1937 - The Awful Truth

As an actor, it is helpful to understand where the industry sees you. As much as we don't like to be typecast, it is a necessary evil in order for casting directors and agents to know which roles to call you in for. But sometimes, it still comes as a surprise when you see the other actors in the waiting room who are up for the same role. Yesterday, as I waited to audition for a national yogurt ad, I sat across the room from Joey Slotnick (pictured). It's becoming clearer now exactly what my type is.

Next on the 1937 review list is Best Picture nominee...

The Awful Truth

Director:

Leo McCarey

Screenplay:

Viña Delmar

(based on the play by Arthur Richman)

Starring:

Irene Dunne, Cary Grant, Ralph Bellamy, Alexander D'Arcy, Cecil Cunningham, Molly Lamont

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

1 win, for Best Director

A classic screwball comedy, The Awful Truth pits husband and wife, Jerry and Lucy Warriner (Grant & Dunne), against each other. It's that age-old battle that is fought between two people who are clearly meant for each other despite the fact they can't stand being in the same room together. The mistrust begins when Lucy spends an allegedly innocent night with her music teacher (D'Arcy), while Jerry is caught in a lie about where he spent his vacation. And that's all it takes for the two to begin divorce proceedings. But before the divorce is finalised, Lucy sparks up a romance with an oil tycoon (Bellamy), while Jerry hobnobs around with an heiress (Lamont). Each does all they can to sabotage the other's relationship with suitably screwball consequences.

The interesting thing about this genre is that rapid-fire humorous dialogue is only one of many comic devices that is utilised. Good screwball comedies will also contain a smattering of physical comedy and a whole host of situational comedy. The Awful Truth certainly delivers on all these fronts. The repartee is snappy, the pratfalls are silly and the situations are wacky. Top it all off with a heartwarming love story and it's understandable why this picture is often held up as a classic example of its genre.

There's one other class of comedy which, despite being a current trend in TV comedies, was perhaps not that prevalent back in the 1930s. Yet, The Awful Truth embraces the wonders that can manifest from awkward humour. Almost ahead of its time, this film treats us to the subtle embarrassed glances of eyes that don't know where to look during a nightclub singer's shockingly ridiculous act.

Another important element is the chemistry between its stars and, once again, The Awful Truth is not left wanting. For all intents and purposes, Cary Grant's charismatic on-screen persona began with his appearance in this film and it's no wonder he was so successful with it. He's charming, debonair and just cheeky enough to make you forgive him his flaws. Irene Dunne's infectiously cute laugh and playful intelligence are a delightful complement. Together, they bicker with such obvious jealousy that it just made me want to scream at them à la Kramer yelling at Jerry and Elaine (you'll need to scroll through to 3:15 to see the part I'm referencing).

The story is relatively simple and effective. It's a romantic comedy, after all - there's only really one way it can end. There are two main scenarios that play themselves out and they are clearly separated by the linear narrative. First, Jerry thwarts Lucy's plans of marrying again, and then Lucy retaliates in kind. It's almost like two distinct episodes of a sitcom. Not really a flaw, just a fascinating observation.

1937 - A Star Is Born

There is an odd phenomenon that occurs in the vast expanse that is the Times Square subway station. Inside, there is a small electronics store. If that weren't inexplicable enough, the store has a few television displays in its window, one of which appears to be stuck on a channel that only plays footage of boxing matches. But wait, I'm still not at the odd part yet. Every time, and I mean every time, that I walk past this store, there are a handful of men simply standing motionless, eyes transfixed on the bout. Sometimes, it's about half a dozen onlookers. Sometimes, it's more. I can't figure it out. What is the fascination? Do they know the sports schedule so well that they time their commute to be at Times Square at the opportune moment? Or are they merely not in any kind of rush to get to their destination that they are easily distracted by sweaty men pounding the crap out of each other?

Whatever it is, they all seem completely hypnotised. Just like the man gazing at the freeway sign that Steve Martin drives by at the beginning of L.A. Story. Which worries me. Because by the end of that film, Steve Martin was doing exactly the same thing...

Today, I continued the review of the Best Picture contenders of 1937 by watching...

A Star Is Born

Director:

William A. Wellman

Screenplay:

Dorothy Parker, Alan Campbell & Robert Carson

(based on a story by William A. Wellman and Robert Carson)

Starring:

Janet Gaynor, Fredric March, Adolphe Menjou, May Robson, Andy Devine, Lionel Stander

Academy Awards:

7 nominations

1 win, for Best Original Story, plus a Special Award for colour cinematography

Remade in 1954 with Judy Garland and then again in 1976 with Barbra Streisand, the original 1937 version of A Star Is Born is the only one to receive a Best Picture nomination. The story follows the plight of wannabe starlet Esther Blodgett (Gaynor) as she arrives in Hollywood with big dreams and no plans. The work is tough. Or at least it would be if she could get any. With no prospects, she takes a job as a waitress for Hollywood parties, where she catches the eye of silver screen sensation Norman Maine (March). The two quickly begin a love affair and Norman uses his connections to shoot Esther to the top. But as her star rises, Norman's string of flops and struggle with alcoholism see his career fade into oblivion.

It seems unlikely that this is a realistic account of how the movie business actually operated in the thirties. While there must have been a few ingénues plucked from obscurity to star in major studio films, Esther's rise to fame is just a tad too fairy tale. Then again, perhaps I just have a case of sour grapes. I mean, I've travelled a lot further than she has. Where's my Norman Maine? (Relax, Matt, she's a fictional character...)

In any case, the Hollywood star system is really just a backdrop to the real drama of A Star Is Born, which is the fascinating marital dynamic created when one spouse is the talk of the town and the other is a has-been. In fact, the most interesting aspect of the protagonists' relationship here is that they rarely discuss the issue. Esther and Norman are not at each other's throats at all. They have a genuine love and respect for each other. Sure, Norman pulls a Kanye, interrupting Esther's Academy Award acceptance speech in a drunken tirade, but he doesn't denigrate his wife. Instead, his rant is just a stinking bowl of self pity. And rather than hold a grudge, Esther is profoundly concerned for him. Which is understandable. He's an alcoholic, after all. Norman's struggle is heartbreaking, and while his tragic end is probably an act of cowardice, it could also be interpreted as the ultimate sacrifice to ensure Esther lives out her dream.

The petite Janet Gaynor, Oscar's very first Best Actress, received her second nomination for this role, which includes a spate of brief but accurate impressions of Greta Garbo, Katharine Hepburn and Mae West. The talented Fredric March is exceptional as the fading movie star, delivering a touchingly subtle performance. Andy Devine succeeds again as the quirky sidekick, appearing in his second nominee from 1937 along with In Old Chicago. He is topped, however, by Adolphe Menjou, appearing in his third, a trio of showbiz-related pictures. His meatier roles in Stage Door and One Hundred Men and a Girl leave a greater impression, though.

And as if this film hadn't been remade enough already, there is yet another remake in the works, this time starring Beyonce and, potentially, Russell Crowe.

1937 - In Old Chicago

The poll to decide the next awards year to explore in Matt vs. the Academy is our closest one yet. Still a little time to have your say, so shift your eyes to the right and down a little bit and get clicking.

Meanwhile, let's take a look at another fine piece of cinema from 1937's list of Best Picture nominees...

In Old Chicago

Director:

Henry King

Screenplay:

Lamar Trotti and Sonya Levien

(based on a story by Niven Busch)

Starring:

Tyrone Power, Alice Faye, Don Ameche, Alice Brady, Andy Devine

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

2 wins, including Best Supporting Actress (Brady)

Iron-willed matriarch Mrs. O'Leary (Brady) has raised three boys after her husband was tragically killed on their way to settle in Chicago. Now, the two eldest sons have taken starkly different career paths. Jack (Ameche) is an overly honest lawyer, poised to be the next Mayor. Dion (Power), on the other hand, has used his entrepreneurial skills to make a name for himself in Chicago's sordid club scene. Understandably, this causes much friction in the family, but when Chicago is consumed by the Great Fire of 1871, they will need to forget their differences in order to survive.

A title card at the beginning of In Old Chicago expresses the film makers' gratitude towards the Chicago Historical Society for their assistance in the picture's historical accuracy. An odd sentiment considering the majority of the story is complete fiction. Minor details remain, but the much maligned Mrs. O'Leary - long stigmatised as being responsible for the devastating blaze, thanks to her dairy cow knocking a lantern over in the barn - most likely had nothing to do with it. Further, her real life counterpart's first name was Catherine, not Molly. And her husband was still alive. And she never ran a laundry business. And she only had two children, a son and a daughter, neither of which were Mayor. But she did live on De Koven Street - that much is true.

Of course, none of that really matters. For this film is less about the Great Fire than it is about the relationship between two brothers, one an upstanding moral citizen, the other a scheming rogue. The character of Dion, in particular, is a fascinating study. His brilliantly devious plans are presented with a fine sense of deliciousness and intrigue, portrayed with persuasive charm by Tyrone Power.

This compelling drama eventually gives way to a spectacularly riveting finale. The final twenty minutes of the film, in which the catastrophic conflagration occurs, has all the elements of a gripping disaster movie: action, panic, incidental characters succumbing to untimely and uniquely tragic deaths. This sequence alone is worth the price of admission (or cost of Netflix, as the case may be). However, the relatively abrupt ending, no doubt intended to be inspirational, is confusingly upbeat.

Almost fifty years before his Oscar win (and only nomination) for Cocoon, Don Ameche delivers a strong performance here as the principled Jack. Also of note is Alice Faye as the bad girl who is really a softie at heart. And one can't go past Andy Devine's distinctive voice as one of Dion's cronies. Alice Brady deservedly won Best Supporting Actress for playing the O'Leary matriarch, but due to an illness, she wasn't present at the ceremony to collect her award. No matter. An anonymous man jumped to the podium to collect it on her behalf and neither he nor the golden statuette has ever been seen since.

1937 - Dead End

The sun is out in New York City as it has been for the last couple of days. The chill in the air seems to have subsided and our old friend warmth has returned. One suspects this is the coming of spring and I speak on behalf of most Australians who live in colder climes when I say, "About bloody time!" While I am looking forward to not needing a heavy coat, scarf and gloves every time I walk outside, for some reason, all I can think of is this.

Today, instead of enjoying the sun, I continued my hermit ways by watching another nominee from the Best Picture contest of 1937...

Dead End

Director:

William Wyler

Screenplay:

Lillian Hellman

(based on the play by Sidney Kingsley)

Starring:

Sylvia Sidney, Joel McCrea, Humphrey Bogart, Wendy Barrie, Claire Trevor

Academy Awards:

4 nominations

0 wins

The dead end of the title literally refers to the cul-de-sac on the East Side of New York City where all of the film's action takes place. Metaphorically, the dead end is representative of the lack of opportunity provided to the poor inhabitants of this neighbourhood, especially in the wake of the high-rise apartment block built over their tenements. As the upper-class residents host their upper-class dinner parties with their upper-class friends, the slums below are rife with crime. Two of the poverty-stricken locals, Drina (Sidney) and Dave (McCrea) try their best to forge a way out of their hopeless futures, while a gang of good-for-nothing kids, led by Drina's younger brother Tommy, constantly cause trouble. Meanwhile, big-time gangster Baby Face Martin (Bogart), a former Dead End kid himself, returns to his old neighbourhood with disappointing results.

As a crime drama, Dead End is relatively bland, shadowed by plenty of finer entries in the genre. But this may be due to its self-imposed restrictions. The entire story takes place over the course of just one day and evening, in and around the small dead end street. While this approach has the potential for great suspense and excitement - remember Die Hard? - it only succeeds occasionally. I imagine, however, that it must have seemed a lot more effective in the stage version.

The message behind the film is fairly clear, yet the conclusion seems a tad confused. Obviously, the picture addresses the issue of social inequality, in particular, the way in which the oppressed stand little chance of avoiding a life of crime. Somehow, though, I felt little sympathy for the juvenile delinquents. They were just cruel and nasty bullies with few signs of remorse. It didn't help, of course, that they were a bunch of the most overacting, stereotypical thirties thugs you can imagine. And considering that the child actors who played them were troublemakers themselves, causing all sorts of mayhem around the studio, you'd think they'd be able to be more genuine.

There is still a lot to like in Dead End, though. William Wyler is a fine director, to say the least, with 3 Best Director Oscars ahead of him after this film. His inspired decision to eliminate any use of a score helps to create several captivating moments. In fact, the film picks up considerably about halfway through when the situation in the street becomes more serious. The shoot-out sequence is particularly exciting, despite the fact that none of the gun wounds appear to draw blood.

A lot of the performances border on melodrama, but the lead cast manage to avoid that pitfall. Sylvia Sidney and Joel McCrea find the understated sides to their characters and Humphrey Bogart as the troubled gangster is the picture of intensity. The most interesting relationship in the film is found during Bogie's character's interaction with his ex-girlfriend of many years ago, now an ailing prostitute. The Hays Code once again forces this script to be riddled with subtext, but hats off to Claire Trevor for her fascinatingly touching performance as the disease-ridden Francey, earning a well-deserved Best Supporting Actress nomination.

1937 - One Hundred Men and a Girl

Don't forget to vote (in the poll on the right) for the next year to be covered in Matt vs. the Academy. Still plenty of time as we reach the halfway point of the 1937 review. Speaking of which, the film at the centre of discussion today has proven to be a hard find. Despite being available on DVD in most overseas markets, it has never had a DVD release in the United States. Fortunately, though, the New York Public Library boasts two copies on VHS, according to their online database. I'd need to purchase a VCR, but at least I'd be able to watch it. After putting one of those copies on hold, I waited to be notified of its availability. Two weeks later, I contacted the library to ask of its whereabouts, only to be told that it was last seen well over a month ago and there appears to be no sign of it. What about the second copy? Oh, that one was lost a long time ago and it shouldn't even be in the system at all. Fantastic. A quick Google search and eBay comes to the rescue. Someone in California is selling a DVD import brand new. Problem solved. And I don't even need to buy a VCR. I probably should have started there.

So, after that adventure, yesterday Kat and I spent a rainy day inside watching this 1937 Best Picture nominee...

One Hundred Men and a Girl

Director:

Henry Koster

Screenplay:

Bruce Manning, Charles Kenyon & James Mulhauser

(based on an idea by Hanns Kräly)

Starring:

Deanna Durbin, Leopold Stokowski, Adolphe Menjou, Alice Brady

Academy Awards:

5 nominations

1 win, for Best Original Score

Despite its porn-sounding title, One Hundred Men and a Girl is not the least bit filthy. In fact, it is a charmingly innocent comedy-musical about Patsy (Durbin), a girl whose trombonist father (Menjou) is desperately unemployed. With a stroke of luck, Patsy stumbles upon a rich woman (Brady) who promises to sponsor the formation of a new orchestra. Patsy assembles one hundred out-of-work musicians, including her father, but the sponsorship deal will fall through unless she can get famous conductor Leopold Stokowski to join the team.

This pleasant and winsome picture is thoroughly enjoyable and it is difficult to understand why it has been all but forgotten. It sports a wonderfully chipper attitude, evident in such songs as "It's Raining Sunbeams", which may sound sickly sweet, and ... well, quite frankly, it is, but somehow it's not too nauseating. Probably due to Deanna Durbin's exquisite singing voice, made all the more impressive considering she was only sixteen when the film was made.

Not only does the story revolve around a symphony orchestra, but it also heavily features Stokowski, an actual conductor of notoriety. Hence, there are inevitably several scenes in which we are treated to orchestral performances of classical music. At times, it may seem like overkill, but these sequences are cleverly staged and edited to avoid tedium. In fact, there is invariably something else going on while the orchestra is playing, so the story is always moving forward. Besides, it is remarkably elegant music, after all.

The heart of the picture's entertainment, though, is the humour. The cast of genuinely funny characters create a comedy of errors that retains its humour even today. Seemingly, naiveté never goes out of comedy style. There's a singing cabbie, a happy-go-lucky flautist, an easily excited upper-class lady. My favourite, however, is the slow-witted but insistent garage owner, who utters such gems as, "You call me a shutup? You can't call me a shutup?" and "I don't know nothing from arismesticks."

Adolphe Menjou provides the heart as the down-and-out musician, a starkly different persona from the arrogant producer he plays in fellow 1937 nominee Stage Door. It is clear that acting is not Leopold Stokowski's first talent, but he manages to hold his own. And for a sixteen-year-old, Deanna Durbin displays a great deal of maturity in her performance. All in all, One Hundred Men and a Girl is a wonderfully entertaining way to spend an hour and a half on a rainy day.