Fly Fishing with William Powell

William Powell (right) is confident in his fake-fishing skills. Image: A Certain Cinema

William Powell (right) is confident in his fake fishing skills. Image: A Certain Cinema

Sometimes, knowing what you’re doing is overrated.

Who doesn’t love that adrenaline rush of panic and disbelief when you’re caught, unprepared, in a frantic situation beyond your control? That’s when you know you’re alive.

Many actors have beautifully demonstrated this type of unfortunate circumstance, and one of our favourites is William Powell in the 1936 screwball comedy Libeled Lady.

Libeled Lady is a very funny movie with this cast: Jean Harlow, Spencer Tracy and Myrna Loy. It has a smart script, gorgeous Cedric Gibbons‘ set designs and an enviable wardrobe by Dolly Tree. Here is a movie that cannot go wrong.

Briefly, the plot: Tracy plays the managing editor of a newspaper that prints a story accusing a socialite (Loy) of being a home wrecker. Loy, who is vacationing in Europe, threatens to sue the paper upon her return to the United States. Tracy, fearing the $5 million lawsuit will bankrupt his newspaper, plans a “sting” operation: He will ask his girlfriend (Harlow) to temporarily marry Powell (in name only), then arrange a compromising situation between Powell and Loy. This will make the Loy homewrecking story actually true, the lawsuit will be dropped, and everyone can just move along. Nothing to see here.

As part of his scheme to seduce Loy, Powell decides to go through her father (Walter Connolly), a rich industrialist and an avid trout fisherman. Powell devours fly fishing books, and even arranges for a fly-fishing tutor to visit him at his hotel where he’s staging a fake honeymoon with the agitated Harlow.

(Digression: It’s a treat to see the Powell-and-Harlow scenes, since they were a real-life couple. Powell’s character is polite and courteous towards Harlow, while she becomes increasingly irritated with distracted boyfriend Tracy and starts falling for Powell.)

After he travels to London, Powell immediately finds Loy and Connolly on the ship leaving for America. Powell starts in with the fishing yarns, but Loy is suspicious.

Connolly (to Powell): “So, you’ve fished Gluckman’s Point. Well, you’re an angler all right.”

Loy: “I should say Mr. Chandler’s quite an angler.”

Powell believes in learning while doing. Image: Pinterest

Powell believes in learning while doing. Image:


We know the movie is building towards an epic Man-Versus-Trout battle and we are not disappointed. Once they are landed in the U.S., Connolly invites Powell to on a fishing trip with Loy and himself. Powell arrives, decked out in shiny new fishing gear and a copy of The Anglers’ Hand-Book for Beginners tucked in his creel (basket). While Connolly and Loy are expertly casting their lines – and catching fish – Powell ends up in the drink, only to discover his precious Hand-Book cheerfully floating downstream.

This is precisely one of the things that we, the audience, have paid for. The William Powell of the 1930s is a study in scrupulous grooming; he practically gleams with studio polish. As much as we adore him, we want to see him floundering down a stream in a wet, floppy hat, desperately clinging to a fishing rod as though it were useful. It makes the urbane Powell less of a movie star and more like one of us – and we love him all the more for it.

Libeled Lady is a movie that isn’t as popular as it deserves to be. The entire movie is a delight, but the scenes of Powell’s attempts at fly fishing are pure movie magic.

Libeled Lady: starring Jean Harlow, William Powell, Myrna Loy, Spencer Tracy. Directed by Jack Conway. Written by Maurine Watkins, Howard Emmett Rogers, George Oppenheimer. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corp., 1936, B&W, 98 mins.

The Infatuation Drug

Note: This post is part of the Build-Your-Own Blogathon, hosted by the Classic Film & TV Cafe. Today’s movie connects to Speakeasy’s My Darling Clementine via producer/writer Samuel G. Engel.

Pat Boone (left) counsels Dick Sargent on the ways of l'amour. Image: ebay

Pat Boone (left) counsels Dick Sargent on How to Romance Women. Image: eBay

Maybe young Pat Boone didn’t realize how brave he was.

In the 1957 musical comedy Bernardine, the young singer plays a slick-talking but misguided lothario who dispenses advice like he’s dispensing medicine.

“Misguided” could be too soft a word. In one scene, Boone’s character refers to a friend’s girlfriend by saying, “It belongs to Wilson.” In another scene, he sings about “technique” and how women love it when men are deceitful and neglectful.

Pretty offensive stuff – and would be to women in the 1950s – except for one thing: Boone plays the character with such over-the-top sliminess that you become fascinated by his outrageously stupid worldview.

Bernardine, based on the play by Mary Chase, stars Boone and Dick Sargent as high school seniors who are three weeks away from graduating. But Sargent’s grades are so poor, he may not graduate if he doesn’t pass his final exams. Added to this turmoil is Sargent’s inability to romance girls, despite Boone’s prescriptions.

Sargent and Boone have fantasized about the ultimate dream woman whom they’ve named Bernardine Mudd (of all things). Things get complicated when Sargent meets the beautiful Terry Moore, with whom he becomes instantly smitten. Here’s his real-life Bernardine!

However, final exams loom large, and Sargent is forced to put his romantic life on hold. He must remain sequestered in his house for two weeks to cram. He panics: What if Moore meets someone else in the meantime?!!!!!

During his “captivity”, Sargent is jittery, unfocused, irritable – much like someone going through withdrawal. Love/infatuation is a drug, they say, and Sargent’s character is a first-rate addict.

Terry Moore has her pick of men. Image: ebay

Terry Moore is the object of Dick Sargent’s obsessive affections. Image: eBay

Bernardine is a deceptively clever film. Here we have Boone, a smooth talker who employs a $50-dollar vocabulary and good-naturedly teases his chums. But while Boone winks at his friends, the movie winks at us. Can you believe these morons? the filmmakers seem to say.

Yet this movie is not so light-hearted as it first appears. Janet Gaynor, who plays Sargent’s mother, has a rather preachy lecture about parenting, but offers some thoughtful insights. The ending, too, is surprisingly philosophical, and it’s here Boone and Sargent prove they can really act.

In many ways, producer Samuel G. Engel has created a cliché 1950s teen film, with a handsome pop star singing about love and teenagers clad in wide skirts and sweater vests. But its strong characters and witty script give it a timeless feel, along with the obvious infatuation/pharmaceutical symbolism.

Producer Engel was no dummy. Besides producing and screenwriting, he was President of the Producer’s Guild of America (1955-1958), and lobbied to include short films in the Academy Awards. Before he came to Hollywood, he was a successful businessman who owned a chain of retail outlets in Manhattan.

These retail outlets were drugstores.

Samuel Engel was a pharmacologist by trade, who earned his degree at the Albany College of Pharmacy.

Now, we ask you: Who better to show us that infatuation is a drug? Engel has shrewdly done so with the little-known musical Bernardine.

Bernardine: Pat Boone, Terry Moore, Janet Gaynor. Directed by Henry Levin. Written by Theodore Reeves. Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corp., 1957, Colour (by DeLuxe), 95 mins.

This post is part of the Build-Your-Own Blogathon hosted by the über chic Classic Film & TV Café. Click HERE to see the other fab entries.


John Ford’s Theatre of Faux Piety

Charles W... sldfj asfdj  Image: lsdkjf

Charles Winninger won’t talk politics today, gentlemen. *Wink!*  Image: Alt Screen

Guess which of John Ford‘s films was his favourite. Come on, take a wild guess.

The Sun Shines Bright is not a typical John Ford movie. There isn’t a single A-list actor, nor does it appear to have an expensive budget. Despite this (or because of it?) the director labeled it as his favourite.

The Sun Shines Bright is about a small southern town at the turn of the twentieth century. It is based on three short stories written by American humourist Irvin S. Cobb (1876-1944).

The town’s circuit judge, played by Charles Winninger, is facing re-election. Winninger’s character is a down-to-earth man who refers to his drink as “corn squeezin’s”, and scurries about helping his fellow townspeople. However, he is always in election mode and often mockingly protests, “No politics today, gentlemen.” It’s a rather disingenuous campaign strategy when you think about it.

While the campaigning is afoot, an African American teenager (Elzie Emanuel) is arrested for raping a white girl. Winninger works to calm the town’s anger, especially when a lynch mob marches toward the jail where Emanuel is held.

In the midst of all this, a young woman who was adopted as a child (Arleen Whelan) tries to find the truth about her birth family.

There is a lot to admire about The Sun Shines Bright. It’s beautifully filmed, like all of Ford’s movies, with each shot artfully framed. It doesn’t easily slide easily into one genre, so it is more reflective of actual life. It is a drama and a comedy and a philosophical history.

It’s the kind of movie that should make us think Ford-as-storyteller is a fine humanitarian.

But it doesn’t.

It can’t, because we are watching John Ford’s Theatre of Faux Piety. This is where words do not match actions, and the discrepancy between the two is so jarring we can hardly concentrate on the plot.

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Stepin Fetchit as Winninger’s “assistant” (read: Servant). Image:

The themes of this film are hypocrisy and redemption, as illustrated by these scenarios:

  • a young woman is ostracized by her fellow townsfolk because she was born out of wedlock.
  • when a sick woman with a dubious reputation arrives in town, she shunned by “decent” folk and is forced to take refuge at a brothel.
  • when a white girl is assaulted, police immediately arrest an African American teenager without proof.

These are thought-provoking themes that should be explored in film. Yet it’s strange that in a movie preaching Equality For All, the director presents African Americans as weak, one-dimensional characters who are completely dependent upon white townsfolk. Subtext: everyone deserves to be equal but them.

These characters have neither original thought nor ambition nor bravery. Really? People who survived slavery – and all that went with it – are now simpering fools?

It’s Faux Piety. Because Ford presents African Americans as ludicrous caricatures, the movie becomes hollow. When Emanuel is found innocent of rape charges, the film celebrates Winninger the Hero instead of examining the actions that imprisoned an innocent teenager to begin with.

We are left wondering: Redemption for some, but not all?

The Sun Shines Bright could have been one of the great films of Ford’s career. Instead, it leaves us feeling like a great premise has been squandered.

The Sun Shines Bright: starring Charles Winninger, Arleen Whelan, John Russell. Directed by John Ford. Written by Laurence Stallings. Republic Pictures Corp., 1953, B&W, 100 mins.

This post is part of the JOHN FORD BLOGATHON hosted by Krell Laboratories and Bemused and Nonplussed. Click HERE to see the other posts.


The Edmond O’Brien Guide to Not Working

Wanda Hendrix (left) tries to tell Edmond O'Brien to get lost.

Wanda Hendrix (left) politely tells Edmond O’Brien to get lost. (Lousy screencap by yours truly.)

We all know someone who is, shall we say, “thrifty”.

This is a person who panics if they have to spend their money, but they’re very encouraging when it comes to spending your money.

Yet, there are rare people who elevate thriftiness to an art form and make it look like an enviable – even honourable – profession.

Such is the character Edmond O’Brien portrays in The Admiral was a Lady, a 1950 comedy about recently-discharged vets adjusting to civilian life after World War II. O’Brien heads a former bomber crew who meet a WAVE ensign (Wanda Hendrix) at the so-called “52/20 Club”. (This is a social security office where veterans collect a $20/week assistance cheque while looking for employment.)

The airmen take Hendrix under their wings (ha ha), and settle into a domestic arrangement à la Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

O’Brien is perfectly cast as a charming con man who claims he “can’t afford to work”. Hendrix is delightfully funny as a down-to-earth woman swept up by the airmen’s enthusiasm. Our fave, Rudy Vallee, steals a few scenes as a cash-strapped businessman whose ex-wife is his “only liquid asset”.

Rudy Vallee (right) threatens Edmund O'Brien with a job if he doesn't behave. Image: sjad askjf sdkj

An angry Rudy Vallee (right) threatens Edmund O’Brien with a job. Image:

But wait! This movie is more than brilliant casting and laugh-out-loud lines. The screenwriters have thoughtfully provided us with a gift, something that resonates with us today as much as it did with vets in 1950.

A Blueprint for Happier Living through Not Working

How is this possible? We’re glad you asked! We have organized the script’s blueprint for Not Working into five handy categories:

1. Housing

There’s no need to pay for housing if there are abandoned, freshly scrubbed buildings that no one else has thought to live in. In our movie, the airmen have commandeered empty army barracks, complete with cavernous, multi-stall bathrooms.

2. Food

Food is always a tricky item to avoid purchasing. However, our scriptwriters assure us that days-old food is inexpensive and poses no health risk! In one scene, the men treat Hendrix to chicken that’s been on a rotisserie for five days. What’s five days on a spit when it’s an extra 50 per cent off?

3. Transportation

Why bother with a car when you can hitch a ride with a delivery truck? In our film, the boys are chauffered by in a delivery van. With deliveries all over the city, a person can go anywhere free of charge.

4. Banking

Sadly, banking rules have changed since 1950, and perhaps O’Brien’s crew was responsible. The script tells us that, back in the day, you could cash your $20/week cheque by opening a bank account, collecting your cash, then immediately closing the account. (And don’t forget the promotional piggy bank, Mac!)

5. Entertainment

Who says a person can’t have fun on $20/week? O’Brien poses as a millionaire looking to buy a yacht so he and the men can take Henrix for an ocean excursion. When the current yacht owner mentions the price of the boat, O’Brien nearly chokes. But he recovers and says coyly, “$70,000 is a lot of money. Even for me.”

The Admiral was a Lady is a small budget film that deserves to be more well known. If it isn’t praised for its script and acting, then it should be revered for its tongue-in-cheek budgeting tips.

The Admiral was  Lady: starring Edmund O’Brien, Wanda Hendrix, Rudy Vallee. Directed by Albert S. Rogell. Written by John O’Dea and Sidney Salko. United Artists, 1950, B&W, 87 mins.

This post is part of Fabulous Films of the 50s Blogathon hosted by the Classic Movie Blog Association. Be sure to read all the other contributions, daddy-o.


The Science of Romantic Comedy

Marian Davies is annoyed with Charles Chaplin (right). Image: asldkfj asdlkfj asdf

Marion Davies is annoyed with autograph-seeker Charles Chaplin (right). Image: Chaplin for the Ages

A cynic would tell you every Romantic Comedy plays out like this: Boy Meets Girl – Boy Loses Girl + Boy Wins Girl = Formulaic Pandering to the Masses

To which we reply: So?

Formulas are good! Don’t we use formulas in developing a non-toxic lawn fertilizer? Or a cheeky bordeaux? What’s wrong with using a formula, anyway?

A formula is necessary for a romantic comedy, and we shall prove it using Scientific Methods. Our control group in this analysis consists of elements from the 1928 comedy, Show People, a loving look at Hollywood and what it take to be a Star.

In order to construct the Romantic Comedy Formula, we must first apply the Shakespeare Axiom: The course of true love never did run smooth.

We must also examine the Isometric Structure. Romantic comedies, by definition, need to have a feel-good ending. They also need a good script with heaps of witty lines, actors with perfect timing and a director who builds the story at a measured pace.

The point of the Romantic Comedy is the Happy Outcome, as symbolized in our formula:



First, we need a protagonist. In this instance, our protagonist is the beautiful, rubber-faced Marion Davies (as identified by the symbol “p”). She has come to Hollywood to be a Big Movie Star.


The luminescent Marion Davies (“p”). Image: mardecorté

Next, we need a Love Interest (identified by the symbol “li”), as played by William Haines. Haines’ character is a B-movie comedian who will never be a matinee idol, but he’s a down-to-earth soul who is kind and and very amusing.

The witty and handsome William Haines. Images: Wikipedia

The witty and handsome love interest William Haines (“li”). Image: Wikipedia










Then we need an occasion for Davies and Haines to Meet, which is nicely summed up here:




…wherein the Protagonist (Davies) meets the Love Interest (Haines) – squared, because each has their own perception of the event.

Plus pi or, in this movie, pie:




…because sometimes you just need a slice of pie. Haines also needs pies, lots of them, because that’s the kind of actor he is. (He’s called a “custard pie comedian”.) In comedy, as in life, there are infinite occasions for pie.

Back to the story! The chemistry between Davies and Haines is obvious, as evidenced in an early scene: Haines tenderly reapplies Davies’ lipstick after she’s been unexpectedly sprayed with water on her first day of filming.

William Haines gives beauty tips to Marian Davies. Image: lkasdfj laksdjf

William Haines gives beauty tips to Ms. Davies. Image: Which Way LA?











Now! Into this formula we must add a flimsy, self-absorbed Distraction (Paul Ralli), as identified by the symbol “d”. His dialogue is filled with magnificent hogwash, such as: “Being a lady of quality, she chose the cinema as a medium of self-expression.”

The vain and sullen Ralli is Obviously Unsuitable for the winsome Davies, but she finds herself attracted to him for reasons of career advancement. As dull as he is, he knows all the Right People.

Paul Ralli considers himself to be a work of art. Image: djsf akldjs

Paul Ralli (“d”) considers himself to be a work of art. Image:














This growing attraction between Davies and Haines, and Davies and Ralli, is compounded by several obstacles as per the Shakespeare Axiom:





(Note: The many obstacles are symbolized by “O” to the power of 10,000 because the players are continually blindsided in romantic comedies. As one character says, “Remember, the one law of pictures is, don’t anticipate!”)

The trouble is, Ralli has wealth and connections (which are the same thing in Hollywood, no?) and he seems infinitely more capable than Haines. Haines doesn’t appear to have much of a future as a Big Movie Star…but really, does not being an A-List actor really matter? This can be illustrated as such:




…where Davies has to weigh Ralli’s wealth [w] against Haines’ foibles [1*1*1*1]. But wealth can only go so far against a charming, handsome man who makes you laugh.

Davies comes to this very Realization before it’s Too Late! Does she want an unhappy life with a well-connected fop, or does she want to have a vibrant relationship with the man she loves? She seizes upon the theory that there really is no future without Haines:



Which, of course, hastens the Davies/Haines end-of-movie embrace, as shown by a standard formula for Acceleration:




Et voilà! Here is our completed Romantic Comedy Formula:




See? Not so simple, right? This is formulaic pandering to the masses? We don’t think so.

Even if you do not agree with our scientific methods, we urge you to see the funny and delightful Show People. It is a well-crafted look at Hollywood filmmaking in the silent era – and at romantic comedy in any era.

Show People: starring Marion Davies, William Hanes, Dell Henderson. Directed by King Vidor. Treatment by Agnes Christine Johnston and Laurence Stallings. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1928, B&W, 65 mins.

This post is part of The Romantic Comedy Blogathon hosted by the lovely Backlots and Carole & Co. Be sure to read all the other contributions.


Judy Garland’s Comedic Gifts

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Judy Garland wears her Sunday Best to impress her new fiancé. Image:

Judy Garland made everything look easy.

She could sing and dance and make you believe she flew to an emerald city in a tornado. Combined with her dramatic talents, it’s easy to forget how funny she was.

We marvelled at her comedic gifts when we screened The Harvey Girls (1946), a delightful musical-comedy Western.

Garland plays a young woman travelling from Ohio to the Wild West to marry a man with whom she’s corresponded, but has never met. On the train, she meets a group of spunky-but-respectable gals who are training to be waitresses at a Harvey House restaurant in Arizona. (These railroad-stop restaurants, established in the 1870s, are regarded as the first restaurant chain in the U.S.)

Garland is utterly charming. In an early scene, she sits on the westbound train, glancing enviously at the fried chicken the Harvey girls are eating, while she pokes at a single leftover crust in her lunch basket. Nevertheless, she spreads her napkin with a flourish over her lap and peers into her basket as though she can’t decide which imaginary delicacy to eat first.

When she arrives in town and sees her rough, unglamorous betrothed (Chill Wills), she is horrified. This man is the opposite of his letters, which are romantic and full of curlicues. She realizes she can’t hide forever from her husband-to-be, and she’s too stubborn to get back on the train, so she swallows her alarm and disappointment. But Wills ain’t no dummy; he gracefully asks Garland not to marry him.

Garland promptly joins the Harvey Girls and dons the employee uniform:

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Judy sings and serves steak in the Old West. Image: Sweethearts of the West


The Harvey House is not welcome in town because it represents Manners and Keeping Elbows Off The Table. The saloon across the street, the feather-boa Alhambra, hates the starched-white Harvey House because townsfolk might turn into Respectable People. (You see, the Harvey House is to Civilization what the Alhambra could be to Vegas.)

And yet.

The Alhambra is owned by Ned Trent (John Hodiak), a smirky fellow whose greatest pleasure is sabotaging the Harvey House generally, and Judy Garland in particular.


It was Hodiak who wrote those letters for Wills, the same letters that made Garland fall in love and board a train to the middle of nowhere to marry someone she’d never met.

Oh boy, we’ve gotten off topic. We were talking about Garland’s comedic talents. We’ve only time to describe one more scene, the one where John Hodiak steals all the Harvey House steaks!

Don't mess with Judy. Image: lskdjf a

Don’t mess with Judy. Image: YouTube

When Garland discovers the famous Harvey House steaks are missing, she decides to get ‘em back. She snatches two pistols and grimly marches across the street to the Alhambra, guns drawn. She’s All Business, yet she shrieks when she accidentally drops her weapons.

Garland reaches the Alhambra as someone is being forcibly removed. She squats under the saloon-style doors, surveying the territory, pistols cocked in the air à la Yosemite Sam. She finally musters the courage to stand and enter the bar. “Stick ‘em up,” she announces, and is almost knocked flat by bouncers trying to eject another patron. “Come on,” she pleads, “stick ‘em up now.” But everyone is having too much fun to notice.

If you haven’t seen The Harvey Girls, we urge you to do so. It is a wonderful film that showcases the very amusing and charming Judy Garland.

The Harvey Girls: starring Judy Garland, John Hodiak, Chills Wills. Directed by George Sidney. Written by Edmund Beloin, Nathaniel Curtis, Harry Crane, James O’Hanlon, Samson Raphaelson. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corp., 1946, Colour, 105 mins.

Ginger Rogers, Ace Detective


 Ginger Rogers can’t believe her luck sometimes. Image: What Ginger Wore

Tell us this is not one of the best opening scenes ever:

It is night on a deserted street in New York. The camera is positioned as though you were leaning out a window of an apartment building, looking down at the sidewalk.

There is a scream and a man’s body falls, from above you, onto the pavement.

This, in our opinion, is the best kind of introduction to a movie. No chit chat, no how-do-you-do nonsense. Let’s just get down to business of murder.

Such is our introduction to A Shriek in the Night (1933), a clunky but charming pre-code murder mystery/comedy. The premise is something that wasn’t new then and is still familiar today: a rich man who may have shady dealings with criminals meets an unexpected end.

Fortunately for the police (and for the deceased), a newspaper reporter (Ginger Rogers) is On The Case. She had been investigating the man’s ties to the underworld but, now that he’s dead, she realizes she’s got a Bigger Story.


Her ex-boyfriend (Lyle Talbot) works for a rival newspaper. Talbot may not be as smart as Rogers but he has an audacious charm – and scoops her front page story to publish it in his own newspaper!

Despite this treachery (or because of), Rogers is determined to solve the mystery while trying to out-maneuver Talbot. BUT! Sinister forces discover Rogers is snooping around and, naturally, they feel they must dispose of her.

This movie was made in 1933 and, frankly, you can tell. Some of the dialogue is stilted and the scenes aren’t staged as smoothly as we’d like. However, A Shriek in the Night is still a barrel o’ fun. It winks at famous detectives (e.g. Philo Vance) and pays tribute to the popular detective magazines of the day.

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Lilian Harmer loves to read about grisly murders before going to sleep. Image: Old Films in Pictures

A good movie detective, like any detective, needs brains and guts. Rogers has both, and is très amusing in a smart-alec kind of way. In one scene, the lights suddenly go out in the rich man’s apartment. The maid (Lilian Harmer) shrieks.

Harmer: “There’s a man in the apartment!”

Rogers: “He’s a friend of mine. Keep your hands off him.”

There’s also fantastic Gangster Speak in the script. Look at this note sent to one of the characters:

“You don’t know me but I know you – and you and the mob that pinned the rap on Denny Fagan are going to get what he got – the juice.”

(Getting “the juice” means going to the electric chair. Fantastic stuff, no?)

Rogers and her nemesis, Talbot, have great chemistry; an entire movie could be made from their banter alone. One evening, Talbot arrives at the rich man’s apartment with plans to stay the night so he can protect Rogers and Harmer. An amused Rogers asks him not to wake her if he needs saving, then tells him not to drink all the scotch.

However, the movie soon gets tense as Rogers finds herself alone with the murderer – and it’s not anyone we suspected. We, as the audience, are genuinely fearful for Rogers. How will she escape?!

A Shriek in the Night may not be the slickest mystery ever produced, but it’s still a terrific film – and an excellent showcase for both Ginger Rogers’ and Lyle Talbot’s comedic talents.

A Shriek in the Night: starring Ginger Rogers, Lyle Talbot, Harvey Clark. Directed by Albert Ray. Screenplay by Frances Hyland. Allied Pictures Corp., 1933, B&W, 70 mins.

This post is part of the Sleuthathon hosted by Movies, Silently. Be sure to read all the other fabulous contributions in this Celebration of the Big-Screen Detective.


1929: Americans in Paris

Will Rogers They Had to See Paris 1929

Will Rogers (centre) would rather eat a snack on the stairs than attend his wife’s dinner party. Image:

(This post is part of the Classic Movie History Project Blogathon.)

In September, the London Stock Exchange crashed; Wall Street was to follow before the end of October.

1929 was the year Greece outlawed political insurrections, Afghanistan suffered civil war and revolution, and Joseph Stalin kicked Leon Trotsky out of the Soviet Union. And in the West? There was a colossal economic implosion and the start of the Great Depression.

The signs were there: a small-scale market crash in March of that year; dubious Wall Street decisions; overextended consumer credit. But society rolled merrily along, and why not? You can’t blame anyone for wanting to believe the economy will always charge over the hill to save the day.

Hollywood movies reflected this optimism. Gold Diggers of Broadway was the highest-grossing film of the year, followed by Sunny Side Up and The Cock-Eyed World. The first Academy Awards were hosted that year (Wings won Best Picture), and Hallejuah! was released – the first film with an African-American cast.

Actor/humorist Will Rogers made his first talking picture in 1929: They Had to See Paris. This well-dressed comedy, the 27th top grossing film of the year, could almost be the story of the Western World during this period of uncertainty.

Rogers plays an small-town-Oklahoma auto mechanic with two grown children. When his newly-constructed oil well literally becomes a gusher, his wife (Irene Rich) decides they must take their children to Paris so they can meet All The Right People. Although Rogers firmly believes all the right people live in his small Oklahoma town, he accompanies his family to the City of Lights.

This is an amusing film, with some poignant moments and real exterior shots of 1920s Paris. But Director Frank Borzage is telling a bigger story than what appears to be a feel-good, America-is-the-best-country-in-the-world romp.

Example: When Rogers’ well is first put into operation, his fellow townspeople gather to watch. The oil derrick sits at the top of the hill, while the townspeople stand below.  A man slides a metal weight down the well and oil immediately sprays upwards, spewing barrels of the stuff. As oil runs down the hill, the townspeople seem to welcome the black liquid, scooping it up with their their hands, almost as if in an act of worship.

Another notable scene hints at the sizeable economic loss France suffered as a result of World War I. When his wife throws a party for French aristocrats at their country château, Rogers is shocked to discover she is paying honorariums to many of the guests, a practice that started after the war.

The film also gives a nod to the sizeable American ex-patriate community living the bohemian life in Paris at the time. Rogers’ son (Owen Davis, Jr.) gives his parents the slip and secretly moves in with an attractive young artist in the Quartier Latin.

They Had to See Paris is more than a vehicle for Will Rogers. It offers a glimpse of the Western World just before the stock market crash. The film’s themes of helping those in need, and placing importance on family and friends, were the traits folks needed to help grind their way through the Great Depression.

They Had to See Paris: starring Will Rogers, Irene Rich, Owen Davis, Jr. Directed by Frank Borzage. Scenario by Sonya Levien. Dialogue by Owen Davis. Fox Film Corp., B&W, 1929, 95 mins.

This post is part of the Classic Movie History Project Blogathon hosted by Movies Silently, Once Upon a Screen and yours truly. Please be sure to read the other contributions:

The Silent Era (1915-1926): Hosted by Movies, Silently

An Uncertain World (1927-1938): Hosted by Silver Screenings 

The War Years (1939-1950): Hosted by Once Upon a Screen


The Dual Edward Fan Club


Edward G. Robinson squares off against Edward G. Robinson. Image:

Let us be clear about one thing: We adore Edward G. Robinson, and we cannot abide anything negative said about him.

One reason for our adoration is his performance in the 1935 comedy, The Whole Town’s Talking, where Edward plays two characters: (1) a ruthless gangster who has just escaped from prison; and (2) a submissive office clerk who lives with a canary and a cat. Dual Edward is utterly convincing in both roles.

The plot: A subservient office clerk is arrested by police when he is mistaken for Public Enemy No. 1. Poor Office Edward has a time of it at the police station, trying to convince police he’s not the man they’re looking for. Happily, Office Edward’s supervisor arrives at the station and makes a positive ID.

Unhappily, though, Office Edward becomes a minor celebrity due to his striking resemblance to Gangster Edward. He is given a special “Police Passport” so he won’t be arrested again.

Of course, when Gangster Edward realizes he has a twin – with police protection! – he decides to move into Office Edward’s apartment. Here he can come and go unnoticed with the use of the Police Passport. He’s really living the life now; he sleeps by day and robs banks at night.

Things do not look hopeful for Office Edward, as he is bullied and browbeaten by his unwelcome roommate. However, Office Edward has a powerful ally – his lippy, couldn’t-care-less co-worker (Jean Arthur).

Jean Arthur is delightful in this film, as she always is, but we don’t want her interfering with our Dual Edward gush-a-thon.

As the docile clerk, Office Edward tugs at your heart. He works an adding machine with precise, deliberate motions; he is careful not to intrude in others’ personal space; he speaks hesitantly, with a slight stutter. He is orderly, self-effacing and completely endearing. When police arrest, then release him, he apologizes for causing them “all this trouble”.

But as the malicious criminal, Gangster Edward scares us. When a tipsy Office Edward comes home one evening, he is startled by Gangster Edward, who has broken into his apartment to wait for him. Office Edward stops abruptly, and we do too. Here is the gangster we’ve heard so much about, fresh from prison, seated – almost coiled – in a chair, with a look of I’ll-kill-whoever-I-gotta determination on his face, his eyes practically glinting like sharpened steel. It almost makes your blood run cold.

So convincing is Dual Edward in these roles that you’re persuaded you’re watching twins and not one man. We’re able to enjoy both Office and Gangster Edward at the same time thanks to split screen, a technique developed in the silent era.

The Whole Town’s Talking reminds us why Edward G. Robinson was so famous. Not only was he a superb actor, he knew how important it was to give an audience their money’s worth.

If you haven’t yet seen this film, we plead with you to watch it immediately. You’ll become a lifelong member of the Dual Edward Fan Club.

The Whole Town’s Talking: starring Edward G. Robinson (x2), Jean Arthur, Arthur Hohl. Directed by John Ford. Written by Jo Swerling & Robert Riskin. Columbia Pictures Corp., B&W, 1935, 95 mins.

This post is part of the Dueling Divas Blogathon hosted by the lovely & talented Backlots. Click here to see the other contributions to this event.


Jack Carson: King of the Double Entendre

Jack Carson listens as Ginger Rogers blah blah. Image: YouTube

Jack Carson has an eye for the ladies, while Ginger Rogers moons over his cowboy outfit. Image: YouTube

Do you get the feeling that when Jack Carson says something, he actually means something else?

Look at the 1951 comedy The Groom Wore Spurs, wherein Carson plays an actor who specializes in Westerns. In one scene, Carson says he’d like to remove his cowboy boots because “they’re a real pain in the arches.” (See what we mean?)

In our opinion, no one can deliver a line like Carson. Carson, in case you’re not familiar, was a popular comedic actor in the 1940s and 50s, but he also did some excellent dramatic work in films like Mildred Pierce.

The Groom Wore Spurs is the male “counterpart” to the 1946 comedy, The Bride Wore Boots. In our movie, Carson owes a large sum of money to a Las Vegas gambler, so he hires an attorney to make the problem go away. This attorney is played by Ginger Rogers.

These two characters couldn’t be better cast or better written. Carson’s character is shallow and obsessed with his movie image. Get this: He wears cowboy outfits with his name embroidered on the back in lasso-type font. On screen he’s a Western Hero, bringing Justice To All. Off screen he doesn’t even remember the plots of his own films.

Rogers, on the other hand, is smitten with the idea of having a Big-Name Movie Star as her client. She remembers the plots of his movies; we suspect she analyzes them in her diary.

Carson explains to Rogers that he lost in a game of dice and signed a $60,000 IOU which he can’t pay. He asks her to fly to Vegas with him where they can approach the gambler (Stanley Ridges) and hopefully settle the debt without violence.

The pair fly to Vegas and meet with the charming and dapper Ridges. He is articulate and pleasant, but when he leaves the table he warns, “Enjoy yourselves. It’s a short life.”

Still, it is Vegas after all, and after a moonlit drive to Hoover Dam, Carson and Rogers suddenly get married. (We didn’t realize Hoover Dam had that effect on people!) But the marriage is off to a rocky start; she suspects he married her just to erase his gambling debt. She storms back to L.A., while he stays in Vegas and gets drunk.

Even though Carson’s character plays a hero onscreen, he is, in reality, a coward. Rogers is braver and smarter than he is, and we feel a bit sorry that she rushed into marriage with such a man.

Sadly, this movie doesn’t end as well as it begins. We are treated to a contrived plot twist, then the whole movie falls apart. It’s like the filmmakers threw up their hands and said, “Whatever.”

However. The Groom Wore Spurs is still worth it because Jack Carson is too much fun. He struts around in his cheesy, over-the-top wardrobe, tossing out folksy sayings in a phoney southern accent. But it’s his double entendres that make us laugh the most.

For example, when Carson checks into a Vegas hotel, he tells the clerk that Rogers “is my [pause] attorney.” He says it as though he can’t believe he hasn’t used this line before.

The Groom Wore Spurs may not be the best comedy from the early 1950s but, in our opinion, it’s a classic example of Jack Carson doing what he does best.

The Groom Wore Spurs: starring Ginger Rogers, Jack Carson, Joan Davis. Directed by Richard Whorf. Written by Robert Libott and Frank Burt. Universal Pictures, B&W, 1951, 80 mins.