CMBA Outlaws Blogathon: The Producers (1967): It's Criminally Joyous

This is my entry in the Classic Movie Blog Association's Outlaws Blogathon. Click here for more outrageous cinematic lawbreakers.

Zero + Gene = Love

They're adorable, they're hysterical, they're lovable. They're desperate con men and deliberate thieves. They're Max Bialystock and Leo Bloom and they are "The Producers."

Words don't do this justice

Let me say right out of the gate: I love this film, almost above all others. It is by far my favorite comedy. Where to start? 

Max gives his all for his art

In a nutshell, Mel Brooks' "The Producers" tells the story of once-successful-but-now-down-on-his-luck Broadway Producer Max Bialystock and his accountant, Leo Bloom. Max, who has produced a long string of flops of late, keeps his enterprise afloat by romancing elderly (and frisky) women to finance his next play. He's dishonorable, greedy and desperate. Leo Bloom, a timid accountant, finds an error while auditing the books for Max's last play, which presumably made a few dollars. While Max attempts to persuade Leo to ignore the error, Leo has a revelation: the books for a Broadway failure would never be audited. If more than 100% of shares were sold, who would know? And so, a dastardly scheme was hatched and a beautiful friendship was born.

Neurotic, hysterical and a budding criminal

First, the fraud. Arm-locked in the scheme to mount the worst play in the history of Broadway, one sure to lose a bundle, the pair strikes gold with something called "Springtime for Hitler: A Gay Romp With Adolph and Eva at Berchtesgaden." A love letter to Hitler, it is written by the proud and totally nuts Nazi Franz Liebkind. Words can not do justice to the comical discomfort felt by 2 Jews who entertain the ravings of this lunatic (including wearing a swastika before they peel it off with revulsion as soon as they are out of Liebkind's sight) in order to get the rights to his play.

Courting the author: a producer does what a producer has to do

Now that the play has been found, it is important to find just the right (wrong) cast and crew. Over the top gay director Roger De Bris is chosen and hippy-dippy, improv actor Lorenzo St. Dubois (otherwise known as LSD) appears as their perfect Hitler. There's no way this can succeed, right? The boys  gleefully dream of their financially secure future with this over-sold turkey and lease some posh office space with a sexy secretary. All the while, Max continues to do his part by romancing his little old ladies and overselling shares of "Springtime for Hitler." Note here that Max is doing all the heavy lifting.

Hold Me! Touch Me! Max's couch gets a workout

Estelle Winwood is especially frisky and funny as a lady known only as Hold Me! Touch Me! (the words she coos to Max when they meet for their tryst).

Getting up close and personal with the Reich

Ah, the best laid plans. After a stunning musical number of the title song, the audience is appalled and success at failure seems assured. But wait, LSD, vamping as a totally cool and kooky Hitler, send the audience into hysterics and they view it as a comedy. Making fun of Hitler! What a concept! And just like that, the play is deemed a hit. Max and Leo are doomed and author Liebkind becomes unhinged as his Fuhrer is mocked. As Max says, "I picked the wrong play, the wrong director, the wrong cast...where did I go right?" Max and Leo turn on one another (Leo, as Leo would, wants to turn himself in), but are united again when author Liebkind tries to kill the pair and them himself, but runs out of bullets. The 3 band together to try and blow up the theater - anything to stop this success and the assault on Liebkind's hero - but are foiled and arrested. They are all sent to prison after being found not just guilty, but incredibly guilty.

Dick Shawn is a groovy Fuhrer

Have no fear. The lure of larceny and the boards can't be quelled behind bars. Our last view of Max and Leo find them mounting a prison show called "Prisoners of Love," and happily over-selling shares of the production to the prison guards. You can't keep a good con man down.

A little "Springtime for Hitler" for your viewing pleasure (it never gets old):

So, that's the story. But the real joy of the film is the loving relationship of Max and Leo. Leo, timid and nervous, finds a father figure in Max, a father figure who builds him up and gives him courage. And Max, that heartless cynic who never let a good scam get by him, finds a surrogate son in Leo. He should simply dismiss the boy, but he can't because he knows Leo needs him and he needs Leo.

Partners in crime. What fun!

The jokes are just too numerous to detail. Let's just say Mel Brooks hits a home run with story, character and jokes. The story is so strong that, years later  in 2001 it became a hit Broadway musical starring a brilliant Nathan Lane as Max (forget the film version of this play; stick with the original).

So, yes, Max and Leo were outlaws, but look what they and this film gave us: an unforgettable film debut for Gene Wilder, Dick Shawn at his wildest best, the Busby Berkeley-style overhead dance of in-synch swastikas of "Springtime for Hitler," the crystallization of the mad genius cinematic voice of Mel Brooks and, above all, a performance for the ages by Zero Mostel. 

Like all great films, words can't convey the wonder of "The Producers." You have to see it. Hold Me!Touch Me! had it right. Sometimes you just have to say "thank you," even when you know your pockets are being picked.

Clearing Out My DVR Part 2: Madam Satan (1930); A Dress, A Dirigible and a Dame

I love my DVR. Next to the Keurig coffee maker and the GPS, it is an invention that changed my life for the better. However, unlike the coffee maker, which gratifies me instantly with hot coffee and the GPS, that provides quick and (usually) correct directions, the DVR requires that I actually watch the movies I record. This year I have vowed to clean out the recordings in my DVR by actually watching them.

Next up: Madam Satan (1930)

I can honestly say that I have never liked anything directed by Cecil B. De Mille. This includes the fabled pre-code "Madam Satan." While not the biblical De Mille epic, it has all the hallmarks of CB's style: long stretches of boring nonsense punctuated by spectacle and sin.

On the minus side: 

The 2 leads, Kay Johnson and Reginald Denny, are very uninteresting. I loathed the both of them. Kay Johnson, as wife Angela, suffers as a good little wife should while her cheating husband, Bob, who runs around town with his drinking buddy Jimmy (Roland Young), flagrantly disrespects his marriage vows with booze, women and good times. His wife, he states, is a bore. While I don't admire Bob, I have to concur.

When the wife is a bore, the husband has the right to cat around, right?

The story is simply ridiculous. I'll spare you the details, but it is just one of those silly farces where the wife disguises herself and adopts a phony French accent. Bob, like all of the husbands in these situations, fails to recognize his wife under the disguise, has his ardor is rekindled by feminine wiles and, presto,  their marriage is saved. 

Bedroom farce, marital lies, mistaken identity... yawn

It is long. Maybe if it was just one of those quickie little pre-codes it might have been less objectionable, but it goes on for almost 2 hours.

On the plus side: 

Lillian Roth. The costumes aboard the blimp are fabled, but I thought the very best this about this film was Lillian Roth. As Trixie, the Other Woman, she is adorable, she is sassy, she has spark and I wish there was more of her. Check her out:

Roland Young, as the buddy with the blimp, is fun, too - in small doses.

The costume ball get-ups are quite legendary, a real flight of fantasy by designer Adrian. Feast your eyes:

and Trixie, of course:

The real show-stopper was Madam Satan's gown. If only the lady inside the gown was equally alluring.

And then there is that soiree of the blimp. First, we have dancing clocks and then a bizarre musical homage to electricity (which takes the whole thing down with a lightening strike).

Really, I just don't know what to say about this:

Then some debauchery with scantily clad women. Someone recognizes Trixie by her appendectomy scar. Bob pretty much makes an attempt to ravage Madam Satan in a very distasteful way, but, hey, it's De Mille.

Really, Bob... you can't tell that is your wife?

The whole thing ends in a stupid and mildly offensive way (hey lady, your marriage is in trouble because you aren't sexy enough). Really, it's just stupid. And way too long. 

Next up: The More the Merrier (1943)

Clearing Out My DVR: Safe in Hell (it was hell!)

I love my DVR. Next to the Keurig coffee maker and the GPS, it is an invention that changed my life for the better. However, unlike the coffee maker, which gratifies me instantly with hot coffee and the GPS, that provides quick and (usually) correct directions, the DVR requires that I actually watch the movies I record. This year I have vowed to clean out the recordings in my DVR by actually watching them.

First up: Safe in Hell (1931)

First, let me get this off my chest: I have a real issue with pre-codes lately. EVERY MOVIE MADE BEFORE THE ENFORCEMENT OF THE CODE IS NOT A GEM. There, I said it. Feeling better. Moving on.....

Leave the kiddies at home

"Safe in Hell" is one of those pre-codes I've heard so much about, how outrageous it is, how daring, how it pushes the envelope of decency. It is and does all of that. The problem is, it's not that great.

The accidental murder

Director William Wellman's hand is evident - tough, masculine and not especially female friendly. The story begins in New Orleans, where Gilda Karlson (Dorothy Mackaill), a prostitute, murders Piet Van Saal (Ralf Harolde), the man who started her on the primrose path. Her naive sailor boyfriend (Donald Cook) - the dumbest sailor on the seven seas - smuggles Gilda out of New Orleans to escape the murder rap and parks her at a hotel on Tortuga, a tropic island where she cannot be extradited. In fact, that non-extradition status is the reason the island is populated with a pack of leering, mostly gross criminals of varying menace (the only decent man is the black hotel employee played by Clarence Muse). 

The object of their affection

Into this cesspool walks poor Gilda, the only white woman on the island (her white vagina being the thing that puts her in danger, apparently). There is a black woman on the island named Leonie, played by the wonderful Nina Mae McKinney, who is the best thing in the film. Aside from some sassy talk and a soulful rendition of "When it's Sleepy Time Down South," she is given little to do except tend to Gilda's needs and try to help her navigate the lecherous waters of Tortuga.

Leonie tells Gilda the facts of life, Tortuga-wise

The person Gilda needs most to avoid is Mr. Bruno, the human tobacco stain who runs the island with a corrupt and iron fist. He has his stink-eye on Gilda and destroys all of Gilda's letters from the sailor boyfriend, leaving Gilda feeling forgotten and doomed to a long stretch in this hell. Anyway, Gilda manages to skillfully avoid ravishment until Van Saal, the man she thought she murdered, turns up very much alive on Tortuga, running from the law and ready to resume relations with Gilda. While fighting off Van Saal's rape attempt, Gilda really does manage to kill him with the gun Bruno gave her for protection. Bruno now has Gilda where he wants her, offering her freedom from a murder trial if he can have her white vagina. Gilda, correctly surmising that death would be preferable, nobly sets her boyfriend free and marches to the gallows.

Mr. Bruno:  to be avoided at all costs

So, what set me off? I think it is pretty much the film's desire to be sensational for sensational's sake. While Gilda is tough, she longs to be a "good girl" true to her fella. And nobody here is very sympathetic. Dorothy MacKaill is okay, kind of pretty, but not really compelling. Donald Cook, as the dopey boyfriend, does a good impression of a log, and Morgan Wallace as Mr. Bruno is a drooling puddle of disgust. I did enjoy Victor Varconi (an actor I am always happy to see) as a rather polite political criminal. 

2nd time's the charm: Van Saal is finally dead

A bad pre-code is like learning about your grandparent's sex life. It's kind of shocking to know such shenanigans took place long ago, but once you accept the idea, you need a good story to go with the shenanigans. "Safe in Hell" exploits all of the boundaries a film could push in 1931, but, like all things exploited for their scandalous implications, you kind of feel you need a shower after trafficking in it.

Next up on the DVR cleaning project: "Madam Satan"

A Star is Born - FINALLY!

Let me get this out of the way - I absolutely love this latest version of "A Star is Born."

There's no denying it - Lady Gaga is a star

Having seen all prior versions, as well as the inspirational "What Price Hollywood?", I consider this one film story that periodically begs a remake/update because none of the earlier films were perfectly realized. Janet Gaynor, Judy Garland and Barbara Streisand were already well established movie stars when they took their turn at this story, so their depictions of the girl-thrust-into-the-spotlight were always a bridge that was a challenge to cross. James Mason's star power was crushed by Judy and Streisand rolled over Kris Kristofferson. Fredric March could go toe to toe with Gaynor, but she had the advantage of being the first Esther Blodgett/Vicki Lester. Yet, Gaynor did not seem like a gal to set the film world on fire.  Judy is just a tad too mature and a too much of a raw nerve (it seemed she might be the one taking that last midnight swim), and Streisand, well, she had exploded as an enormous and instant star right out if the gate, one who clearly wouldn't need the help, much less encouragement of Kris Kristofferson to succeed. Barbra is her own cheering section always.

Ally and the 3 Esthers

Now there is Lady Gaga and, truly, while watching this often told story, we are witnessing the birth of a real star. Yes, we know her from her music and her outlandish costumes, but here we see the blossoming of a true movie star. She is everything that a believable Esther Blodgett (called Ally here) should be. Her talent is scary and her self-doubt touching. Her voice and passion for music brought me to tears. In a world of fakers, she is authentic.

So good together

Speaking of passion, the love of music that binds her and Bradley Cooper's Jackson Maine (a cooler name for a rock star than Norman) is the beating heart of the movie. Sam Elliott, as Cooper's older brother, states that music is only 12 notes and it is the artist's message and interpretation that makes it unique. That is the underlying theme of this "Star." Cooper and Lady Gaga make beautiful music separately, but together they are dynamic. Each makes the other better. Each gives the other something they need.

So, I love you lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. it has been a long time since a new film and a star have moved me to tears and, at the same time, created a tremendous excitement just watching them on the screen. I was getting a little worried there for a while, but they made me fall in love again with the movies.

Reel Infatuation: Napoleon Solo: I Discover My Type

This is my contribution to the Reel Infatuation Blogathon hosted by Font and Frock and Silver Screenings. Click HERE for more revelations of the heart.

Gaga for this spy

When it came to the Beatles, I was a John girl, never a Paul girl. What can I say - I liked the bad boys.

"

So, when it came to The Man From U.N.C.L.E., must watch TV on Tuesday (or Monday)nights, I was firmly on Team Solo, never Team Kuryakin.

Team Solo or Team Kuryakin. Both played for team U.N.C.L.E.
 (United Network Command for Law Enforcement)

Ah, Napoleon Solo. So suave, so charming, so hot in a tux. While Ilya preferred the 60s style turtleneck, Napoleon went formal. He was a ladies man, a sophisticated rogue. He drove fancy cars and got the job done. Ilya was cool, Russian and a bit too sober for my tastes. The girls loved him (he was known as "the blonde Beatle"), but Mr. Solo got me off looking at pictures of horses and propelled me into my first bona fide crush on an unobtainable star.

Once a week for 105 episodes from 1964 - 1968 season, I grooved to the man. And, as if that was not enough (it wasn't) I made sure I scooped up as many movie/TV star magazines as possible. Robert Vaughn WAS Napoleon Solo. No separation there in my mind.

I wrote fan letters (never mailed). I remained true. And then I saw this:

Okay, so I have a type. What can I say? Napoleon faded, but never really disappeared. I still think he's pretty neat and I'm still on team Solo. Napoleon, not Hans, that is.

Then and Now: Films don't change, but we do

When I was young, I was so sure of everything. Now that I’m not, I’m not. 

What does it all mean?

My opinions were so solid, my convictions so sure. Now, they are, shall we say, open to suggestion.

Films that I was once so definite about now come at me from another angle. Or, maybe I come to them from another angle. Either way, nothing is quite as it was. Older, yes. Wiser – well, I’m allowed to pretend. Film, with its fixed, repetitive nature, remains unchanged. Oddly, I haven’t.

And so, I've come to these films with new eyes and an ever changing landscape of emotions:

Sunset Boulevard:

Ah, Norma Desmond, the gift that keeps on giving (movie-wise, that is).

Then: I once viewed Norma Desmond as a nutty old bat – washed up and stuck in the past. Like Joe Gillis tells her: she’s 50 and there’s nothing wrong with being 50 unless you think you’re 25 – or something like that. Except that I kind of thought there was something wrong with being 50. 50? Yikes!

Now: I see a wounded bird. A woman full of pride and passion, still vibrant and still beautiful with so much to give and no one to give it to. Okay, she is a bit batty, but she just needs to get out more.

Grease:

Then: Oh, how I hated that film. Every “teenager” seemed too old and it was just not as good as the real classic musicals I loved. You know, Astaire and Kelly and Judy.

Now: Oh my, the beauty of all of the youth and youthful fun in that film. Travolta, so talented, such youthful promise.

Rear Window*

Then: Poor James Stewart! Trapped in that apartment and longing for travel and adventure. I'd be itching to get out of there, too. Good thing he had a great nurse. As for Grace Kelly's Lisa, she was pretty, but shallow. Jame Russell seemed a better companion.

Now: What an old crab that James Stewart is! And what a great gal Lisa Carol Freemont is. She puts up with that growling old bear, brings him dinner from the 21 Club and shows him that a real adventurous spirit can wear a dress from Paris and face down a murderer. Good thing Jimmy had a good nurse (some thing don't change).

* Note: there are a few James Stewart films that fall into this category, but I don't want to pick on him. I like him, I really do, but he always seems so darn crabby!

Singin' in the Rain

Then: Gene Kelly was a gorgeous man. Everything he did was right and everyone else was wrong. Lina Lamont was a pill and Debbie Reynolds was unworthy.

Now: Gene Kelly is still gorgeous, but Lina Lamont was the bomb and so misunderstood. She was a shimmering, glowing star in the cinema firmament. As for Debbie, gosh I miss her. And Gene, well, wasn't he just a little mean sometimes?

Wuthering Heights

Then: because I developed a mad crush on Laurence Olivier in this film, Heathcliff was a poor, put-upon orphan - wrecked by Cathy's inability to live like a pauper. And I was not happy with Merle Oberon's Cathy.

Now: Gosh, they were a miserable pair, Healthcliff and Cathy. I confess I am still dazzled by Olivier (and the lovely score), but my sympathies reside with the Lintons. I find it hard to sit through this film. Another of those things that don't change: still not happy with Merle Oberon's Cathy.

I'm shocked, shocked that I like this film

I could go on - I resisted Casablanca for years because of my resistance to Bogey - but now I give into it. Same, too, for On the Waterfront. Brando to me was like a cross to a vampire, but I admire the film and his performance greatly. I snobbishly pooh-poohed Citizen Kane, only to come to the conclusion that, yes, it is awesome.

I suspect the list will change, because, in  spite of all efforts, I keep getting older. One can only hope that means deeper, wiser, and more in touch with the mysteries of the universe that are revealed on film.

National Classic Movie Day: The Apartment is One Big Movie Hug

This is my contribution to the Classic Comfort Movie Blogathon, hosted by Rick at The Classic Film & TV Cafe. Click HERE and find out what movies comfort us when we need a movie hug. it's an awesome lineup!

Having a bad day? Whose day could be worse than CC Baxter’s?

CC Baxter needs his sleep

Shut out of his own apartment while his married insurance company superiors use it for a trysting place, there is no rest at home for him and no love in his life.Worse still, his boss, Mr. Sheldrake (rhymes with snake), dangles a huge promotion in front of him if CC gives Sheldrake exclusive rights to his apartment for his extra-marital affair.

The key to success

It’s a moral dilemma, but the one shining light in his day is Fran Kubelik, the lovely elevator operator and the object of his affection. He scores a date, but she stands him up.

CC and Fran take a shine to one another

Maybe a worse day than CC’s is Fran’s. Trying to break away from her affair with Sheldrake, she is once again drawn into it with a promise that he will soon leave his wife. And where does he take her for this renewed affair? The apartment, of course.

Same Chinese restaurant, same married man

Pretty much an even more horrible day for both is Christmas Eve. CC is stuck at a bar while his boss spends some time with Fran and Fran tries to kill herself after Sheldrake goes home to celebrate the holiday with his wife and kids (after slipping her some cash for a Christmas present).

Merry *!@#**& Christmas, CC

Now, I’ve had bad days, but never one like these two are having. Time to settle in and let all of my empathy for them warm my heart.

sadness, despair, concern, love

Once CC and Fran learn the truth about one another, they spend some time together while Fran recuperates from her attempted suicide. CC cooks spaghetti for her, plays gin rummy with her and generally shows himself to be the better man for her. He is smitten; she is scared and ashamed.

Bonding over pasta

Their time together in the apartment is like a comfy robe.

Philosophy - gin rummy-wise

In a twist, Sheldrake’s wife is tipped off about his infidelities by a former flame. He is now free to pursue Fran. She assents, but soon realizes that this creep is not the man for her. Racing back to Baxter, "The Apartment" warms my heart because fundamentally decent people win. And sometimes, I just need to believe that is true.

All's well that ends well