I’m on vacation this week for my best friend’s wedding.
But until then, I’m making silent movies.
I’m on vacation this week for my best friend’s wedding.
But until then, I’m making silent movies.
Except I totally did.
I bought this CD the other day of TV theme songs done in the style of different classical composers. Spoiler alert: It is amazing. My favorite is the Debussy Bewitched. Anyway, that CD inspired me to go to the library and find some more Debussy. But seeing as how I am I rather than someone who is not ridiculous, I left the library twenty minutes later with a classical-tunes-done-by-banjo album, an accordion that was not the one I had wanted to get but it was the only one there, and–totally on impulse–a collection of pianola favorites.
So what’s a girl to do with a pianola album?
Make a silent movie and use one of the songs as the soundtrack, of course!
Unfortunately, I can’t get this ditty saved to youtube, so if anyone’s interested, check it out on my tumblr.
Posted as part of the Breaking News: Journalism in Classic Film Blogathon, hosted by Comet Over Hollywood.
As everyone knows, career women (especially in classic films) are a rare breed of diseased characters who need to be cured through domestication. Once married to a good man, a (former) career woman presumably lives a normal life, inoculated against her unnatural occupational fixations with the wholesome combination of kids and dogs and bacon and eggs and draperies.
However, not many films explore how this domestication might actually play out. Crime of Passion (1957) starring Barbara Stanwyck, Sterling Hayden, and Perry Mason (Raymond Burr, that is) takes the career woman character to her logical–and tragic–end.
Our story begins with a newspaper truck barreling through San Francisco. On the side we see this advertisement.
So we see this picture of our protagonist, Kathy Ferguson, and we see she’s one of those “Dear Abby” type columnists, and we’re probably supposed to think she’s all soft and feminine and sympathetic and all that.
And then we cut to the newsroom, where Barbara Stanwyck is Barbara Stanwyck-ing around, wearing practical clothes, trading wry witticisms with coworkers, and generally showing she’s not as prissy as we might imagine a ladies’ columnist to be.
Her editor sends her out to get a scoop on “the Dana woman”–a woman accused of killing her husband in Los Angeles and holing up someplace in San Francisco–and write a piece from some lady angle. She at first does not want to go because she’s got other stuff to do, but he says they can just run some of her trash from last month and nobody will notice. She reluctantly goes to the pressroom at the police station or wherever, and everybody’s on a personhunt for “the Dana woman,” including two detectives from Los Angeles–Captian Alidos and Lieutenant Doyle (Sterling Hayden). Alidos tells her point blank, “Your job should be raising a family and having dinner ready for your husband.” This is her response:
I have a Top Hat poster in my room.
It’s this one. It was given to me for maybe my 13th or 14th birthday by someone who knew I loved classic films in general, musicals specifically, and Ginger Rogers especially.
But I have a confession:
I don’t like Top Hat. In fact, I don’t like any of the Rogers-Astaire musicals from the ’30s, and I just can’t put my finger on why.
Let me retrace my affection for Ginger Rogers.
The first classic movie I watched on my own (I mean, I spent every Christmas Eve watching It’s a Wonderful Life, and I think my mom and I had probably committed four hours to Gone with the Wind at some indistinguishable point in my childhood, but those don’t count because they weren’t my own choices although they both remain in my very-favorite-movie list) was a little number that’s not even that classic or that good. It’s a weepy-wartime, totally ludicrous affair called I’ll Be Seeing You.
It stars Ginger Rogers as a sexually harassed secretary who accidentally shoves her boss out of a window (killing him, of course) when he tries to molest her. She goes to prison and then she gets out on some kind of furlough for the holidays and goes to stay with her aunt (Spring Byington [best character actress ever]), uncle, and cousin (Shirley Temple). Nobody trusts poor Ginger, and there’s a lot of family drama and some cattiness, and a lot of Ginger Rogers looking totally glamorously upset in gorgeous Edith Head gowns.
Meanwhile, Joseph Cotten is a half-crazy-from-shellshock WWII GI who’s on leave. They fall in love, and neither of them tells the other their entire stories.
More drama ensues, the truths come out, Ginger goes back to prison, but Joseph declares his everlasting love, and all is well.
At the end, Ginger and I were both bawling, and I wanted her hair, her clothes, and her tragic and nonsensical love story. (I was 12. Sue me.)
And then, as any good fangirl in 1999 would do, I decided I needed to boot up AOL and figure out what Ginger Rogers movies I could watch next.
Perhaps the next was Gold Diggers of 1933. While I enjoyed Ginger’s turn as the hilariously gold-diggingest gold digger, I was more mesmerized by the Busby Berkeley choreography, Joan Blondell’s outrageous beauty and delightful warble, and the general charm of a fast-paced, tightly scripted pre-code. And so I took a detour down that sort of road for a while.
And I branched out to other ladies–Mae West, Marlene Dietrich, Bette Davis, even a brief thing with Kay Francis, and many, many hours with Ann Sothern as Maisie. And countless others in varying degrees of fangirlish devotion. Joan Crawford was a late edition, but at the peak of our affair, it was pretty intense.
But then I was back to Ginger and her great tragedies: Kitty Foyle, The Primrose Path, Tender Comrade. I tried her Astaire stuff and even sort of liked The Barkleys of Broadway, but, for me, there was nothing like Ginger in tears, losing her man, having children out of wedlock, etc.
And then I watched Stage Door where she’s opposite Katherine Hepburn in an actress boarding house, fighting with her for parts and finally becoming BFFs. And I partially realized what the deal is with my thing for Ginger.
No better foil exists for Ginger Rogers than Katherine Hepburn. I don’t dislike Katherine Hepburn, and I don’t want anyone to mistake the following for criticism because Kate is obviously marvelous and can make me laugh and cry just as well as anybody, but she certainly has a persona (which is like half the plot of Stage Door): that New England aristocrat with a recognizable tinny voice and a rigid physique who’s rather dour in her tragic roles and who is always ultra stagy.
And then there’s Ginger–soft and flexible, draped casually over a chair playing a ukulele, with her big clear eyes and her buttery midwestern voice barking out sassy witticisms but then also cooing softly to her friends when they’ve had a bad day.
I realized seeing this juxtaposition that I love watching Ginger Rogers cry because she does it as she does all things: with half a smile on her face.
I like her in tragedies because she’s open and warm-looking and funny like your best friend is funny–not like stand-up comic funny but clever jabs and pratfalls funny.
I like her in tragedies because she seems so honest.
I like her in tragedies because in real life she’s a comedic actress.
And her sensitivity to the comedy of tragedy shows in the way she plays someone so foolish and silly but with so much heart like Kitty Foyle or the gal in I’ll Be Seeing You.
I’m a firm believer that Star Trek: Voyager has something for everyone; however, everyone is not the same, of course. For example, if I were trying to
indoctrinate cajole my Grey’s Anatomy-loving coworkers into watching my favorite show, I would entice them with a completely different set of pros.
As it stands, the following list is inspired by my blog friend Ruth, who is a delightful classic-movie blogger. Several posts ago, I talked about Voyager’s still enjoyable bad episodes, and she commented that she’d never watched the show before.
That’s an Internet gauntlet, folks.
I’ve compiled this list to attract a certain kind of person, and I have faith in my tactics. And, as Captain Janeway would say, I feel lucky today!
Let’s get a quick rundown of what’s going on in this series before I start the list rolling. I’ll pretend anyone reading this has never watched Star Trek, so I’ll try not to be too technobabble-y.
The Premise: It’s the 24th century, and Earth and several other planets have long ago joined together to form The United Federation of Planets. Starfleet–a space navy, basically–serves and protects this governmental agency.
There’s some disputed regions on the fringes of the Alpha Quadrant (because they’ve divided the galaxy into quadrants and named them with Greek letters, of course), and a rebel group called the Maquis has sprung up to defend what they feel is their own land. Officially, The Federation sees the Maquis as terrorists, but they’re all wronged idealists, mostly (and the dudes they’re fighting [the Cardassians], who are officially in The Federation, are sneaky jerks, tbh).
Captain Kathryn Janeway and her new starship Voyager have been sent out to the Badlands to go after a particularly trouble-causing Maquis ship, on which one of Janeway’s oldest friends is serving as a spy! Quelle drama!
Before she goes, she springs a dude from jail who had been in Starfleet and then also in the Maquis to act as her guide! Quelle more drama!
Well, both the Maquis ship and Voyager get gotten by an alien who pulls them 75,000 lightyears away from Earth–all the way to the Delta Quadrant. This dying alien is trying to figure out if anybody has similar DNA so that he will have an heir to look after this planet he’s looking after. Spoiler alert: Nobody does.
Meanwhile, these other aliens are trying to get at the thing that transported everybody from the Alpha Quadrant so they can use it to gain power and take over stuff.
Janeway can’t let them gain power and take over stuff because they’re meanies, so she destroys the thing, stranding her ship and the Maquis ship in the Delta Quadrant. Quelle drama-est!
Janeway and the Maquis captain decide to join forces to get back home, so they all take up residence on Voyager and are forced to work together.
Meanwhile, they’ve picked up a few people from the Delta Quadrant to be on their crew: a dude who’s a trader and is supposed to be good at navigating this–to Alpha Quadrant types–uncharted space and a lady (from the planet the alien who whisked them away was guarding) who has a really weird short lifespan.
Also, meanwhile, the ship’s doctor dies in the first twenty minutes or so and is permanently replaced by the Emergency Medical Hologram. His journey into sentience becomes a plot point in many episodes.
Also along the way they run into the Borg, a species that is not so much a species but an amalgamation of species who act as one unit, like a hive, and they basically steal other species’ bodies to use in their ultimate goal of perfection through putting together the best parts of every species and then enhancing themselves with robotics. The Borg are weird and scary and robotic and hard to describe, and when you’re part of the Borg, you have no personality of your own and do only the will of the Collective. Anyway, Janeway rescues a lady from the Borg, and her journey into humanity becomes a plot point in many episodes.
So, if all the sci-fi hasn’t already turned you off, let’s have a go at the list.
One thing I really love about old movies is that they’re not explicit. If a couple is intimate, they cut to a fireplace. If somebody’s mad, he gives a glare and bunches his hands into angry fists instead of cursing a blue streak.
And because of the cleanness, they get to have a little more fun (and be a little more creative) when they wanna be a little bit dirty. So they say things like, “You know how to whistle, don’t ya?” instead of something yuckier.
I was researching what I might want to write about for Ruth (at SilverScreenings)’s Mary Astor Blogathon, and I realized anew how delightfully strange old movie titles can be. So, today we have a found poem straight from Mary Astor’s filmography.
Ladies love brutes
The pace that thrills, the price
of a party.
Men of chance (woman proof)
playing with souls.
No time to marry unguarded women–
other men’s women.
Three-ring marriage, romance
of the underworld–
(there’s always a woman)
(man of iron)
with two faces.
the sin ship.
Lady from nowhere–
white shoulders, red dust,
rose of the Golden West.
No place to go dressed to kill–
I am a thief heart to heart.
Posted as part of The Hollywood Revue’s Fashion in Film Blogathon running March 29-30.
Witness for the Prosecution is not the most fashionable movie ever made. It does not make my heart leap and yearn like Humoresque or cringe and guffaw like High School Hellcats.
It simply has costumes that really fit the characters (not to mention the characters the characters are trying to make everyone believe they are).
So let’s take a look-see.
First we’ve got our intrepid hero, Charles Laughton, and his gal Friday (who is really his nurse because he has a heart condition and he does not want anything to do with her for most of the movie), Elsa Lanchester.
This little car ride shows us their typical wardrobe (as well as their typical attitude). I did a little research (the rigorous and academic typing of “1950s British nurses” into Google Images), and even by 1950s standards, Lanchester’s outfit here is bulky and old-fashioned.
And she’s a bulky, old-fashioned nurse who delights in her bulky, old-fashioned ways.
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