Laura (1944) **1/2

Machiavelli wrote that “it is better to be feared than to be loved.” The title character of this film should have read more about political philosophy and less about fashion. Too many people just loved her to death…or at least tried.

A classic psychological film noir, Laura is one of the best films Otto Preminger ever made. Yet, the plot of Laura seems quite simple when you compare it to the behind the scenes plot that unfolded daily at 20th Century Fox. First Preminger was to direct; then studio head Darryl Zanuck fired him and replaced him with Rouben Mamoulian. Then Mamoulian was fired (nothing new for him) and Preminger was rehired. Then they argued over the cast. Zanuck wanted John Hodiak to play Detective McPherson and Preminger wanted Dana Andrews. Zanuck also tried to put the nix on Clifton Webb (who ended up being nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar) and first-time cinematographer Joseph LaShelle (who won the film’s only Academy Award for his photography), who replaced Lucien Ballard after Mamoulian was fired. In the end, Preminger won most of the battles and his film garnered five Academy Award nominations, including Best Director, Best Art Direction (Lyle R. Wheeler, Leland Fuller, and Thomas Little), and Best Screenplay (adapted from the Vera Caspary novel of the same name by Jay Dratler, Samuel Hoffenstein and Betty Reinhardt).

There are many elements that make this a prime example of a film noir. Parasitic and morally bankrupt characters run (well-heeled) rampant through the posh drawing rooms of New York City while an unconventional detective tries to unravel the sordidness of it all. There is a chilling theme song, “Laura” (which was inspired by a Dear John letter that composer David Raksin’s wife left him), that is unforgettable. And then there is the pristine black and white cinematography of LaShelle, which incorporates both shadows and an ethereal essence. And to top it all off, you have some of sharpest and outright acidic dialogue ever imagined. All of these elements combined make it one of the best film noirs ever.

The film opens with that haunting theme song and a shot of an even more haunting portrait of a woman we soon learn, via voiceover by society columnist Waldo Lydecker (Clifton Webb), was named Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney in a role turned down by both Jennifer Jones and Hedy Lamarr)—was being the key word, as she is now dead (sort of). After waxing poetic in his bathtub about his relationship with the recently murdered beauty, Lydecker invites Detective McPherson (Dana Andrews) in for a friendly chat, where Lydecker nominates himself as the most logical sidekick in hunting down the murderer (even if he himself is a suspect!).

Next suspect: Laura’s rich, spinster Aunt Anne Treadwell (Judith Anderson). We soon learn that Aunt Anne has a thing for Laura’s would-be fiancée Shelby Carpenter (Vincent Price), a Southern gentleman who deposits a lot of checks with the the aunt’s name on them. A classic line from Lydecker suggests the proper aunt lost money playing craps, but it is quite obvious to the audience that she pays for Shelby’s favors. On cue, Shelby enters and is insulted by Lydecker, who reveals that Laura was rethinking “throwing her life away on a male beauty in distress.” Thoroughly insulted (and insinuated as yet another suspect), Shelby accompanies Lydecker and McPherson to Laura’s apartment. At the deceased’s residence we find two identical items from Lydecker’s apartment in Laura’s apartment: a grandfather clock and that eerie portrait of Laura.

Later, Lydecker and McPherson head off to dine at Waldo and Laura’s special table, where Lydecker reminisces (via flashback) of happier days. They’d met five years earlier when career-minded Laura had asked him to endorse a pen promoted by her advertising agency. At first he had snubbed her, but then he changed his mind and not only endorsed the pen but decided to make her his protégé. From that point on, Lydecker was in the business of molding Laura into the most unforgettable woman ever. The problem was he didn’t want to share her with anyone, so if someone came into the picture he got rid of them. First, it was the portrait painter Jacoby, whose artistic talent (or lack thereof) Lydecker ridiculed in his column. Then, there was Shelby, who Lydecker found utterly reprehensible and suggested to Laura that she look into his background before marrying him. It was soon revealed that Shelby was a cad of the first order, carrying on an affair with Diane Redfern, a model at the agency, and also cozying up to Aunt Anne. Soon after these revelations, Laura decided to go to her country home to reconsider her marriage plans. Alas, it was the last time Lydecker heard her voice.

Back at Laura’s apartment, McPherson encounters the maid, Bessie Clary (Dorothy Adams), who reveals she found a cheap bottle of whiskey in Laura’s bedroom the night she was killed. He also encounters the gruesome threesome who have come to determine what belongs to whom. Lydecker wants a few things back that he “lent” Laura: an antique fire screen, a “priceless” vase, and the same grandfather clock he already has in his own apartment.

As time passes, McPherson, who has taken to sulking in Laura’s apartment alone, starts to become obsessed with the portrait. On one of his many visits, Lydecker accuses the detective of falling in love with a dead woman and predicts that he’s headed for the asylum. Oh, but wait…she’s not dead, as we and the detective soon learn when she returns to her apartment one stormy night to find a strange man asleep in a chair next to her portrait. She is surprised to learn that she is dead, since she seems to be still breathing. Evidently the face that had been blown off by the shotgun wasn’t hers. But whose was it? Well, when Laura finds one of Diane Redfern’s dresses in her closet the obvious choice seems to become clear. Now, Laura is a suspect for the murder of Diane. McPherson orders Laura not to contact anyone, but like any “dame” she does the opposite and calls Shelby. This tips McPherson off to the fact that Shelby might be the killer and he follows him to Laura’s country home, where he finds him with a shotgun in his hands. Shelby admits that he took Diane to Laura’s apartment to break it off, but that he was out of the room when the doorbell rang. Whoever was at the door Diane answered was the killer.

The next day at Laura’s apartment, Lydecker is in for a shock when he finds Laura alive and well. It’s such a terrible shock that he faints straight away. Soon after being revived a party is planned, where all the depraved guests suspect one another of murder. Yet, only one is arrested: Laura. Escorted to the police station by McPherson (who is obviously obsessed with having her to himself), Laura finds herself given the standard bright light interrogation. The problem is McPherson only wants to find out if Laura is in love with Shelby. Really!!! Once he ascertains that she’s not, they leave. Really!!! The lighting in this scene is marvelous and conveys oodles about both McPherson and Laura’s motivations. First, the use of the two bright lights spotlight the intense beauty of Laura. Then, after the lights are turned off, Gene Tierney just seems to glow.

While McPherson is checking out Lydecker’s apartment and finally realizing that the grandfather clock in Laura’s own apartment might hold the murder weapon, Laura is being verbally reprimanded by Lydecker in her apartment for her possible attraction to the detective. So, when the detective arrives at her apartment and Laura gives Lydecker the heave-ho, Lydecker is politely furious. When he leaves the apartment he casts a large shadow on the wall—foreboding? As soon as Lydecker’s gone, McPherson checks Laura’s clock and finds the gun. Setting off to arrest Lydecker, McPherson leaves Laura with a kiss and tells her to get some sleep. Believing the detective gone, Lydecker (who has been hiding in the hallway) creeps back into the apartment to murder Laura. For some reason, the detective put the gun back in the clock! Anyway, as he’s reloading the gun he hears his own voice on Laura’s radio; it’s his broadcast on History’s Great Lovers. With the cops beating down the door, Lydecker points the gun at Laura and says they will be together forever…fortunately for Laura she has good reflexes and she deflects the gun as it goes off. What I find particularly odd about what transpires after the police fatally wound Lydecker is that Laura runs to his side to console him. Really? This man has tried to kill you twice and you run to him? Anyway, with Lydecker’s dying words, “Goodbye, Laura. Goodbye, my love” and another haunting still shot of the Laura portrait the film ends.

The story itself is marvelous. You have a case of mistaken identity with the murder and the shocking reappearance of the murder victim. I would have liked to have been in the audience when Gene Tierney turned that light on back in 1944—I’m sure it startled some.

Besides the wonderful plot, you have a no-nonsense detective who becomes obsessed with his beautiful dead victim and a whole cast of venomous creatures. The callousness of Judith Anderson’s Aunt Anne is both appalling and delightful to watch. Vincent Price’s interpretation of a Southern ladies man is quite comical. Gene Tierney plays the femme fatale well by exuding an icy coolness that just scorches the screen at times. And, when it comes to Clifton Webb, it is difficult to believe this was his first sound film. Webb is just delightful as a bitter, homosexual who hates all masculine men and will stop at nothing to keep them away from his Laura. There are many ways to look at his obsession with Laura. Personally, I think he created her to be the woman he wished he could be (his other self) and didn’t want anyone to come between them because he would be separated from his one true love: his feminine self. But that’s just my theory, I’m sure you have your own. Whatever may be the case, this is a classic film noir.

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The Maltese Falcon (1941) ***

Considered by many as the first Hollywood film noir, The Maltese Falcon (1941) was John Huston’s directorial debut. What a way for a director to emerge out of the shadows!

Besides directing one of the best detective films ever, Huston also wrote the Oscar nominated screenplay, which was adapted from the 1929 Dashiell Hammett novel of the same name. Nominated for Best Picture, the film stars Humphrey Bogart as immortal detective Sam Spade. Bogart and Huston worked well together and made four more legendary films together: Key Largo, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The African Queen, and Beat the Devil.

Set in San Francisco, the film quickly introduces us to detective Sam Spade (Bogart) when his secretary, Effie (Lee Patrick), announces a new client, Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor). For those of you who have seen the entrance Astor makes, take a moment and imagine Geraldine Fitzgerald (Ann from Dark Victory) making that same entrance. No, it doesn’t work for me, either. Yet, Fitzgerald was originally cast as Ruth. Thankfully fate stepped in and allowed Astor to play her greatest role ever. Ruth has come to the Spade and Archer (Jerome Cowan) detective agency to find her missing sister, who has run away with a shady (and according to Miss Wonderly, violent) dark-haired and bushy eyebrowed character named Thursby. Asher agrees to follow her to her meeting with Thursby at the St. Mark Hotel. Big mistake. Soon Archer is looking down the barrel of a gun and is gunned down in cold blood. The fact that we don’t see the face of the assailant is a typical film noir device and sets up one dynamite ending.

Another classic film noir element is displayed when Spade goes to the scene of the crime: a shadowy deserted alley with one streetlight. After Spade is informed by Sergeant Polhaus (Ward Bond) that Archer must have known his killer because his gun was still holstered, he calls Miss Wonderly’s hotel and learns that she has checked out. The next morning he awakens to accusations from the police and the news that Thursby has also been murdered.

But wait, they aren’t the only ones who suspect Spade may be a killer. Archer’s wife Iva (Gladys George) thinks Spade killed her husband so they could be together (they were having an affair). As Iva sniffles on, Miss Wonderly calls to let Spade know she’s moved to the Coronet Apartments under an assumed named: Miss Leblanc,

He arrives at the Coronet to learn from Ruth that she lied about her real name (it’s actually Brigid O’Shaughnessy) and that she hasn’t been forthcoming about Thursby. It would seem that she met him in the “Orient” and hired him to protect her. She lays it on thick and convinces (with the aid of money) Spade not to tell the police about her. He agrees, but he knows there’s more to the story.

Back at the agency, Spade meets Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre), a gay man who at first offers Spade $5000 to find a statue of a black bird but then pulls a gun on him. Now, this film was made in 1941, so it is surprising that Lorre was allowed to play his character so stereotypically gay. Anyway, after being knocked out by Spade, Cairo hires him to help find the black bird.

Later, Spade returns to the Coronet and finds Brigid in the sharing mood: she’s really a bad girl dressed up in a helpless woman’s body. No, you don’t say? Spade informs her of Cairo’s offer and she offers him more than money. This is followed by a rather brutal kiss by Spade and a demand that she start being honest. She does this by agreeing to meet Cairo.

At this meeting we are introduced to a new character’s name: the Fat Man. We also learn that Brigid and Cairo hate each other—this shows a whole new, nasty side of Brigid. After being slapped rather hard by Brigid, Cairo pulls out his gun, only to be disarmed yet again by Spade—and for good measure Spade slaps him three more times and utters the classic line, “When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it.” Meanwhile, Brigid gets her well-manicured hands on Cairo’s gun just as the police arrive to question Spade about his affair with Iva. This allows Cairo to escape and for Spade to press Brigid about how she became involved with Cairo. A story of double-crosses ensues. Not deterred by this woman who admits she’s always been a liar, Spade spends the night with her.

The next day Spade goes to Cairo’s hotel and notices the man whose been tailing him (Wilmer, played by Elisha Cook, Jr.). Deducing that he works for the Fat Man, Spade tells him to tell his boss that he’s looking for him. This must have worked because when he returns to the agency he has a message from Mr. Gutman, a.k.a the Fat Man. He also learns from Brigid that someone has ransacked her apartment (Cairo).

Later, Spade goes to Gutman’s hotel, where he is greeted at the door by Wilmer. When he finally meets Gutman, it is easy to see why he’s called the Fat Man—or Gutman for that matter. All 300 lbs. of Sidney Greenstreet earned a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his portrayal of this strangely polite but menacing man. Spade doesn’t learn much from this meeting, but he learns that the black bird is extremely valuable.

After being harassed by the police yet again, Spade is once again picked up on the street by a gun-wielding Wilmer. After disarming the poor sap, Spade fully embarrasses him in front of Gutman. Appreciative of Spade’s manner, Gutman finally reveals the long (and I mean long) history of the Maltese Falcon (the black bird) and the fact that he’s been obsessed with having it for 17 years. He offers Spade $50,000 to bring it to him. Ah, but it is only a ruse to allow the drugs in Spade’s drink to take effect. With Spade passed out on the floor, Gutman, Cairo and Wilmer head off to find the bird themselves. When Spade wakes up he finds a newspaper clipping about a boat coming in from Hong Kong and surmises this must be where Gutman is headed. When he arrives at the docks he finds the boat ablaze.

Back at the agency, Spade is shocked when a fatally injured man (Captain Jacobi played by Huston’s father Walter Huston) stumbles into his office and delivers the falcon to him. Soon thereafter Brigid calls to tell Spade where she’s at, only to scream at the end of the call. First he stows the falcon at a bus terminal, then he goes in search of Brigid. When he arrives he finds an empty lot and the bells finally chime as to the fact that Brigid is indeed a liar. Yet, when he finds her hiding in a doorway near his apartment he still takes her into his apartment, where he finds Wilmer, Cairo, and Gutman waiting for him when he turns on the lights. And so the scene is set for one of the greatest endings in film history.

After informing the crew that he has the falcon, he demands that they come up with a fall guy for the murders. He suggests Wilmer, but Gutman refuses (evidently the term gunsel, which is used by Spade to describe Wilmer, was a homosexual term for a young man kept by an older one that morphed into a term for a gangster) at first but then gives into the demand. Then the whole sordid mess is revealed: Brigid had given the falcon to Captain Jacobi in Hong Kong, knowing it would follow her there later, and returned to San Francisco with her partner Thursby. Gutman had Wilmer kill Thursby to get Brigid to work with him. When they saw the newspaper notice about the boat they met Brigid and Jacobi there and she agreed to work with them, but she double crossed them and had Jacobi (who was shot by Wilmer) deliver the falcon to Spade. The reason for the cryptic phone call: they wanted to get him out of the office before Jacobi arrived but the phone call came too late.

With the loose ends tied up and $10,000 in his hands, Spade has Effie bring the falcon to his apartment, where it is revealed that it is a fake! At first all hell breaks lose and there are many tears and recriminations, but then Gutman composes himself and demands his $10,000 back from Spade and he and Cairo leave. Spade calls the police to alert them to this fact, so they can pick them up. Using this as leverage against Brigid, Spade demands that she tell him the truth about Archer before the police arrive. Evidently she hired Archer so she could tell Thursby he was being followed, which would cause him to confront Archer and perhaps kill him, which would allow her to be rid of him before the falcon arrived. But Thursby didn’t do this, so she had to take matters into her own hands and so she killed Archer in order to pin it on Thursby. The truth revealed, Brigid declares her love for Spade and begs him not to turn her in. Ah, I might love you baby, but I can’t trust you, so you’re going down—basically Spade’s answer to her plea. In the closing scene, the most overt example of film noir technique, Brigid is led into the elevator by the police and when the steel cage is pulled down in front of her it casts jail bar shapes across her face. Oh, the look on that lovely face! In the word of MasterCard: priceless.

This was actually the third film version of Hammett’s classic novel. Ricardo Cortez played Sam Spade in the 1931 version and Warren William played him in Satan Met a Lady (1936). I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that this film has so many connections to Bette Davis it’s hard to keep track. In one scene in this film we see a film marquee for The Great Lie, which starred Davis and Mary Astor (who won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role). This ties into the fact that Davis played the femme fatale in Satan Met a Lady.

In regards to film noir elements, the film is not overwhelmingly dark and there isn’t an overabundance of shadows. Yet, the core principles of an anti-hero who follows a code of honor (his own) who reaches into the underworld and deals with all sorts of unseemly characters and situations is at the core of this story. That Spade emerges in the end as a jaded but somewhat still respectable character is classic film noir. In addition, you have Mary Astor playing the epitome of the femme fatale (perhaps only surpassed by Stanwyck in Double Indemnity) and Lorre and Greenstreet as some of the most colorful and outrageous criminals ever imagined.

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Swing Time (1936) **

If you don’t think Top Hat is the best Fred and Ginger film ever, then chances are you think that honor belongs to Swing Time. To many it is a toss up. I, of course, prefer Top Hat, but there are many who say Swing Time is better. In regards to political correctness, Top Hat is the one that stands the test of time, as Astaire performs in blackface in Swing Time. So, let the debate begin…once I give this film the once over, of course.

Based on the Elwin Gelsey story “Portrait of John Garnett” (screenplay adaptation by Howard Lindsay and Allen Scott), the film was directed by George Stevens (he needed a break—he’d just finished working with Katharine Hepburn). The charming dance numbers are the beneficiary of an excellent soundtrack by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields. “The Way You Look Tonight” took home the 1936 Oscar for Best Song and Hermes Pan was nominated for Best Dance Direction for “Bojangles of Harlem”. Besides these two great routines, there is also “A Fine Romance”, “Pick Yourself Up”, “Waltz in Swing Time”, and “Never Gonna Dance”.

The plot is very thin, but thankfully Fred and Ginger’s dancing make you forget this. Astaire plays John “Lucky” Garnett, a vaudeville “hoofer” who wants to be a professional gambler. He also wants to marry his rich girlfriend Margaret (Betty Furness), but he and his wedding trousers are sidetracked by his dancing partners who don’t want him to quit the business. He arrives hours late to the wedding and is informed by Margaret’s father, Judge Watson (director George Stevens’ father Landers Stevens) that there isn’t going to be a wedding. Lucky and the judge then come to an agreement: if Lucky goes to New York City and makes $25,000 then the judge will reconsider.

So, off to the big city goes a broke Lucky, his lucky quarter, and his best pal, Pop (Victor Moore). Once in New York they soon meet Penny Carol (Rogers), who promptly tries to have them arrested for theft. Lucky is still in his wedding clothes, so the officer doesn’t believe her. Miffed, Penny strides off to her job at the Gordon’s Dancing Academy with Lucky in hot pursuit. Upon entering the studio Lucky encounters receptionist Mabel (Helen Broderick), who offers him a free dance lesson in hopes that he’ll enroll in a $45 course. Seeing Penny’s picture on the wall, he asks to take his free lesson with her. An infuriated Penny must endure his faked ineptitude, which leads to the film’s first musical number, “Pick Yourself Up”. Many critics have said this song was a nod to people trying to endure the Depression. With lyrics like: “Don't lose your confidence if you slip/Be grateful for a pleasant trip/And pick yourself up/Dust yourself off/ Start all over again” it is easy to see where they may have gotten that idea. When Penny is fired by the dance studio’s owner, Mr. Gordon (Eric Blore), for insulting him, Lucky steps in and shows off what he’s “learned” from Penny. In a fluid shot, Stevens captures the duo as they do their famous swinging twirl and leap over the dance railings. Mr. Gordon is so impressed that he decides to send the duo to his friend Simpson’s (Pierre Watkin) Silver Sandal club for an audition. To get a dinner jacket for the audition, Lucky tries to gamble but ends up losing his pants in the process. No audition and Penny is yet again angry with him.

Fast forward a bit and you find Lucky and Pop picketing outside Penny’s room. With the help of Mabel, Lucky finds his way into her room and tries to convince her to give him (and their dance partnership) another shot. And what’s the best way to convince an angry woman to reconsider slicing your heart open with her stiletto? You serenade her with “The Way You Look Tonight”. Penny, soapy hair and all, forgives him and agrees to a new audition. Too bad Ricardo (George Mataxa), the band leader at the Silver Sandal, is in love with Penny and won’t play for the duo because he’s jealous of Lucky and because his contract now belongs to Dice Raymond (John Harrington), another night club (and casino) owner. So, Lucky gambles Dice Raymond for Ricardo’s contract—and wins. The first musical piece he conducts for his new boss is “Waltz in Swing Time”. This waltz is definitely in “swing time”, as it is lighting fast with Astaire and Rogers doing some very nimble foot work and interesting gliding back kicks, amongst their usual twirls. It is a breathtaking dance, both figuratively and literally.

Later in the film the duo travel with Pop and Mabel (an odd couple if there ever was one) to a rundown lodge. It is the middle of a snowy winter and they are driving in an open convertible—really? Of course, by this point in the film Penny and Lucky are in love, but he’s giving her advances the brush-off because of his engagement to Margaret. Having all of her romantic advances rebuffed is too much for Penny and she begins singing “A Fine Romance”. The song is very sarcastic and well, cute: she wants them to be hot tomatoes and he wants them to be cold potatoes. Eventually, Pop lets her in on the fact that Lucky is engaged—just as Lucky decides to give in to his feelings.

Back in the city they begin performing at the Silver Sandal and continue their flirtation. It is at this point in the film that today’s viewer may become a bit uncomfortable, as Astaire performs in blackface in "Bojangles of Harlem". What today’s viewer doesn’t know is Astaire did this as a tribute to the African American tap dancer Bill Robinson. It is an excellent solo number for Astaire and the set design was inspired. Tap dancing amongst twenty four singing chorus girls dressed in half black and half white, Astaire showcases his wonderful tap work. Later in the number, Astaire performs a shadow dance amongst three screen projected shadows and outduels (or better yet, out-taps) them all. This is the only time he ever did a blackface number in a film. Anyway, at the end of the number Lucky notices that Margaret is in the audience. Uh-oh.

In a very quick amount of time a lot happens. Lucky loses Ricardo’s contract to Dice and Penny is introduced to Margaret. Both of these events convince Penny that she should marry Ricardo and finally be done with the gambling (and engaged) Lucky. When Lucky learns that Penny is going to marry Ricardo he convinces her to have one last dance with him when he starts singing “Never Gonna Dance”. This is perhaps the most “emotional” dance the duo ever performed together. As long as they continue this dance their romance can go on, but if the dance ends so does the romance. And, so this is one of the longest numbers the duo ever performed together. All of their earlier dance routines are intermingled with this one. It is awesome to watch this, as well as when they spin their way up a curved staircase and end the number in what can only described as an explosion of twirls. At the end, she runs away from him. It is rather devastating to watch…but then you remember it’s Fred and Ginger: I know there’s a happy ending somewhere! Okay, but we still must talk about Ginger’s dress in this number. Ten trillion times better than the Ostrich number from Top Hat, this low-cut, white satin gown was designed by Bernard Newman and it is one of the all-time greatest film gowns EVER! With cross-your-heart pleats and a cut to die for, not to mention a startling cape that was connected by a rhinestone choker, this is the ultimate “I’m just too damn sexy” dress.

But back to the story, in the end Margaret tells Lucky she doesn’t want to marry him, which frees him up to steal Ricardo’s pants before his wedding to Penny. In a rather quirky, but very sweet, ending, the two end up serenading one another with the other’s song, he sings her “A Fine Romance” and she sings his “The Way You Look Tonight”.

This is my second favorite Fred and Ginger picture. It is a lot like Top Hat, especially with the art deco set designs and the usual plot devices. I don’t know if I can make a definitive statement as to which number, “Cheek to Cheek” or “Never Gonna Dance”, is the greatest. Both are spectacular, but Ginger does wear that itchy ostrich dress in “Cheek to Cheek”. Oh, well, I’d like to hear what you think on this subject…and anything else you might have to add.

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Top Hat (1935) ***

When considering the Fred and Ginger phenomenon, one need only remember what Katharine Hepburn said about the duo: “She gave him sex, and he gave her class." Alone, he was far from sexy and she wasn’t close to genteel. Yet, when you put them together, all of that fell away and you saw a beautiful, sophisticated couple. All told, they made 10 films together—most of which were quite good. Their chemistry, both dancing and romantic, is undeniable and has stood the test of time. That is why today they are still regarded as THE greatest dance team ever.

Director Mark Sandrich obviously worked well with the duo, as he directed five of their films. Working from a witty screenplay penned by Allan Scott and Dwight Taylor, based on the Alexander Farago and Aladar Laszlo play The Girl Who Dared, Sandrich’s deft directorial decisions about how the film should be shot made Top Hat the duo’s biggest box office success, as well as their most critically acclaimed film. It was nominated for four Academy Awards (Best Picture, Best Interior Decoration, Best Song, and Best Dance Direction), but won none.

Astaire and Hermes Pan choreographed the film to five wonderful Irving Berlin songs: “Top Hat, White Tie, and Tails,” Cheek to Cheek,” “No Strings,” “Isn’t This a Lovely Day To Be Caught in the Rain,” and “The Piccolino.” All the musical numbers seem to seamlessly meld in with the progression of the story—which I find to be a huge plus.

The plot revolves around a simple case of mistaken identity, which complicates a budding romance born out of an accidental meeting. Doesn’t sound too simple to you, eh? Trust me, it’s Fred and Ginger, so it’s definitely simple.

In the beginning, we meet Broadway star Jerry Travers (Astaire) as he’s hanging out in a VERY British gentlemen’s club waiting for producer Horace Hardwick (the always funny Edward Everett Horton). After the two meet up and go to Horace’s hotel, Jerry learns that Horace’s wife Madge (Helen Broderick) wants him to come to Italy and meet a woman she’s picked for him. Jerry’s not interested in this, as he has a strong aversion to “strings.” Thus, Astaire starts singing “No Strings” and does a bit of noisy tap dancing. This awakens the lady sleeping in the room below, Dale Tremont (Rogers). Thus, Jerry and Dale meet when she angrily knocks on the door to complain. She thinks he’s a flake, he thinks she’s wonderful and rethinks the whole “strings” aversion.

The next day we find Jerry buying flowers (from Lucille Ball nonetheless) and being rebuffed by Dale when he offers to take her to a riding club. Not deterred, he decides to pretend to be the hansom cab driver. She recognizes him by his tapping feet, but isn’t that angry. Later, as she’s riding a storm breaks out and she seeks cover. Jerry attempts to come to the rescue, but she gives him the cold shoulder. That is, until a loud clap of thunder sends her into his arms. Once she recovers herself, her icy nature is even worse. To pass the time and make her loathe him a tad less, he sings "Isn't This a Lovely Day”. Once finished with the warm-up number, he begins whistling and trying to get her to dance with him. Eventually she gives in and they perform a sort of shadow dance, mimicking the other’s moves. This number just goes to show that Rogers was just as good a dancer as Astaire, which many people seem to overlook. There is a quote I heard somewhere about how Rogers may have even been better because she danced backwards and in high heels. Anyway, by the end of the scene they are on friendly terms.

Back at the hotel Dale gets a telegram from Mrs. Hardwick suggesting she look up her husband at the hotel. After much confusion, Dale begins to think that Jerry is Mr. Hardwick—oh, no you didn’t! Slap! Not given the courtesy of knowing why he’s been slapped, Jerry is flabbergasted. Still, not deterred, when he learns that Dale is headed to Venice, he demands Horace take him there right after the next number: “Top Hat, White Tie, and Tails.” Of course, top hat and tails were Astaire’s trademark look, so this is one of his quintessential numbers. Backed up by an entire male chorus wearing top hats and tails, Astaire tap dances (cane in hand) in front of a Parisian backdrop (Eiffel Tower included). It’s interesting to watch Astaire wield his cane as a weapon and the dancing sequence is spectacular.

With a quick dissolve, we find ourselves looking at an interesting Art Deco set of what RKO thought Venice should look like. Evidently everything there is a glowing white color. Anyway, after arriving in Venice Dale informs Madge about her husband and the two cook up a plan to teach him a lesson. Of course, Dale still thinks Jerry is Horace and what ensues is a comical game of cat and mouse. At one point, Madge pushes the two to dance together and Jerry finds himself “in heaven”; and, thus starts the spontaneous “Cheek to Cheek” duet. And so the ostrich feathers start to fly! Yes, I know this dress is legendary (for many reasons), but I just hate it! It does work very well in the dance, but it looks itchy and I can’t watch this great number without wanting to scratch. It is a seductive dance that is symbolic of the courtship and eventual consummation of a romance. A mixture of classic ballroom dancing and innovative modern (for that time) dance, it is the signature Fred and Ginger performance. At the end of the dance, Dale is crestfallen when she realizes she’s in love with a married man—one who proposes to her. Oh, no you didn’t! Slap—again.

To escape her conundrum, Dale decides to marry her designer, Alberto Beddini (Erik Rhodes). After learning that the woman he loves has married another man because she mistook him for Horace, Jerry decides he must rescue Dale before she can consummate her marriage. His rescue plan: to dance as loud as possible above the bridal suite. This angers Beddini, a master fencer, and he goes to challenge Jerry to a duel. This give Jerry the opportunity to kidnap Dale in a gondola and for the rest of the cast to pursue them in a motorboat low on petrol. So, while everybody else is out to sea, Dale and Jerry return to the hotel to watch a group of dancers perform “The Piccolino”—they eventually join in on the number. With a nod toward Busby Berkeley, Sandrich uses overhead camera shots to capture the dancers forming patterned images. They will reprise this number at the end of the film, after it is revealed that Dale and Beddini aren’t actually married. Happy ending!

Overall, the musical numbers are top notch. The standout number is, of course, “Cheek to Cheek”, but the other numbers are of a high caliber as well. Irving Berlin combined with Astaire and Pan’s choreography is pure magic.

The Art Deco sets are elegant and quite interesting to observe. In addition, the clothes (especially the evening gowns) are chic and expertly designed. When you combine the wardrobe and set design, you have one very sleek, sophisticated looking film.

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Shanghai Express (1932) ***

Jealousy, betrayal, obsession, passion…and this was only the fourth of the seven films Josef von Sternberg made with Marlene Dietrich. The title of their last film together: The Devil Is a Woman—coincidence? Ah, but this is not a review of the strange co-dependent relationship between director and actress. Instead, let's focus on the slightly less complicated romance between a fallen woman and a stiff-upper-lip Englishman.

As civil war is raging in China, a British surgeon, Captain Donald Harvey (Clive Brook) boards a train traveling from Peking to Shanghai, in order to reach the governor general, for whom he must perform brain surgery. Though the voyage could be perilous, his friends somehow envy him, as it is revealed that the notorious courtesan Shanghai Lily (Dietrich) is on board. Being a proper English gentleman, he’s never heard of her.

As chance would have it, onboard he meets a former lover, Magdalen, whom he hasn’t seen in five years. Things didn’t end well. She played games and tried to measure his love, and he was a jealous man who could only take so much before he left her. In the process of catching up, Magdalen informs Doc (as she affectionately calls him) that she has a new life and name. When asked if she’s married, a black-veiled Dietrich utters the classic line: "It took more than one man to change my name to Shanghai Lily." Um, awkward moment. Yet, it is obvious that they both still have feelings for one another—both good and bad.

Later, Doc learns from Reverend Carmichael (Lawrence Grant), who is troubled beyond measure about prostitutes traveling on the train, that Shanghai Lily had made one of his patients go insane and that there were countless others who’d had their lives ruined by her. I suppose at this moment Doc felt pretty foolish for carrying around a watch with her picture in it.

Meanwhile, there’s still a civil war going on in China. As such, government soldiers search the train and arrest the aide of Henry Chang (Warner Oland—yes, Charlie Chan!), a Eurasian merchant who is also a secret rebel leader. Angered by these actions, Chang sends a coded telegram to his rebels to attack the train at midnight. After securing the train, Chang takes Doc hostage so he can use him in exchange for his aide. He also offers to take Lily to his palace, but she declines, saying she’s out of the business. An eavesdropping Doc hears them, barges in and knocks Chang to the ground. This angers the rebel, but because he needs Doc alive, he does nothing and decides to take out his anger by raping Hui Fei (Anna May Wong), a friend and fellow prostitute of Lily’s.

Once his aide is released, Chang decides to exact revenge on Doc for his insolence by blinding the doctor. In order to save Doc’s eyesight, Lily offers to become Chang’s courtesan—just when she thought she was out, they pull her back in. Oblivious as ever, Doc’s old jealousies are ignited when he learns Lily is to stay with Chang. Fortunately, before this can happen, a revenge-seeking Hui Fei stabs Chang to death. However, this does not lessen the anger and resentment that Doc has toward Lily, whom he believes is still a no-good whore. Oddly enough, it is Reverend Carmichael who gets Lily to admit what she did out of love for Doc. Yet, she asks Carmichael not to reveal her secret, as she feels that without faith there is no love. Upon their arrival in Shanghai, Lily offers Doc a replacement watch and he gives into his love. In one of the more classic closing images in film, von Sternberg tightly moves in on the couple as they embrace and kiss on the station platform.

Nominated for three Academy Awards (Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Cinematography [winner]), this was the Titanic of its time, with a box office record $3.7 million. Suffice to say, this was the biggest hit of Dietrich’s career as one of Hollywood’s leading ladies.

Dietrich and Brook have amazing chemistry. He fits the reserved Englishman type and she just sizzles as a worldly seductress. The furs, veils, ostrich feathers, and an array of dazzling costumes enable Dietrich to fully absorb the role of the vamp. In addition, with the aid of von Sternberg, Dietrich is able to reveal the softer, more vulnerable side to Lily as well. This is perhaps one of her top performances.

Fans of the Charlie Chan films will be shocked to see Warner Oland playing such a sinister character. It is not always easy to play against type, but Oland does a nice job conveying the menacing nature of Chang. In addition, Anna May Wong is also a delight to watch.
A classic love story about overcoming jealousy and having faith in, well, love.

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Destry Rides Again (1939) **1/2

It’s 1939 and things aren’t going well for Marlene Dietrich in Hollywood. Her longtime collaboration with Josef von Sternberg is over and she hasn’t made a good film since The Garden of Allah in 1936. And, then, as luck would have it, she’s cast against type as an unglamorous saloon singer in a satirical western. Who knew that all this sophisticated international star needed was a good old-fashioned non-typical American western to revamp her career?

Based on the Max Brand pulp story of the same name, this film was a remake of the 1932 Tom Mix film (and subsequently was later remade in 1954 with Audie Murphy). George Marshall directs a pair of western virgins in Dietrich and James Stewart (playing the title role) and does his very best to parody the classic Western. For example, Stewart plays a pacifistic unarmed lawman in a town where flying bullets are the norm. Released in the same year as Stagecoach, the film that set the classic western standard, Destry Rides Again sets its own unique template that other films like Cat Ballou and Blazing Saddles would later borrow from.

The story take place in a town appropriately named BOTTLENECK—primarily because just about the whole movie takes place inside the Last Chance Saloon (where, yet another bit of irony here, Dietrich’s character works). Owned by a shady gambler named Kent (Brian Donlevy), the saloon is a hotbed for gunfights and cheating gamblers--most notably Kent himself. Right from the start, we see Frenchy (Dietrich) helping Kent cheat the hapless Lem Claggett (Tom Fadden) out of his $10,000 ranch by spilling hot coffee on him and allowing his cards to be switched. When Claggett complains to Sheriff Keogh (Joe King) that he was cheated, the sheriff confronts Kent and is shot and killed (off-screen).

Later, we see Frenchy doing her best Mae West impression as she sings “You’ve Got That Look That Leaves Me Weak” to a sexually charged audience. Soon after the song ends, Kent has the corrupt Mayor/Judge Slade (Samuel S. Hinds) announce the town drunk, Dimsdale (Charles Winninger), as the new sheriff. Where is the esteemed new sheriff upon this announcement? Passed out on the floor, only to be roused by a whisky to the face. Oddly enough, he decides now is a good time to become sober. It seems that before he was a souse he’d been the deputy of Marshal Destry, a famous and respected lawman. He announces he’s going to hire Destry’s son, Tom (Stewart), to help bring order to Bottleneck.

Dimsdale’s (and also the town’s) expectations that Tom Destry will strike fear into criminals are quickly obliterated when a mild-mannered Tom emerges from the stage holding a parasol for fellow passenger, Janice (Irene Harvey). Immediately he becomes the source of ridicule, especially after he reveals that he doesn’t carry a gun and that he drinks milk instead of whisky. Frenchy goes so far as to give him a broom and bucket as tools that he can use to clean up Bottleneck. James Stewart is priceless in these scenes, with his famous aw-shucks attitude. With this characterization, George Marshall has now established the a-typical western sheriff/hero.

However, nothing is more priceless than the catfight between Frenchy and boarding house owner Lily Belle Callahan (Una Merkel). Angry that her Russian émigré husband Boris (Mischa Auer) has lost his pants to Frenchy in a card game, Lily accuses Frenchy of cheating and all hell breaks lose. In yet another a-typical move, Marshall doesn’t have the obligatory barroom brawl occur between men but between two scrappy females. Perhaps one of the longest catfights ever, both women (without the aid of stand-ins) engage in punching and wrestling (among other things) one another to the ground (where they roll around for an extended amount of time) until Destry pours a bucket of water on them. Oh, no he didn’t! This enrages Frenchy and she turns her wrath on him. After engaging in the same tactics she used on Lily, she grabs a gun and aims it at him. Deciding not to shoot him, she throws everything she can get her hands on at him and even finds herself on his shoulders at one time. This scene is absolutely side-splitting hilarious—her wrath and his bewildered amazement are priceless.
After Tom escapes the saloon, Dimsdale threatens to fire him for being the town laughing-stock. Tom tries to convince him that they can restore order without using guns. Explaining that a gun didn’t do his father any good when he was shot in the back in Tombstone, Tom convinces Dimsdale to give him a chance. We soon learn that just because he doesn’t want to carry a gun it doesn’t mean he can’t handle one. When he stops a group of cowboys from shooting their guns in the air, Tom borrows a gun and puts on a clinic to the amazement of onlookers. Soon Tom learns about the trouble between Kent and Claggett and decides that Frenchy is the person to get answers from. Over coffee in her room, Tom makes mild insinuations that Frenchy purposefully dropped coffee in Claggett’s lap to distract him from his cards. Offended, Frenchy throws him out, but not before he makes a sly comment about her not wearing so much makeup because it covers up her real beauty. As time wears on, Frenchy begins to admire Destry and even offers him her lucky rabbit’s foot and advises him to stay out of dark places.

With his newly sworn-in deputy’s, Boris, help, Destry tricks Kent into believing that he knows where Sheriff Keogh’s body is. When Kent sends one of his thugs to check on the body, Boris and Dimsdale tail him and arrest him when he leads them to the body. To avoid the corrupt Mayor Slade presiding over the case, Destry sends for a federal judge. This causes Kent to plan a jailbreak for his man. Fearing that Destry will be killed in the jailbreak, Frenchy sends for him and tries to distract him by telling him she’s leaving town and wants him to go to New Orleans with her. When shots ring out, Destry rushes back to the jail to see the prisoner has escaped and that Dimsdale has been fatally shot. Having had enough, Destry arms himself with his father’s guns and with the help of the fed-up decent townspeople, storms the saloon. Frenchy even tells all the ladies (with pitchforks and rolling pins, nonetheless) they should help their men. While the townsfolk are taking care of Kent’s men in the bar, Destry climbs up to the second floor in search of Kent. Just as Kent is about to shoot Destry, Frenchy throws herself in front of him and is mortally wounded. After shooting Kent, Destry holds Frenchy in his arms and honors her last request for a kiss. The way Frenchy rubs away her lipstick at this moment is heartbreaking. In the end, order is restored to the town, but not before Destry has lost another two people he loved to guns.

Before he became the serious cowboy/hero in such westerns as Winchester ‘73 and Broken Arrow, Stewart got to play the a-typical western hero. His easy-mannered performance is not a surprise, as it was his calling card on just about every film he ever made, but it is interesting to watch his Destry spin yarns into valuable lessons. His Destry reminds me of a Wild West Aesop.

Dietrich, of course, had her career revived by this film. She would go on to make two other westerns, The Spoilers and Rancho Notorious, but neither topped her performance here. She shows so many sides to her character it’s difficult to keep up: sassy, sexy, fierce, humorous, fearful, and loving. The bawdiness she puts into her musical numbers, most notably “See What the Boys in the Back Room Will Have”, is wickedly enjoyable. She took a big risk playing against type here, but in the end it worked in her favor, as she started to play more diverse characters.

Hilariously entertaining on several levels, this is a true classic.

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Footlight Parade (1933) **1/2

Busby Berkeley was a field artillery lieutenant in WWI. Thus, he watched as soldiers marched in unison as they obeyed a strict cadence. No doubt this experience laid the groundwork for what would would become some of the most innovatively choreographed musical numbers in film history. Last week I wrote about Berkeley's breakout work in 42nd Street, so it is only fitting that I do a follow-up this week about his greatest musical number ever, “By a Waterfall” from Footlight Parade.

Following up his directorial success of 42nd Street, Lloyd Bacon helmed yet another backstage musical with this film. James Cagney plays Chester Kent, a down on his luck Broadway director who becomes a prologue director after talking pictures prove hugely profitable. And just what is a prologue director, you ask? Someone who puts together live stage shows to be shown in movie theaters before the main film. This is a step down for Chester. The musical comedies that he directed for Broadway were very successful, but once the “talkie” emerged his ticket sales dwindled. If this wasn’t bad enough, his wife (Renee Whitney) leaves him after she learns that his Broadway career is over. She should have stayed, because Chester and his partners, Sy Gould (Guy Kibee) and Frazer (Arthur Hohl), make their prologue enterprise a huge success. Due to this success, Chester’s main competitor decides to plant a mole in the company in order to steal Chester’s lavish production ideas. In addition to this problem, he has to worry about his underhanded partners who are shortchanging him from his hard-earned profits. What is a frazzled, creative genius to do?

Like most distracted, overworked men Chester has a woman on the spot who keeps his chaotic world in order: Nan Prescott (Joan Blondell). Dependable, loyal, and desperately in love with her boss, Nan keeps the ship afloat as Chester puts his attention everywhere but on her. One place that he sets his attention is on gold-digging actress Vivian Rich (Claire Dodd), who Nan sees right through. To say that Vivian is a piece of work would be an understatement.

When a big deal emerges with the Appolinaris’ theater company for a 40-theater contract, Chester must come up with three new shows in three days. Not willing to take a chance on his brilliant ideas leaking out to his competitor, Chester locks everyone in the studio and forbids any phone calls or outside visitors. One of the brilliant ideas Chester has is that mousy, bespectacled secretary Bea (Ruby Keeler) take off her glasses and become the star of the show. He also thinks that Scotty Blair (Dick Powell) has a nice singing voice; even if he had been forced upon him by Mrs. Gould (the outrageously funny Ruth Donnelly). Coincidentally, just like in 42nd Street, Powell and Keeler are romantically paired in this film. If working under such tight time constraints and fearing that someone will leak his ideas to his competitor aren’t enough, Chester must also try to meet Mrs. Gould’s “decency” requirements, which are monitored by her brother Charlie (Hugh Herbert).

In the end, what emerges from Chester’s creative mind are three very memorable musical numbers. The first, “Honeymoon Hotel” is performed by Powell and Keeler, who play a newly married couple who just want to enjoy their honeymoon without interruption but keep being interrupted by relatives and a creepy baby played by Billy Barty. The lyrics are very suggestive and overall the number was deemed too racy by many and was heavily cut in some local theaters.

The second act is the most spectacular (and the one that is most associated with Berkeley): “By a Waterfall.” Over 15 minutes long, this was the first on-screen aquacade. It featured 100 “bathing beauties”, costumed in swimming suits that made them appear naked, performing various aquatic acts in an 80-by-40-foot swimming pool. The pool was designed with a glass floor and glass walls, which allowed Berkeley to shoot the swimmers from every imaginable angle. The swimmers dance and form intricate, geometric patterns (which were captured by overhead kaleidoscopic shots). At the end, the swimmers form a revolving 70 ft. high wedding cake/fountain. It is the most spectacular musical number ever captured on film. Berkeley had the pool lined with glass walls and a glass floor so he could shoot the swimmers from every possible angle. No musical number has ever topped this.

The final number is one of my favorite James Cagney performances: “Shanghai Lil”—which was a nod to the 1932 film Shanghai Express (which I reviewed back in February). Told in an operatic fashion, the audience watches as a camera takes them through the waterfront bars of Shanghai. Cagney plays a tap dancing sailor looking for his lost lover Lil, a Chinese prostitute, in an opium-laced brothel. Watched today, most people don’t get the political messages that were being conveyed about American imperialism in Asia and FDR’s New Deal—especially with the image of the NRA’s Blue Eagle, which was a boost to fair wages and business competition (this Act was ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in 1935). If you can get over seeing Keeler in a black wig and Chinese makeup, you’ll enjoy watching her dance number with Cagney—it is phenomenal. All told, more than 150 people performed in this number. Then unknowns John Garfield, Ann Sothern, and Dorothy Lamour appear in this sequence.

Overall, a highly entertaining musical. Cagney is at his best as the overworked Chester and Joan Blondell is her usual charming self. The supporting cast is stellar, especially Ruby Keeler and Ruth Donnelly. All of the musical numbers are great and two of them are considered among the greatest ever made.

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