1932 US Dir Mervyn LeRoy Cast Ann Dvorak, Bette Davis, Joan Blondell, Humphrey Bogart IMDb
Disappointed to find this is hardly a sophisticated film with it’s patched-together storyline and insensibly fast pace — clocking in at 63 minutes, the film was cut down so it could play more showtimes each day. Now that I think about it, this is probably true of many Warners/First National pictures of the period as most hover around the one-hour mark, but few are as badly affected as this one. Ostensibly the story of three women, so different as schoolmates, whose lives become intertwined in adulthood. Davis & Blondell’s stories are relegated to the backburner in favor of Ann Dvorak’s horrifyingly steep decline from high society to cocaine abuse, poverty and mob ties. It is one of the most shocking pre-Codes, but far from one of the best films of the period.
1931 US Dir Clarence Brown Cast Norma Shearer, Clark Gable, Lionel Barrymore, Leslie Howard, James Gleason, Lucy Beaumont IMDb
Norma Shearer ruins this, her fakey-fake mannerisms impossible to ignore or integrate into the role as they were in The Divorcee. Not a whole lot of movie to ruin, though, with a plot that changes its mind about what it wants to do at every scene change. Enjoyable strictly on the pre-Code level, featuring illicit sex with dangerous men, murder, and as a highlight, an inventively staged Prohibition-era transformation from alcohol-saturated gambling establishment to innocent pool hall under a raid.
Rolling right along with my new girlish preoccupation and not, I admit, watching particularly critically. Oh, I know I should take this moment to write a sensible post on the woman herself, or at least to describe this zealous wave of affection that steals over me once every six months or so for a newly discovered grande dame. But the thing itself requires constant feeding, so instead I must be off to watch another star vehicle. Check out the posts below for some fuller thoughts, which not coincidentally decrease in clarity and insight as the fixation grows. Oh, well. I’m having fun, and this is more than I’ve managed to write in some time. There’s always hope for the next one.
Neil I say a man would be better off with a woman like that for a wife than with the kind of wife I have. That sort of girl is what she is. She’s on the level whether you’re for her or if you’re not. If she isn’t, a man can kick her out. But a nice woman can get away with anything. Gustave The trouble with women nowadays is they’re getting smart. Neil Too smart.
Dot Everybody can do something. Pansy Yeah, I’ve heard that. There was a time when a girl could try her hand at a little easy grab and maybe come home with the rent, for instance. I’ve done it myself. Oh, I only did it when it was that or the first high window. But having tried it, I’ll try jumping next time. I ain’t crazy enough about living to get mine that way.
Thoughtful, concise plot that doesn’t quite set everything right in the end, just the way a pre-Code film should be! Meantime Ruthie transforms into an unrespectable party girl, belts out cabaret numbers, teases men, gambles with sailors, strides about in pants, and gets the Joan Crawford treatment in a parade of lovely gowns (doubt she ever had a more glam role). Nice little romance with Paul Lukas on the side. Better than average stuff, highly entertaining.
<3 these pre-Code titles. This one's possibly a bit more boring than others to those who don't have a secondary reason for watching them. Like um, a tiny little girlcrush on Ruth Chatterton, who does a fine Russian accent here, in another variation on the Madame X theme.
Looking for something similar to the on-screen chemistry with George Brent, I found Ruth’s husband #1, Ralph Forbes, to be rather a candidate for the most boring man in all film. Tellingly, I’ve seen him in half a dozen movies according to the IMDb, yet I didn’t for a moment recognize him. Basil Rathbone (the man Dorothy Parker so aptly likened to “two profiles pasted together” and whom Margaret Mitchell inexplicably favored for Rhett Butler) is the nominal love interest, charming and amusing in his peculiar way. The titular scandal attached to this lady is her stage profession, certainly scandal enough to her fiance’s aristocratic family, but which elevates her to the level of genius in they eyes of her father who also protests the marriage, not wanting her to marry below her station. A modest drawing-room comedy with some light laughs from the changes she brings to the family (introduces them to “gullet washers” and popular music), some romantic bathos, and everything else you’ve come to expect from the sort of thing.
Very Maughamy and probably should have stayed in print. Also, I have the same issue with this as I had with Sylvia Scarlett, in that it defies all reason that William Powell should fail to seduce a woman away from the likes of Clive Brook. No consolation kisses, either — very disappointing.
Ruth gets away with murder in the most perverse way possible. You don’t need to look up the release date to know this is most definitely on the pre-Code side of 1934. Distraught over the thought of losing her husband permanently to another woman, she dispatches her, and lets another hang for her crime. Husband Adolphe Menjou (probably the cutest man who ever lived — I think of him as the human equivalent to the panda bear) shares her secret, and he takes it as both his own punishment and a curious way of serving her and justice to continue living with her, waiting for the burden of her conscience to compel her to do the right thing. Chatterton’s performance is chilling, as the woman recedes deeper and deeper within herself, cold, despondent, and terrifyingly calm. If I’ve spoiled everything else, I will not spoil what I mean by the “most perverse way possible” to walk away with one’s life, love, and mind, but it left me both shuddering and giggling in appreciation. Not the most sophisticated film, but it has much to recommend it. Journal of a Crime was Chatterton’s last film at Warner’s after both parties stonewalled at contract negotiation, and marked the end of her prolific run in Hollywood. Thoroughly a creature of pre-Codes, she would only make three freelance films following this, and two more in London.
Lame soaper that works anyway if you are in the majority who fancies Simone Simon (who is wet and pouty a lot), are, like… me alone who fancies Ruth Chatterton, or — if this film is to be believed — one of the horde of teenage girls who is totally infatuated with Herbert Marshall. Sort of enjoyed the faculty sniping and Ruth looking bored — and the fencing scene, yeah. Oh, and all the scenes like the one at left (don’t question why Simon/Marshall making out is creepy, but Simon/Chatterton in bed is totally hot). Otherwise, yeah, lame and vaguely gross.
But this one really far exceeds its reputation, or am I again exaggerating in the first flush of a new preoccupation? I’ve been reading an excellent biography on Tallulah Bankhead over the last month, only tonight finished it. This is the first film of hers I’ve seen since I began it. So, could be biased. I came off the book (famous last words: “codeine–bourbon”) quite depressed so to see her here playing a character with at least shades of her own self — party girl, sexual indifference, adopting a death wish — was pretty unnerving. The film’s rather gritty depiction of Depression life is also unnerving. And Tallulah and Robert’s performances — for all the meat they tear off this bone-thin story — are completely unnerving. Well, my experience watching the film probably outweighs the film itself but what, after all, am I measuring?
1932 US Dir Alfred E Green Cast Ruth Chatterton, George Brent, Bette Davis, John Miljan, Adrienne Dore IMDb
I had fallen in love with George during the filming of The Rich Are Always with Us, many years ago. He, in turn, fell in love with the star, Ruth Chatterton. They were married after the completion of the film and eventually were divorced. George fell in love with me during the filming of Dark Victory. During our romance, he gave me a charm bracelet with the letters B-E-T-T-E in diamonds. I was a little less enchanted when he said, as I was oohing and aahing over it, “I’m glad you have such a short name.”
-Bette Davis, in This ‘n That
Art imitates life or vice versa here, as Bette plays bubbly, scheming Malbro (seriously) chasing after novelist Julian who’s chasing after confused and heartbroken Caroline. Sort of a flimsy plot but far from the dud it was taken for in its time, as it fairly sparkles with wit and flirtation. Anyhow, it’s interesting if only for the actors and viewed with backstage passions in mind. Very much in spite of myself, George Brent is growing on me: yes, dull and doofy, manscaped George has won me over. It’s just possible I’ve only warmed to the reflection of him in the eyes of these two women, but no… He thrashes about and manhandles and gropes — ah, and then is so tender with — Ruth in a way I’ve never seen him do before… yes, George Brent has shown me something new, and I like it. They may not be remembered as the hottest couple in screen history, but they created a little steam in their time. And for the record, I dispute one IMDber’s claim that “she is costumed and made up in a highly unflattering way.” In smart suits by day and backless gowns by night, all designed by Orry-Kelly, this is downright glamorous. But then, I often get the feeling I see these films with different eyes than most others.
Here I become definitely an ardent Wellmaniac, admiring as ever his swift pace, clever compositions, and flair for the absurd. Really if anyone could watch one of his one-hour frenzies and tell me it’s a thing like what his contemporaries were putting out there I’d laugh myself silly. Oh, the story’s much like all the rest: innocent girl runs away with vaudevillian, gets knocked up and dumped, learns the ways of the world and indulges in all manner of pre-Codely sin all in an entirely maudlin context. But what he does with it bears no resemblance.
And oh my god, is it steamy! I really don’t know anything about Chatterton & Brent’s brief marriage, but this must have been filmed at the very height of their love affair or at least in the midst of some terrific brawls because lawdy. I’ve never been a fan of Brent and in fact he has brought down an otherwise fine romance once or twice in my view. But here he’s good, he’s more than good, and the green-light glances he elicits from his gal are borderline obscene. “Well, why don’t you?” she purrs, flashes some leg, winks, smokes in his general direction… No one can do this in 2008.
I’m okay. Okay. I mean, this is a really fun movie & stuff. And quality! I don’t know why anyone’s ever wondered why I like these things; I think I make my perversions quite clear. But if you require (or desire) elaboration, I’ll refer you to some key scenes:
1932 US Dir William A Wellman Cast Ruth Chatterton, Louis Calhern, Helen Jerome Eddy, Donald Cook, James Murray IMDb
In the same vein as other pre-Code weepies that cover decades of a woman’s life marked by debauchery, murder, and the sacrifice of a child, like The Secret of Madame Blanche and Madame X, another Chatterton vehicle, this one stands out with thanks to Wellman’s energy and economy. There’s a lot of visual interest and movement in this film that make up for the story’s shopworn simplicity, and always a great awareness and use of space, from the impressive-for-the-time earthquake scene in the beginning to the dizzying courtroom climax.
Chatterton (my femme du jour) does plenty to enliven the film, too, playing headstrong youth as believably as hardened criminal, a naturalistic streak of the maternal and feminine constant through all her character’s years. Some actors are gifted with particularly expressive faces, and Chatterton is one: though she has some of the vocalizations and postures of an earlier style, that’s mitigated by an innate expressiveness. It’s in her eyes. The way they scan a room, widen, droop ever so slightly — I imagine she could precisely convey any emotion at a standstill. Part of this, I’m convinced, is the composition of a face that can’t be helped, that gives some people a natural facility for expression (I may recognize this because I feel I have a self-conscious lack), but she understands and controls it, too. Accordingly, she’s always much more effective in scenes that call for quiet subtlety than unreserved emoting; anyway, as a strict star vehicle, Frisco Jenny gives ample opportunity to measure up her entire range.
At the end of the film, Wellman makes the interesting decision to de-glam his star (heavily made up throughout the film to play both ends of the age spectrum), and it occurs to me I’ve never seen any woman in the Golden Age period with a fresh face before. It’s rather stunning, making more of a difference than you might imagine. The whole tone of the scene and performance shifts dramatically. The scene and performance are actually the same; this little change suddenly makes everything feel instantly modern (never mind that she’s playing opposite a white character actress absurdly unconvincingly playing Chinese). And Chatterton, for that matter, quite an ordinary-looking woman, is stunning sans makeup, too.
Wellman makes an exciting and absorbing film out of something utterly bland on paper, definitely recommended to anyone with the inclination.
Female tests the limits of the theory that the pre-Code era was a positive time for women. Viewed in context, I suppose it provides one of the most forward-thinking portrayals of a woman in power of any contemporary medium: Ruth Chatterton’s Alison Drake is the president of a major automotive corporation — without, as far as I know, any real-life parallel in 1933 — equally ruthless in the boardroom and the bedroom. By day, she runs an enormous factory with intelligence, drive, and zero tolerance for moony men and silly women. By night, she seduces male employees with a mere glass of vodka and a toss of a pillow. She commands total respect and helpless lust. And she does all this with seemingly limitless energy, a constantly calculating mind, and unshakable self-assurance. Quite consciously, Alison alters her personality and approach to suit the situation, always in her own self-interest, which is why a few changes of heart over the course of the film may not bother a modern viewer. One can understand the pick-up routine she puts on the first time she meets George Brent’s engineer Jim Thorne, to prove to herself she is desirable for herself, apart from the money, power and glamour; one even bears her dumbed-down, eyelash-batting seduction of Thorne, because ultimately what she has in mind is much more for her own benefit than his.
All this, along with the film’s lively pace and fairly non-stop hilarity, makes Female not only one of the best female-empowerment films, but one of the best pre-Code films full stop… until its ending. It’s hard to reconcile Alison’s fate with the rest of the film, which shows her fully in control and self-possessed. And I don’t know whether the denouement is a simple cop-out, a way of making the film palatable to a contemporary audience, or an actually misogynist exercise in putting an independent woman in her place. Whatever the case, it’s virtually unacceptable to a modern viewer of any stripe, ruining all the fun that had come before. Oh, it’s easy to imagine that the battle of the sexes continues after Alison and Jim ride off into the sunset to claim his stake on the company, but there is no mistaking that the post-breakdown Alison is a changed woman, or shall I say a “real” woman: she isn’t luring Brent back on her terms now, or indeed on any terms but those of the prospective ideal wife. She has found her real vocation. Shown the virtues of womanhood and the sacred duty of motherhood, Allison chucks it all: her business, her way of life, her self. Alison does need to learn a lesson about compassion and leading a full life, and Jim’s proposed compromise (that they marry and share the company) would have been fine, but the film goes far past humbly knocking her down a peg to maliciously destroy the woman it had so admirably built up. This is, after all, decades before the “you can have it all” message of second-wave feminism.
Oh, but if I kid myself that the film ends just a little differently — that in a flash of understanding for self and other, Allison saves her love affair, her company, and her self-esteem all in an afternoon’s work — Female becomes, with no further reservations, one of my favorite films of the decade. In a brisk 60 minutes Female covers a lot of ground: it’s very funny, and very pre-Code naughty. Chatterton is simply one of the greats in one of her greatest roles, obviously relishing in the chance to play, by Jim Thorne’s count, four women, all with a unique vitality and intelligence. To each facet of Allison’s remarkably complex (forgetting the end, still) character she brings warmth and humanity, a continuity of selfhood as well as an ability to fragment into credible constituent selves. This is a psychologically rich and really lifelike portrayal, and in any year but that of Garbo’s magnificent Queen Christina Chatterton would easily walk away with my acting honors.
Yes, Ruth Chatterton: dignified, confident, devilishly funny and sexy as hell… can I sing her praises any more without betraying myself for the budding fangirl I am?
about
Lauren, 25, out-of-work librarian. At the moment, TLC is but a review blog and catalogue of my film-related perversions. I always plan to do more with it — and to one day step outside 30s Hollywood again. Who knows?
I don’t know why anyone’s ever wondered why I like these things; I think I make my perversions quite clear. But if you require (or desire) elaboration, I’ll refer you to some key scenes:
