On YouTube: Jean Harlow Being a Bombshell and Robots and Portraits in Classic Movies

 

Jean Harlow was the first blonde bombshell and she made a huge impact in her short life. No dumb blonde, she was funny, sexy, charismatic, and was even developing her dramatic chops (her final scene with Myrna Loy in Wife vs. Secretary showed where she could have gone as a dramatic lead). Her death of uremic poisoning at age 26 was a significant loss. However, her short career was incredibly productive; we are fortunate to have many Harlow performances to watch and love.

   

Robots and mechanical beings, have been a part of the movies from the beginning. They’re an especially interesting aspect of the movies because while they can have many common similarities, like a slow gait, the ability to kill with eye lasers, stilted speech, and a habit of crashing through doors and windows, the way they have been portrayed on screen is also wildly creative and varied. I haven’t strictly gone with the definition of robot in this collection, because I think it’s interesting how mechanical people/automatons are similar in so many ways to the machine-run robots that followed (I also snuck one cyborg in there).

   

Despite lacking motion, portraits can be a powerful part of a movie, driving the plot, inspiring emotion in characters, and creating mood and drama simply by existing. This collection of clips shows how portraits can create romance, comedy, horror, and mystery.

On Blu-ray: 1933 Double Feature Mary Stevens, M.D. and Dinner at Eight

I was fascinated by the differences between a pair of films from 1933 I watched recently on new Blu-rays from Warner Archive. One is the efficient Warner Bros. melodrama Mary Stevens, M.D., starring Kay Francis and a cast full of the snappy, sharp-witted players who brought the studio success in the early thirties. The other, Dinner at Eight, is a lavish production filled with the biggest names at MGM Studios, though the young Jean Harlow stole the whole movie from her more experienced costars. 

Mary Stevens, M.D. features one of Francis’ best performances. She’s a young doctor who sets up shop with her former classmate and close friend Don (an adequate Lyle Talbot). He quickly gets tired of fighting to keep their pediatric practice afloat and marries politician’s daughter Lois (Thelma Todd, underused, but always welcome) so that he can secure the wealth and position he wants to enjoy without working to attain it. Predictably, that doesn’t go well for him. 

At first, it seems that the film is going to be all about Mary trying to find patients who aren’t horrified by the prospect of a lady doctor. It quickly dips into melodrama though, with illicit love, babies born out of wedlock, and deadly disease all complicating her life. It could be silly, but Francis is so sincere and as her nurse sidekick, Glenda Farrell keeps things zipping along when they could get maudlin. The film is particularly pre-code in the way the characters view Mary’s troubles with sympathy instead of scolding her for her sins, though it could be argued she is punished for her indiscretions.

My perspective of Dinner at Eight has changed dramatically over the years. Jean Harlow has been the one constant. As the fabulous-tacky nouveau riche Kitty Packard, she overshadows her illustrious cast mates, among them Billie Burke, Lionel Barrymore, John Barrymore, and the beloved Marie Dressler. Her crackling comic performance makes me constantly forget that this film is as much a drama as a comedy. 

Over the years, I’ve overcome the disorientation that comes from the intense busyness the film evokes and honed in on other performances, like the charming resignation of Dressler as a former stage star with financial troubles and the mix of bravado and impotence in John Barrymore’s fading matinee idol (he has a moment of brave vulnerability where he actually whimpers like a child). Burke is also a shallow, oblivious delight, devastated by the increasing disaster her dinner party is becoming while life and death struggles unfold around the bubble of self-involvement in which she exists. Her transition to a more aware, mature perspective is remarkably believable; she keeps the high pitch of her social climbing persona, while just beneath the surface a new decency emerges. MGM stars Lionel Barrymore, Wallace Beery, Edmund Lowe, Madge Evans, and Karen Morley are also on-board with their best performances.

Reportedly Harlow and Dressler became close on set and had discussed starring together in a comedy. What a shame the older comedian died in 1934 and that never came to pass.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review.

On Blu-ray: The Glorious Quartet of Loy, Powell, Harlow, and Tracy in Libeled Lady (1936)

The first time I watched Libeled Lady (1936), in the midst of my stunned teenage discovery of Jean Harlow, was on a well-worn VHS I’d borrowed from the library. What a gigantic shift it was to see it on a new Blu-ray from Warner Archive; it looks and sounds so sharp and clean it feels like a different film.

I’ve always been fascinated by the contrasting personas of the cast in this lightly entertaining comedy. There’s the crisp and amusing William Powell and Myrna Loy, already comfortable playing off each other in a cool, but pleasant manner as they would in several films. Juxtaposed with this is the earthier appeal of Spencer Tracy and Jean Harlow, who are less suited to each other, but similar in the way they always project an aura of honesty.

This is a film that rests on its star power. For the most part, with the notable exception of Walter Connolly, playing Loy’s exasperated father, these four carry Libeled Lady. Loy plays a carefree socialite who finds herself the victim of false reporting. Tracy is the guilty reporter who in his desperation to avoid litigation enlists Powell to trap Loy in a real scandal to negate the false one. He convinces his eternally frustrated fiancé Harlow to marry Powell, temporarily of course, as a part of his scheme.

Though her screen time is brief compared to her fellow stars, Harlow steals Libeled Lady. She’s effortlessly mesmerizing, playing big and loud one moment only to dial it down with subtle, sweet moments of silent acting, like a charming scene where she realizes Powell is more honorable than she thought. It’s heartbreaking to realize this was her last great role, with only Personal Property (1937) and a partially completed appearance in Saratoga (1937) to come before her death at age twenty-six. Here she appears ready to take her comedy chops to another level, a skilled comedienne who endured the brutal public scrutiny of learning onscreen only to become the best in the game.

As much as I love the ease of Powell and Loy together, I enjoyed the sizzling chemistry between real life lovers Powell and Harlow even more. Their emotional connection translated to the screen, much like Bogart and Bacall. There is a warmth and shared humor between them that comes through in their few scenes together, even when they’re supposed to be at odds with each other. It’s fascinating to imagine what kinds of movies more Powell and Harlow pairings could have produced.

Libeled Lady is solid entertainment with all the elements in place: a witty script by Maurine Watkins, Howard Rogers, and George Oppenheimer, smooth direction by Jack Conway, and a quartet of stars working at their peak. It was a pleasure to be able to see and hear it anew with such clarity.

Special features on the disc include the comedy short Keystone Hotel, an MGM short New Shoes, the cartoon Little Cheeser, audio for the Leo is on the Air radio promo, and a theatrical trailer

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.

Quote of the Week

She didn't want to be famous. She wanted to be happy.

-Clark Gable, on Jean Harlow

Image Source

The Hollywood Tirade

In real life, when you lose your temper, you've only given up something you can't get back. In the movies, losing your temper can be the key to stardom, accolades and audience sympathy. These three women unleashed some of the best tirades of classic Hollywood:

The Miracle Woman (1931), Barbara Stanwyck
No one could play the hurt woman pushed too far better than Stanwyck. Some of her best screen moments are when her voice deepens, her shoulders begin to shake, and the floodgates open.

She has one of her best tirades as Faith Fallon, a preacher’s daughter. When her father is abruptly fired after years of service, he dies from the shock, right before he is to give his last sermon. Heartbroken, Faith stands at the pulpit, where her father once stood, overcome with anger. She assaults the congregation with torrent of angry accusations that send them running out of the church, as if she is shooting them with arrows. She follows them, walking down the rows of pews until finally she is alone, exhausted and entirely lacking in the faith that used to guide her life. It is one of the most devastating scenes of Stanwyck's career, and an early sign of the enormity of her talent.

Bombshell (1933), Jean Harlow

Harlow had a rough start in Hollywood, primarily because she won fame for her looks before she learned how to act. Though no one could take their eyes off her, they couldn't stop laughing at the absurd accent she'd picked up from her acting coach either.

Comedy was Harlow's salvation. Though she was tired of playing tramps, she gave her career new life by playing a funny tramp in Red Headed Woman (1932). Harlow built on her newfound respect with Bombshell. She plays Lola Burns, a movie star victimized by fame and its trappings.

Lola loses her temper many times before the final credits, but her best tirade is near the beginning of the movie, where she is constantly thwarted in her attempts to get to work. Surrounded by hangers-on and barking dogs, she vents her frustration in a long, fast-paced speech during which she hardly seems to take a breath, all the while trying to gather her effects and get out the door. Here is ample proof that Harlow was one of the best screen comics.

Of Human Bondage (1934), Bette Davis
"You disgust me." When Philip Carey (Leslie Howard), rejects slatternly waitress Mildred (Bette Davis) with these words, he realizes his mistake instantly. She turns from a gooey-eyed lover into a vicious beast. Her eyes widen, her shoulders rattle back and forth and she launches into a tirade so harsh that time has not diluted its power.

Davis spits out her lines as if they are bitter seeds. Her eyes bug out and the veins her neck are so strained they look as if they could explode. It is a moment that could be overplayed so easily; everything she does teeters on the edge of absurdity, but she hones in on Mildred's anger with a precision that gives the moment unbearable intensity.