating that the gangs as shown in the story no longer existed (which may or may not have been true). </span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVwMDQaBIV2LUhGiph0KLuqXy2_YoXxnjCrIww-nrFIUaQRTABe8bwsQWOs9PbQvjTYWMvn4wa5W235FJEr5hvf39WFDa-7afNDfW3xz_pAOyRbbIgwGYmIca3YhsP8jkBX6gDpcN8pvHvyOD13FwqreMEmrmsIqMeB7sjCRU2tguQQ-uO4TL6e1X/s976/BR6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="649" data-original-width="976" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVwMDQaBIV2LUhGiph0KLuqXy2_YoXxnjCrIww-nrFIUaQRTABe8bwsQWOs9PbQvjTYWMvn4wa5W235FJEr5hvf39WFDa-7afNDfW3xz_pAOyRbbIgwGYmIca3YhsP8jkBX6gDpcN8pvHvyOD13FwqreMEmrmsIqMeB7sjCRU2tguQQ-uO4TL6e1X/w640-h426/BR6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Pinkie and Rose spend their wedding day by the sea</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Probably the most disturbing part of the story is Pinkie's callous seduction of the innocent Rose. Pinkie's murder victim (a journalist) had a habit of leaving calling cards around places he visited. One such card, which could lead to the discovery of Pinkie's guilt, is found by Rose. In order to stop her from going to the police, Pinkie</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> courts her and marries her.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: x-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoeamGRN86gxOaaFq-C67YhGkZGVvl45UIboD_RPCX1E5GCbG74ElTu08fRvHz4sgnahFK1jN5D3YiM_O2R_tep3V7vxbqjoJoXVDq2Fx4qN3tPSRmrRUTaeiTeRRtyir3CQ5rkoXPxCelojT-3Y33-BRStENGNOfDA9PeBXhqXF-QcE-tXVUE63v9/s1000/BR7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoeamGRN86gxOaaFq-C67YhGkZGVvl45UIboD_RPCX1E5GCbG74ElTu08fRvHz4sgnahFK1jN5D3YiM_O2R_tep3V7vxbqjoJoXVDq2Fx4qN3tPSRmrRUTaeiTeRRtyir3CQ5rkoXPxCelojT-3Y33-BRStENGNOfDA9PeBXhqXF-QcE-tXVUE63v9/w640-h400/BR7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Pinkie makes his recording: Rose can't wait to hear it</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And just in case you are lured into believing that Pinkie has feelings for Rose, he makes this recording for her on their wedding day:</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i></i></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i>"What you want me to say is I love you. Well, here is the truth. I hate you, you little slut. You make me sick."</i></span></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Shivers. Naturally, Rose doesn't have a gramophone to play the recording. When she can not go through with Pinkie's suicide pact as the law closes in, Pinkie dies while being pursued by the police and she is left only with the recording. Greene's original story ended with her hearing the recording in its entirety and being crushed by the truth. However, the movie's ending was changed in such a way as to preserve Rose's faith and innocence; she plays the recording and it sticks on the words "I love you." Greene hated it.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Late Show</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_88zHyafKFyN8awzCc6y8K5dIEWjcmkBrdJY3pdO0h0N3qwGHgS_ddKMDu3vjOdHz1oHhJwqMIgkO7xi2ns3jn7kypYPr1JoaFMABC2nqUEc00tOPO8J_1xXVnrXn05tv-Xo314TGSRwkeZ6ab5L_Q8MB0Sgke2UG68jCYCjnVWyHSqtOaVLkAPLO/s640/martha%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="627" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_88zHyafKFyN8awzCc6y8K5dIEWjcmkBrdJY3pdO0h0N3qwGHgS_ddKMDu3vjOdHz1oHhJwqMIgkO7xi2ns3jn7kypYPr1JoaFMABC2nqUEc00tOPO8J_1xXVnrXn05tv-Xo314TGSRwkeZ6ab5L_Q8MB0Sgke2UG68jCYCjnVWyHSqtOaVLkAPLO/w628-h640/martha%20(1).JPG" width="628" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>This photo of Martha Vickers is on Ira's bureau. What was she <br />to him? We never learn. It's just a neat noir nod</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not sure if this film could be called a noir - maybe a neo-noir with a New Age twist? But Art Carney's character certainly lives in a noir world that has passed him by and I just love it. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJJiEUSk3tsuQcJivaXOYANdQThHXcS2SqL3aa-95LMLh54a4wefMnPYYHkMNvIY11OB7eae4q97LGvdH6kgPiqfmOUktdQdLj-creBoidtXZLTBEAlLpSJbjulswRfRU92pLWNIcPOduhDXHQD_lNrLN77SbXWsE86V-hfmnWHnmDv3M523CizmF/s640/duff2%20(1).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJJiEUSk3tsuQcJivaXOYANdQThHXcS2SqL3aa-95LMLh54a4wefMnPYYHkMNvIY11OB7eae4q97LGvdH6kgPiqfmOUktdQdLj-creBoidtXZLTBEAlLpSJbjulswRfRU92pLWNIcPOduhDXHQD_lNrLN77SbXWsE86V-hfmnWHnmDv3M523CizmF/w640-h360/duff2%20(1).png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ira's partner (Howard Duff) turns up dead and he's on the case.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Carney is Ira Wells, an old school semi-retired detective with a bad gut whose former partner turns up murdered on his doorstep. Ira's quest to get to the bottom of the murder leads him to Margo Sperling, a New Age kook who wants Ira to find her missing cat. I think Margo, in another decade, would have visited that New Age church in "Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye," but I digress. Through a clever series of events, Margo's missing cat and Ira's dead partner are connected.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzbU7U1dwuRbTrdNxjMH85MArwi2BV2Sh807cRhZaf_BPlp3q8rGqWe4gwG1E_yCmJ09T9GA3DIUQBE3WSodmgYmjSVZMxiSqdi_PCQiTjaBZskgnivucQjwfMADYOqKDZv0ilZcfS1doa3u1Yfluto4LX6obZDNwEnCOWXzfP4UeapkAEHOmZx7B/s560/Late%20Show_WEB.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="560" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzbU7U1dwuRbTrdNxjMH85MArwi2BV2Sh807cRhZaf_BPlp3q8rGqWe4gwG1E_yCmJ09T9GA3DIUQBE3WSodmgYmjSVZMxiSqdi_PCQiTjaBZskgnivucQjwfMADYOqKDZv0ilZcfS1doa3u1Yfluto4LX6obZDNwEnCOWXzfP4UeapkAEHOmZx7B/w640-h360/Late%20Show_WEB.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ira and Margo work the case</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is a sexy femme fatale and lots of sleazy and quirky characters that fill in the blanks before all questions are answered.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUAs5TeAmejTmezYaWBB9lwQ38rLAE0HPzLW3XRd5P45Rk186l20WJvCqv0rvYLv6IAztkQfPypeclisSqTUU6yTZpCexQbTH0t0CWPgBRp6koyYwh9rZmMY_rqUPUJTG7dn2-2mSpy9c1-SHWpsHrAYgb76E4D4lAg-PLhtqKl3hCZv1CvUCH6vl/s640/joanna%20(1).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUAs5TeAmejTmezYaWBB9lwQ38rLAE0HPzLW3XRd5P45Rk186l20WJvCqv0rvYLv6IAztkQfPypeclisSqTUU6yTZpCexQbTH0t0CWPgBRp6koyYwh9rZmMY_rqUPUJTG7dn2-2mSpy9c1-SHWpsHrAYgb76E4D4lAg-PLhtqKl3hCZv1CvUCH6vl/w640-h360/joanna%20(1).png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The Femme Fatale</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOWog8l-7-Lmam27Z8_cqv05tkneI1VvQ32_-xv3M0v_ZBucon2Y5zDbjBdqHeSQ00sq3SvIB906PN_bkY70XMYNRjNK4UCOmUCImE3enlZ3un7d9T9URX7RqqqHMOPk5QiuKrjZImXrO0DEIZXpAsiw0u_AFN29sfjKBwbtJ_O49kLID4v_DGBOo/s640/quirky.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="640" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOWog8l-7-Lmam27Z8_cqv05tkneI1VvQ32_-xv3M0v_ZBucon2Y5zDbjBdqHeSQ00sq3SvIB906PN_bkY70XMYNRjNK4UCOmUCImE3enlZ3un7d9T9URX7RqqqHMOPk5QiuKrjZImXrO0DEIZXpAsiw0u_AFN29sfjKBwbtJ_O49kLID4v_DGBOo/w640-h350/quirky.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>The quirky characters</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Margo, played with such spirited joy by Lily Tomlin, begins to care about Ira and reluctantly, Ira starts to warm up to Margo. They are a real odd couple and their developing fondness for one another is at the heart of the film, although the story line is as good as any of the above-mentioned noirs (Robert Benton's screenplay was Oscar nominated). Not to spoil anything, but Margo gets her cat back and she and Ira might be available to crack another case.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERKKky-0ejcN1atnpq0K6XLmnL5VXT7J6_LG4D8JViUpw86F3k2R96oiPy14UDONKdT7xUY6Xbf8IWWTYK7MIM1F578BygBgLQNQWKIrqJp-s5S6mqDQOFi_DXN05h7x4oc7lLUHHn17ZZNdwm--lME9p986dLzUgK7ZPovreuGwo_sM-7dNHdWWN/s640/busstop%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="640" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERKKky-0ejcN1atnpq0K6XLmnL5VXT7J6_LG4D8JViUpw86F3k2R96oiPy14UDONKdT7xUY6Xbf8IWWTYK7MIM1F578BygBgLQNQWKIrqJp-s5S6mqDQOFi_DXN05h7x4oc7lLUHHn17ZZNdwm--lME9p986dLzUgK7ZPovreuGwo_sM-7dNHdWWN/w640-h350/busstop%20(1).JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Might as well take the ride together</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-xUUbkN3bX_BiFZ-7r4Y_PIjg1wyd2WsnfbABX-Yt7WLmFCVQkfe7LGrI09EiK6xxvC-ylNAneuGumwkYKevmFz2u-JaNMNTYQ0TCUSEtlCIRt8DGB0MrDRphgi395u01qpgEFLTKcvqESGokKoy96ACGrxY9vWGuYo4Xg2ZybKrrUXOJ214SwU_/s356/Four%20Favorite%20Noirs%20banner%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="356" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-xUUbkN3bX_BiFZ-7r4Y_PIjg1wyd2WsnfbABX-Yt7WLmFCVQkfe7LGrI09EiK6xxvC-ylNAneuGumwkYKevmFz2u-JaNMNTYQ0TCUSEtlCIRt8DGB0MrDRphgi395u01qpgEFLTKcvqESGokKoy96ACGrxY9vWGuYo4Xg2ZybKrrUXOJ214SwU_/w400-h300/Four%20Favorite%20Noirs%20banner%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">So, I'm still not sure how to define film noir. It is usually black and white, but doesn't have to be, it usually is lower budget, but doesn't have to be, and there is a gorgeous and deadly femme fatale, but that is not necessarily so. I guess it's just a feeling, kind of like art: I'll know it when I see it.</span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-51337279791833422172022-05-05T22:18:00.002-04:002022-05-06T16:50:29.462-04:00The Binding Ties Made of Film: Remembering The Caftan Woman<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my entry in the Caftan Woman Blogathon, hosted by <a href="http://www.ladyevesreellife.com/2022/05/the-caftan-woman-blogathon.html" target="_blank">The Lady Eve's Reel Life</a> and <a href="https://anotheroldmovieblog.blogspot.com/2022/05/the-caftan-woman-blogathon-now-showing.html" target="_blank">Another Old Movie Blog</a>. Click on either link above for for more Caftan Woman tributes.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVM4uUbgn2uhn5cKywIqES9t0lLQ8zfm1WISmgvLmxMLtCSugPA6RJzDqXz6Mk5rEu8b5uNJYMCj3kAkE8CWQg0sShMaQO85ZxN7I3hr-e3wteGjHeu4TiWTuaTK4Xj-6DTtBmwUUtPljYFgBNlLm_Sp5QgGoGa83aLJE7fsahmvaJn_3wIcE9SVr8/s267/CW.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="176" data-original-width="267" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVM4uUbgn2uhn5cKywIqES9t0lLQ8zfm1WISmgvLmxMLtCSugPA6RJzDqXz6Mk5rEu8b5uNJYMCj3kAkE8CWQg0sShMaQO85ZxN7I3hr-e3wteGjHeu4TiWTuaTK4Xj-6DTtBmwUUtPljYFgBNlLm_Sp5QgGoGa83aLJE7fsahmvaJn_3wIcE9SVr8/w400-h264/CW.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><p style="text-align: justify;">I hardly know where to begin. My eyes are welling up with tears as I write this. Funny thing is, I never met Paddy, nor did I ever really have a conversation with her, on line or otherwise. I only knew her through her blog postings and her comments on my own blog. And yet.. and yet...</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">First of all, Paddy was a shining example of what a community blogger should be. She faithfully, and I mean <b><i>faithfully</i></b>, left a heartfelt and thoughtful comment on everything I wrote. Sadly, I can not say the same for me. In her memory, I will try to be a more supportive blogger to my fellow CMBA writers. It is important to support our fellow bloggers. We all know how much a thoughtful comment means to us.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVI0gaWH6RsLDXFPx9C7ayo_fxSIsg-JmhH2sQSWOLECJgYCljKW16HhdCkM6RkxGGiG7zP059tGMS4kWvi1Vv9Ke0HKWzSCI2gBDhxSjaElZmaXheXdN6cbMFB1E4QYrL2ffNGC4HZrurS3BOiKtdr2nHhLbZPoqGbUIGO8Qm-twOBpZSBlvbIdV/s1200/sidekicks-of-the-old-western-b-film-movie-stars.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVI0gaWH6RsLDXFPx9C7ayo_fxSIsg-JmhH2sQSWOLECJgYCljKW16HhdCkM6RkxGGiG7zP059tGMS4kWvi1Vv9Ke0HKWzSCI2gBDhxSjaElZmaXheXdN6cbMFB1E4QYrL2ffNGC4HZrurS3BOiKtdr2nHhLbZPoqGbUIGO8Qm-twOBpZSBlvbIdV/w640-h640/sidekicks-of-the-old-western-b-film-movie-stars.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><p style="text-align: justify;">Next, she introduced me to a whole host of films I would never, ever have even peeked at. They were mainly westerns - which I always resist and then find I like - and of course, Charlie Chan. Boy did she love those films. She was the kind of gal I envision surrounded by brothers.</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATNQ3oPpPsNHzG90T1OSM6gO4bSbdiOspmn8DFM8-2UGEJ36A03Grkb7K9X2c-hObVbejJOr1Tzv5Zgliorj1NYowRgknMV4ULMoaPShRsvR8XTxqMHV7kQZPNrYKNDiU_lPt1mBFkybCn21ghd1GQ_QEM2BIpAq2JHcb9ZU4Lf6vaghYVruSnZcM/s446/charlie-chan-at-monte-carlo_u-l-q10zy430.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="446" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATNQ3oPpPsNHzG90T1OSM6gO4bSbdiOspmn8DFM8-2UGEJ36A03Grkb7K9X2c-hObVbejJOr1Tzv5Zgliorj1NYowRgknMV4ULMoaPShRsvR8XTxqMHV7kQZPNrYKNDiU_lPt1mBFkybCn21ghd1GQ_QEM2BIpAq2JHcb9ZU4Lf6vaghYVruSnZcM/w640-h502/charlie-chan-at-monte-carlo_u-l-q10zy430.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><p style="text-align: justify;">Lastly, her love of film just poured through her words. So much so that I knew every word of love expressed for a fondly remembered film bound me to her in an almost mystical way (we shared a mutual love for all things Warner Brothers). It was as though a magic strip of film wound 'round our hearts and united us in our love of movies. </p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-r2dru_HoXTp2iEd986y3zUTB_USvPeq5Wr9fzPtG8lSe-vOWpbvidPr2N3HvSdmud8hb82JkyffjgtgYm5KujOqj07b1-0EJXY34_8YZcQmLb6Oh2VTV8fuPG471CZxDi6cgQYVh11s1ZjikQRN5s4QAUf_nomwZ8AcezXutkWZ9YWbrUpDZawyk/s612/film%20heart.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="612" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-r2dru_HoXTp2iEd986y3zUTB_USvPeq5Wr9fzPtG8lSe-vOWpbvidPr2N3HvSdmud8hb82JkyffjgtgYm5KujOqj07b1-0EJXY34_8YZcQmLb6Oh2VTV8fuPG471CZxDi6cgQYVh11s1ZjikQRN5s4QAUf_nomwZ8AcezXutkWZ9YWbrUpDZawyk/w640-h420/film%20heart.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Rest in peace, dear lady, and thank you, thank you, thank you for your joy, passion and generosity. </span><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjFm9Napco3PYKdjMe4RLjBe9IpjZVsto1_C2EHZMB1-y4NhqW5K0klXGpXi8TEszuFM_kxXwZw_qN0uFgtCAAhUTkqDLakeGZ7zxtLqVujDFpxLuuNdtUdQ06z0oiVYCDZG3EJ1XdgeiSHZ_QG73moc7ATfdloOA29pzDLE4oL5qnk5_d80LXRfJ/s356/Caftan%20Woman%20Blogathon%202022%20patterns%20(1)%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="356" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjFm9Napco3PYKdjMe4RLjBe9IpjZVsto1_C2EHZMB1-y4NhqW5K0klXGpXi8TEszuFM_kxXwZw_qN0uFgtCAAhUTkqDLakeGZ7zxtLqVujDFpxLuuNdtUdQ06z0oiVYCDZG3EJ1XdgeiSHZ_QG73moc7ATfdloOA29pzDLE4oL5qnk5_d80LXRfJ/w400-h299/Caftan%20Woman%20Blogathon%202022%20patterns%20(1)%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p></div></div>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-21208254151263833842022-01-17T14:01:00.000-05:002022-01-17T14:01:13.852-05:00The Roaring Twenties (1939): I'm an Absorber, Not an Observer<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my entry in <b><a href="https://cinemavensessaysfromthecouch.wordpress.com/2022/01/18/for-the-umpteenth-time-blogathon/">CineMaven's Essays From the Couch <i>For the Umpteenth Blogathon</i></a></b>. You know, movies you've seen so many times every word, look and outcome is carved in your heart? Click <a href="https://cinemavensessaysfromthecouch.wordpress.com/2022/01/18/for-the-umpteenth-time-blogathon/">HERE</a> for more cinematic obsessions by people like us... you know, movie nuts.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghL4xljbIDQQYCblzxxwM7P1TEK-9Xnio_BlfNKkocTz0YaGYtKUyGEkBVWs5wjADcbPdnEZdzGhYKjirTEs64vI8OETnr4zoleHj8TiGJM4qXEhFTKbXtxge4qb-EkNV4wdHD_Zt7sBUnLQie1WDsTTHhHqwRjkvr-1uZOlzFc9VSbqwuHMs2Xyv-=s320" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghL4xljbIDQQYCblzxxwM7P1TEK-9Xnio_BlfNKkocTz0YaGYtKUyGEkBVWs5wjADcbPdnEZdzGhYKjirTEs64vI8OETnr4zoleHj8TiGJM4qXEhFTKbXtxge4qb-EkNV4wdHD_Zt7sBUnLQie1WDsTTHhHqwRjkvr-1uZOlzFc9VSbqwuHMs2Xyv-=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><p style="text-align: center;"><b>The Roaring Twenties (1939)</b></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">There are people who study the cinema, and rave about the art of film, but me - I love the movies - pure and simple. Frankly, I'm a little sketchy on directors, writers, cinematographers and the like. I guess I prefer to believe that it all comes together by magic. It's always the actors and the characters they play that hook me. I know they are crucial ingredients in the final recipe, but great writing, great scoring, all that great behind the screen stuff - for me it all serves the personalities I'm involved with. And I say involved because, yes, I'm one of those people who can watch the same movie over and over again until I actually feel as though I am an invisible participant - the voice who encourages, agrees, swoons, warns and despairs. See, I'm an absorber, not an observer. Don't expect me to talk about great visual shots, director intentions and the like. I'm not one of those people. I do not stand apart as a cool observer. I see them, but the movie, if I love it, is absorbed as a whole into my mind and heart. And a really special movie is one I can watch again and again. Nothing changes, except maybe me. The emotions I write over the story might change as I change over the years, but the story remains reliably the same. I know, I'm nuts.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It might also be a character flaw of mine that I am always sympathetic to James Cagney, no matter how corrupt the character he is playing. Hey, I even root for Cody Jarrett ("White Heat"), but that's another story. His personal charm makes me overlook the last 10 guys he might have plugged, but it's always for a good reason, isn't it? His unique and particular sense of honor and morality is unbreakable. I'd have made a great gun moll. Anyway, there is less of a conflict for me (legal-wise) in "The Roaring Twenties," Cagney's last gangster role until the aforementioned Cody Jarrett a decade and a world away.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>The Story </b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAGZV_d4fmSh2k2w_bNW95WPLhuyHXcSdZoe0T2xv6XeBh8gac5a57jbet60cfhRdLje-leBbjJ8rYLxD8PEv-dGUBupUJXWh9-TCZu0agtjZfxCa-mAV6bVUJWG2GR_0sXtWysM2yUTmXbHQB45s-KFk7bg4666B7-5jXoHs-fDlE9i-jO1ouSd4y=s576" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="576" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAGZV_d4fmSh2k2w_bNW95WPLhuyHXcSdZoe0T2xv6XeBh8gac5a57jbet60cfhRdLje-leBbjJ8rYLxD8PEv-dGUBupUJXWh9-TCZu0agtjZfxCa-mAV6bVUJWG2GR_0sXtWysM2yUTmXbHQB45s-KFk7bg4666B7-5jXoHs-fDlE9i-jO1ouSd4y=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Eddie Bartlett at the top of his game</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">"The Roaring Twenties" is based on writer and gad about producer Mark Hellinger's memory story of that fabled era, with fictional characters based on real-life people he may or may not have rubbed elbows with (he seemed to be a bit of a fabulist, but what the heck, he was a writer).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaypWf3nmPNsH65iFUfYSS904QjSPkMcxZNdZ86_QH-QTWuRUCMG3yT4thBE3845IL2fbnWqBYomkQPtOZ-WuNHprZ-D01BGwiK8IEvMdAIMhhaoBlrD1TZGoYbf1mnmKpKE8IFmfsmQ7JCYUmx6WBtFqZRM-Xew59H_nNg-ZOK04l9EDfMp-V9xZz=s480" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaypWf3nmPNsH65iFUfYSS904QjSPkMcxZNdZ86_QH-QTWuRUCMG3yT4thBE3845IL2fbnWqBYomkQPtOZ-WuNHprZ-D01BGwiK8IEvMdAIMhhaoBlrD1TZGoYbf1mnmKpKE8IFmfsmQ7JCYUmx6WBtFqZRM-Xew59H_nNg-ZOK04l9EDfMp-V9xZz=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">By 1939, enough time had passed for some cultural reflection on the aftermath of World War I, a crime wave caused by prohibition, and the stock market crash of 1929. 1939 also saw the world on the brink of another war. The story opens with a warning of things to come (Mussolini and Hitler are featured prominently) and a nostalgic look backwards to World War I, the war that was supposed to make the world safe for democracy. It is there that we meet our everyman, Eddie Bartlett (Cagney) and the two "friends" who have a dramatic impact on his life; George Hally (Humphrey Bogart) and Lloyd Hart (Jeffrey Lynn). They form a bond of sorts in the trenches of France and their characters are quickly defined: Eddie is a tough but decent guy who just wants to get along and go back to his job in a garage, Lloyd is a classy guy, a lawyer who dreams of an office in the Chrysler Building and George, well, George really likes that machine gun and thinks it might do him some good back home. Some of Eddie's boredom and loneliness at the front is soothed by his regular letters from a very nifty looking gal who lives in Mineola, Long Island. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7D0ZM7a27XQrjOEcrX502uegZ2gT-7r-KBk7pr2b1M51LdnzMMHXLLA4TXt73QJ6hqIEVNWLf0_xCYZ5PKwAf0aIfEtiPZlDRmLTk9pk0do_R4eYGv1RrVTU63Z3J6T354H1ksFhmTo5oQdIZKONfRYl3e6voJomeL5a6cfpO3gfg5Cz6O0FbR8GI=s600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="600" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7D0ZM7a27XQrjOEcrX502uegZ2gT-7r-KBk7pr2b1M51LdnzMMHXLLA4TXt73QJ6hqIEVNWLf0_xCYZ5PKwAf0aIfEtiPZlDRmLTk9pk0do_R4eYGv1RrVTU63Z3J6T354H1ksFhmTo5oQdIZKONfRYl3e6voJomeL5a6cfpO3gfg5Cz6O0FbR8GI=w640-h500" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Three in a trench</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Documentary style, we see that when Johnny came marching home again after the war, soldiers are met with parades and little else. The Jazz age beckoned, women's skirts are being raised and their hair bobbed. The biggest change comes with the passage of the Volstead Act and the proliferation of bootleg booze and gangland crime as the response to "an unpopular law and an unwilling public." Eddie lands back at home with his loyal cabbie buddy Danny (played by everybody's best pal, Frank McHugh), but is unable to find a job no matter how hard he tries. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0UIajdQyQt5_4PdenlBWSYk4JA49ZSBjHSHbyY_aPQ6BIfnVimOmI6wVC8MaGf8c4OzbwL8aUoiCxfId7KdExOhhj3_ztc1VsKu9wf-NVBeCnT7CdrOvhDDtTn_nzXRagQoskQDCI8N5B4NWOhQl3kqJBY6ewRKYhuI6yXJIsLxX-nC6IDMkDbVaZ=s885" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="885" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0UIajdQyQt5_4PdenlBWSYk4JA49ZSBjHSHbyY_aPQ6BIfnVimOmI6wVC8MaGf8c4OzbwL8aUoiCxfId7KdExOhhj3_ztc1VsKu9wf-NVBeCnT7CdrOvhDDtTn_nzXRagQoskQDCI8N5B4NWOhQl3kqJBY6ewRKYhuI6yXJIsLxX-nC6IDMkDbVaZ=w640-h478" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>So much for the thanks of a grateful nation. <br />You can't live on a parade.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">A respite from the disappointment comes when Eddie and Danny drive out to Mineola to meet this hot pen pal dish of Eddie's. Unfortunately for Eddie, Jean, the girl of his dreams (Priscilla Lane), is really a high school student who sent him a dolled up photo from a school play. Another disappointment for Eddie, who tells her he will look her up in a few years.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrELclIw-en6bNi_1XbIx0RE7p5Js9Tv-OfqmD6zLBh3CIDf25E6LfPIuMgskp9IQvLsBayUSUZt4Zv2kGlggb_ISJ2HAvIPzy-G_9pq5HrxO2nsF33YUa9LjNNowbOIJH7fEx_Fa8EsidiN80mCpcOrHB_XmWHWxd82SOb9GGZqaKpDDOP4eOL_Hs=s454" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="454" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrELclIw-en6bNi_1XbIx0RE7p5Js9Tv-OfqmD6zLBh3CIDf25E6LfPIuMgskp9IQvLsBayUSUZt4Zv2kGlggb_ISJ2HAvIPzy-G_9pq5HrxO2nsF33YUa9LjNNowbOIJH7fEx_Fa8EsidiN80mCpcOrHB_XmWHWxd82SOb9GGZqaKpDDOP4eOL_Hs=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Jean is not quite the sexy dame she claimed to be. <br />Eddie should have known then and there she was a little liar.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">To make a living, Eddie shares cab driving duties with Danny and it is then that he innocently brings some bootleg booze into a speakeasy and we are introduced to the unforgettable club hostess Panama Smith (Gladys George). Eddie is nabbed by the cops for violating the Volstead Act and reluctantly takes the rap for Panama, who proves to be an all right dame when she bails him out and introduces Eddie to the world of bootleg booze and fast, easy money. Eddie likes her as a friend, but it's clear Panama has fallen for our hero hook, line and sinker. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRGyL6gwbWooAuFnSCJahl2cRI_Qki0ZlEQcQmX9I3KfZJs7R5NQNRueAwg1RJwO55Pc03uZaQwE0f9WU8sKvVbXvmkAPoga_kfJ_l_H51J1K6zXpATtzwu-qNl4eMAJ4mOpgPABEpeI3pbP5QZBm9MSwcayyovv9v8z0ATrksGihqDn-rEL63uVQG=s500" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="500" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRGyL6gwbWooAuFnSCJahl2cRI_Qki0ZlEQcQmX9I3KfZJs7R5NQNRueAwg1RJwO55Pc03uZaQwE0f9WU8sKvVbXvmkAPoga_kfJ_l_H51J1K6zXpATtzwu-qNl4eMAJ4mOpgPABEpeI3pbP5QZBm9MSwcayyovv9v8z0ATrksGihqDn-rEL63uVQG=w640-h514" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Eddie shows Jean around the office.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Fast forward to Eddie's criminal rise in the booze business. He's a hard worker! Lloyd was the mouthpiece who initially couldn't keep Eddie out of jail, but Eddie, ever loyal to his friends, keeps Lloyd on as his lawyer. He mainly has him purchasing taxi cabs as as a cushion against hard times. Lloyd does not like Eddie's criminal enterprise, but he sticks around anyway with a perpetual disapproving puss. Oh, and he pockets the money.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Eddie once again connects with his Mineola gal, who is now dancing and singing in the chorus of a show. Since she is no longer a school girl and has filled out rather nicely, Eddie takes his shot and he and Jean become an item. He is so smitten with her that he strong arms Panama and the club owner into giving her a singing job. Meanwhile, Eddie has also hooked up with the dangerous George and together they move into the big time rackets.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">You know the rest, right? Jean and Lloyd fall in love. Everyone can see it coming like a freight train except Eddie. Ever the realist, George even tries to warn Eddie that Lloyd is moving in on his girl, and Panama agrees, but Eddie refuses to consider such traitorous behavior from his friend and sweetheart. "I trust my friends" he fatally growls and walks away. George tells Panama that is a big mistake. "I don't trust mine," he says, to which she replies "they don't trust you either," and the two clear-eyed people who really know the score share a knowing smile. His is lethal, hers is full of resignation.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrQlZFGn8tIsBHfjZlOncDPhZaKMlK9hjQaaQlPRyiDrRJ6LndCsomqGsdw9o_A0psySqNIAh6GMjth05c0pLSQo3o84C2RJYsVibB_AkkHoGUdUN1pDr91WKZJhyVbHxY0Nx8aoono5uJiEbKYzcx8t8fgztoamJuymFmsWBnk6QN-tmjUDtCFi3A=s499" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="499" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrQlZFGn8tIsBHfjZlOncDPhZaKMlK9hjQaaQlPRyiDrRJ6LndCsomqGsdw9o_A0psySqNIAh6GMjth05c0pLSQo3o84C2RJYsVibB_AkkHoGUdUN1pDr91WKZJhyVbHxY0Nx8aoono5uJiEbKYzcx8t8fgztoamJuymFmsWBnk6QN-tmjUDtCFi3A=w640-h428" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>"I trust my friends." Eddie's big mistake</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Meanwhile, poor Danny is murdered by a rival gang, George double crosses Eddie, the stock market crashes, and Prohibition is repealed. George, ever resourceful like a sewer rat, comes out fine and, when Eddie offers to sell his fleet of cabs to George for some much needed cash, George leaves him with one cab," 'cause you're gonna need it." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXJNgEGmF_0AxEb64d2vv9luc9qV_Q6GiChOMEivaBHzGrjTu6H3ZNQkPSYB-dQct6FpxfSsFOf3b78btUJKGgcZqSmF6X3b8Wht6-nSBdYhWx4Oc_QYK5gjaOQlOcIdpdgWcyMuupF3edDCi6A0va4I-Shtpsowj6wRbaOZo2vrB_bNWyKNaCXzZF=s640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXJNgEGmF_0AxEb64d2vv9luc9qV_Q6GiChOMEivaBHzGrjTu6H3ZNQkPSYB-dQct6FpxfSsFOf3b78btUJKGgcZqSmF6X3b8Wht6-nSBdYhWx4Oc_QYK5gjaOQlOcIdpdgWcyMuupF3edDCi6A0va4I-Shtpsowj6wRbaOZo2vrB_bNWyKNaCXzZF=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Jean asks Eddie how he is. He's back to driving a cab. <br />How the hell does she think he is?</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">George was right. After the illegal booze business dries up, Eddie is back driving a cab. And who does he pick up for a fare one day? Why, Jean in a mink coat laden down with Christmas gifts. She even invites Eddie into her lovely home with her adorable little boy, when Lloyd comes home and wants Eddie to stick around and talk about old times. What fun! Jean and Lloyd - what a pair. These two knuckleheads deserve each other. Eddie declines because how much humiliation and heartbreak can a guy take, but generously warns Lloyd, who is now with the District Attorney's office, that George is a danger to him because he knows too much.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So it comes to pass that George's henchmen warn Jean that if Lloyd talks he will die. What else would a clueless little self centered bitch do? Why of course, go back to Eddie, who is now drowning his sorrows in legal booze while Panama sort of sings at some dinghy dive, and ask for his help. Ah, but he still has a thing for her and so, unshaven and so down on his luck that, as one fancy thug says, "the rags of his pants are beatin' him to death", he goes to George to ask him to lay off Lloyd. Well, George is nothing if not consistent. Naturally he declines and figures he needs to get rid of Eddie, too. Happy New Year. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But, Eddie still has some fight in him, and he manages to plug George (and a few others) and escape, only to be gunned down on the street by George's goons. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/q8woScnBklo" width="320" youtube-src-id="q8woScnBklo"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The rest is poetry. Eddie, shot in the back, staggers down a city block until he comes to the steps of a church. He manages, blindly, to climb a few steps only to finally surrender to death. Panama races to him as he takes a balletic fall to the street, but it is too late. She cradles his lifeless body in her arms and when a passing cop (man, those cops are always too late) asks her who he was and what was his business, she utters those unforgettable closing words (backed by "Melancholy Baby"), "he used to be a big shot." Chills.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu3e46mZDScLtDUZTrbkA6I5PyHhb2KBaWk2bC6jJ4BZV4aXsybwRyTC9aVXIrdDc9iGr9czSFyNaSvGf5pq1l-fnNiu8WcT5JRMVcGXk5vqINpdvtD6ewP0TYgAavZRr2JXPwMmyLWXhl-d73KeUQnnPrxkHrMOT7B4l7rSpRUGwSwoNdJC_klJr9=s953" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="953" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu3e46mZDScLtDUZTrbkA6I5PyHhb2KBaWk2bC6jJ4BZV4aXsybwRyTC9aVXIrdDc9iGr9czSFyNaSvGf5pq1l-fnNiu8WcT5JRMVcGXk5vqINpdvtD6ewP0TYgAavZRr2JXPwMmyLWXhl-d73KeUQnnPrxkHrMOT7B4l7rSpRUGwSwoNdJC_klJr9=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>In a world where good people go wrong, Panama and Eddie strike a post-prohibition Pieta pose for their final curtain.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>The Things I Want to Say</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As I said, I find myself as a tragically unheard voice in this story. Here's a few things I need to get off my chest.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First: Eddie - <b>do not bring that bottle of bootleg booze into Panama's club.</b> If you don't go there, you might remain happy driving a cab until something better comes along. </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Of course there would be no story if this happened, but play with me here.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Second: Eddie - <b>DO NOT FALL FOR JEAN. SHE IS A LITTLE CHEAT AND IS TOXIC FOR YOU.</b> Plus, her singing is high school level at best. If you grow up to be Marty Snyder in "Love Me or Leave Me," at least you'll find a better singer in Ruth Etting to obsess over.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpQ8lqoqKfdTIuHW04zgINzR0U4nTE7PA8bHq8tJn0TXn_B6MdJd-U2V9DNrHaXPIBuVwy6xXVDPBV6388XwMqmMJCLfLZnDiHR8KKJJ7jKDdA4iVGyN70EzgBrTA-9s6Ge1hCkiDpJMK4mkXI6a0xzgco9AP8CIuzYk-DV8BrH-tIa578fup479Sk=s450" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="333" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpQ8lqoqKfdTIuHW04zgINzR0U4nTE7PA8bHq8tJn0TXn_B6MdJd-U2V9DNrHaXPIBuVwy6xXVDPBV6388XwMqmMJCLfLZnDiHR8KKJJ7jKDdA4iVGyN70EzgBrTA-9s6Ge1hCkiDpJMK4mkXI6a0xzgco9AP8CIuzYk-DV8BrH-tIa578fup479Sk=w296-h400" width="296" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>What the hell is this dumb dame talking about? <br />Who are Marty Snyder and Ruth Etting?</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Third: Eddie - It's okay to trust your friends. Danny and Panama are your friends and, trust <i>me</i>, you can trust <i>them</i>. But, and listen carefully to me Eddie; JEAN, LLOYD AND GEORGE ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS. Therefore, do not trust them. Got it?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Fourth: Eddie - Look, Panama is really in love with you. You could do worse. Stick with her. And while you're at it, stop drinking. When Jean tracks you down and begs for your help telling you that it's Lloyd's <i>duty</i> to go after George - man, please let there be a half a grapefruit on that table just made for her sanctimonious little kisser. She sees you're boozed up and a mess and doesn't even ask how you are.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Fifth*: This one is for, you, Panama. Girl - look harder - Eddie is not dead! When you tell the cop he's dead - you need to take another look. He is clearly breathing. Get our lad to the hospital quickly! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i>*Number five is an indication I have seen this movie umpteen times. Take another look at the clip above and you'll see it.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>The Characters/Actors</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz5lLvdgxqUoOeuwvWWB0mdeEW_f3_vy1_y939DBZTCXroHz34-n8lio5Kft0_K82XFrM34bLj5BgRXXACaWlZ2K2_tRpOv46vR_yTVHyohe8XyNhSC5CAzG-wMI1w9eWapC5osjZB1UICn9xb5s3yJygHuSRzv82LWQEwBmgahhoCpWuN_pL8xIv0=s953" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="953" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz5lLvdgxqUoOeuwvWWB0mdeEW_f3_vy1_y939DBZTCXroHz34-n8lio5Kft0_K82XFrM34bLj5BgRXXACaWlZ2K2_tRpOv46vR_yTVHyohe8XyNhSC5CAzG-wMI1w9eWapC5osjZB1UICn9xb5s3yJygHuSRzv82LWQEwBmgahhoCpWuN_pL8xIv0=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>The best thing about Jean's act are the <br />smoking chorus girls behind her.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Let's start with Jean, played by Priscilla Lane. I hate her. She is a user and a cheat. The first time she meets Lloyd she practically drools. A little minx in a good girl wrapper. Priscilla Lane is pretty, but she just isn't in the same league as the other principles. Her best moments are as the innocent schoolgirl. In no way can I believe that she is hot enough for speakeasy patrons, let alone Eddie. Plus, her singing stinks. When Eddie, who always foots the bill, asks her how her singing lessons are coming, Jean tells him not to waste his money. Those are the truest words she speaks in this movie.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhS-2l-qyw_BlhJjf6Y5rTJD9lRNYuyn1qU-USMA7EpC9DJZXhLfKr2rhd489XKG0YnexZxA3t4YcYZf_9AI7TpG9OIhXpFfhCctrm2jhgOReBmJPjTd2mGr40CYnsD7EJeqR6iBnjuzFBK7tSiHdmUhcjA7ewkFXMjbaVbVyy8s5mHBI3-hI1eOh22=s885" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="885" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhS-2l-qyw_BlhJjf6Y5rTJD9lRNYuyn1qU-USMA7EpC9DJZXhLfKr2rhd489XKG0YnexZxA3t4YcYZf_9AI7TpG9OIhXpFfhCctrm2jhgOReBmJPjTd2mGr40CYnsD7EJeqR6iBnjuzFBK7tSiHdmUhcjA7ewkFXMjbaVbVyy8s5mHBI3-hI1eOh22=w640-h478" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When Wonder Bread meets bologna: The first meeting between Jean and Lloyd. Look at those goo-goo eyes she gives him.</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Lloyd, played by that big slice of white bread Jeffrey Lynn, made for an equally annoying and ultimately boring character. Another self-righteous guy who steals his friend's girl. Eddie calls him big, dumb and good looking. He might have added untrustworthy weasel.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhstW9kDYtj7nBFLCBqBEz3iLJ8jPbeTt0qr1ACRhRbRGPZuANz7dADQbe5EGmWA4vXpf0IxTRHikLnyK12XuegiX-3FVvPYUORu0S3bcFtxukbnZTfEma30t8jWAqVRGULAccU685DuXvYqG1VUrxOXCGrWP2w7qNREeS4SKqHelonWvj6KeHtml6e=s256" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="256" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhstW9kDYtj7nBFLCBqBEz3iLJ8jPbeTt0qr1ACRhRbRGPZuANz7dADQbe5EGmWA4vXpf0IxTRHikLnyK12XuegiX-3FVvPYUORu0S3bcFtxukbnZTfEma30t8jWAqVRGULAccU685DuXvYqG1VUrxOXCGrWP2w7qNREeS4SKqHelonWvj6KeHtml6e=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Poor Danny. He just wasn't cut out for this racket.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Danny, played by Frank McHugh, is terrific as always. He's like Lassie - a guy's best pal. When he is murdered by Eddie's gangland rival, a little bit of the heart goes out of Eddie, and it's the beginning of the end.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIUVY_dnMCy85qG9LoB8pCcO6F914e2JOaSaV-BG_57X8dR9-bG7GspXx0hNOr60geLBFbnEkbwrw9Ffi-oujE4gmRic6igfNC2T1-RNKX7_sq1oZV3qI1MGwAv_S3cEsmd34mX7_FcY5E_wn-NC12grJEJ0ZtonBA6pPeNzULwp-7HjYagc2yJoS_=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1177" data-original-width="1600" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIUVY_dnMCy85qG9LoB8pCcO6F914e2JOaSaV-BG_57X8dR9-bG7GspXx0hNOr60geLBFbnEkbwrw9Ffi-oujE4gmRic6igfNC2T1-RNKX7_sq1oZV3qI1MGwAv_S3cEsmd34mX7_FcY5E_wn-NC12grJEJ0ZtonBA6pPeNzULwp-7HjYagc2yJoS_=w640-h470" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">George introduces Eddie to the big time - and murder.</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">George is one nasty, heartless S.O.B. and I mean that in the most complimentary way. Humphrey Bogart, waiting for superstardom, is unrelentingly snarky, sneering, nasty and pretty darn wonderful here. Sure he's shifty and cowardly, but you always know where George is coming from. In a topsy turvey world of uncertainty, you can always count on George to be George.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2mKRVdPB5ohDL5eGKn67Hf5QGFScUHA1qV0fidjm0YOyPpZQcpau6Ayl0jjLp0jY03egQewhiOg4ASu42WiwvKXNRgsTG7mTFG1ZetEm0UEs95VlhCpOYQXmcAIb4naYR34ObDtbKGJNMUDHigsXhvDN_B03ilMru9Me48JkdsJb58NaZ0RhPXz75=s954" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="954" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2mKRVdPB5ohDL5eGKn67Hf5QGFScUHA1qV0fidjm0YOyPpZQcpau6Ayl0jjLp0jY03egQewhiOg4ASu42WiwvKXNRgsTG7mTFG1ZetEm0UEs95VlhCpOYQXmcAIb4naYR34ObDtbKGJNMUDHigsXhvDN_B03ilMru9Me48JkdsJb58NaZ0RhPXz75=w640-h484" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Everything Panama is is written on her face</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Panama, as played by Gladys George, is simply perfect. Her total devotion to Eddie, even when he is so clearly besotted with Jean, is heartbreaking. She plays the speakeasy hostess with panache and humor, but her hurt is always there. More than once Eddie tells her to "shaddup," and she never gets sore, just takes it because she loves him yet knows it is useless to try and stop him from self destruction. When she tells him that they both have finished out of the money in the race to the top, you know this is a woman who sticks with her man through thick and thin. It's to Eddie's credit that he is still with her at the end. In an unforgettable performance, Gladys George, with her whisky-soaked voice and brassy manner, steals every scene she is in. In typical Warner Brothers fashion, Glenda Farrell, Ann Sheridan and Lee Patrick were considered for the role of Panama (based, in part on the legendary Texas Guinan), but it's hard to imagine anyone else coming close to Gladys George's beautiful portrait of a tragic all-around good dame with a heart of gold. And no nod for a Best Supporting Oscar. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2ULjMAuos8FyKERV3PmrkOdt9xysSXopogASA7vm04ua2v7KqXGResnKjtGLqfPc17nGImdyKvWsNDtkUv5P1Ff5UP0TtzqZjqCOMQBa190U7N7nsC0oPiPUx7_CPHqtmv46dPW4XaVh52PP_-uNggMitWar-rgwHV_-cLNXbKp57D5Z4gVkzsYo6=s700" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2ULjMAuos8FyKERV3PmrkOdt9xysSXopogASA7vm04ua2v7KqXGResnKjtGLqfPc17nGImdyKvWsNDtkUv5P1Ff5UP0TtzqZjqCOMQBa190U7N7nsC0oPiPUx7_CPHqtmv46dPW4XaVh52PP_-uNggMitWar-rgwHV_-cLNXbKp57D5Z4gVkzsYo6=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>"Melancholy Baby" - Eddie knows he's a sucker and is walking into danger, but he's a guy that has to do the right thing.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Finally, there is Eddie, as played by James Cagney. Like I said, I'm always rooting for Jim, but this time there is a little more decency, a little more pathos and a lot of bad breaks for his gangster. Like Tom Powers ("The Public Enemy") and Rocky Sullivan ("Angels with Dirty Faces"), Eddie's path to a life of crime was sparked by an outside societal force. But, in this case, it wasn't poverty. It was a country that did not honor its wartime heroes once they returned home, and that really stings. Those of us who lived through Vietnam witnessed similar treatment, and recognize it even today. Cagney always swings for the fences, and his Eddie glitters like a blinding jewel that keeps each portion of the story in motion. While willing to murder if the situation calls for it (rival Nick Brown gets it in the back through a closed door, but he deserved it because he killed Danny), he retains a basic goodness and touching naiveté. He's even polite enough to apologize for socking Lloyd in the jaw after he discovers that he and Jean have been seeing one another on the sly. Everything about what Eddie has done and felt and what he is going to do is indicated in his face and mannerism when he momentarily stops at the piano when "Melancholy Baby" is played before his final confrontation with George. And that last scene...not even Fred Astaire could have managed such a graceful and tragic exit. Nobody died quite like James Cagney. 1939 was a tough year for honors, but it is an award worthy performance.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b>Final Thoughts: So What is it About this Movie?</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I don't know...I think besides the amazing acting and cast of characters, it's the time period and the quasi newsreel quality of the story I like. Told as a memory, it offers a terrifying yet romantic rose-colored view of a recent past, and I'm nothing if not a true romantic. I always want to believe that Eddie will make it out alive and that he and Panama will once again prosper in spite of the odds against them because they got a raw deal and are the good guys in this saga. That's what makes this an umpteenth movie for me: knowing the outcome but hoping for something different each and every time because those guys deserve it and I love them.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC3Pt4_56m9tC18AT840rzmG_Z66pAt_lplvmAZthBYatlzWwWZjcJc3KjfxQswJVZF_b3S3xe5n0o8mmWTML5P25I0ndS7Oz9VytQGyD3NobTpVIH134ijgtEn_5vfoFeUoL4MvzjiF4pG0KcT4AUuHP3oMOEu8MJEq5FUmwHKV-Un_nTndfjSqwz=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="1280" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC3Pt4_56m9tC18AT840rzmG_Z66pAt_lplvmAZthBYatlzWwWZjcJc3KjfxQswJVZF_b3S3xe5n0o8mmWTML5P25I0ndS7Oz9VytQGyD3NobTpVIH134ijgtEn_5vfoFeUoL4MvzjiF4pG0KcT4AUuHP3oMOEu8MJEq5FUmwHKV-Un_nTndfjSqwz=w640-h482" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Maybe this time Eddie will see that Panama's better for him?</span></i></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">If you made it to the end here, you, too, must be part of the repeat offender tribe. Join the rest of us by clicking <a href="https://cinemavensessaysfromthecouch.wordpress.com/2022/01/18/for-the-umpteenth-time-blogathon/">here</a>. And many thanks to Theresa for hosting this event and giving me a chance to gush about a movie I adore. Again.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFbtflVWDp3lDDCNZBE8YuCGSvRIyHq1YYd1NssGEoLGH0kuBPuFF9yy3EKawR8xGarkWYF2n6zu3rkpuzCZnfoGI_63IGyKc4TbSah6LnQiRbdbYo-FkmU_x94FPpjatswy9bo8j7kCW8SWAUZR8TklO-Zt6vKmUgX_FPd8ajqJW9WXI3fO5zx9JQ=s584" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="584" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFbtflVWDp3lDDCNZBE8YuCGSvRIyHq1YYd1NssGEoLGH0kuBPuFF9yy3EKawR8xGarkWYF2n6zu3rkpuzCZnfoGI_63IGyKc4TbSah6LnQiRbdbYo-FkmU_x94FPpjatswy9bo8j7kCW8SWAUZR8TklO-Zt6vKmUgX_FPd8ajqJW9WXI3fO5zx9JQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-154994608869180922021-12-10T08:58:00.004-05:002021-12-11T07:56:52.788-05:00The "It's a Wonderful Life" 75th Anniversary Celebration: It's a Wonderful (and Sexy) Kiss<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my
entry in the “It’s a Wonderful Life Blogathon” hosted by <a href="https://theclassicmoviemuse.wordpress.com/">The Classic Movie Muse</a>. Click <a href="https://theclassicmoviemuse.wordpress.com/">HERE</a> for
more great posts celebrating the 75<sup>th</sup> anniversary of this classic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRwNZmBrydmMBbGcRNGXCecjYSVf7mwfk2BoEiQqHzTXWE8e5D_7ogfZRGt0EuRY84MuRPHi16pXTQQvruiA5NyfZ1gFtC-ePYwi5TvfQrZ9DABbzNjGzcdQNb1d8J_Jy7jrIlbyUON7_TQAyqoheogovOcyHDXl0NKQkAG_-OQT7oOwKgPrNoZFC7=s480" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRwNZmBrydmMBbGcRNGXCecjYSVf7mwfk2BoEiQqHzTXWE8e5D_7ogfZRGt0EuRY84MuRPHi16pXTQQvruiA5NyfZ1gFtC-ePYwi5TvfQrZ9DABbzNjGzcdQNb1d8J_Jy7jrIlbyUON7_TQAyqoheogovOcyHDXl0NKQkAG_-OQT7oOwKgPrNoZFC7=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I hate to be a wet blanket at this party, but I have a bit of an issue both with George Bailey and James Stewart. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Oh George, you
are such a good guy, really. I mean look at all the sacrifices you’ve made, all
the good things you’ve done and all the hardships you’ve endured. But let’s
face it, you can be one grumpy s.o.b. It’s a good thing Mary loves you. And Clarence and the rest of Bedford Falls. Okay, maybe there is a reason. I'm open to it.</span></p></span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEngOpnYblhxF4HDBzPbU8EHx9WsOAPT_LBbYRgZkHfsy3f_xWvwne79KJpL4uhPaUBzDZHvaF_tII35MS5oBsfKVffgKSxsXSlNL4HZ3xDtNYruUoshVhcURU4LvPsA2f3i00j-Lmnq0bmCDtNGK5DivMpmClnLgzSlq2dbIiudt3wCOuC4SbdgiY=s474" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="474" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEngOpnYblhxF4HDBzPbU8EHx9WsOAPT_LBbYRgZkHfsy3f_xWvwne79KJpL4uhPaUBzDZHvaF_tII35MS5oBsfKVffgKSxsXSlNL4HZ3xDtNYruUoshVhcURU4LvPsA2f3i00j-Lmnq0bmCDtNGK5DivMpmClnLgzSlq2dbIiudt3wCOuC4SbdgiY=w400-h301" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Now to James.
It’s kind of in my movie loving DNA to love this actor. I mean, who doesn’t?
But, it seems to me that he is always playing a rather disagreeable fellow. “Rear
Window”? He’s complaining about Grace Kelly. GRACE KELLY! Come on. In “Vertigo”
he is harassing Kim Novak and being totally obnoxious to Barbara Bel Geddes.
Why Katharine Hepburn did a stint in his arms in “The Philadelphia Story” is a
mystery to me (thank goodness she came to her senses and fell back into Cary
Grant’s arms). And in “Bell, Book and Candle” it makes one wonder why Kim Novak’s
witch didn’t cast a permanent spell to erase his disagreeable tendencies. Now that I come to think of it, his casting in “It’s a Wonderful Life" is a pretty perfect blend of character and actor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But there
was one thing Mr. Stewart did in his films that I heartily approve of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- he was a pretty darn good kisser, and therefore,
so was George Bailey. Take a gander at George’s 2 greatest kisses and a bunch
of others by Mr. Stewart. Since someone took the time to make this video, I
guess I’m not the only one to think Mr. Stewart sizzled in the lip lock department.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TnYhjhuPEq4" width="320" youtube-src-id="TnYhjhuPEq4"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">That scene
by the telephone is pretty darn sexy for a holiday movie, isn’t it? The
longing, the desire, passion….aww – I guess I’ll just have to watch it again
this year. I always suspected there was more to George Bailey than just the good old Building and Loan.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJ5dxyqti2u37NiB3-RNUYGj_PHtui3yNHUBQhB4kKTTLyzbQDPzwrJmWW9LDfrjg7XZMoD6bVHGmbI5jNhcMvwoLpYnBn7UfF7Na1TWGW-gwSi1GD5jd799m9YnLBJAgTM3dn50174dd6MKtYN339fH1AjwhGYK0SVtBnl4jTH3uCcWEVpj4gh562=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJ5dxyqti2u37NiB3-RNUYGj_PHtui3yNHUBQhB4kKTTLyzbQDPzwrJmWW9LDfrjg7XZMoD6bVHGmbI5jNhcMvwoLpYnBn7UfF7Na1TWGW-gwSi1GD5jd799m9YnLBJAgTM3dn50174dd6MKtYN339fH1AjwhGYK0SVtBnl4jTH3uCcWEVpj4gh562=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><p></p><br /><p></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-43072959862731452462021-12-04T07:25:00.000-05:002021-12-04T07:25:22.270-05:00George Tobias: Hey! That's Abner Kravitz!<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is my entry in the <b>What a Character Blogathon</b> hosted by <a href="https://aurorasginjoint.com/2021/11/07/extra-extra-read-all-about-it-tenth-anniversary-of-what-a-character-blogathon-a-riot/" target="_blank">Once Upon a Screen</a>, <a href="https://kelleepratt.com/2021/11/07/breaking-news-the-10th-anniversary-of-what-a-character-blogathon-is-here/" target="_blank">Outspoken and Freckled</a>, and <a href="https://paulascinemaclub.com/2021/11/07/anouncing-what-a-character-10th/" target="_blank">Paula's Cinema Club</a>. Click <a href="https://aurorasginjoint.com/2021/11/07/extra-extra-read-all-about-it-tenth-anniversary-of-what-a-character-blogathon-a-riot/" target="_blank">here</a> for more about our favorite folks who don't need star billing to shine.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="474" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimN5Kzxd8N5GnvRbA1fDO-kmkzV7TEwhAR7xupp4ig7XJJbL5XNscDz1rgoOFzoGh2eVq9-SkSfYktrbxEcIwj2P_k3_aiRgWM687C0S-KPv4qqqgk3F0I2t_QR4bjAApBTdGZX-EO4oODBIoubdBRWD830KgpOcWo-TD7zwTgCW0K4LGX0pFUQKgQ=w533-h640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="533" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>George Tobias as himself</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimN5Kzxd8N5GnvRbA1fDO-kmkzV7TEwhAR7xupp4ig7XJJbL5XNscDz1rgoOFzoGh2eVq9-SkSfYktrbxEcIwj2P_k3_aiRgWM687C0S-KPv4qqqgk3F0I2t_QR4bjAApBTdGZX-EO4oODBIoubdBRWD830KgpOcWo-TD7zwTgCW0K4LGX0pFUQKgQ=s570" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">For me, the best character actors are the ones who press that automatic happiness button that's wired in our movie-loving brains. As soon as they appear, you recognize them and the world - movie-wise, that is - is a better place. Like a cuddle under a warm blanket or the platonic hug from an old and dear friend, certain actors who operate below the star billing can provide us with a sense of reassurance. Once they appear, we know everything is going to be fine. And even if it isn't, well, we thought it might.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">My introduction to the stars of classic films came through television. Older stars who worked in TV were identified by my mother (See Alice Faye on "The Hollywood Palace"? She used to be a great big star). When it came to movies, I was a Warner Brothers gal from the get-go, chiefly because those were the only films my local TV station seemed to show. Plus, they really did have the best roster of supporting players, didn't they? So, it was only natural for me to recognize that guy playing an immigrant from some foreign land as good old Abner Kravitz from "Bewitched."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Warner Brothers cornered the market on New York types (my favorite type, by the way), and George was no exception. Having spent most the the 1920s and early 1930s on the stage, he committed to Hollywood in 1939 and somehow became everybody's favorite immigrant. Some of the roles played by this nice Jewish boy were an uncredited Soviet in "Ninotchka," Sascha in "Music in My Heart," Pasha in "Affectionately Yours," Igor Propotkin in "Out of the Fog," Nick Popoli in "My Wild Irish Rose," and Vassili Markovitch in "Silk Stockings." Two of my favorite George Tobias immigrants are Rosario La Mata in 1940's "Torrid Zone" and Nicholas Pappalas in 1941's "Strawberry Blonde." In both films he supported James Cagney, and they seemed to go together like peanut butter and jelly.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrf2bedeXvPDR9o6__nb2QEYkThh19KN_Pn2PCki1yno_kBUz2GWpZ161fpDICcoYI8q8cZDgJPkpeiFPUtabfaCqWOPVqEDL3B1X2TNwFNwOVtyvp4f2-j919S_dfZ4qj8DfYNp_oTeZS2tsTHMGB1OR3VrnRSQcpciAtlnWgjEfEzXng4PsdLJPW=s1000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="1000" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrf2bedeXvPDR9o6__nb2QEYkThh19KN_Pn2PCki1yno_kBUz2GWpZ161fpDICcoYI8q8cZDgJPkpeiFPUtabfaCqWOPVqEDL3B1X2TNwFNwOVtyvp4f2-j919S_dfZ4qj8DfYNp_oTeZS2tsTHMGB1OR3VrnRSQcpciAtlnWgjEfEzXng4PsdLJPW=w640-h516" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>A revolutionary George Tobias</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Somehow, somebody thought George would make a good Central American revolutionary in "Torrid Zone." Despite the questionable believability factor here, George plays his role with such ingratiating good humor and gusto that you just have to root for him to escape justice and live to fight another day.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9pHFf8OeTJyOcj8sOyzxDbSkl9tNPJTOO33L4i8Bfsy9MKu7uMWAvf-OooTfhFPQ-UHsDBk7JMj6KYUiEMODugLDEFNlK4mljpSV97r2GDGcKyWMDQ0FRQND0lIiozgAbeFSa_EuxHFOVSRPAuYyXom8q63RQuIkCvQP_sXqdy376GJvWa23nS2oI=s550" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="550" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9pHFf8OeTJyOcj8sOyzxDbSkl9tNPJTOO33L4i8Bfsy9MKu7uMWAvf-OooTfhFPQ-UHsDBk7JMj6KYUiEMODugLDEFNlK4mljpSV97r2GDGcKyWMDQ0FRQND0lIiozgAbeFSa_EuxHFOVSRPAuYyXom8q63RQuIkCvQP_sXqdy376GJvWa23nS2oI=w640-h474" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Nick and Biff reminisce about the good old days in "Strawberry Blonde"</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The other part I adore him in is as Nick the Greek barber in "Strawberry Blonde." As the usual best friend he gets some very funny lines, my favorite being "boy how those foreigners murder the English language" in his heavy Greek accent while observing a German band singer. Noting that the beautiful strawberry blonde of the title (Rita Hayworth) would not have turned into a nagging shrew if he had married her, he states that "a woman who has 17 children got no time to nag." </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 1943, George got to show another side of himself in "Thank Your Lucky Stars," a Warner Brothers showcase of performers who donated their salaries to the Hollywood Canteen. Supported by Olivia de Havilland and Ida Lupino as jitterbuggers, George donned a zoot suit and, as always, gave it his all. For once he got support from "A" list leading ladies.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Nwf5FSuE1Xs" width="320" youtube-src-id="Nwf5FSuE1Xs"></iframe></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">When not playing a fellow from some foreign land, George also turned up everywhere and anywhere as the good friend of the hero. Never a double-crosser, he was reliable and sympathetic, and when he sometimes met his demise as the script demanded, you can't help but miss him (thinking "Captains of the Clouds" here).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBzURwxoB674Kkwizph5uv-1-QhIGHbotfnWnQ5t8Jz2pdvA49f4Jr2LClJaEd9o5gH8IaJV2K2WD1Le0kPXSSf_GyFCs4gdgymXf6S5P9HcTpjG8yN13LnUVlpu7gBKsigI-M5-DdI1HAmIvQ5ZO2WyubqZ-fJj0beFsPNWQYO_ShgRvAn8dFIOrs=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="895" data-original-width="1200" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBzURwxoB674Kkwizph5uv-1-QhIGHbotfnWnQ5t8Jz2pdvA49f4Jr2LClJaEd9o5gH8IaJV2K2WD1Le0kPXSSf_GyFCs4gdgymXf6S5P9HcTpjG8yN13LnUVlpu7gBKsigI-M5-DdI1HAmIvQ5ZO2WyubqZ-fJj0beFsPNWQYO_ShgRvAn8dFIOrs=w640-h478" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Abner and Gladys Kravitz</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And then there was Mr. Kravitz. George did lots of television and when he landed on "Bewitched," well, what can I say? He was the fellow I was always happy to see - just like in the movies.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh25NoBDdUF8pNtiKKN2LPwNVaCjkhCxDFM9I56P_ABnaiOAOwujvXP_G0FNAg2DKWZJ8abE8EsJuV5HSj_BBOKr_eSSwntrauK5lWbqHdnQqNw2fpGqme4Rd303vjdt_DRenEChIyZmK0gTYPDdmyrmiKl-w6QaGRBtN6I4Z2w5cGpUe-uV3WmbLNb=s585" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="585" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh25NoBDdUF8pNtiKKN2LPwNVaCjkhCxDFM9I56P_ABnaiOAOwujvXP_G0FNAg2DKWZJ8abE8EsJuV5HSj_BBOKr_eSSwntrauK5lWbqHdnQqNw2fpGqme4Rd303vjdt_DRenEChIyZmK0gTYPDdmyrmiKl-w6QaGRBtN6I4Z2w5cGpUe-uV3WmbLNb=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-89895873072474182972021-11-01T16:00:00.001-04:002021-11-01T16:07:21.948-04:00Living Your Inner Life in Public: The Lure of the Love of Film<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">A couple of things, movie-wise, have been converging around me lately. Powerful things...things that are hard to put into words. But, I'll give it a go.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5XDk9dCVS0l0n3d9jj0hJnt8VtY790crFAsZklk0V6GvfmN-Klc_cMAcpGO3K0Tf8tTv8w8t0ceaNLy6JfR_99cCed6YqwUj3S6XKhpfqKyMr6wVDRH6SG2LbIzLT7sgOz_eaCHr428Bl5VdXjlR0Tj8wSUHuzMOaRaVaHh5GGY78841f7IYh2m2S=s500" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5XDk9dCVS0l0n3d9jj0hJnt8VtY790crFAsZklk0V6GvfmN-Klc_cMAcpGO3K0Tf8tTv8w8t0ceaNLy6JfR_99cCed6YqwUj3S6XKhpfqKyMr6wVDRH6SG2LbIzLT7sgOz_eaCHr428Bl5VdXjlR0Tj8wSUHuzMOaRaVaHh5GGY78841f7IYh2m2S=w400-h300" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First, I've been watching a whole lot of films starring my favorite actor. I think I'll leave him out of it for now, since I've written so much about him. I've been moved to tears (I'm crying a lot lately...you know how it can be) not by any specific film, but by coming to understand what makes a performer an artist. It's generosity. They can be the most talented, but without generosity there can be no greatness. The ones who hold back, who keep something apart, you can have them. Now, can you think of that performer who you love, who speaks to you in a language of feeling, who takes your breath away by willing to expose the most deeply felt emotions that real people struggle to hide? Then insert that name in your heart, for they are generous with their gifts. They sprinkle the ordinary with stardust.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Second, I actually went to the movies for the first time in well over a year*. What brought me to tears this time was not the movie itself but the coming attractions. So many exciting thing to come! I've been so insulated in my home watching movies this past year and a half that I forgot what it felt like to sit in a theater. With people. Watching those trailers, I realized there are those out there still creating stories meant to move us, excite us, amuse and thrill us. In this time of such civil ugliness, there are still people who are invested in the magic of visual storytelling and who long to take us on that journey.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqLHZhvd5Mvk-0KSh1gDPl5mDEEKGUCfrRuVC-57fLsBa_SbQlYClxo-DaDN0rrsEObqGfln8tLJ_R7IzLz-BSytNJhE95I70hUMURdItlsqnqDtiEt9aNO8SHayUQsrYqGQjsv15a_-uYdLabyKowFownTpAeUQ6J32Wle8hOJbt6d0bp3tkyfh96=s425" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="425" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqLHZhvd5Mvk-0KSh1gDPl5mDEEKGUCfrRuVC-57fLsBa_SbQlYClxo-DaDN0rrsEObqGfln8tLJ_R7IzLz-BSytNJhE95I70hUMURdItlsqnqDtiEt9aNO8SHayUQsrYqGQjsv15a_-uYdLabyKowFownTpAeUQ6J32Wle8hOJbt6d0bp3tkyfh96=w400-h230" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhM7W7gkOi5mAvdxxO0y_pLonxT2mmbut2BxZKrbcT2Bkl5uuNYesp3JgmBwPryZUUBXrWJC8LZJdx7IlSqIL6-QFboQC0laZLnIFo7YkK7Tic6Pp-8qexK9AJGwbjKz8H6ojI07RpB9eKLsuIwxxHsnMqCN7n3SCKS9w6_Zz5FqIUlwbSbDPRqUil7=s425" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="425" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhM7W7gkOi5mAvdxxO0y_pLonxT2mmbut2BxZKrbcT2Bkl5uuNYesp3JgmBwPryZUUBXrWJC8LZJdx7IlSqIL6-QFboQC0laZLnIFo7YkK7Tic6Pp-8qexK9AJGwbjKz8H6ojI07RpB9eKLsuIwxxHsnMqCN7n3SCKS9w6_Zz5FqIUlwbSbDPRqUil7=w400-h223" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">And it's a funny journey, isn't it? Norma Desmond says we are alone in the dark. On one hand that is true. Our experience is singular. Anyone who breathes movies can tell you that they stir a rich inner life, a private world that is precious. That world can bring great joy and also serve as a ballast against troubled times. If you are lucky, it will never leave you. On the other hand, we sit among our friends and strangers, sharing a common experience. We hear the chuckle, the sniff that precedes the tear, and we become part of a shared journey.</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Will the movie-going experience ever be the same again after we've gotten so used to watching everything under the sun on our large, high definition televisions? I simply don't know. I recently watched "Cinema Paradiso," not only a love letter to film, but one to that paradoxically communal and intimate experience of entering that very sacred portal to an inner life. Amazing how something so fixed and permanent as a piece of film can lead us to a nostalgic past, a hopeful present, a deep and longing passion, a soul cleansing belly laugh or all of the above all at once.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUD-C9Qsw5__aBPFVcSt1nrPej7OtdKgVzWF1rWLy94p4zt5EEzVH7fqc709EwbHzRASLOvfkuA0uyetj-qg-Gov7f2_WcAglfxJDhDuUsYqA_PvGi4aZg3ki3c4kueW9SXwcGrkBhYQi6LAg4OqWik7-T_e-LaHGQMXvC4Qz-LCl4-K98BEyHbNUy=s720" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="294" data-original-width="720" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUD-C9Qsw5__aBPFVcSt1nrPej7OtdKgVzWF1rWLy94p4zt5EEzVH7fqc709EwbHzRASLOvfkuA0uyetj-qg-Gov7f2_WcAglfxJDhDuUsYqA_PvGi4aZg3ki3c4kueW9SXwcGrkBhYQi6LAg4OqWik7-T_e-LaHGQMXvC4Qz-LCl4-K98BEyHbNUy=w640-h262" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Truthfully, there are no words to adequately describe these moments, but all I could do is try. The best movies are never real. How could they be? They are real plus, real extra...masquerading as life, but with that extra bit of beauty that defines some sort of art.</span></p><i>*Oh, and for those 2 idiots who were seated in my row...if you want to have a running commentary between you 2 during the film, please go home and watch movies on television. When you are in the theater, you're not in your ****ing living room. </i></span><p></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-90195938061759330172021-10-18T20:06:00.001-04:002021-10-19T11:45:36.086-04:00The Producers (1967): Here's a Funny Story.....<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Maybe it's the state of affairs all around us, but I've been in a particularly sensitive mood these days...for so many days, it seems. Almost anything can make me bust out in tears - usually something beautiful; a song, a moment from a film, a memory. And when it comes to comedy, I simply can no longer abide the joke cloaked in meanness. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrwSEJXWG2YMOBm6dq6FyP4Jr_gowxp9RZWS6DY54BheEIYlrhViLoFHCia1OD7TECmK6wj2gtJ47FajhtTvVy52cFfqS7LsWs-ZhlVFNjMpeE4iG_5vHTIRGY1URWoZum5eDiBC9oQoR_IxcbZ-PyGWBJDvQc1xBn6hOQv9aT_zuWm5tBNApfCyTT=s656" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="656" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrwSEJXWG2YMOBm6dq6FyP4Jr_gowxp9RZWS6DY54BheEIYlrhViLoFHCia1OD7TECmK6wj2gtJ47FajhtTvVy52cFfqS7LsWs-ZhlVFNjMpeE4iG_5vHTIRGY1URWoZum5eDiBC9oQoR_IxcbZ-PyGWBJDvQc1xBn6hOQv9aT_zuWm5tBNApfCyTT=w400-h210" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">So, here's the funny story. When I saw the topic for the CMBA Blogathon, I jumped at the chance to select "The Producers," my go-to comedy that never fails to make me laugh. However, once I started to put a few thoughts down on paper, it all seemed vaguely familiar. And no wonder. I had written about this same film in in 2012 CMBA Comedy Blogathon and in the 2018 CMBA Outlaws Blogathon. What's that quote about insanity?</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSK24GPunujTiDSdTfxnBhLgKRuvJn5_XZ6SqWR1YF7HbiH3VUfaIs1U8jX1j9LOChe5Gl0SHTgXE6VissLrX9ZqiGYjX-MdHfcdEgdF7n8Cpa-c1tRdpWrDOHoUWS23g1i76aIMLctpUtjI2lZ3azCMIgknidPMIEvNnomF8CwTihOc7SPy8Nh7o2=s1091" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1091" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSK24GPunujTiDSdTfxnBhLgKRuvJn5_XZ6SqWR1YF7HbiH3VUfaIs1U8jX1j9LOChe5Gl0SHTgXE6VissLrX9ZqiGYjX-MdHfcdEgdF7n8Cpa-c1tRdpWrDOHoUWS23g1i76aIMLctpUtjI2lZ3azCMIgknidPMIEvNnomF8CwTihOc7SPy8Nh7o2=w400-h379" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, I picked it yet again, so now I'm faced with the challenge of saying something different about it. I mean really, I felt I had said it all in 2 pretty decent articles. And yet here we are again - me, Mel, Max and Leo. So, here are the links if you feel inclined to read about the film: </div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://flickchick1953.blogspot.com/2012/01/producers-zero-bats-thousand-and-mel.html" target="_blank">https://flickchick1953.blogspot.com/2012/01/producers-zero-bats-thousand-and-mel.html</a></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><a href="https://flickchick1953.blogspot.com/2018/11/cmba-outlaws-blogathon-producers-1967.html">https://flickchick1953.blogspot.com/2018/11/cmba-outlaws-blogathon-producers-1967.html</a><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This time I'm doing something a little different.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">First, let me bow down in awe of the great Mel Brooks. Almost all of my comedy gods are gone, some long gone before my time. But, praise whoever, Mel is still here with us and I firmly believe the world is a more joyful place because he is here (that goes for you, too, Jack Nicholson, but that's a whole 'nother story). </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Here's the great man accepting his Oscar for Best Screenplay (after some shtick from Sinatra and Rickles -ah those were the days when the Oscars were fun).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TcnSXEvzULk" width="320" youtube-src-id="TcnSXEvzULk"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The tale of 2 swindlers who give us "Springtime for Hitler" is a love letter to the comedy traditions of vaudeville, burlesque and early television. It is humor put forth with the adolescent's complete conviction about what is funny. And who is braver and freer than the adolescent before the world of adults infects him or her with self-doubt? I am so grateful Mel never grew up.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMnAxcJi2vnOIU-E_5usZbLY6xkXytI2QnqkzbeSidgWII33mFsW-iVqgiULv4oHLMgdUfWKb6C5r3drL9KwOHIYP4EUB-tYTLZIEjuGMDFAFmETEAM-JkvGMbHu4Cja_JyBBoK4-Kgh6VaQFbmRCqzg8iKia-y8ty8wYISxJ1adx9nuPzOSsEowwR=s1366" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="1366" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMnAxcJi2vnOIU-E_5usZbLY6xkXytI2QnqkzbeSidgWII33mFsW-iVqgiULv4oHLMgdUfWKb6C5r3drL9KwOHIYP4EUB-tYTLZIEjuGMDFAFmETEAM-JkvGMbHu4Cja_JyBBoK4-Kgh6VaQFbmRCqzg8iKia-y8ty8wYISxJ1adx9nuPzOSsEowwR=w400-h214" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgImhekcsKhHG-wuxdrkoyAsOxAvCx1MTJOxDVO_8wABO-F2pSZU85vG_oVgkBvORVT3-ea0LMs5LT5lYWPGoe9vkLX4bTdERQe5csxHbFbF4E14_i637356SeAURd3fJJVC7KzWnefKtyHUvXt8_kgebK2YDeSC9PV1MIpEIP8McT9GEQi1AQpGmek=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgImhekcsKhHG-wuxdrkoyAsOxAvCx1MTJOxDVO_8wABO-F2pSZU85vG_oVgkBvORVT3-ea0LMs5LT5lYWPGoe9vkLX4bTdERQe5csxHbFbF4E14_i637356SeAURd3fJJVC7KzWnefKtyHUvXt8_kgebK2YDeSC9PV1MIpEIP8McT9GEQi1AQpGmek=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The secret ingredient here - and all great comedies have one of those, don't they? - is love. The important presence of Zero Mostel as Max is offered with love for all that he is here - and all that he went through in the past. His Max is outrageous, venal, a joyous liar and an entitled thief, but somewhere in there, there is love. Somehow, one feels he is loving the moment, no matter how perilous. There is also love between Zero and his Leo (Gene Wilder, so sweet in his first big role). Mel's humor is based in love. That is why we can laugh at Hitler. That is why we can laugh at 2 Jews ditching their swastika armbands in a trashcan after they secure the rights to Franz Liebkind's Nazi-fueled fever dream of a play. Deep in our hearts we want to believe love wins.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: xx-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3g8-zTFg8lwB9nzqG3gr_xcAIjF0V8QVM_jevXjsxZUmQL5YJ5_BEYnnZv4EE0GqbiQNA4YM7ghCwOodSWLxvJA2q5KfEfcNYTbB9wTcdjgR3WnZG1PmgVSylNCnpu7clgp12mELCeMWdpY_n-5gNZbledrHJvWQbvQ9gYQ8yGDlIoj5aELsUG7OA=s1200" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="1200" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3g8-zTFg8lwB9nzqG3gr_xcAIjF0V8QVM_jevXjsxZUmQL5YJ5_BEYnnZv4EE0GqbiQNA4YM7ghCwOodSWLxvJA2q5KfEfcNYTbB9wTcdjgR3WnZG1PmgVSylNCnpu7clgp12mELCeMWdpY_n-5gNZbledrHJvWQbvQ9gYQ8yGDlIoj5aELsUG7OA=w400-h216" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When our hearts are so broken by the world, it takes a loving heart to mend them. And a <i>funny</i> loving heart? Even better. Well, leave it to that great humanitarian Mel Brooks to give us so generously what we need. "The Producers" says <i>come play with me, come revel in the bawdy, uninhibited humor that obliterates hipness and coolness</i>. Cleverness is merely humor without humanity. Artificial Intelligence can be clever. It takes a human being to give us <i>Springtime for Hitler: A Gay Romp with Adolph and Eva at Berchtesgaden</i>. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: xx-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj020P3UTd0xLjMKHAUtH00aks6DOexE1xjey5mXeKFjfJE5EXL6u1Amfkw9RtOnkWw8zivMN6y90jx4cOj-b0SdnQCTf92T16dS5iTgc_RYYMqTyZ4n_msLCYE817GfD-GWRTmlO1jIbKI8S80G-ShdmFcI18-pjPgacOTWt62nTR0wdnX6CbeUJ4p=s1920" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj020P3UTd0xLjMKHAUtH00aks6DOexE1xjey5mXeKFjfJE5EXL6u1Amfkw9RtOnkWw8zivMN6y90jx4cOj-b0SdnQCTf92T16dS5iTgc_RYYMqTyZ4n_msLCYE817GfD-GWRTmlO1jIbKI8S80G-ShdmFcI18-pjPgacOTWt62nTR0wdnX6CbeUJ4p=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is my contribution to the <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2021/10/laughter-is-best-medicine-cmba-fall.html">Classic Movie Blog Association's Laughter is the Best Medicine Blogathon.</a> Click <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2021/10/laughter-is-best-medicine-cmba-fall.html">here</a> for more needed comic relief. And boy, do we need it!</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMSNxxPbojNb6sK3G1gbNST6YTg9jwLeFcWepc4u9vh5iN-dxAgXU5uGWvP8TAVne0esudnhza0LmcvIhH3Q8ouTAaddQXHk65dRqxPdAwDDty9JB7qEcGY15aR6mbO0y93C3D_9UaYM7lnsi-9TCNIYs5z8gZ8MIKi2JkMTYqMFX_xoWVlkAklwZU=s1006" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="1006" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMSNxxPbojNb6sK3G1gbNST6YTg9jwLeFcWepc4u9vh5iN-dxAgXU5uGWvP8TAVne0esudnhza0LmcvIhH3Q8ouTAaddQXHk65dRqxPdAwDDty9JB7qEcGY15aR6mbO0y93C3D_9UaYM7lnsi-9TCNIYs5z8gZ8MIKi2JkMTYqMFX_xoWVlkAklwZU=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-87991131886302895982021-09-29T06:48:00.001-04:002021-09-29T17:56:13.391-04:00Love Me or Leave Me (1955) - A Bad Romance<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;">This is my entry in <a href="https://hometownstohollywood.com/about/announcements/" target="_blank">The Biopic Blogathon</a>, hosted
by <a href="https://hometownstohollywood.com/" target="_blank">Hometowns to Hollywood</a>. Click <a href="https://hometownstohollywood.com/about/announcements/">here</a>
for more favorite biopics. They’re all true, right?</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HhHPB9n_4-TKBC41MXMg3GLeUA9FBCZOkISpm5w-apRvtlJCdWUPTmGpTxYdi5FohAVfw_oZr281l-F1tG1CKJa93fDxXwK3uSg6G5spMoFCeiCxWYki8E-IY6RsLIWXj8nkwC8h-28/s900/lmlm2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="695" data-original-width="900" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5HhHPB9n_4-TKBC41MXMg3GLeUA9FBCZOkISpm5w-apRvtlJCdWUPTmGpTxYdi5FohAVfw_oZr281l-F1tG1CKJa93fDxXwK3uSg6G5spMoFCeiCxWYki8E-IY6RsLIWXj8nkwC8h-28/w400-h309/lmlm2.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></div><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My
heart explodes with love for this film. It has everything that
enchants me about the movies. It may never make the list of the greatest films
ever made, but it weaves a tale of dangerous emotions and irresistible characters and
features knockout performances of epic chemistry by two of my favorite actors,
James Cagney and Doris Day. I absorb it. It creates its own world in my imagination. It
makes me feel. It makes me care.</span></p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZzCQ7zCVHtcBtHCKSip-2OU4IJ-N9MOZlGRkeyPGCYBYm582xsqhwuycFILlnAPP3rkkWTcqhgT50AYa6_my23H3xxBVbRYGCIbS1Vp3-I6Ufn2Bnsl5SMSAsWfWX3OGrnOKTDZM7Dw/s800/lmlm9.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZzCQ7zCVHtcBtHCKSip-2OU4IJ-N9MOZlGRkeyPGCYBYm582xsqhwuycFILlnAPP3rkkWTcqhgT50AYa6_my23H3xxBVbRYGCIbS1Vp3-I6Ufn2Bnsl5SMSAsWfWX3OGrnOKTDZM7Dw/w640-h360/lmlm9.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Marty thinks he's in control</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">“Love
Me or Leave Me” is a fictionalized (what else) version of the unsavory and
pretty appalling professional life of singer Ruth Etting. Ms. Etting was a
popular singer in the 1920s and 30s, known as “America’s Sweetheart of Song,”
who was married to her violent mobster manager, Martin “Moe” Snyder, charmingly
known as “Moe the Gimp.” Once Etting managed to free herself from Snyder she
entered a romantic relationship with her accompanist, Myrl Alderman, whom
Snyder promptly shot. All of this really happened (Snyder’s teenage daughter
was also caught up in the gun play, but there was only so much of this that the
movie could show). Anyway, in 1955 Etting, Snyder and Myrl Alderman (now Ruth’s
husband), all sold the rights to their story to MGM. So, while the film
certainly sanitizes a lot, it also has that smidgen of truth that some biopics
can’t claim.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ESaAmJEqZpJYo7P0RhameGnKFtELFrn117_IYuQzDXbZkGsvZ2hQiK45KHpGuup9czXn1cCciTn3N18qHE3JLQMzMM0boYTGvzV-DcYrxic_ctFeYbD-zEI-6D2xdVnFrnWJiqH5bDg/s684/lmlm3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="684" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ESaAmJEqZpJYo7P0RhameGnKFtELFrn117_IYuQzDXbZkGsvZ2hQiK45KHpGuup9czXn1cCciTn3N18qHE3JLQMzMM0boYTGvzV-DcYrxic_ctFeYbD-zEI-6D2xdVnFrnWJiqH5bDg/w400-h305/lmlm3.jpg" width="400" /></i></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Ruth gets canned from her 10 cents a dance girl job, <br />but bigger and badder things are on the horizon</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">The
story opens in the Chicago of the 1920s where Etting is working as a 10 cents a
dance girl and Snyder is the local hood shaking down the establishment. She
catches his eye and he tries his luck for a quick pick-up, offering to help her
get a job on stage. She is ambitious and takes the help (she is hilarious when first hired as a
dancer who can’t remember her steps) and that’s the beginning of a twisted,
sadomasochistic relationship that ends with the above-mentioned shooting.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">What
makes this film so damn compelling are the performances of Day and Cagney and
how they breathe life into a couple entangled in a relationship that is, to say
the least, complicated. Each party thinks they are in control, until one of them is not.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDvQVxwH_7R99bWuFPg3xiJNhWEUf-rDFcGwUb4o9d-WEosT-orRcZ_ui6jsZdl0UPU3W3xSKidtsthtnwiNQIa6Po_PSaGxUqNNl42TjVBZu6Vtf4AkB_zCCIUzTGewLqjLm3PC3fPc/s729/lmlm10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="729" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDvQVxwH_7R99bWuFPg3xiJNhWEUf-rDFcGwUb4o9d-WEosT-orRcZ_ui6jsZdl0UPU3W3xSKidtsthtnwiNQIa6Po_PSaGxUqNNl42TjVBZu6Vtf4AkB_zCCIUzTGewLqjLm3PC3fPc/w640-h278/lmlm10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Marty is always mouthing off, but Ruth holds the reins (for a while)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Doris
Day is no little miss innocent here. Looking sexy as all hell in skimpy,
skin-baring outfits (as well as some other less revealing but no less beautiful
outfits, all designed by Helen Rose), Day comes across as 100% believable as
the overly ambitious, hard drinking singer whose moral compass is a little off
kilter. See how she works Marty to get her more of what she wants.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3i6VQiAE47c" width="320" youtube-src-id="3i6VQiAE47c"></iframe></div><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjh_8mBnJ6M2QboRnCoYbKSPq5sPLMaiOjfVYmVQ_hxBwiyZMubpNxSwr1PnsyvrsafidizoxlQPHwv7M0uB1iRjLFI357kr7ieU471ezXvGmzpBdoTAbQg8Ab9YMjNL0ZTsxhrw1qvNA/s800/lmlm12.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjh_8mBnJ6M2QboRnCoYbKSPq5sPLMaiOjfVYmVQ_hxBwiyZMubpNxSwr1PnsyvrsafidizoxlQPHwv7M0uB1iRjLFI357kr7ieU471ezXvGmzpBdoTAbQg8Ab9YMjNL0ZTsxhrw1qvNA/w640-h360/lmlm12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Doris looking amazing</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>The music, mostly songs Etting made famous, as well as a few new ones,
is Doris at her best. Because each song is presented as part of a performance,
the musical numbers blend seamlessly with the story. It’s a beautiful
soundtrack that was hugely popular in its time.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TyD9rZ2bOq4" width="320" youtube-src-id="TyD9rZ2bOq4"></iframe></div><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p>This
was Doris Day’s first real dramatic performance and she is perfect. She goes
toe to toe with Cagney in some heated arguments that are downright uncomfortable
in their intimacy and she never backs down. There is a real, twisted sexual
tension between these two; his combined with hope, violence and jealousy and
hers mingled with self-loathing and an over-estimated confidence in her ability
to control him. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Cagney loved Doris, lobbied
for her to play the role, insisted that she get top billing (what a guy – the first
time he relinquished it since attaining star status in 1931) and thought she
was a great actress. I have to concur. Next to Judy Garland, I think she is
probably the most talented all around performer in film. There was nothing she
couldn’t do, and she did it all with a never showy naturalness that is
sometimes underrated due to her later undeserved reputation as a professional
virgin (although she was married in so many of those later comedies. Go figure).
Her transformation from a hopeful, joyous performer to a beaten down woman who drinks to numb the pain is
harrowing and touching (her “Ten Cents a Dance” number masterfully illustrates the
hardness and sadness she develops after her marriage to Marty).</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rfUniuD-jsY" width="320" youtube-src-id="rfUniuD-jsY"></iframe></div><br /><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Marty
Snyder was Cagney’s last gangster role and he simply blows up the screen with
raw appeal. Nothing is held back in reserve and he takes my breath away. His Gimp is crude, brutal, an
animal and yet, at the same time, charming, and lovesick and you just can’t
help feeling sorry for the guy. Ruth knows he is nuts for her and initially manipulates
him while managing to keep his romantic overtures at bay. She accepts the help he gives her with her career and doesn’t seem to mind that,
initially, most of that help was obtained through shady methods. She plays the game
well, but in the end pays a big price. After a scandal making altercation
backstage during Ruth’s Ziegfeld Follies debut, the couple get into a vicious,
heartbreaking argument that ends with an off screen sexual assault and a
miserable marriage. When he furiously attacks her because she would never
acknowledge their relationship to the Ziegfeld crew, she says she couldn’t and
he practically sobs that he would have done it for her (a tough guy holding back a sob is always a gut punch). Whew. It truly feels
like watching the most private moments of a couple’s awful argument, feeling
like you somehow intruded upon them and you shouldn’t be there. </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">The 1955 censors apparently cut out more explicit scenes of violence and sexual assault. According to Day's biography, that disturbing scene continued with Marty pushing Ruth against a wall, tearing her dress and raping her. The remaining scenes are disturbing enough.</span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxm7Fa45fx6RVpYKkAVISLNTDFbiWP_NDxPgi_U7dQJBs0cKBpKlf2PFe5nPXPC885Ohpw6f9auWk31PXCtxlkmubW0YCE0U-ktMoiXxEpGJAaraeFV1eYEGZuns0tIYLadxA8L4WFIU/s512/lmlm1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="512" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxm7Fa45fx6RVpYKkAVISLNTDFbiWP_NDxPgi_U7dQJBs0cKBpKlf2PFe5nPXPC885Ohpw6f9auWk31PXCtxlkmubW0YCE0U-ktMoiXxEpGJAaraeFV1eYEGZuns0tIYLadxA8L4WFIU/w640-h258/lmlm1.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34UtfQ82kf6qnKwE4h21w38Ct0KiFvnTfxCBL0hrrOxng_ctml-lEI-1I3z9vstCSVLHY-Fmeowy_TabzWJkrCJW2StVKeM3W_Zqd8mp5KZ_z-84mdK6E6QJxZw_Le3IbNuiMZTrJBqs/s449/lmlm6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="449" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34UtfQ82kf6qnKwE4h21w38Ct0KiFvnTfxCBL0hrrOxng_ctml-lEI-1I3z9vstCSVLHY-Fmeowy_TabzWJkrCJW2StVKeM3W_Zqd8mp5KZ_z-84mdK6E6QJxZw_Le3IbNuiMZTrJBqs/w640-h428/lmlm6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>This battle is about as emotional as it gets. Marty is a <br />dangerous and wounded animal and Ruth has run out of luck</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Cagney’s Gimp eventually
devolves into a man who has lost control of Ruth and his emotions, ending with
a mean (and very real) slap across his soon to be ex-wife’s face and the
eventual shooting of Alderman. It's debatable if Day knew the real slap was coming, but it was 100% real. Ouch. Audiences gasped at the shocking violence.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xANHTk5oG-4" width="320" youtube-src-id="xANHTk5oG-4"></iframe></div><br /><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Of course, Cagney in the clink is always fun to watch.
When Ruth comes to see him there he tells her it makes him feel like a kid
again and that he is finally done with her. She realizes she is free, but she is not jubilant. Marty was like a bad addiction. You know it's so bad for you, but you can't imagine living without it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6b6GTi2Pt2xuADlIzMlHENzeFmoXdjfwkLxEY0YZ_HjjGLRtbpmLwvXoLqTRlSzQVW3PfZJhYgmvoA6qewQjeIo_1eMbIV5JKShvKMIz1tR5dEQwpRMMtlVQnIDCq2ULJGEQErcwgVWQ/s640/lmlm11.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="640" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6b6GTi2Pt2xuADlIzMlHENzeFmoXdjfwkLxEY0YZ_HjjGLRtbpmLwvXoLqTRlSzQVW3PfZJhYgmvoA6qewQjeIo_1eMbIV5JKShvKMIz1tR5dEQwpRMMtlVQnIDCq2ULJGEQErcwgVWQ/w400-h239/lmlm11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Marriage to Marty means sadness and the end to sexy pjs</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">During
each of Ruth’s performances the camera repeatedly gives us Marty’s reactions.
At first, when a club owner is strong-armed into letting Ruth perform, Cagney
is nervous and then relieved when he realizes the girl can actually sing. Next
we see him filled with pride when he realizes that he doesn’t have to “stack
the joint” with cronies and that customers actually want to pay to see her.
Finally, we see the admiration fade to the realization that, after her smashing
performance at the Follies, he has lost her and that she doesn’t need him
anymore. All of these emotions are spelled out in a single look. I could go on
and on about how towering this performance is, but
I’ve always been a sucker for Cagney and this is one of</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">- if not my favorite – performance of his. He
justly was nominated for an Academy Award (Ernest Borgnine won that year). Doris, unjustly, was not. The film did win the award for best story.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNl_yakS8Bqv16jNZzYifvnTChKJjbAJJgcqpYoerkes7dP65X8nubxRJZ21YSxMHbeYHAcmQ0xU34pRUgjCo8UGWh0f2XQxAowhzh66WQxs7UUuLKDtMTFCsqOPAfNLaDBqFpSYxA22o/s857/lmlm15.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="857" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNl_yakS8Bqv16jNZzYifvnTChKJjbAJJgcqpYoerkes7dP65X8nubxRJZ21YSxMHbeYHAcmQ0xU34pRUgjCo8UGWh0f2XQxAowhzh66WQxs7UUuLKDtMTFCsqOPAfNLaDBqFpSYxA22o/w640-h258/lmlm15.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Marty fears the handwriting on the wall</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So,
what else? Cameron Mitchell as Alderman is very appealing and sympathetic and
makes a nice, strong shoulder for Doris to cry on. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgtN2tlZUpaKIGWnPkraapDAR4VATGftYwftYDeDQqCyIBkqdAc3t730gKgZmz6wb683kcX_n3r7efrC3JkqchF5lCdPP5g9-JpLq3SW1mt_uolkW0BEB9TxWBoCE3jXK6bhpu0_XJ7w/s859/lmlm14.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="859" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgtN2tlZUpaKIGWnPkraapDAR4VATGftYwftYDeDQqCyIBkqdAc3t730gKgZmz6wb683kcX_n3r7efrC3JkqchF5lCdPP5g9-JpLq3SW1mt_uolkW0BEB9TxWBoCE3jXK6bhpu0_XJ7w/w400-h159/lmlm14.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Myrl Alderman becomes Johnny Alderman in the film</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The gal who sings a
nightclub jingle in the beginning is Audrey Young, who in real life was Mrs.
Billy Wilder. The part of the agent who befriends both Ruth and Marty is played
by Robert Keith, who was Brian Keith’s father. And three cheers to Harry
Bellaver, who played Marty’s long suffering and ever present stooge and
punching bag, Georgie. The look of the film is a little less 1920s and more
1950s MGM, but the lush orchestrations by Percy Faith are top notch. There are
tons of little bits of business – Marty casually helping Ruth take off a
bracelet during one of their nasty arguments, his inability to remember her name when
they first get involved (calling her “Ettling”), Marty genially patting the back of the
prison guard as he is led back to his cell – all serve to make these characters
knowable to the audience.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhaLX55lBiUgHLZDOn-DPjbV3IGStUb62vdIG37Mco71jYvLM3WA5XIUErhXDGPCJUNR_aBTCGOU7ZLh8BFwftUads_frb_hOjAFKMsrAJhL0R1U2Vinqi1q1-EyvQWvhojRVXEl1pE0/s625/lmlm13.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="625" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhaLX55lBiUgHLZDOn-DPjbV3IGStUb62vdIG37Mco71jYvLM3WA5XIUErhXDGPCJUNR_aBTCGOU7ZLh8BFwftUads_frb_hOjAFKMsrAJhL0R1U2Vinqi1q1-EyvQWvhojRVXEl1pE0/w640-h256/lmlm13.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>Marty finally lands in a place he feels comfortable - the pokey</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Ruth
Etting was not very happy with the finished product (are they ever?) and would have preferred to
have Jane Powell play her. Snyder was also unhappy with the way he was portrayed,
but he should have been happy that he wasn’t portrayed more honestly.
Ugly stories abound. Happily, after all the drama, Ruth and Myrl Alderman had a long and happy marriage, largely away from the spotlight. Marty, as his film character predicted, did eventually get sprung from prison. His exact fate is a little murky, but it seems he drifted back to Chicago and worked in a mailroom or a license bureau. Somehow I don't think all he did was sort letters....</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;">Here
are the real Ruth and Marty, as well as the recently shot Alderman with Ruth,
and Marty’s daughter (who ended up living with Ruth - as I said, it was complicated), at his bedside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNrTmLPQQOq4523ohDWA4tgslod7b9P3llFSX_sNJT-EYRbTYbNDdAdRWlzYMfSO2u44Cc2hrYmTdN76nICy706mk7EcZ6-Rs65uAxXR-TAdYHwOpk9fJFuxkReq-Z9YejvvxMrPhoUs0/s500/ruth1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="285" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNrTmLPQQOq4523ohDWA4tgslod7b9P3llFSX_sNJT-EYRbTYbNDdAdRWlzYMfSO2u44Cc2hrYmTdN76nICy706mk7EcZ6-Rs65uAxXR-TAdYHwOpk9fJFuxkReq-Z9YejvvxMrPhoUs0/w228-h400/ruth1.jpg" width="228" /></a></span></div><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26rSH4eRzAPzGoE0pekJpuPuFi65hg36lSkMHBu3gLlI9X0k0HIMAK4ItV_zM4X19a2i7JTOtREH6ragpnt51rlJPWZbzkuMNg-bOVC7KDst9K6eihCXKDhGZk7YuyYq-FsGyIgAS2eI/s300/ruth2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26rSH4eRzAPzGoE0pekJpuPuFi65hg36lSkMHBu3gLlI9X0k0HIMAK4ItV_zM4X19a2i7JTOtREH6ragpnt51rlJPWZbzkuMNg-bOVC7KDst9K6eihCXKDhGZk7YuyYq-FsGyIgAS2eI/w400-h320/ruth2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;">And
here is Ruth Etting singing her signature song, Love Me or Leave Me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/P8b7kQsQk7k" width="320" youtube-src-id="P8b7kQsQk7k"></iframe></span></div><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;">On
a personal note, I have to say how grateful I am that I watched "Love Me or Leave Me" again for this blogathon. For quite a long time now I have been a little indifferent
to classic film. It seemed the old spark was gone, and it saddened me. James
Cagney was the very first actor, so many decades ago, who got me hooked on
classic films. And here he is again, so many years later, reigniting that
passion. Thanks for bringing me home, Mr. C. I better not stray too far from him again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLSte4237dOTia_VsPq2dOdnj_iig5hzLi3Hc2UDaFonC_VmgcmK6lzdl98DA2sgd7TXyCHwX4yHc6hFQgs_mTXmI-VSEugXUIxuAgGJYAzwqarEJDKNYCIVRUpxBdFSe6vxmlK5cPxk/s700/0-2-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="700" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLSte4237dOTia_VsPq2dOdnj_iig5hzLi3Hc2UDaFonC_VmgcmK6lzdl98DA2sgd7TXyCHwX4yHc6hFQgs_mTXmI-VSEugXUIxuAgGJYAzwqarEJDKNYCIVRUpxBdFSe6vxmlK5cPxk/w400-h339/0-2-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: DaunPenh;"><br /></span><p></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143901229925085760.post-69849230234519913502021-08-24T15:26:00.002-04:002021-08-24T15:26:47.205-04:00Without the Lover There is No Beloved: An Appreciation of the Audience<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">This is a blogger's true confession.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULbqpR4_Wj1N4kIJl4OEz2lXHsm2hdoBzeBaPG1icdgF2__tsRTfLDixxoC-08bQAXz-vjpOKBul7VM-8ECjs4zImDUjlbss7e9izpj-T2bCUGHJpPbb4-hzBfgNU-kCB0Q9bizbDphk/s550/true-confessions-magazine-cover_u-L-F7P1D10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="376" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULbqpR4_Wj1N4kIJl4OEz2lXHsm2hdoBzeBaPG1icdgF2__tsRTfLDixxoC-08bQAXz-vjpOKBul7VM-8ECjs4zImDUjlbss7e9izpj-T2bCUGHJpPbb4-hzBfgNU-kCB0Q9bizbDphk/w438-h640/true-confessions-magazine-cover_u-L-F7P1D10.jpg" width="438" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>How I admire all of you who make art, who write about art, who inform and educate and thrill me with your creativity and insight. Movies have been my passion for most of my life, and yet I hardly care to know who directed it, who wrote it, who provided amazing lighting or music or sound. For me, the Academy Awards could last no more than 1 hour with but 5 categories (actors, actresses and film). I am the person in the dark. I am the audience.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghi4bo6xuyzs3e0aJmyYN2PaV2deBPfh4MK10LDwRx5IVtWWpm1CrKpPBUAiAyMhD04ew6UCpAXdNBRDyDj8S_x0QHv6sqWdKbfAU6wbIkWBtXsFjJYbmPP_wog1z0mTIr-OXrVqDQWXY/s630/refined.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="492" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghi4bo6xuyzs3e0aJmyYN2PaV2deBPfh4MK10LDwRx5IVtWWpm1CrKpPBUAiAyMhD04ew6UCpAXdNBRDyDj8S_x0QHv6sqWdKbfAU6wbIkWBtXsFjJYbmPP_wog1z0mTIr-OXrVqDQWXY/w501-h640/refined.jpg" width="501" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">don't worry, Lina Lamont, your audience loves you</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">With bubbles of creativity gurgling in my brain, this has been deeply conflicting for me. I should care more, be more critical in my thinking, I should create more. But I don't. Instead, I am drawn into the magic of Chaplin, Keaton, Kay Francis, Ann Dvorak, James Cagney, Cary Grant, and most recently, Charles Boyer. It is always the stars, so magically presented, that lure me in. My rational mind knows that is it all make believe and that an army of artists and artisans have combined their creative forces to produce this moment of stardust. </span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxI2SVtNyg7VjE11MgLvwWFs8UPXNiK13HZhEnXLkYuwE-_88QEM-DuO54lAgXnsq97FcFr6PQ6uCf6ddnI4sWl-cvAhmNmY-eA-l5bNISoV8e6GbPUDRwvBi3IB7lI7dmyizDQGk271o/s2048/Sherlock-Jr_Lib.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxI2SVtNyg7VjE11MgLvwWFs8UPXNiK13HZhEnXLkYuwE-_88QEM-DuO54lAgXnsq97FcFr6PQ6uCf6ddnI4sWl-cvAhmNmY-eA-l5bNISoV8e6GbPUDRwvBi3IB7lI7dmyizDQGk271o/w640-h360/Sherlock-Jr_Lib.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">looking for the magic</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">This has always been a little upsetting for me. I read that Buster Keaton, upon his first encounter with a movie camera, had to take it apart to discover how it worked. Good thing that wasn't me! The damn thing would have been left in pieces!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjT0nCP-3d4kV6WrSH0XNtEOc2_O0jrjswzhgjoIM55gfWRNsq7_fIkBVwxwW76IeQo2T446WEoe4E9ll8Ypp6p2b_kv_gtXsKX9jxCLlXm31Kh4v9wP3QkMDLxO_0uBg62ndxRYcvKo/s607/fred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjT0nCP-3d4kV6WrSH0XNtEOc2_O0jrjswzhgjoIM55gfWRNsq7_fIkBVwxwW76IeQo2T446WEoe4E9ll8Ypp6p2b_kv_gtXsKX9jxCLlXm31Kh4v9wP3QkMDLxO_0uBg62ndxRYcvKo/w422-h640/fred.jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">can you feel the magic?</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">In so many ways, I have felt like a fraud when it comes to movie knowledge. But finally I have come to terms and accepted my place in this process. Without an audience, there is no magic. The audience, with its appreciation and love, breathes life into a piece of film, a canvas, a printed page or a beautiful fabric. So, in my way, I am playing my part in keeping these beautiful things alive. That is no small thing. As an added benefit, acknowledging this also gives me power over negative noises in our midst</span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">. I can chose my beloveds. The troubles of the world are of the moment; Bogie and Bergman, Fred and Ginger, and Scarlett and Rhett are forever as long as there is an audience for them. We grow old, but Chaplin is forever young as long as there is love for cinema.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-eZLl1Tz8vkmQTXMYwIXX2c86xEF0Zx4K8sgUrF-SvJ2KZzlC27KBCXwkphRT4S-UvLvh7yNtM3Wfgp4knH8FejVT1SMk6dIsx7gyGuTDyWTNzgg-1fGuhuel5-IHQ4QhZnyVuO2_jo/s283/normaa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="283" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-eZLl1Tz8vkmQTXMYwIXX2c86xEF0Zx4K8sgUrF-SvJ2KZzlC27KBCXwkphRT4S-UvLvh7yNtM3Wfgp4knH8FejVT1SMk6dIsx7gyGuTDyWTNzgg-1fGuhuel5-IHQ4QhZnyVuO2_jo/w400-h380/normaa.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Norma as Casandra</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Norma Desmond was wise. She knew she owed it all to those wonderful people out there in the dark. And yes, I know those lines were written by Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett, but let me have this. Sit back and enjoy the show. That is all that is needed.</span></p><p></p>FlickChickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17351624749230610755noreply@blogger.com5