Pepe le Moko (1937) ** 1/2

(There may be spoilers in this post.)

Director Julien Duvivier’s atmospheric depiction of a Frenchman trapped in the Casbah by his own criminal undoing was the inspiration behind Graham Greene’s novel and screenplay, The Third Man (1949), as well as the 1938 English remake, Algiers, starring Charles Boyer and Hedy Lamarr. All three films share an undeniable element of fatalism and entrapment, but only one truly represents 1930s French poetic realism.

Pepe le Moko (Jean Gabin) is a French gangster hiding out from the police in the winding labyrinth known as the Casbah.  As long as he stays in the Casbah, Pepe is protected by the other criminals and outcasts who live and work amongst him.  Even the local police inspector, Slimane (Lucas Gridoux) doesn’t dare to capture Pepe within the confines of the Casbah.  Yet, Pepe longs for Paris, and when a beautiful Parisian woman (Mireille Balin) ventures into the Casbah, Pepe finds himself tempted to trade one prison for another one.

Just as Howard Hawks used an “X'” in Scarface (1932) to signal when an unnatural death was imminent or Martin Scorsese used the same device in The Departed (2006), Duvivier employed the use of bars and grates to signal Pepe’s inescapable imprisonment inside the Casbah.  In addition, the director used tight camera shots, as well as extreme close-ups to create a sense of claustrophobia. Whilst he is free to roam the Casbah, everything around him—the narrow corridors and the crowded streets—are a reminder of his self-made prison.  Marc Fossard and Jules Kruger’s cinematography expertly captures the staid, fatalistic feel of the Casbah. 

While Pepe le Moko is not nearly as romantic as Algiers, it does push the envelope more than its Hollywood remake.  This was possible, of course, because it was made in France where the censors were more liberal—except in the Vichy days, when it was banned for being too fatalistic.  We get to see a two-faced informer killed and another man take his own life instead of going to prison.  Oh, and then there’s the fact that Balin’s character is obviously a kept woman who has no qualms about going to a brothel for a rendezvous with another man—just your typical depiction of acceptable French mores. 

What makes Pepe le Moko stand out, though, is its ending.  (This is when the spoilers begin…) From the tracking shot of only Pepe’s feet running down the Casbah steps to the final image of Pepe’s dead body enwrapped around a closed gate, Duvivier memorably ends his film in such a way that once you’ve seen it you will never forget it.  There is no American sentimentalism allowed to finds its way into this movie’s last moments. No, what we are dealt is French poetic realism: as Balin’s character longingly stares up at the Casbah believing Pepe is dead, he stands at the gates of the boat dock, handcuffed, yelling out her name just as the boat’s horn bellows.  Accepting his final imprisonment, Pepe then knifes himself and dies wrapped around the gate that separate’s him from his love, freedom, and France. What a way to end a film!

Overall, Pepe le Moko is a gritty atmospheric movie, with a claustrophobic feel.  It also made Jean Gabin a true French cinema icon. Yet, it is the ending that makes this film memorable. 

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The Awful Truth (1937) ****

 

Cary Grant and Irene Dunne were a match made in screwball heaven. Her impeccable comedic timing and his gift for physical comedy made them an irresistible pair. While The Lady Eve (1941) is my all-time favorite screwball comedy, The Awful Truth (1937) comes in as a close second. Perhaps there aren’t any spectacular cinematographic shots or jaw-dropping dramatic performances, but to pull off a comedy filled with such sophisticated wit and engaging execution is something to be admired.

Nominated for six Academy Awards, The Awful Truth is about a New York couple who find themselves in divorce court after a slight misunderstanding: did the car really break down and cause Lucy Warriner (Irene Dunne) to have to stay out all night with her handsome music teacher Armand (Alexander D’Arcy), and why was Jerry Warriner in California when he said he was in Florida? High-strung and hot-tempered are bad traits in one person, let alone two who are married to one another, and so they are granted a divorce with a 90-day waiting period. The only thing that keeps them connected is their adorably smart dog Mr. Smith (Asta/Skippy), for whom they share joint custody. When Lucy becomes involved with slow-witted Oklahoma oil man Dan Leeson (Ralph Bellamy) Jerry becomes jealous and tries to point out why the man is all wrong for Lucy (which he is). And, when Jerry starts spending time with beautiful rich socialite Barbara Vance (Molly Lamont) Lucy literally puts on a show of jealousy for the ages. Does the couple get back together? I think you probably can guess the answer, but how they reunite is a bedroom tale left unspoken—let’s just say they figure out that they were cuckoo for ever doubting their love.

Okay, so what is so great about The Awful Truth? First and foremost, Dunne sparkles as Lucy. Playing a somewhat kooky, flighty woman was nothing new for Dunne, who’d been nominated for a Best Actress Oscar the year before in Theodora Goes Wild (1936), but she elevated her game slightly for the role of Lucy (although she lost yet again to Luise Rainer for Best Actress—really, two years in a row…was Rainer sleeping with everyone in Hollywood?). With masterful facial expressions and expertly delivered lines, Dunne makes Lucy the perfect screwball heroine. Her ability to play both a capricious woman driven beyond the point of exasperation by her husband’s jealousy and a caricature of a low-class cabaret singer bent on destroying Jerry’s romance with Barbara is a delightful study in character contrast.

Grant’s combination of sophistication and buffoonery plays exceedingly well. One minute he is the picture of debonair suaveness and the next he is Jitsu fighting with a butler or falling off a chair in the middle of an intimate parlor concert. Grant said that Dunne was his favorite actress to work with, and it shows here, as he and Dunne have perfect chemistry. Every scene flows evenly and neither actor gets the best of the other.

Who doesn’t love a cute dog? And, when you combine cute with smart, you get the perfect canine, and that is what Mr. Smith is. His interactions with both Dunne and Grant are hilarious. Of particular note is the “Two Hat” scene where Lucy tries to hide Armand’s hat from Jerry and Mr. Smith keeps finding it. When he climbs up on a mirrored table to gain access to the hat it is priceless.

The supporting characters are also one of the reasons The Awful Truth is so successful. Bellamy earned a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination for his portrayal of a gullible, slow-witted cowboy. From his horrible rendition of “Home on the Range” to his mama boy discussions with his domineering mother (Esther Dale), Bellamy is a delight. Cecil Cunningham is also wickedly entertaining as Lucy’s Aunt Patsy, who is stone-faced and straight talking. While her lines are few and far between, they are always delivered with just the right tone and gusto.

Finally, I must also say something about Dunne’s wardrobe, which was designed by Robert Kalloch. Dunne always wore clothes well, but some of the outfits/hats she wore in The Awful Truth took a certain type of woman to wear. From the gigantic white mink coat she enters the film in to a pajama lounging outfit made for the ages, Dunne wears Lucy’s crazy clothes stylishly and confidently. Really, she had to know how ridiculously bizarre some of the hats placed on her head looked, but I expect she realized the clothes fit her character’s slightly-off personality well.

Overall, I adore The Awful Truth. It is a stylish, devilishly funny film filled with memorable scenes and lines. Dunne and Grant’s onscreen chemistry pulls the viewer in and makes everyone root for the couple’s reunion—which is done in a perfectly cuckoo way.

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Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) ***

Walt Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) holds a special place in my heart, as it was the first film my mother ever took me to see.  Mind you, I saw it in re-issue, and only after I was so frightened by the newspaper advertisement for Charlotte’s Web (1973, also in re-issue) that I refused to see a film with a menacing-looking spider. In retrospect, I now know that I saw the more frightening of the two.  As a child it was easy to adore the dwarfs and to idolize the beautiful Snow White. As an adult, however, I find many troubling elements.

While I’ve always been a fan of the Magic Mirror—he was the thing I most looked forward to on Disney Sunday nights—he was ultra-creepy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. So, anytime I watch the movie it’s unnerving to see my beloved Mirror sell Snow White (Adrianna Caselotti) out to Queen Grimhilde (Lucille La Verne). I know it’s a small thing, but it’s sort of like watching Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck) play evil Nazi Dr. Josef Mengele in The Boys from Brazil (1978)—something just isn’t kosher!

Then there’s the unsettling fixation of beauty that everyone in the film has—except Snow White, of course.  The Queen spends her days asking the Mirror who’s the fairest in the land, and her nights disguised as an old crone casting spells to kill her rivals.  This, obviously, does not send a positive message to young girls in a culture fixated on their outward appearances.  Ordering the execution of your step-daughter because she has surpassed your beauty seemed ridiculous in 1937, but today it doesn’t seem so far-fetched when beauty queens and cheerleaders have plotted to kill their rivals.  The dwarfs get in the act, too, by allowing Snow White’s beauty to endanger their lives and to put them out of their beds. Really, in what world should seven miners (don’t let their ‘happy’ singing of “Heigh-Ho” fool you, they did back-breaking work) give up their bed for one woman?  Why? Because Heigh HOE she was a good-looking woman.  Bad message…

Oh, and then there’s the carnivorous slavery issue—not so much Snow White, but the forest animals.  After her foray into the creepy woods after the Woodsman (Stuart Buchanan) told her to run for her life, Snow White befriends a whole host of adorable animals.  Not long after this she puts them to work cleaning the dwarfs’ scuzzy cottage so she can live there.  Yes, they hung out with her in the day, but at what price?  Snow White was the dwarfs’ cook, right?  I ask you this: did the Dwarfs look like vegans to you?  I‘m sure having animal ‘friends’ came in handy for her…

Finally, after Snow White ate the poisoned apple and succumbed to the ‘Sleeping Death’ spell, who was it that built her that gold and glass coffin and sat in constant vigil?  Prince Charming?  No, it was the seven dwarfs. Yet, as soon as the handsome prince came and broke the spell with a kiss, Snow White was waving goodbye and riding off into the sunset on his white horse. What message does that send?  Bald dwarfs, no matter how devoted, just can’t compare to tall, handsome princes?  As such, now countless women dream of the day when their princes will come and take them away from housework and less-attractive men. Hmmm…

Still, in all seriousness, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is a delightful film.  As the first feature-length animated movie, it is historically significant. It launched Walt Disney as one of the most important (and bankable) film companies, too.  What they did with animation in 1937 has to be admired as well.  For several children, like myself, it has served as an introduction to the amazing worlds that cinema can create. Even if I give it a hard time as an adult, that does not minimize the lasting memory that it created for me back in 1975, when my mother took me to see my very first movie. 

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The Life of Emile Zola (1937) **1/2

For me, director William Dieterle’s The Life of Emile Zola (1937) is one of those films that I admire but don’t really want to watch over and over again. As a former history teacher it provided a nice tool to visually educate my students about the Dreyfuss Affair, but that’s really it. Yes, it won a Best Picture Oscar, but that had more to do with Heinz Herald, Geza Herczeg, and Norman Reilly Raine’s Oscar-winning screenplay about one of the most scandalous real-life cover-ups to rock France ever, than the overall film production itself.

The title of the movie is a misnomer, as the story isn’t really about Emile Zola’s life. It does open with a young Zola (Paul Muni) and Paul Cézanne (Vladimir Sokoloff) freezing in a Parisian garret, but other than a passing reference to how Zola became famous by writing about the debasement of a downtrodden prostitute (Nana, 1880), the story is about the Dreyfuss Affair. Captain Alfred Dreyfuss (Best-Supporting Actor winner Joseph Schildkraut) was accused of being a spy after a note was intercepted by the French General Command. Because he was a foreigner and a Jew, he seemed like the most obvious candidate and so he was court-martialed and publicly denounced. After he is sent to rot on Devil’s Island, his wife (Gale Sondergaard) asks Zola to look into her husband’s case. By this time in his life Zola is fat, gray and a bit complacent in his duties as Paris’ town crier of injustices, but eventually he becomes outraged when he learns that the Army knowingly allowed an innocent man to be tortured in prison for years, while they have acquitted the actual traitor (Robert Barrat) to avoid a scandal. As a result, he penned his most lasting prose, “J’accuse”—an open letter in L’Aurore in which he accused the General Command of covering up the scandal.

The best parts of the film (and the bulk of the plot) take place at Zola’s trial for libeling the Army. Mainly, this is due to Donald Crisp’s brilliant performance as Zola’s lawyer, Maitre Labori. For me, he was more deserving of a Best Supporting Actor than Schildkraut, but I think Hollywood was becoming politicized by the anti-Semitism running rampant in Europe in the late 1930s and wanted to make a statement. What makes Crisp’s performance so compelling is that it requires him to be glib, consternated, outraged, and flabbergasted by a trial that is orchestrated in such a way that he knows he cannot win.

Still, what most people remember about the trial is the closing argument Zola delivers to the jury. Muni was known for his biopic portrayals of famous men (James Allen, Louis Pasteur, Benito Juarez and many more), so it is no surprise that his turn as Zola was so good that he was nominated for a Best Actor Oscar (he lost to Spencer Tracy in Captains Courageous). The impassioned argument he delivers is captured in an extended long take that draws you in. This is achieved by Dieterle placing the camera in what is supposed to be the jury box and having Muni speak directly into it with no cuts. This works effectively well at making the audience outraged, too.

Yet, if it were not for the trial section of this film I don’t think it would merit much consideration. I love Cézanne’s art, but find he gets short-shrift here, which I find disturbing for irrational reasons. I ask you, who is more remembered today: Cézanne or Zola? Ah, but let’s step away from that peeve and mention that we appreciate what Dieterle and his screenwriters did with the Dreyfuss Affair. In a world that was slowly becoming ensnared in anti-Semitism this served as a reminder of how misguided and dangerous it could really be.

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Grand Illusion (La Grande Illusion) 1937 ***

Director Jean Renoir’s Grand Illusion (1937) has the distinct honor of being the first foreign-language film nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.  What sets it apart from other war movies about WWI is that there is not a battle to be seen. Instead, it examines the social-psychological world of POW camps—where battlefield enemies become friends, and religion and class take a backseat to survival.  In an outside world composed of chaos and depravity, the prisoners and jailers of the POW camp engage in a concocted world of grand illusion. At its core Grand Illusion is a humanistic film about social class, religion, and duty/honor.

When Lieutenant Maréchal (Jean Gabin) and Captain de Boeldieu (Pierre Fresnay) are shot down over German territory they become the dinner guests of Captain von Rauffenstein (Erich von Stroheim), the same man who was responsible for their plane going down. As officers, they are treated as honored guests and not enemy combatants—this is von Rauffenstein’s code of honor.  When the Frenchmen are transported to the first of several camps (they like to attempt escapes), they become members of a microcosm of French society. Officers from all walks of life and social class are roomed together—the only things that unite them are their language and nation.  For Renoir, that is enough.

In a European society plagued by blatant anti-Semitism, it is remarkable that Renoir would make one of his principal characters Jewish.  Lieutenant Rosenthal (Marcel Dalio) serves a dual purpose for Renoir. First, Rosenthal is used as the key humanistic figure in Grand Illusion. He is from a wealthy banking family, but he has no pretensions when it comes to his family’s status or riches.  When he receives care packages from home he more than willingly shares his items with everyone. Which goes to the second purpose that Rosenthal serves in the story: an ardent rebuff of Jewish stereotypes and a response to the rabid anti-Semitism taking place in 1937 Nazi Germany (one of the many reasons it was banned there). 

Of all of the relationships in the movie Captain von Rauffenstein and Captain de Boeldieu’s is the most compelling.  For those who do not know, when you see a ‘von’ or a ‘de’ in front of someone’s last name it almost always indicates aristocratic lineage.  Both men are from proud aristocratic families, where men willingly devote their lives to military careers.  They come from a world that above all else complies with duty and honor. To outsiders their behavior might seem haughty and affected, but they know no other way to behave.  Manners and respect must be shown at all times—even to those who are labeled enemies on the battlefield and those who do not belong to their own social class.

The conversations between Rauffenstein and Boeldieu are riveting to watch. These men know that when the illusory polite world of the POW camp ends at the close of the war, so will their refined, aristocratic world. Rauffenstein himself can see this when a common man like Maréchal and a Jew like Rosenthal are recognized as officers just like he and Boeldieu.  Surrounded by those so unlike themselves they seek comfort in one another, which makes Boeldieu’s extreme sacrifice for Rosenthal and Maréchal all the more painful for Rauffenstein. When Renoir has Rauffenstein cut his prized geranium after Boeldieu dies it says more than ten pages of dialogue could ever express.  Just as Citizen Kane (1941) had its Rosebud, Grand Illusion has its geranium.

Stylistically there isn’t an extreme amount to focus on, but that doesn’t take away from the film. Christian Matras cinematography is not what I would describe as breathtaking and there isn’t an overabundance of complex lighting, either.  Still, he employs close-ups to their greatest effect and cleanly comprises his frames.  And, Joseph Kosma’s score does a nice job of setting the melancholic feel of the film. 

Overall, what I most admire about Grand Illusion is the story and the acting. Never before was von Stroheim’s stilted and mannered acting style more called for than in the role of Rauffenstein—for that alone, Renoir should be lauded.  If I have one complaint with the film it is that it goes on about 20-minutes too long.  For me, the movie could have ended after Boeldieu’s death and a closing shot of Rosenthal and Maréchal crossing the Swiss border.  Still, I expect that Renoir was trying to make a statement about the universalism of compassion and love, and so he needed to show that a German woman (Dita Parlo) could give shelter to and eventually fall in love with a Frenchman.  C'est la vie…

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Make Way for Tomorrow (1937) **

Let me start off by saying that I don’t like this movie. It isn’t because the acting is bad—it’s quite good, actually . And, it has nothing to do with poor writing--Vina Delmar’s screenplay is indeed superb.  Perhaps it is because it lacks a strong directorial hand—no, that can’t be it, either, because Leo McCarey does a fine job as well. In fact, this is most probably one of his strongest films—he thought it was the strongest of all. So, what is it that I don’t like about this film?  Quite frankly, it’s despondently depressing.  It was like watching Soviet Realism with a bottle of vodka and a handful of Quaaludes. Now, don’t think I don’t like downer films—The Hours (2002) is one of my favorite films, and anyone who has seen it knows it has its Zoloft moments. Yet, the depressing difference between the The Hours and Make Way for Tomorrow (1937) is this: there is some light at the end of the tortured tunnel with The Hours. There is only darkness in the end with Make Room for Tomorrow.  The film haunts me, and not in a good way.

Victims of the Depression and callous children, elderly couple Barkley and Lucy Cooper (Victor Moore and Beulah Bondi) find themselves separated from one another when they lose their house and have to go live with their adult children.  They have FIVE children, but none of them can take both parents into their homes.  Really?  Somebody couldn’t roll out a cot or let one of them sleep on the couch?  And, if that wasn’t bad enough, then they are faced with the fact that they aren’t even wanted individually. One son’s wife convinces him that they need to put Lucy in a rest home; and, a daughter convinces Barkley that he should move to California and live with another daughter because the climate will be better for his health.  It’s difficult to believe that these two sweet, old people could have raised such ungrateful children. I’m sure this is the root reason why I don’t like this film.  I would NEVER treat my parents like this, but I know countless others who would and they make me physically ill.  The film is just too realistic a portrait of selfishness on an unfathomable level.

I would like to say that the only enjoyable part of this movie is when the couple reunites for one day before being shipped off to their separate destinations. They visit all the places they went on their honeymoon fifty years earlier and are unabashedly happy to be with one another.  They get better treatment from the strangers they meet out that day than they could ever get from their children. Yet, alas, even this slight respite from despair is ruined when the couple part ways at the train station.  They, and you the viewer, know that this is the last time they will EVER see one another.  I’d rather watch Ed Harris jump out that window in The Hours one-hundred times than watch this pitiful couple say their final goodbyes “just in case something happens.”  I really felt ill after I watched this. 

Both Bondi and Moore are heartbreaking in their roles. I suppose I could blame their too spot on portrayals for my displeasure with the movie, but that doesn’t seem fair.  I find it hard to believe that neither was nominated for an Academy Award—in fact, the film garnered no nominations at all. Really?  Luise Rainer wins for portraying a Chinese peasant with a really bad accent in The Good Earth, but Beulah Bondi, who personified a granny put out to pasture, doesn’t even get nominated?  Funny thing, when he won the Oscar for Best Directing for The Awful Truth (an excellent film, by the way) McCarey said thanks but that he got the award for the wrong film. 

Final verdict: if you really love your parents don’t watch this movie.  It will make you angry and depressed.  Still, if you are someone who wouldn’t think twice about dropping them at the “home” and visiting them only on holidays (if that), please watch this film to see how loathsome you really are. If I have offended anyone with this—Good.

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Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) 1937 **

To say Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) is completely unknown to contemporary film audiences would be an understatement. Yet, it is considered by many film historians to be one of the best Chinese films of the early sound era. There are many things to admire about this 1937 picture, but I would like to focus on its unusual take on a classic tale and its outstanding set design.

There have been many film adaptations of Gaston Leroux’s novel The Phantom of the Opera (most notably the 1925 classic starring Lon Chaney), but Song at Midnight is perhaps the most unusual. Director and screenwriter Ma-Xu Weibang took a chance when he took liberties with Leroux’s original story, but his gamble paid off in the end. Instead of making the protégé a female opera singer, Ma-Xu decided that the story would work better if the singer were a male.  This really changes the story’s dynamics and it also ends up making the Phantom a more sympathetic character.

The story takes place at a run-down theater, where 10 years earlier the great opera singer Song Danping (Jin Shan) died.  Well, he didn’t really die, but everybody thinks he did. Evidently he has been skulking about making the locals believe the place is haunted, while waiting for someone with a voice as gifted as his own to make into the greatest opera singer in China.  You see, Song was once a great singer, as well as a  revolutionary himself, but then he went and fell in love with Li Xiaoxia (Woo Ping), the daughter of a vindictive feudal lord and the would-be girlfriend of Tang Jun. This is also an important element of Ma-Xu adaptation, because in the 1930s China was in the midst of political turmoil. In the end, Tang throws nitric acid in Song’s face and he is horribly disfigured. He decides to let the world (besides a few friends), and Li, think he’s dead. And, so when Song hears the voice of Sun Xiao-au he has the “voice” and face he needs to make a comeback—and to bring love back to Li.  This is what makes the adaptation so unusual, Song and Sun are more like Cyrano and Christian from Cyrano de Bergerac than the original story of the Phantom and his case of unrequited love with Christine. Of course, things turn a bit nasty when Song learns that Sun has his own fiancee, but in the end, the Phantom of this story ends up being a hero, even though he doesn’t have a happy ending.  Quite simply, it is wonderfully woven story and such a great spin on the traditional Phantom tale.

Besides having a great story, Song at Midnight is also a visual treat. Ma-Xu was a not only a fan of Tod Browning’s Universal monster films, he was also an admirer of German expressionism, most notably the works of Fritz Lang and Robert Wiene. Ma-Xu put together a film heavy with gothic atmosphere and haunting images. Ma-Xu sets the mood from the very beginning, by introducing the audience to the cobweb infested theater at night, and having a mysterious man lurking in the shadows. From that point on the scene is set and what follows truly comes from an artistic mind.

One of the most notable images is when we first see the Phantom’s face. Via flashback and with a handheld camera, we watch over Song’s shoulder as he slowly unrolls his bandages in front of a mirror.  Not only his reaction is captured in a pristine moment, but the framing of the reactions of those around him are superbly done as well. You can almost feel the recoil of those looking at his disfigured face. When he smashes the mirror it means so much more than just shattered glass all over the floor.

Overall, this is an interesting film to watch.  I’m always curious to see how certain genres took form in different countries.  Ma-Xu borrows heavily from the Universal monster films, especially the opening sequence and the finale with the torch wielding crowd. Of course, it is the reinterpretation of Gaston Leroux’s story that I find the most intriguing.  Sometimes when screenwriters make changes to original stories things don’t work out well, but in this case it was a refreshing retelling of a classic tale.

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Stella Dallas (1937) **1/2

Throughout her storied career Barbara Stanwyck played every female character produced by Hollywood: ingénue, seductress, bad girl, gangster moll, heroine, entertainer, con woman, socialite, etc. While she carried every role off like a true professional, it was the working class girl who wanted to make good role that she most excelled at.  This most probably had to do with her meager, but colorful, upbringing. Orphaned at the age of four, she spent time in foster homes, but was primarily raised by her showgirl sister, Mildred. It was on the vaudeville circuit with Mildred that Stanwyck learned what it took to get ahead in life: strength, determination, and ambition. These, of course, are the same characteristics that many of Stanwyck’s working class roles required—especially Stella Dallas.

Considered one of the best female character roles of all time, Stella Dallas earned Stanwyck the first of her four Academy Award nominations for Best Actress. The daughter of a mill worker, Stella schemes to marry her father’s boss, Stephen (John Boles).  Although they are from two very different backgrounds—he is reserved and refined, while she is loud and crass—they find themselves married and raising a daughter. As Stella finds herself bored with Stephen’s ways, she begins to revert to her tacky ways.  Eventually Stephen leaves her, but leaves their daughter Lollie (Anne Shirley) with Stella because he knows that she is a good mother. As time passes, Stephen finds a much more suitable (and wealthy) woman (Barbara O’Neil) to marry, but Stella doesn’t want to give him a divorce because she’s afraid she’ll lose Lollie. In the end, when she realizes that she cannot give Lollie the life she wants her to have, she makes the ultimate sacrifice.
Of all her roles, and there were many to choose from, this was Stanwyck’s favorite. What’s interesting about this is that Samuel Goldwyn didn’t want to give her the part. He thought she lacked the necessary sex appeal for Stella and wanted Ruth Chatterton for the role. All I can say is: Really? Thankfully director King Vidor and hunky Zeppo Marx (her agent—yes, really) finally convinced Goldwyn that Stanwyck was the right woman for the role.

Based on the Olive Higgins Prouty’s popular novel of the same name, Stella Dallas is considered one of the greatest tearjerkers ever produced. It is a melodramatic film, but it isn’t schmaltzy. This, of course, has to do with Stanwyck’s multifaceted performance. At times, she plays her character as a conniving shrew and you just want to slap some sense of decency into her. Then, she plays Stella as a loving and devoted mother and you just want to wrap your arms around her and give her a hug.  I suppose the scene where she convinces Lollie that she wants to get rid of her so she can run off to South America with her salesman boyfriend is my favorite because Stanwyck plays it with such raw emotion.  Knowing that the only way she can get Lollie to leave her is to convince her that she doesn’t want or need her, Stella is almost ruthless in the act she puts on for Lollie. Not every actress could pull this off, but Stanwyck does a wonderful job of having the audience both hate and admire her at the same time in this scene. It is difficult to watch this, but at least the final scene in the film heals some of the hurt that the audience has endured by Stella’s sacrifice.

This is a film ruled by women---the men are totally forgettable.  Besides Stanwyck’s great performance, the audience is treated to two standout offerings by Shirley and O’Neil. Nominated for Best Supporting Actress, Shirley does a nice job of playing a young woman who loves her mother but is conflicted by her desire to live a more respectable life.  This may have been the finest performance of her career (I do like her in Murder, My Sweet though), but sometimes it is difficult for me to suspend my belief that Stanwyck was old enough to play her mother (they were only eleven years apart in age). That said, she does give a touching performance. An interesting aside about the Stanwyck/Shirley connection is that Shirley played Stanwyck’s younger self in So Big (1932). In addition to Stanwyck and Shirley, O’Neil also does a fine turn as Stella’s polar opposite. I enjoyed watching her scene with Stanwyck.  It was one of those only another mother could understand moments that pull at your heartstrings.

In the end, Stella Dallas is a film you don’t want to watch without a box of tissues.  It is a prime piece of evidence that Stanwyck was one of the greatest actresses to grace the silver screen.

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A Day in the Country (Une Partie de Campagne) 1937 **

Well, maybe not an entire day—more like 40 minutes—but time, like age, is a matter of attitude anyway.

This 1936 French short film was directed by Jean Renoir about a year before his The Rules of the Game made him a top tier director. This was supposed to be a full-length film, but Renoir encountered some sort of mental block that led him to leave the film unfinished for ten years. In 1946, he turned the surviving footage into a short film. Full-length or short, as per usual, Renoir employs poetic realism to tell a simple but poignant tale (based on a Guy de Maupassant story) about illicit love and lust.

Again picking on the bourgeoisie, Renoir has a Parisian industrialist (Andre Gabriello) take his family to the country for a Sunday afternoon of mingling with provincial types and communing with nature. Evidently this happens a lot, because two male adventurers, Rodolphe (Jacques Borel) and Henri (Georges D’Arnoux) eagerly await the acquaintance of the industrialist’s daughter Henriette (Sylvia Bataille) and his wife Juliette (Jeanne Marken). What transpires is an interesting study of age and class.

On the one hand, you have Juliette and Rodolphe. He is witty and outright blatant about his intentions, while she is keenly aware of the situation and quite happy to be the object of his affection for this one afternoon. To her, it is a nice day in the country with a man who is the total opposite of her husband. Plus, she can have her lustful afternoon adventure and return to her Parisian lifestyle without any regret. On the opposite hand, you have Henriette and Henri.  She is betrothed to the idiotic Anatole (Paul Temps), but has a romantic streak that leads her into the arms of a poor man. While Juliette and Rodolphe are quite content with their fun ending at the end of the day, Henriette and Henri have the soul-crushing knowledge that what could have been a deep, abiding love for the rest of their lives must come to an end with the setting sun.

When I watched this film I remembered what I had read in the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book about the ending. Adrian Martin writes, “So what started, in Henriette’s words, as ‘a sort of vague desire’ that calls forth both the beauty and harshness of nature, ends badly, as the ‘years pass, with Sundays as melancholy as Monday.’” While it is a short film, it conveys a powerful message about class expectations and the stupidity of youth. Renoir knowingly uses a beautiful setting to tell us a very a harsh-ending story. 

Just 40 minutes long, and usually found on YouTube, A Day in the Country (Une Partie de Campagne) is a good introduction of Renoir’s style and manner of storytelling.

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Captains Courageous (1937) **

There are times when I think Spencer Tracy would have been better off if he’d never been paired up with Katharine Hepburn in 1942, when they co-starred in Woman of the Year. Now I know there are many fans of this duo, which made nine films together. I, myself, enjoy many of their films. Yet, the problem I have with this pairing is that there are so many movie fans who don’t recognize (or know about) the great work Tracy did without Hepburn. For way too many, his career is overly defined by the work he did with her. This is a shame, because he gave some of his best performances without her. As a matter of fact, in his illustrious career he was nominated for nine Academy Awards (winning twice), and only one of these nominations, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, co-starred Hepburn. Perhaps this oversight is tied to their off-screen romance. Whatever the case, I wish more people appreciated his non-Hepburn films.

Captains Courageous is one of those non-Hepburn films in which Tracy gives an outstanding performance. He won his first Oscar playing Portuguese fisherman Manuel in this classic MGM film, directed by Victor Fleming. An adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s novel of the same name, the film garnered four Academy Award nominations (only winning Best Actor) and is considered one of cinema’s classic coming-of-age adventure stories.

In the beginning of the film, spoiled rich boy Harvey Cheyne (Freddie Bartholomew) and his widowed, inattentive millionaire father (Melvyn Douglas) are aboard the Queen Anne and headed for Europe. Harvey is a world-class brat who thinks it’s okay to drink six ice cream sodas. Punished by the gods of the high seas for his childish gluttony, Harvey becomes nauseous and leans a little too far over the rail to spew the remnants of his tasty treat. Splash! Into the ocean goes Harvey and nobody seems to notice. His body is rescued by Manuel (Tracy), a Portuguese sailor working on an American fishing ship captained by Disko Troop (the great Lionel Barrymore). Evidently Harvey didn’t sustain a concussion, because when he wakes up he’s as pompous as ever. He demands that Captain Troop drop everything and turn the ship toward shore. Troop missed the memo that said Harvey is lord and master and so he tells the boy a foreign word—NO. Instead, Harvey is informed that he must spend the next three months aboard a ship inhabited by dead fish and unrefined sailors. Plus, he’s told he must work on the ship if he wants to eat. Oh, the inhumanity!

Put under the supervision of Manuel (who calls Harvey his little fish), Harvey refuses to do any work at all and shuns the friendly overtures of Dan (Mickey Rooney), the captain's son. Once hunger kicks in, Harvey starts working in the ship galley. Over time, Harvey learns to perform various jobs and is eventually taught by Manuel how to fish. On one of their fishing trips in a skiff, Harvey fouls the line of other fisherman in order to catch a large halibut and win a contest. While Harvey is basking in the glow of success, Manuel is throwing the fish back in an effort to teach his little fish a lesson. This incident provokes an amazing result: Harvey actually feels ashamed and apologizes. From this point on, the salty, singing fisherman and the young would-be sailor form a bond. As a matter of fact, Harvey grows so fond of Manuel that he doesn’t want to be returned to his father.

Later, when the ship learns that a rival fishing ship is trying to beat them to port in an effort to get the best prices, Captain Troop decides they must make some bold moves. He orders the sails unfurled in dangerous weather conditions. Manuel volunteers for this task. Unfortunately the weather causes the mast to crack and Manuel is mortally wounded and trapped by the sails’ canvas and ropes in the water. In a heart-wrenching scene, it is decided that Manuel must be cut loose, sending him to the bottom of the sea to his death, This scene alone was most probably enough for Tracy to win the Oscar. His tearful goodbye to his little fish just break your heart. Bartholomew is also very moving in this scene. As a matter of fact, Bartholomew is exceedingly good for the remainder of the film. When the ship arrives at Gloucester, Harvey is reunited with his father. A moving memorial service is held for Manuel. It is here where the gulf between Mr. Cheyne and Harvey is closed. Mr. Cheyne sees that his son is no loner a spoiled brat, but a young man who has been profoundly changed by his experiences with Manuel.

Overall, this is a moving coming-of-age film. Tracy’s portrayal of the salt-of-the-earth (or sea in this case) Manuel is wonderful. Like many of his earlier roles, Tracy really develops this role into a memorable character. He gives Manuel many edges and does a good job of not over-playing his character into too much of a stereotype. In addition, Bartholomew is a delight to watch. Yes, his character is annoying in the beginning, but the personality changes he undergoes throughout the film seem believable. It is not easy to go from one of the most-irritating brats in screen history to a child who makes your heart break by the end of the film. Of course, Bartholomew had an excellent, seasoned co-star to help him along this difficult path. It is a shame that this film is not as well-known as it should be.

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