Saturday, December 26, 2009

I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang. 1932. Directed by Mervyn LeRoy.

(6/2/00)

It's riveting from start to finish. This is powerful movie-making. And it was made with a sense of outrage. This is about a man who was sentenced to a chain gang for a minor offense. Really, the only thing he did wrong was run from the police. He escapes and makes a success of himself, but his identity is dicovered. He agrees to voluntarily rerturn to the state he escaped from, having been promised a pardon. The pardon doesn't happen. He escapes again and at the film's end is a man who can only flee--and steal.

It's exciting stuff. It's even more exciting in that it is based on a true story. This film is the equivalent of muckraking journalism. And it points its finger directly at authority. James Allen's speech when he learns that his promised pardon was denied is pure rhetoric--but it is forfceful and scathing.

I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang presents a vivid and convincing picture of life in America. It is a raw, tough, down-to-earth picture. James Allen comes home from World War I. He wants to go into construction, but is instead persuaded to resume his pre-war desk job in a mill. He finall gives that up to follow his dream. But work is hard to find and he becomes a bum. This is "real life" with which 1932 audiences were all too familiar.

The life on the chain gang is a sharply-drawn picture. I remember in particular how Allen was hit for simply wiping the sweat from his brow. None of this is glamorous; it is all gritty and down-to-earth.

The most shocking part of the film is when Allen goes back to the chain gang voluntarily, believing in promises which were made to him but were not kept. It seems like a stupid thing for him to do, but this basically decent man believes in "the authorities." He doesn't question authority, even after what it did to him in the first place. That, I think, is the real lesson of the film--that belief in institutionalized authority is a very dangerous illusion. And it is stated with such a sense of outrage. This is a pretty subversive film.

And of course the second escape appears to ruin his life. After having spent a decade (or thereabouts) making something of himself he is unable to keep a job because someone or something alwys turns up. The final, pointed indictment of the criminal justice system are Allen's last words in response to the question "How do you live?" He answers, "I steal."

So much of the impact of this film is communicated visually. I forget the specific details that impressed me, but this is a very visual film. I remember one very effective scene when the camera dollies in to Allen's face at a crucial moment. But it is full of great moments, such as when he is told, after having returned to the chain gang for a year that the commission had suspended
decision on his pardon--indefinitely.

And some of the minor characters are wonderfully etched characterizations. Allen's clergyman brother who sits back and asks Allen to "tell us all about the war" is memorable as is the southern lawyer who assures him that he'll get the pardon, but that the clerical job they promised him "isn't so definite."

It is also worth mentioning how Allen is preyed upon by a woman who blackmails him into marrying her and then turns him in when he wants a divorce. There are a great many things to admire in this film, not the least being that heartbreaking final scene when he visits the woman he loves but can never have, then hears the sound of someone approaching and fades into the darkness.

I would really like to know more about the man on whom this film was based. What was the rest of his life like after that film came out?

Thursday, December 17, 2009

42nd Street. 1933. Directed by Lloyd Bacon.

(5/30/00)

This is probably the classic musical about putting on a Broadway show and it is probably the most famous of the musicals that Busby Berkeley made at Warner Brothers in the 1930s. And I think it deserves to be. It is not a silly comedy, but a film about believable characters and what goes on behind the scenes.

It doesn't have Footlight Parade's relentless energy. Instead it has a series of scenes which genuinely involve the viewer on an emotional level. The scenes are allowed to breathe--we don't have a sense of being bombarded. I felt more relaxed watching 42nd Street--and more interested.

The center of the backstage story is the character played by Warner Baxter. He has done great shows, but doesn't have anything money-wise to show for it. He's not well and is risking his life for this one. It is his last chance. And at the end of the film he sits alone, unacknowledged, after his show has succeeded. Poignacy doesn't hurt a picture like this.

Then there is the intrigue about the leading lady. A wealthy admirer (and she is probably sleeping with him) is bankrolling the show on her behalf. Meanwhile, she is seeing her ex-boyfriend on the sly. It is an arrangement that is making no one happy.

What was interesting for me was the realization that both the wealthy man and the leading lady feel degraded by this arrangement. He certainly knows that people are laughing at him behind his back and she knows that everyone knows that she only has the part because of her relationship with this man. That really came through. And the situation is resolved when, after spraining her ankle, she finally realizes her true values and gives up her dubious career to marry the man she really loves.

Guy Kibbee comes up with another discovery to do the part, but there is a truly touching moment when Joan Blondell admits to Warner Baxter that she can't do it justice, but that she knows someone who can. She does the right thing and points him in the direction of newcomer Peggy Sawyer, played by Ruby Keeler.

Warner Baxter is just right as he gives pep talks to Ruby Keeler. It seems a little too much, but it isn't. The man is desperate; this is his last chance. And it is quite a metamorphosis as Sally changes from an amateur into a star. Those scenes are archetypal, practically.

But 42nd Street is, more than anything else, about its musical numbers. And they are classics. They are, first of all, a first-class group of songs. "You're Getting to Be a Habbit With Me," "Shuffle Off to Buffalo" and "42nd Street" have deservedly become standards that everyone knows.

It's Busby Berkeley's show all the way, but I'm not going to say very much except that the scenes are well worth the wait. It's too bad that "You're Getting to Be a Habit With Me" doesn't get a big production number. I would have liked to see Ruby Keeler paired with Dick Powell for "Shuffle Off to Buffalo," but you can't have everything. "I'm Young and Healthy" is one of the best examples of Busby Berkeley's overhead shots of dancers arranged in moving abstract patterns. It is an art deco fantasia, brilliantly set off by its black background. And "42nd Street" provides an exuberant finish.

Ruby Keeler has her one memorable role as Peggy Sawyer. It was the right woman in the right role at the right time. She has major chemistry with Dick Powell which was not repeated in Footlight Parade. And it is fun to see Ginger Rogers sporting an affected British accent.
Gold Diggers of 1933 and Gold Diggers of 1935 also have some very fine production numbers, but 42nd Street just has a special something.

(6/2/00)

I want to qualify my comments on Ruby Keeler and say that I thought she was quite fetching as "Shanghai Lil." And I very much liked the scene (Footlight Parade) in which Herman Bing goes over the titles of songs in the music library that have something to do with cats.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Footlight Parade. 1933. Directed by Lloyd Bacon.

(5/29/00)

It's frenetic. The viewer gets caught up in the sheer energy of the whole thing. It's about the trials and tribulations of a showman who, facing extinction due to talking pictures, decides to produce prologues to accompany those pictures.

A young James Cagney plays the showman. He faces a competitor who steals his ideas, partners who are screwing him out of his share of the profits, a woman who wants to marry him for money, and a host of other plagues. He fights his way through all these troubles in a manner reminiscent of the performance he was to give so many years later in Billy Wilder's One, Two, Three. And we even get to see him sing and dance.

This is film of the depression. It is about struggle, hard work and an aggressive attitude towards life's challenges. It shows show business as just that--business--and damn hard work as well.
This picture has a wonderful ensemble, including Cagney, Ruby Keeler, Dick Powell, Huy Kibbee, Frank McHugh and Hugh Herbert. They are all fun to watch, although Hugh Herbert grates on me a little. Dick Powell is likable and eager and all that, though why he is so interested in Ruby Keeler when she looks so dowdy is a little beyond me.

The film takes a tough, cynical stance, particularly where relationships are concerned. I addition to being pursued by a mercenary woman, Cagney is married to a woman who doesn't go through with a divorce when it looks like Cagney will make good and then wants $25,000 to leave him alone.

The musical numbers are what the audience waits for in this film. They are strung together at the end. They are elaborate fantasies concocted by Busby Berkley. "Honeymoon Hotel" is a lot of fun with its midget dressed as a child and ending up in bed with Powell, but I was a little disappointed with "By a Waterfall" which has no story, but does have elaborate visual designs. Perhaps the song itself didn't grab me.

"Shanghai Lil" is the finale of the film and quite memorable. It is clever how we hear the music of "Shanghai Lil" throughout the film, preparing us for this finale. I loved it how the male performer didn't feel he can go on and he and Cagney come to blows. A figure falls onto the stage just as the curtain goes up, but we don't see who it is. The camera follows the unidentified figure through the first part of the sequence and then finally reveals that it is Cagney himself. I really liked that.

"Shanghai Lil" goes a little overboard towards the end with its legions of sailors, performers forming a great American flag with a picture of FDR and then the NRA symbol. But then, the whole picture tends towards the over-the-top. But it's certainly enjoyable.

(5/30/00)

One great moment I neglected to mention is when Frank McHugh rehearses a love duet with Dick Powell. (They hadn't chosen the female singer yet.) He sings the lines that were meant to be sung by a young woman with a cigar in his mouth. I really enjoyed that.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

I Walked with a Zombie. 1943. Directed by Jacques Tourneur.

(5/28/00)

I kept thinking that this film could have been a pilot for Strange Paradise. It has a sort of highbrow feel to it with fine photography and dignified action, but I found it disappointing.

It is hard to follow, or maybe part of it was that I kept expecting more--more secrets to be revealed. Two brothers were in love with thye same woman. She was married to one of them. She is in a coma or is a zombie or something similar. The nurse is determined to bring her back to health, believing that her husband loves her and wants her back. But he indicates that he doesn't want her to be restored to himin a way that suggests that we are going to learn something startling about their relationship. We don't.

The big revelation is that the mother used voodoo to kill thye woman. She's really dead. Or is she? The doctor points out that she still has the characteristics of the living. This is never resolved. Is the woman alive or dead?

The scenes of voodoo ceremonies are nice to watch. I didn'tfind them frightening or anything like that. This could be from living in a more sophisticated time and having seen the same sort of thing in Live and Let Die. If the filmmakers could have developed more intrigue about the voodoo I might have become more involved.

There is a fantastic character of a black man who seems to be a zombie. He has large, bulging eyes. He comes to the house where the people live and his presence there, since we don't know what he is there to do) is genuinely unnerving. But I think that the best, most haunting scene in the film is when the nurse and one of the brothers go to a cafe. A singer sings te tale of the family's story, not knowing that one of the brothers is there. When informed of this he immediately desists and comes over and obsequiously apologizes. But after the brother passes out he takes on a totally different demeanor and finishes the story (the song). He is like a figure of fate or something.

We keep seeing a statue of St. Sebastian pierced by arrows, which was the figurehead of a ship. It was a slave ship or the ship that first brought the family to the island. I don't know what it was intended to symbolize.