Sexuality & Wild Reeds (1994) **

André Téchiné is a highly regarded and respected French director, who has helmed some of the best films to come out of France in the last thirty years.  Many critics consider his 1994 Les Roseaux Sauvages (Wild Reeds) a masterpiece.  It won Césars (a French Oscar) for Best Film, Best Director, Best Screenplay (Olivier Massart, Gilles Taurand, and Téchiné) and Most Promising Actress (Élodie Bouchez). Yet, while Téchiné holds a special place in my heart for still giving Catherine Deneuve good roles when other directors overlook her, I can’t bring myself to agree that Les Roseaux Sauvages is as grand as some claim it to be.  To me, it’s an average film about young people discovering themselves (primarily sexually) in a pastoral setting.

The story takes place in Southwest France just as the Algerian War is coming to an end in 1962. Four students from different backgrounds are studying for their baccalaureate exams while dealing with their own personal problems. Bouchez plays Maïté Alvarez, the daughter of one of the school’s teachers (Michèle Moretti). Both mother and daughter are strident communists and oppose the French occupation of Algeria. Madame Alvarez actually has a nervous breakdown when one of her former students is killed in the war, which leaves Maïté alone to cope with both her exams and her odd relationship with François (Gaël Morel). 

Why is the relationship odd, you ask? Well, for starters François is gay and lusts after both Serge (Stéphane Rideau) and Henri (Frédéric Gorny), two young men at his boarding school. For some reason, Maïté is perfectly fine with the situation and seems to welcome the idea of being with someone who’s not interested in her sexually. She actually says to him, “I don't care what you do with others. What's between us counts much more.” I watch a lot of French movies, so this doesn’t seem as bizarre to me as it might to someone unfamiliar with what film scholars refer to as ‘French queer cinema’.  Still, even I was a bit perplexed when Maïté first made an emotional connection and then later a sexual connection with Henri—an Algerian-born French exile who stands for everything she is against and whom she only met because he thought about burning down a building she was in. And then, taking Gallic romanticism to its brink, she pushes away the man she obviously desires (and could possibly love) to remain the companion of her gay boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve seen the end of this and asked yourself the same question as me: did she really end up in a sexless marriage with François?  Oh, how depressing a thought!

The other sexually complicated relationship is between Serge and François. There is absolutely no question that François is gay—even if he does go on dates with Maïté to see films like Bergman’s Through a Glass Darkly and Demy’s Lola—but it’s not so clear whether Serge is gay or bi-curious.  It is Serge who first initiates François into the sexual world, but it’s a one-time thing.  For the rest of the film Serge talks about sleeping with girls and his brother’s widow, while François pines after him.  At one point, François considers becoming involved with Henri and says to Maïté, “I admit it. I want to sleep with Serge. I want to sleep with Henri. What if another one comes along next week? It's awful. What will become of me?” I don’t think Téchiné ever makes it clear who or what Serge is—he’s a sexually ambivalent being.  Does Serge tell François to forget about their encounter because he’s not interested or is it because he isn’t willing to share with 1960s French society who he is? 

For (then) relative screen newcomers, all four actors give steady performances.  Not surprisingly, Bouchez’s career has turned out to be the more highly regarded of the group. Her portrayal of Maïté is melancholic and simple.  The underlying self-resignation that her character is forced to carry clearly shows on her face.  Of the three men, I most enjoyed Gorny’s Henri. In someone else’s hands Henri’s brooding and recalcitrance personality could have descended into a caricature of the angry young man myth. Gorny provides an even and steady depiction of a character who you find yourself both disliking and rooting for.  In reality, Henri is the only character who shows his true self, and I suppose that’s why I liked him so much. 

Overall, Wild Reeds is an interesting coming-of-age story that focuses on its characters’ sexual awakenings.  It makes you reflect on how difficult the transition from adolescence to adulthood truly is.  Yet, to me, it is far from a masterpiece.

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Children of a Lesser God (1986) **1/2

What makes Children of a Lesser God (1986) a compelling film is its superb acting and unique storyline.  There are no stunning visuals or intricate shot designs—it’s purely a cinematic dissection of the age-old battle between love, acceptance, and individuality. It was nominated for five Academy Awards: Best Picture, Best Screenplay (adapted from Mark Medoff’s stage play of the same name), Best Actress (winner Marlee Matlin), Best Actor (William Hurt), and Best Supporting Actress (Piper Laurie).  Matlin’s win made Oscar history on two fronts: she was (and still is) the youngest actress to win Best Actress (21 years old) and she is the only deaf person to win an Oscar. Her performance, both raw and unflinching, is reason enough to make you watch. 

Hurt plays a newly arrived teacher at a school for the deaf. His Jim Leeds is an educator who employs unusual teaching techniques to help his deaf students learn how to speak.  Matlin’s character, Sarah Norman, is a former student of the school who works as a custodian.  Strong-willed and emotionally guarded, Sarah refuses to learn how to speak, and this causes a few mild confrontations between them. Eventually they become romantically involved, which enables director Randa Haines to rip away any preconceived notions you may have had about deaf people being mild-mannered and chaste.  In addition, you get a front row seat to the total deconstruction of what it means to be (or not) accepted by the one you love. 

There have been many unusual love stories in the annals of cinematic history, but this one has to be right at the top. Here we have a deaf woman who uses sex as both a defense mechanism and as a way to emotionally connect.  There’s one particular scene which is jarring in this respect. After having one of their many arguments, Sarah almost demands that they have sex. For some odd reason she thinks it will bring them closer together, but what it actually does is pulls them further apart—it’s the breaking point in their relationship. As anyone who has ever been in love knows, there is a balancing act between being one with another person while retaining your own personhood. How much, if any, are you willing to change for another person?  In Sarah and Jim’s case, he just can’t accept that she won’t learn how to speak and she can’t accept that he wants her to change for him.

While Hurt gives one of his finest performances here, the movie belongs to Matlin.  With no voice to verbally express her character’s emotions, she relies on facial expressions and body language. It’s always clear whether Sarah is bemused, frustrated, angry, or happy—the way in which she signs and the look on her face is all you need to see.  Of course, the most powerful moment in the film comes when she finally allows Jim (and the audience) to hear her voice.  Every time I hear it I am startled. The scene up to this point is already so emotionally charged that when that sound comes hurtling out the core of her being you are stunned.  It is literally painful to hear—let alone to watch Matlin in such an agitated state of despair when she does it.  This is one of the most emotionally raw moments I have ever seen captured on film. 

Personally, I’m not a big fan of how the movie ends, but it didn’t infuriate me like some others (like Four Weddings and a Funeral). As such, I am willing to overlook this one qualm and reflect fondly on the other two-thirds of a superbly acted and written film.

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8 1/2 (1963 ) **

Most critics refer to 8 1/2 (1963) as legendary Italian director Federico Fellini’s masterpiece. Upon release it was lauded as a brilliant film and received several prestigious awards, most notably an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.  I suppose I’m in the minority when it comes to adoring it.  You see, I don’t really do avant garde, and that’s what Fellini’s 8 1/2 is. I much prefer his La Strada (1954) and The Nights of Cabiria (1957) to his later work because I think his earlier films say something about humanity.  That’s not to say that I found 8 1/2 to be horrible and lacking a message—there are many things that I liked, but there were a few elements I found, at times, tiresome.

This is Fellini’s most personal work—a self-reflection of his status as a director and as a man.  The protagonist (and antagonist—can you be both?) is Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni), an obvious alter-ego of Fellini. Guido has come to an impasse in his directing career, where he doesn’t know if he has anything else left to say.  He finds himself overcome with doubt as he struggles to finish a new and costly production.  Lacking inspiration, he escapes into past memories of his past to find something to pull him out of his self-doubt.  At times it is difficult to know if Guido is in the past or the present, as the dream world and reality converge (this is where the surreal Felliniesque world comes into being).  I am not the biggest fan of jumbled narrative, but it isn’t too overwhelming here if you pay attention—if you don’t, then things can go off the rails.  There’s a scene where Guido shoots himself—it took me a minute to realize he only dreamt it, at least I think that’s what happened.

The movie’s look is sleek and stylish.  Shot in black and white 35-millimeter film by cinematographer Gianni Di Venanzo, who employed the spherical cinematographic technique, the overall look is unique and visually stunning.  In addition, I found the costume design outstanding.  Each strange character has a wardrobe perfectly matched to their personality.  In particular, the women’s clothing is the most defining.  The purer the character’s motivations the more simple but still chic the clothing is, as is the case with Anouk Aimee’s Luisa (Guido’s wife).  The more vexing and morally corrupt characters find themselves clothed in almost ostentatious couture, such as Sandra Milo’s Carla (Guido’s mistress). 

Piero Gherardi won an Oscar for his costume design, but he was also responsible for the set designs—all of which are striking and perfectly Felliniesque. In particular, the scenes at the health spa are eye-catching and memorable. The bathroom scene, with the three vanities and mirrors symbolizes that Guido doesn’t know who he is anymore. And, the sauna scene symbolizes his clouded state of mind and, perhaps, his insignificance.

I never know how to judge the acting in older Italian films—especially Fellini’s—because the sound was dubbed in after filming was completed.  It’s one of those strange nitpicks I have: how can you emote when you don’t know exactly what you’re saying (Fellini had a habit of writing a lot of dialogue after filming was done)?  Still, Mastroianni plays his Guido as a world-weary complex man well. I also enjoyed watching Aimee’s portrayal of a fed up but somewhat apathetic wife.  Claudia Cardinale, who plays Guido’s muse, floats in and out of the picture, but doesn’t really make her presence known until the film is almost over.  She has the best, and most insightful, line of the film (which she repeats more than once): “Because he doesn’t know how to love.” Now, I could have done without Milo and her grating character Carla.  Of the two versions of this film (I’m speaking of the Rob Marshall quasi-remake Nine (2009)), I’ll take Penelope Cruz’s Carla every time. 

Yet another thing that stands out about the picture is the music. Composer Nino Rota was Fellini’s favorite composer, and he does a wonderful job of choosing and crafting music for every scene. His circus-inspired composition “La Passerella” is a perfect way to start off (and end) a film about a ringmaster (Guido the director) who is constantly juggling his many responsibilities (and women). I also thought using Wagner’s “The Ride of the Valkyries” was an inspired choice-what better music is there about overindulgence and psychological distress? Rossini’s overture to “The Barber of Seville” and Tchaikovsky’s “Danse des Mirlitons” from the “Nutcracker” are also used.

Overall, 8 1/2 is not my favorite Fellini endeavor.  I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it, either. 

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Things to Come (1936) **

Author H.G. Wells is perhaps the most famous futurist in literature.  When you think of early science fiction his name, along with Jules Verne’s, probably pops into your mind.  Therefore, it is only fitting that one of the first science fiction films, Things to Come (1936), is based on his novel The Shape of Things to Come (1933)—Wells actually wrote the film’s screenplay. While the film is strong on visuals and ideas, it is weak in narrative and characterization.  That said, it is fascinating to see what people thought the future would look like in 2036 (a mere 24 years from now).

Let’s get the weak elements out of the way first: narrative and characterization. The story predicts that WWII will break out on Christmas Eve 1940 and will last for 25 years. During this time the environment will be contaminated and civilization will crumble.  Set in fictional Everytown, England, the story focuses on how people use technology to create a superior form of civilization. The film is only 100 minutes long, but it covers 100 years of history—this alone makes it difficult to develop a traditional story arc.

It also creates a problem when dealing with characterization. No one can live forever—even in Wells’ science-fiction world—so you have multiple generational characters (played by the same actors) with whom you are unable to connect with on a personal level.  You really don’t care what happens to any of the characters, but you sure do want to see what gadgets the future holds. I like to think that the acting, by such well-known thespians as Raymond Massey, Cedric Hardwicke, and Ralph Richardson, was so bad because the actors couldn’t flesh out their characters.  In particular, Richardson and Massey are the most egregious perpetrators of overacting, and their lackluster performances take a little shine off the overall production.

Yet, while the film has its weaknesses, it is strong when it comes to ideas. Wells was a well-known socialist, and this film is a testament to that.  He predicted WWII would come to England in December 1940 (he was only off by 15 months) and that major cities would encounter devastating blitzes.  Some might argue that he wasn’t that far off in saying that the war would last for 25 years, as WWII might have ended in 1945 but the Cold War continued for another 45 years. Wells infuses the film with his own ideology by writing lines like: “If we don’t end war, war will end us” and “We don’t approve of independent sovereign states.” In his world-utopian vision, Wells creates a Brotherhood of Efficiency (which he also calls Wings Over the World), where the community is more important than the individual.  Quiet frankly, it is an idealized communistic society that conquers nature and then uses it to expand knowledge and peace.  The fact that England was in the midst of the Great Depression and Hitler was making Europe extremely nervous when this film was released might have made such ideas more acceptable to viewers. Had the film been made ten years later I don’t know if it would have found a distributor in England, and I doubt if it would have even made it across the pond to the United States.  But of course, the U.S. did like the idea of sending people to the moon, so they might have liked that part of the film.

What makes this film stand out the most is its overall visual presentation.  From the blitzed-out city blocks to the underground city of the fantastic future, it is easy to appreciate the craftsmanship it took to first design and then built such spectacular sets.  Yes, there are a few giggle-worthy moments when it’s obvious that you are looking at a remote-controlled tank or plane, but such small hiccups are easily overlooked when you look at the overall picture and remember that it was made in 1936.  I remember the first time I saw the underground city—I was just amazed how much detail went into it.  I couldn’t help but think that this design put Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1926) to shame.  Oh, and as if this set alone wasn’t spectacular enough, they built another one for a space rocket that would travel to the moon.  I can’t imagine how director William Cameron Menzies and producer Alexander Korda kept to their 240,000-pound budget. Think about it, they did end their film by saying, “All of the universe or nothing—which will it be?”

If you haven’t seen this yet, it is definitely worth a look for the visuals alone. Block out the overacting and just concentrate on the wonderful, futuristic world that is created—holograms, flat-screen televisions, space exploration, etc. 

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Dumbo Does Debauchery (1941) **

Have you ever watched a film as a child and then later as an adult?  What your childhood memory usually holds for you is not exactly a full representation.  Upon adult reintroduction you notice all sorts of things that just flew right over your kiddie head.  This is what recently happened to me while watching the Walt Disney animated classic, Dumbo (1941).  Who knew a Disney film could have so much debauchery!

If you have a child, know a child, or once were a child yourself, you no doubt have seen Dumbo.  Yet, as I believe it is possible that aliens walk amongst us, let me do a quick synopsis. Dumbo is a baby elephant who has inordinately large ears which make him both clumsy and the object of ridicule.  When his mother is locked up for trying to protect him, Dumbo finds himself shunned by the other elephants. His only friend in the world is a mouse named Timothy who is always trying to find ways to make Dumbo a star. Reduced to the ultimate humiliation of becoming a clown, Dumbo’s redemption is found in the most unlikely place—his ears! At this point, aliens, if you want to know the rest you’ll have to watch the film—world domination will have to wait for 60 minutes.

Now, let’s talk about the wickedness of the movie.  Am I the only one whose mind just jumped into the gutter when Timothy overhears the circus owners discussing how they need a climax for the show and Tim yells, “You’re a climax , Dumbo!”  Here we have a film that begins with storks delivering animal babies and a train that chants “I think I can” when going up hills and steaming through tunnels, and soon thereafter we have characters screaming they need a climax. I read in the credits that Ben Sharpsteen was the director, but by this scene I thought it was a Lubitsch film!

And then there is the uber-famous “Pink Elephants on Parade” sequence—when did drunken hallucinations become a common Disney theme?  First, they have the clowns tearing into the hooch (by the way, isn’t this a stereotype?), and then they have Dumbo and Timothy inebriated and seeing dancing pink elephants!  If the film had been made 20 years later I would have sworn there was LSD in that bucket of booze. Psychedelic colors, hallucinogenic images—it was a hippie fest before there were hippies.  Oliver Wallace and Ned Washington even wrote a tripped-out song for the sequence, with lyrics like:

Look out! Look out!
They're walking around the bed
On their head
Clippety cloppety
Arrayed in braid
Pink elephants on parade
What'll I do? What'll I do?
What an unusual view!
I could stand the sight of worms
And look at microscopic germs
But Technicolor pachyderms
Is really much for me

Is this really a positive message to send to children?  Oh, but how many adults really knew (some very personally) what Disney was trying to say: recapture your youth and have a big glass of gin after you put your kid to bed!  Thankfully, I have no children, so I’ve never been asked to explain why Dumbo and Tim were blowing bubbles and seeing creepy pink elephants; yet, I wouldn’t have minded hearing such an explanation being given. 

Another wicked thing about the film, at least I have been told, is the crow scene.  Some say it was racial stereotyping to have black crows singing a song that was reminiscent of a minstrel show. Granted, naming the head crow Jim Crow was not an Einstein moment, but the last time I checked most crows are black. In addition, the crows were played by African American men from the Hall Johnson choir, so I don’t know that this equates to stereotyping. Now, if they had Bing Crosby singing the track in blackface there might be an issue, but I didn’t find anything shocking about black men singing “When I See an Elephant Fly”.  As I stated above, if anyone has a grievance against Disney about stereotyping it’s the clowns! I have it on high authority that not all clowns are drunkards—just the ones my parents would hire for birthday parties were, or so my mother says. 

And, finally, the last wicked thing is that magic feather. Why was it black?  Was Disney encouraging children to dabble in the black arts, “Light as a feather, stiff as a board…” Is this how this creepy slumber party “game” got its start? 

Hopefully, after reading this analysis you too will give Dumbo a new viewing. Perhaps you will gain a new appreciation for the wonderful world of Disney, too. 

 

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To Be or Not To Be (1942) ****

Director Ernst Lubitsch made many great films in his distinguished career, but if I had to pick just one to call my favorite it would be To Be or Not to Be (followed very closely by Ninotchka [1939]) from 1942.  Released on March 6, 1942, almost 3 months to the day that the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, the movie was not well-received by critics or moviegoers. People didn’t think it was funny to make light of the Nazis when they were on the brink of world domination.  To that, I say, “Ah, nuts!”  What better time was there to make the vilest group of ideologues look completely ridiculous?  If you can laugh at them, then you most certainly can beat them!

Born to Jewish parents in Berlin, Germany, Lubitsch was well aware of the dangers of Nazism. While he came to Hollywood long before the Nazis took power in 1933, Lubitsch had friends and family back home who weren’t so lucky.  Still, some American film critics were either oblivious to the Nazis’ complete hatred of Jews or just plain idiotic when they cried foul about a Berlin-born director making a film about the Nazi invasion of Poland. Did they really think he thought people should laugh at that tragic event?  Lubitsch found the critiques to be asinine and tried to explain that he had satirized the “Nazis and their ridiculous ideology” not what happened to the Polish people. 

The one thing that critics did like about the film was leading lady Carole Lombard.  Tragically, Lombard was killed in a plane crash two months prior to the film’s release.  Today, her portrayal of Maria Tura in To Be or Not to Be is considered the finest of her career.  Yet, she almost didn’t play the part, as Miriam Hopkins was Lubitsch’s first choice. Having worked with Lubitsch on three of her best films, Hopkins was experiencing a downturn in her career when her old friend decided she was ready for a comeback. Unfortunately, at least for Hopkins but most certainly not for me or Lombard, Hopkins and lead actor Jack Benny didn’t get along from the start of production. 

The story, penned by writers Melchior Lengyel and Edwin Justus Mayer, is about a Warsaw acting troupe who find themselves accidentally embroiled in the Polish resistance against the Nazis following the 1939 invasion.  Josef Tura (Benny) and his wife Maria are renowned Warsaw actors.  He is a self-absorbed ham who happens to love playing Hamlet; while she is an incorrigible flirt who upstages her husband without even being on stage by having her male admirers come to her dressing room when Josef begins Hamlet’s famous soliloquy, “To be or not to be…” One of those admirers, Lt. Slobinski (a very young Robert Stack), is a Polish pilot who brings the entire acting troupe into his mission to intercept a double agent before vital information can be given to the Nazis.  What transpires is an outrageously funny shell game between trained killers and trained actors.

I love black comedies, and this is one of the best.  There are so many layers of ironic humor that it might take multiple viewing before you catch everything Lubitsch and his screenwriters were trying to get across. For example, while the audience finds it funny when Josef has his soliloquy—his big moment to shine—constantly interrupted by Maria’s suitors, there is another element to this as well.  While we never get to hear the whole thing, the beginning goes something like this:

To be, or not to be--that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them

These words truly resonate when you apply them to the Nazi peril.  In a way, it’s almost a war cry, if you think about it.  The world was most definitely facing a sea of troubles with the Nazis!

The other shining ironic moment is when Josef, Greenberg (Felix Bressart), Bronski (Tom Dugan) and the rest of the male actors pretend to be Nazis in order to infiltrate a theater event attended by Hitler. Once safely inside, they create a disturbance which allows Bronski to impersonate Hitler himself without the Nazis knowing.  For someone so revered by his underlings, and so unmistakable to the German psyche, this seems brazenly irreverent to me.  What better statement could you make about demagoguery than this?  Is there really a difference between the Führer and a Betrüger (imposter)?  According to Lubitsch and this film, not really.

Packed with sophisticated dialogue and impeccably placed double entendres, To Be or Not to Be is a comedy for the ages.  I can also appreciate the risk that Lubitsch and Alexander Korda took in releasing this film when they did.  Perhaps the American public and film critics weren’t ready for it, but it was just the type of film that the world needed to see in the Spring of 1942.  No one is invincible, and anyone who thinks that they are deserves to be heartily laughed at. 

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Grift Tips from The Lady Eve (1941) ****

(While this is my own unique retelling of the story, there are spoilers.)

Good God, I do look good!  Oh, hello there, suckers.  My name’s Jean Harrington (some of the time at least), and I’ve been asked to discuss the art of the grift (con, scam, swindle—got it now, schmuck?).  This is a complicated subject and can take years to master, so I’m gonna dumb it down for those of you who weren’t raised in the racket and focus on my own personal story.

Some people are just born to be grifters—in my case, literally. I was raised by a card sharp named ‘Colonel’ ‘Harry’ Harrington (Charles Coburn). Grift Tip No. 1: Anyone who has ‘ ’ around their name is not to be trusted. You see, you’re either a colonel or you’re not—there’s a big difference between Colonel Custard and ‘Colonel’ Sanders…unless you’re a hungry Indian craving white meat.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I trust Harry, but that’s because I know all of his tricks and I never take my eyes off of him. 

As far back as I can remember Harry and I worked the luxury liners with our ‘valet’ Gerald (Melville Cooper).  There are lots of rich mugs who think they know how to play cards—problem is, they’re always under the illusion that everybody plays fair and square.  Yes, there’s a sucker born every minute—even in a silver spoon nursery. Grift Tip No. 2: If you want to be seen as rich all you have to do is wear designer clothes and tasteful jewelry;  hint at an oil field or a gold mine; and, appear affable and sophisticated.  And, that brings me to the greatest mark in grifter history—Charles ‘Hopsie’ Pike (Henry Fonda).

Heir to a brewery fortune, Hopsie was a snake enthusiast and a chump I met on an outbound boat from South America.  My first impression of him was that he needed more fiber in his diet, so I dropped an apple on the lunkhead.  This not being a proper introduction, I bided my time by picking out my sexiest outfit (a two-piece number: long black skirt with a slit up to heaven and a short black beaded top which exposed my flat midriff) designed by my personal couturier, Edith Head. I then strategically placed myself in the dining room and waited for an '”accidental” meeting. 

Grift Tip No. 3: The best way to appear disinterested but still keep your eyes on the prize is to use a pocket mirror to spy on your prey—plus, you can reassure yourself that you are definitely worth it. Once your mark has been spooked by countless hapless fortune hunters and attempts his escape, nonchalantly stick your glamorous gam out and trip him. And, that’s exactly what I did to Hopsie.  I just had a feeling that man was a klutz!  While he was still on the defensive I feigned indignation and outrage that he broke one of my pricey heels.  I then demanded that he escort me to my cabin to exchange my evening slippers. Once I had him alone in my room I turned up the heat and showed off my assets—first impressions are everything, you see.  Men who have been trapped in the jungle for an extended amount of time are susceptible to intoxicating perfume, sexual repartee, and light, but not so innocent, petting.  Suffice to say, Hopsie was quickly on the hook and all I had to do was reel him in, but then something quite shameful happened—I fell in love with my mark.

I don’t know how it happened: one minute I’m thinking what a schmuck this guy is for showing Harry and me how to palm a card and counting all the money we’re gonna take from him, and then the next thing I know I’m planning on marrying him and going straight.  Surely, I must have caught some strange jungle disease when I ran my fingers through his hair and canoodled with him!  I started spending my time double-dealing Harry and conducting business on moonlit decks.  When I look back on it all I should have seen the signs of fever-induced delusions: wearing a Christmas stocking as a hat, acting out scenes from Titanic, and believing that I could settle down with an ophiologist—a word and an occupation that decent people should never have to learn about!  It was all going so fast and I didn’t know whether to jump ship or get on board with love.  Then, something inexplicable happened: the grifter became the grifted.  Seems I’d been played for a fool by Hopsie—he’d known all along that Harry and I were con artists and he just wanted to teach us a lesson. Grift Tip No. 4: Love is for suckers! No explanation needed, I’m sure!

You’d think this is where the story ends, but what kind of grifter would I be if I told a story where I ended up with the shortest matchstick? No, I knew I couldn’t be so wrong about how much of a dope Hopsie was and I kept an eye out for an opportunity to settle the score.  Due to pesky U-boats in the Atlantic, my crew and I had to settle in the Big Apple for awhile. One day, after losing a good chunk of change on a horse that ran fifth in a five-horse race (really, what did we expect when we bet on a goat called "After You?"), we ran into Alfie, or Sir Alfred McGlennan Keith to his common American marks (Eric Blore).  When I learned Sir Alfie  was on his way to Bridgefield, Connecticut, I instantly thought of Hopsie. As fate would have it, Alfie was acquainted with the Pike family.  My mind did a quick checklist of all the reasons it knew Hopsie was a fool, and then I asked Alfie if I could pose as his niece on his displaced nobility grift. I brushed up on my British accent and colloquialisms and assumed the name Lady Eve Sidwich.  I know what you’re thinking, but rest assured it wasn’t love I was after (that would be Bette Davis).  No, I needed Hopsie like the axe needs the turkey, and I was going to have my revenge.

Looking back on it all it seems so biblical.  There I was in the Garden of Eden of all grifters: a Connecticut mansion filled with shiny apples ready to have their pockets plucked.  Hell, there was even a real snake on the loose—no, not me (but I see how you might infer that).  I arrived at the Pike mansion under cloak (really a huge fur), as I was still a bit unsure of my plan.  Once I got past Hopsie’s bodyguard and babysitter Muggsy (William Demarest), I entered the great hall as the guest of honor and proceeded to have every man hang on my every word.  Quite simply, and British, I looked smashing.  The first to succumb to my charms was Mr. Pike himself (Eugene Pallette)—the father, not the son (didn’t I say it was biblical?). At first, Hopsie was nowhere to be found (I suppose he was playing with his snake somewhere).  Ah, but then he appeared—and what a perplexed look he had on his face. Grift Tip No. 5: When you happen upon a previous mark ask them if you know them from somewhere. This confirms their belief they’ve crossed your path before. Plus, it looks like you don’t have anything to hide from them. 

You’d think it would be more difficult to convince a man with whom you canoodled that you weren’t the same woman who tried to con him on the high seas.  In a way, I was a bit peeved at how easily I pushed my real identity out of Hopsie’s mind. Of course, this feeling was quickly usurped by an overriding disbelief that I once loved a man who could be fooled by a royal title, a British accent, and a small tiara.  It didn’t take long before I had Hopsie back under my spell, but what did I want to do with him?  What better punishment was there for a bachelor than marriage?  And, so, yes, I did it: I married my mark. Ah, but I wasn’t quite done with that idiot just yet. Grift Tip No. 6: Sell the game to the bitter end and then have a well-designed escape route. 

We opted to spend our wedding night on a train. I donned my best sheer negligee and eagerly awaited the entrance of Hopsie into my cozy compartment.  He was nervous—it was obvious this was his first ride on a train. I tried to calm him down by recounting other train rides I’d taken. Surely if men like Angus, Herman, Vernon, Cecil, John, Hubert…or was it Herbert…could enjoy a train ride with me, so could Hopsie!  Perhaps he was afraid of tunnels—I always found entering and exiting them to be exhilarating.  It was all just so odd! You’d think a man who liked to play with snakes wouldn’t be so frightened of a speeding train.  It was like being in one of those Preston Sturges’ films, except there was no sex.  Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about those other guys, because he got off the train at the first stop.

And, so there I was—married and abandoned in a day by an heir to millions.  Somehow I just didn’t feel like I had exacted enough revenge on old Hopsie. Grift Tip No. 8: If you can have your cake and eat it too, eat the entire thing.  Why should I settle for a piece of the Pike pie when I could have the whole thing? Yes, I know I have mixed my food metaphors, but they are both desserts and that’s what I was going to have: my just desserts! So, when the lawyers called about divorce proceedings I ignored them.  Knowing Hopsie to be a creature of habit I returned to the high seas armed with my pocket mirror, my long, shapely legs, and my real name.  It wasn’t too long before Hopsie was escorting Jean Harrington…um, Pike…to her cabin.  Yes, he was a bit shocked when I revealed to him that Jean and Eve were one in the same—but this time I waited until he got used to the motion of the ocean.  Grift Tip No. 7: There is no greater con game than love. 

(This post was honored with a 2012 CiMBA for Best Musical or Comedy Review.  Obviously, this was a comedy.)

 

 

 

 

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