All About Eve (1950)

I've been talking a lot about the ages of various actors and actresses in my last few posts and discussing the viability of their careers after they were deemed Over the Hill. It reminded me to re-watch the movie All About Eve, which is at its heart about the struggles of a 40-year-old actress, Margot Channing (played by 42 year old Bette Davis) to hang onto her career, her 30 Something boyfriend and her sanity in the face of a young, ambitious and insidiously manipulative rival, Eve Harrington (Anne Baxter). Davis used all kinds of personal tics and charming idiosyncrasies to put a part of her soul up on that screen. That is great acting, as opposed to merely competent acting which allows us to imagine a person is someone else. In one scene, Davis reveals her real age to her playwright friend and says, "I feel as if I'd just taken off all my clothes." My reaction watching that was that I've seen into a person's real, secret pain. She might as well have taken off all her clothes.

Maybe I'm so age obsessed lately because I'm just days away from the big 4-0 myself. These kinds of milestones are bound to bring out the erratic behavior. Bill Simpson (Gary Merrill), Margot's lover is dismissive of her fears, calling them childish, which they may be, in at least the way she has a tendency to bring them forth in tantrums, but they are reasonable concerns, nonetheless. Whenever I watch a movie like this it just makes me wanna take up arms against...I don't know what. Like seeing Emma Thomspon cheated on in Love Actually, is actually physically painful because I think, "damn if it could happen to Emma with all her looks, talent and brains, then the rest of us mortals are all totally screwed." This is the essence of what a "Women's Picture" is all about. It is a theme which resonates with women and more than a half century later, All About Eve is just as potent a cocktail as the day it was made.

Written and directed by Joseph L. Mankiewitz, All About Eve has one of the best script's ever put before a camera. The opening monologue alone, delivered in a tone of perfect derision by theater critic, Addison DeWitt (George Sanders) is probably one of the all-time ten best opening sequences. Sanders is the picture of wickedness and yet he's so dang funny you just can't hate him. He is the devil, but you find yourself wanting to hang out with him anyway. Other supporting players shine, like Thelma Ritter who literally makes me say aloud "I love you, Thelma" during every scene in which she appears. Even Miss Casswell (Marilyn Monroe), DeWitt's ditsy like a fox escort to Margot's disastrous party, is memorable and not just because she's Marilyn Monroe. She's just perfect--conveying the same menacing ambition as Eve, but without the dishonest facade of naivete which Eve uses to worm her way to the top. Miss Casswell plans on sleeping her way to the top, with stops in the middle range couch of a theatrical critic. There's a sort of crude honesty about the way in which DeWitt points her in the direction of a bigger fish at the party, presumably having been paid in kind for his services as pimp. It's not exactly admirable, but at least it is straight-forward. The same can not be said for Eve.

Watching Eve slowly rise at the expense of others is a bit like watching a horror movie. You shout, "don't go there, stupid!!" at the screen every time one of Margot or her friends cuts her a break. The worst part is that Eve is probably talented enough that she could make it without all the backstabbing. At a certain point Margot just wants to retire and get married, in which case she would have been happy to see her protege rise, I think. By the way, I'm not sure I buy that whole premise much anyway. Can't Margot be married and continue to work? It's how you know you're watching a Women's Picture, I guess. That and at any point after 1950 people would have spotted Eve's behavior as pathological right from the get go.

The ending is sort of hokey, and perhaps the only weakness of the film. Eve is stalked by a very young Eve-y type stalker, which is all just a bit too pat for my taste. I would rather the film end with Eve accepting her Major Award and getting away with all her crimes. At least we get to see DeWitt one more time and he has a great moment of recognition when he meets Eve's young fan. The look on Sander's face is pretty priceless and takes the sting out of the unsatisfactory conclusion.

The stuff dreams are made of: maltese Falcon Boxed set

What's better than a boxed set of the Maltese Falcon (1941) with extras, a commentary and a documentary? That same boxed set with all three film versions of Dashiell Hammet's novel included. While I mostly blame Tonto for the recent influx of expensive DVDs into my house, I can't deny I do love the extras. This is a rare case in which the extras might be something I actually watch as much if not more than the 1941 version of the film.

The documentary is average, although I did learn that I've pronouncing "Dashiell" wrong all these years. (It should be "da sheel" not "Dash-el") For some reason Henry Rollins is a commentator in it. That guy must have made a deal with devil or something. Never before has a little talent in the arena of punk rock and spoken word been a qualification to comment as to whether Humphrey Bogart's portrayal of Sam Spade was the first anti-hero put on film. (He wasn't by the way. See the first two film versions of this story, if you don't believe me.) The commentary too is mind-numbingly pedestrian. Bogart biographer Eric Lax talks in a monotone throughout giving dry facts about the actors on screen. He adds a few nice pieces of trivia, that I wouldn't have known about otherwise such as a poster for an obscure Bogart movie that's in the background when Miles is shot, but otherwise I had to force myself to get through it.

Having been raised on the '41 film, the Maltese Falcon (1931) was really a surprise and a pleasant one at that. With its focus on Sam Spade's sex life, it's naughty and funny as well as gritty. I can't picture Bogart ever being as breezy or as flippant as Ricardo Cortez is as he tidies his office after an afternoon rendezvous with a client, flirts with his secretary, takes a call from one of his girlfriends who happens to be married to his partner and makes goo goo eyes at Ruth Wonderly (Bebe Daniels) all before lunch. Daniels is a more street-wise, earthy femme fatale than Mary Astor. I've always respected Astor's acting, but Daniels is the kind of woman that seems like she could lead two or three guys to their doom and still make it to her lunch date without having to retouch her lipstick. Mary Astor projects a far more polished and high-class image, and when she says "I haven't lived a good life; I've been bad" you wonder if it isn't something to do with not matching her china pattern to the table cloth.

At the very least the sleeping arrangement make a lot more sense in the pre-code version. The famous detective wastes no time in shacking up with his client which gives him ample opportunity to search through her stuff to find the falcon as well as protecting her from Gutman's thug, Wilmer. In the '41 version we are expected to believe that Spade's faithful and sharp as a tack assistant, has a blind spot for Miss Wonderly and offers to put her up at her place as a favor to her boss. It's interesting to me that the adultery in all three of the film versions is toned down from the novel. The 31 version makes Iva Archer out to be tremendously unappealing and Sam is clearly regretful of his involvement with her. When Wonderly realizes that the negligee she found in her new lover's apartment belonged to the wife of the man she just murdered, she tears it off and takes a bath, scrubbing herself vigorously with a stiff brush. The film's producers made sure we understood that Ms. Wonderley had a conscience after all, and of course who were they to miss an opportunity to titillate the audience . In Satan Met a Lady, the affair happened before the Archers were married and in the '41 version Bogart breaks things off completely with Iva as soon as Miles is killed. In the novel, Spade is revolted by the his involvement but it is strongly implied that he will go back to her at the end. That was a conclusion that was too brutal even for the Pre-code era. The '31 film ends with Spade visiting Wonderly in jail, asking the prison matron to go easy on her and to send the bill for any little expenses she might incur to him at the DA's office. There is no famous line "the stuff that dreams are made of" and Sam Spade gets made assistant DA!

Satan Met a Lady (1936) is best known to film fans as the movie that precipitated Bette Davis breaking her contract with Warner Brothers. The film's reviews were colored by the chivalric feeling that critics had for Davis who they felt was above the material at hand. And perhaps she was, but that didn't stop me from enjoying the heck out of this quirky comedy. I am probably too big of a fan of screwball comedy, if such a thing is possible. I may be the only person who thinks a screwball bowlderization of The Maltese Falcon is a good idea. Critics, audiences and most of the people involved thought it was a disaster, but I couldn't help but admire the fact that this even got made. On top of that, it's actually quite funny.

The original New York Times review of Satan Met a Lady said that actors behave as if they expect the men in white coats to burst any moment and lock them up for attempting such a travesty. And really is that so different than the subtext of any screwball comedy? Is My Man Godfrey to be faulted for having the brass neck to put the homeless over the rich at a time when the country was nearly at war with itself? So what if a great book is made to look silly and liberties are taken with the plot? It is all in the service of comedy, which is not a noble sacrifice if you ask me. The question is then, is Satan Met a Lady any good as a comedy? I think it is. Warren William plays the Sam Spade stand-in Ted Shayne, the Satan of the title. He is far less tortured than the famous detective and inexplicably eccentric and even bizarre at times. He behaves like a person in a screwball comedy. Perhaps it is this knowing consciousness that they are in a comedy which put audiences off. I suppose the best comedies are those in which people play things straight in screwball situations. That holds to a point. Sooner or later things just get weird. Men in negligees stomp on dowagers' feet. It's bound to happen. Just as its bound to happen that a hard boiled detective will suddenly jump in the air grab onto the door frame and imitate King Kong.

The Letter (1940)

The Letter starring Bette Davis and Herbert Marshall is a classic example of why I really don't like film noir very much. People behave in completely stupid and irrational ways in order for most of the plots to work. The lead characters in noir are required to be short-sighted and mad in their objectives, which limits the depth of the characters and the actors who can play them. I'm sure this mirrors real life somewhat, but it is equal parts movie exaggeration. The genre seems to demand the cool, aloof beauty with a heart of stone, the lustful clever man and the hapless chump to be the victim. But what happens when the actors portraying these types are just too different, too smart, too nuanced to fit into these molds? Well, what happens is a film like The Letter.

The film begins on a moonlit night on a rubber plantation in Singapore, the camera panning over a shed full of dozing workers, moving across the yard to the plantation house. Shots ring out. Leslie Crosbie (Davis) comes to the door pursuing an unseen man. She puts four more slugs into him, in front of half a dozen witnesses, calmly orders the "head boy" to bring the police, before retiring to her room to smoke cigarettes. Her husband, Robert (Marshall) arrives along with the police and their family lawyer, Howard Joyce (James Stephenson) and the three men coo over her while she calmly tells how the man, Jeff Hammond, tried to "make love to her" before she filled him full of lead. The police and her husband are beside themselves with admiration for her strength and dignity in defending her honor. The lawyer is a bit suspicious. At this point, I wanted to shake Herbert Marshall till his head popped off, but he goes on being decent, thoughtful and totally blind to his wife's obvious flaws. For her part, I began to wonder why she would cheat on a man who was so obviously devoted to her and who is, after all debonair, handsome Herbert Marshall.

Davis plays the role as cool as ice, never letting on until the films last act just what her attachment was to the dead man. Since we never see him except as a corpse or learn much about his personality it's difficult to understand why she would prefer him over her husband and why she is so in love with him when it becomes clear that he treated her pretty shabbily. The bulk of the film is taken up with a letter from the defendant to the dead man that threatens to send Leslie to the gallows where she belongs. Her lawyer compromises his principals to save her because he he so fond of her husband that he doesn't want him to find out what she's really like. And he may be infatuated with her as well. It's difficult to tell because their scenes together are kind of nebulous and Davis plays everything so aloof and quirky that you can't tell whether she's trying to seduce Howard Joyce or not.

Davis wasn't particularly well suited to the stereotype of femme fatale. She's too intellectual, too neurotic (the film's most clever ploy is to channel her restless energy into lace knitting which becomes a symbol for her sexual frustration) and not the right kind of sexy for this. I'm not saying Bette Davis wasn't a sex symbol. She was, but primarily, I think her appeal was to women and men who liked a woman with spirit and brains. She was a thinking man's pin up. Not the sort of knock out who inspired the animal lust that will drive men to do completely stupid and irrational things. In short, she's no Lana Turner. Herbert Marshall, though flawless as usual is perhaps the wrong type to be the likeable chump/victim. He's too handsome, charming and well-matched with Davis to fit the type. In short, he's no Cecil Kellaway.

The Letter is worth watching for noir fans as it is a well-crafted example of the genre, with plenty of exotic and dark atmosphere and a comprehensible visual language from able director William Wyler. The very qualities that limit the genre of Film Noir, in requiring those stereotypes, also make it so compelling when it does work. This is good example of a movie that gets almost everything right,except casting. It's also an interesting entry for Davis fans who want to see the whole limit of her range as an actress.

Almost Sex in the City: Betty Davis Womens Pictures

Bette Davis rocks. I loved Dark Victory and Now, Voyager. Both are torturous melodramatic plots that border on the absurd and both are entirely carried by the fierceness of Bette's acting. The New York Times put it this way: " either because of the Hays Office or its own spurious logic, endlessly complicates an essentially simple theme. For all its emotional hair-splitting, it fails to resolve its problems as truthfully as it pretends. In fact, a little more truth would have made the film a good deal shorter." That was a review of Now, Voyager, but it could have easily done for Dark Victory as well. The truth the Times is hinting at is the truth that the empowerment so long fought for by the heroines of both these movies, is all about sex.

In Dark Victory, the hint of sex lies behind the wild nights of "wastefulness" that Julie Treherne seems to want to indulge in with young Ronald Reagan and Humphrey Bogart. Reagan plays a party boy who is never sober and Bogart plays an unconvincingly Irish horse trainer who is at least convincingly impertinent. Julie toys with both of them, but in a pre-code movie she would have gotten them over and done with in a few quick scenes before making the inevitable realization that her Dr. Steele (George Brent) is the man for her. The story is easily dismissed as women's romantic nonsense. After her brain surgeon falls in love with her, he discovers her tumor is inoperable. His surgery will only manage to give her a few healthy months before she dies. In what had to have been a malpractice suit in the making if I ever saw one, Steele decides to hold back the truth. The pair get engaged, but of course she finds out and that's when she returns to her playboy and her stable boy, imagining that the good doctor was only marrying her out of pity. Is that something doctors once did, along with making house calls, I wonder?

The ending of Dark Victory is really quite interesting and the strongest part of the film for me. Julie's tumor will conveniently leave her completely healthy until the last few hours of her life when she will suffer an increasing blindness. When she begins to realize whats' happening she packs her husband off to a medical convention and kicks her secretary out the door. Poor Ann, played by Geraldine Fitzgerald is left to apparently wander the roads until she thinks Julie has had enough time to die. One imagines a parody where she comes back awkwardly and finds her still alive a few times. Then Julie says goodbye to her dog and her maid and lies down on her bed alone to die. Davis is riveting as she plays this simple silent scene.

Now, Voyager is a strange but good movie in which Davis plays an awkward old maid who suffers a nervous breakdown as a result of her completely dysfunctional relationship with her over bearing mother(Gladys Cooper). Charlotte is saved from her fate by the talent and charm of a psychiatrist (Claude Raines). After a few weeks at his hospital, a sort of summer camp complete with tennis and crafts, Charlotte is mostly cured. She is sent on a cruise and rather than show her going through a makeover from frumpy maiden aunt into glamorous socialite, the audience is surprised by a sudden reveal of her new look on the cruise ship. At the same time Charlotte is revealed to us, she is spotted by the handsomest ineligble guy on the boat, Jerry Durrance (Paul Henreid). The pair become friends but things are complicated when they are stranded together in the Brazilian jungle alone at night. The movie goes to great length to prevent us from making any assumption about what went on, substituting copious amounts of cigarette lighting for love scenes.

If the movie ended shortly after the cruise, showing how Charlotte had used love to conquer her confidence problems it would have probably been the better for it. As it is, there is a bizarre and clumsy third act in which Charlotte's mother dies causing a crisis in Charlotte's recovery. Fleeing back to the safety of the "hospital," she meets Jerry's daughter who is a younger version of Charlotte, institutionalized after having difficulty with her mother. In the completely insane world of psychiatry in the movies, Claude Raines allows Charlotte to adopt Jerry's daughter and take her care under her advisement. He does this knowing about the relationship between the girl's father and Charlotte. In the end Charlotte and Jerry are reunited in a way, agreeing to remain friends whose only contact is relating to the care of the child. The famous "let's not ask for the moon when we have the stars" ending feels a bit forced as I couldn't help but thinking such a relationship would be really difficult to maintain as well as ultimately probably damaging to everyone involved, not least the reputation of Raine's hospital.

I know the makers of the film had no choice but to portray the relationship between Charlotte and her married friend the way they did, but I can't help but remember smart movies in the forties that managed better with restrictions placed on them. In The Philadelphia Story the movie plays the "did they or didn't they?" question to its comic advantage before revealing the truth and In Name Only makes the friendship between married Cary Grant and widowed Carole Lombard sweetly funny at times, as close to a romantic comedy as the material will allow. Still, Bette Davis gives a great performance and her scenes with Cooper and Henreid are unforgettable.

Eye Candy of the Day: Warren William

Warren William with Billie Dove in an as-yet unnamed film.
I first heard about Warren William from one of my regular readers, kda, and then read about him in Mick LaSalle's "Dangerous Men." Those two recommendations alone were enough to sign me up for his fan club, the only trouble was I hadn't actually seen any of the man's films. Well TCM this month has decided to be complete pre-code awesomeness and I finally got my Warren William movie, in the form of The Dark Horse. I was not disappointed.

William plays Hal Blake, a smooth political operator who is called in by a desperate party to get a patsy dark horse candidate, literally named "Hicks," elected governor. William was known as the poor-man's John Barrymore (perhaps, they should have said, Warner's John Barrymore, as it amounted to much the same thing) because of his likeness of profile. I think that's a really shallow assessment though, given what I've seen of Barrymore's acting. I can't see Barrymore touching this deviously cynical character whose chief troubles revolve trying to get his current girlfriend (Bette Davis) to help him with his alimony payments. Not exactly the type of noble character Barrymore would play. Warren also has a zany energy that is nothing like John Barrymore. If anything it recalls Cary Grant in His Girl Friday. In fact, I might go so far as to say that Grant's Walter Burns is almost an homage to the sort of slimy, yet charming characters that William played in his pre-code films.

Paired with smart and capable actresses, Bette Davis , and Vivianne Osborne as his backstabbing ex-wife, Warren William throws ethics both professional and romantic to the wind and the audience is completely prepared to still accept him as a hero. It goes to show that Grant could never have gotten away with playing Walter Burns the way he did if Rosalind Russel had been one bit less his equal. Bette Davis is not quite up to Roz Russell level of gal Friday perfection, but she certainly oozes intelligence and competence though she may be a bit stiff at times. Osborn fairs better as a woman who is every bit as unethical as her ex-husband, but lacking in his redeeming romanticism.

The Dark Horse is a perfect introduction to this actor, as it's timely, smart and funny. Looking beyond William's shellaced hair and pencil thin mustache, concessions to the Barrymore look, I'm sure, William reminds me of Liam Neeson of all people. An early scene in The Dark Horse reminded me so much of Neeson in Michael Collin's rousing the prisoner's to the cause of the Irish Independence that I was distracted for the first ten minutes of the film. Of course, Hal Blake knows nothing about the man he's praising in such grand terms, and is the first, but not the last instance of grand theatrics used to sell politics. This satire feels as fresh as the day it was made. The key points about the electorate needing to feel that the candidate is as stupid as they are certainly hit home in an election season where a Wellesley College graduate drank bourbon and talked NASCAR and a vice presidential candidate's chief qualifications have to do with the ability to shoot something besides her hunting companions.