The Women (1939)

In 1939, MGM arranged to have two of their biggest female starts, Norma Shearer and Joan Crawford together in George Cukor’s “The Women”. The film was shot with an all-female cast (animals included) and has remained famous for that, for it’s one liners (Crawford’s final line is priceless as is daring for Hays era Hollywood) and for the backstories of egos and rivalries between the two leading actresses and Rosalind Russell. 

The film’s admirable idea of an all-female cast, something which was probably not ever done to this extent before or since, disappoints quickly once the film starts. The reality is that it’s treated as a gimmick; as the posters say, “it’s all about men”. In reality it is all about promoting obedient and complacent wives who get rewarded (Shearer, Joan Fontaine) against disagreeable wives (Russell) or gold diggers (Crawford). Despite being written by women, at times it feels incredible misogynist (starting with the credits) with women being reduced to one dimensional figures – or animal like behaviours, and the men implied to be simple things which are played by them. 

Yet, the film has several good moments. There are wonderful lines (the film was co-scripted by Anita Loos) – my favourites are the aforementioned Crawford’s final line and one involving a mention to a swastika (the actual shape) meaning it has being tainted by history – I most recently watched the film at the BFI and the audience laughed at the line and then immediately felt like they shouldn’t have. There are also good scenes, brilliantly directed: Crawford and Shearer’s first confrontation; all the scenes with Olga the manicurist; the exercise sequence for Russell.

And there a lot of famous names in the film (the cast is absolutely massive): Shearer, Crawford, Russell in career changing role, Paulette Godard, Marjorie Main and Joan Fontaine are probably those better remembered today. But they aren’t evenly matched. Fontaine is painful to watch, and Russell is the main reason I can’t love the film as much as others do. She overacts to a degree that’s antagonises me and makes me wonder why she felt she needed to do it like that. On the other hand, both Goddard and Shearer are good; with Shearer giving one of her best latter career performances (I prefer her performance in “Escape” but alas the film is much worse, courtesy of Robert Taylor). Of the lesser known names, Lucile Watson as Shearer's mother is great, as is Hedda Hopper as the gossip columnist, antecipating real life.

But the best performance is undoubtedly Crawford’s. In a clearly supporting part (I think she might even appear less than Russell onscreen), she steals every scene she is in; if the film has passed the test of time is in no small to her efforts.

Finally, Adrian's clothes. I think that too often Adrian created gowns that no sensible woman would ever wear but here, the clothes he designed for Russell's character are so excessive, so much more than required, that it helps tremendously put me off her character - too cartoonish for the rest of the film. Oh, and then there's the pointless Technicolor fashion show...

Red Dust (1932)

Sometimes there's something about watching a film projected that makes you change your mind about it (or maybe is just watching it again with different expectations). First time I saw it, "Red Dust" left me a bit cold; seeing it projected I realised how steamy and how much fun it was.

Set in a plantation in what was then French Indochina, it stars Clark Gable, Jean Harlow and Mary Astor in a love and lust triangle (or square, if we count Gene Raymond). Harlow plays a prostitute going upstream from Saigon and ending in Gable's plantation. For a while they live in a blissful Eden, until Mary Astor's prim and proper lady arrives as the wife of the plantation's new engineer (Gene Raymond). Of course, as any film with such settings, there is a huge amount of casual racism thrown about. There are several uncomfortable moments regarding Gable's treatment of the plantation workers and the Chinese cook is a series of horrifying cliches with more than a passing hint of homophobia here and there.

Despite this, the film has the power to grasp your attention. It's a key title in both of its two stars' careers, helping confirm Gable and Harlow's super star and sex symbol statutes. In fact, Sex pervades through the film. In fact, it's impossible not to speak of the film without speaking of sex. It's treated casually, and Harlow brings a lightness and energy to it. Her profession is never hidden and she is clearly into Gable. Then there's that bath scene in the barrel. She really had a gift for just bringing out the most fun, lighter side of sexiness on screen. Gable also exudes sex. He has shirtless scene that he would echo later in "It Happened One Night" and for sure didn't harm the box office. Interestingly, that scene proved too much for the censors - Gable's navel couldn't be shown. In the end, one way of seeing the film is as a battle between a more repressed and a freer sexual attitude represented by Astor and Harlow; a very twisted version of the Old World vs New World view of the period. And of course, in the end the winner is clear - a very pre-Code win for Sex.

While the two leads shine, the supporting cast is mostly unremarkable. Donald Crisp is very underused, but still very good in his two bigger scenes. Mary Astor is ok, but far from her best parts, and
Gene Raymond is as bland as the part required and probably more. Even his school kid crush on Gable seems devoid of any interest.

Practically Yours (1944)

As I (finally) watched this, my only thought was "well, you wanted to see it".

I had high expectations, which were unlikely to be met, but at the very least I was expecting to enjoy it:  I love Claudette Colbert and like Fred MacMurray, the two leads, and I think Mitchell Leisen is one of the most underrated directors of the 1930s and 1940s. The three together produced an unusual 1940s comedy which I liked very much. So how could the follow-up be anything if not entertaining? From that opening line go, you can guess that I wasn't particularly impressed with the film. And not for the reasons that MacMurray mentioned somewhere (that they were too old, which is actually irrelevant for this story). No, the problem is that the premise isn't in the right tone and the plot is badly constructed.

The premise is that a pilot about to embark on a suicide mission says he'll miss Peggy the most in his farewell message. Except he didn't say Peggy (a former co-worker) but Piggy (his dog). This would have worked wonderfully in another context than a suicide mission during WWII and filmed straight (as it should). As he survives, the mistake needs to be upheld to the obvious conclusion. The problem is that we are expected to move from serious (and real) drama to light romance (and back again a few times). This is never an easy change in key and not Norman Krasna (the writer), not Leisen nor the actors manages to do so. And as the key keeps changing, we go from MacMurray's female pursuits to serious war concerns back to romance. You would need a better script, better motivated actors and more inspired director to do it.

If the wrong tone can be ascribed to everyone, Krasna is the sole responsible for the bad plot. Following a clear (and perhaps forced) three-act structure, implausibility sinks in when the two leads, allegedly in love, are never left alone for the whole of Act I. At this stage, the truth comes out and for the sake of war effort, they decide to continue with the deception. The plot is further contrived by the fact that they are "invited" to spend his two week leave in a house of a millionaire who decides he can meddle in other people's affairs and treating them as children (locking a door?!). By the end of Act II there has been way too much fuss about sleeping bags and other nonsense, but there was a decent, even amusing, Act III (with even a dig at twin beds).

The cast is painfully underused. Colbert's part is very one-dimensional, and her performance lacks any spark, only allowing some rather welcome mischief in the last third. This was her last film for Paramount, and by golly, it shows it was an obligation. MacMurray is wrong for the part and probably lacked any interest to do something with it, as around this time he was showing he could actually act in Billy Wilder's "Double Indemnity". And there is a major problem in the architecture of 1940s romantic comedies. The de facto lead was always the woman. A few exceptions apply, as usual. Here the female lead is reduced to a cardboard figure, and MacMurray carries the film through the first hour. Or rather doesn't. Ray Milland, who usually got the not so wholesome leading ladies' leading men parts at Paramount would have been a better choice. Because the part is less than wholesome for the first two acts, and at times could be a young Sheldrake, his part in Wilder's "The Apartment".

This is the weakest of all Leisen's films I have seen (although I stopped "The Lady is Willing" because I thought it was atrocious) and second weakest of the seven Colbert/MacMurray pairings. I am glad to have seen it - I would have been very frustrated otherwise - but not something I intend to do again.

Los Amantes Pasajeros (2013)

I originally watched Almodóvar's "Los Amantes Pasajeros" when it came out in 2013. At the time, I ended not writing about it, thinking it silly and generally agreeing with the poor reviews. Watching it again, I couldn't help thinking how hollow it really is. There really isn't much holding it together. Almodóvar was clearly trying to emulate his earlier comedies but failed completely to capture the effortlessness and the energy of, say, "Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios".

A technical problem in a flight causes the plane to have to circle for hours on the air, in the hope that an empty runaway is found to have it land. Despite the (preposterous) catastrophe film premise, this is just an excuse to put crew and first class passengers together, exposing their problems. The economy class (and the female crew) are drugged - a political satire element that the director hammered in press interviews at the time of the release.

Many of director's usual actors were on call: Javier Cámara, Lola Dueñas, Cecilia Roth, Antonio Banderas, Penélope Cruz, etc.. However, while he may have relished the opportunity to work again with many favourites, the character list is too long and in need of an edit. This is a major problem - the first class passenger list is too big for a 90 minute film and we spend too much time changing from one to the other. Random subplots go nowhere, most noticeable the actor who decides to take sleeping pills and the newly weds, who contribute little more than eye candy to the film. As a result, and with the exception of Lola Dueñas's character, I couldn't care less if all of them had disappeared or died when the plane finally lands. The crew fared better, partly because their soap-opera style antics are far more relatable than pseudo-political/financial/sexual scandals, some of them perhaps too specific to the Spanish context.

Javier Cámara makes the most of having the best character in the film and gives the best performance. Whether he is panicking or drunk, he commands your attention. Alas, this says far more of his acting ability than anything to do with the film. Banderas and Cruz provide cameos (while causing the aforementioned technical problem), Dueñas and the actors playing the rest of the crew do well and Roth is completely wasted.

At the time of "La Piel que Habito" I mention "the absence of his trademark random strange characters (again, no transsexuals, no drag queens, although there is a surrogate mother) and the colour palette which has toned down the reds and oranges that intoxicated "La Mala Educación" and "Volver"". These are back - sort of. The colour palette is toned up again, even if only a little bit, and while there aren't transsexuals or drag queens, there are plenty of random strange characters (a dominatrix and most of the crew come to mind). But disappointingly, most parts often drift to stereotypes that would cause an outcry if not coming from an openly gay director. Having said that, the relationship between the captain and Cámara's character is by far the most rewarding element of the film, with Hugo Silva's closeted co-pilot storyline the funniest (if not particularly original or deep) mostly thanks to the actor's charm.

The bizarre "I'm so Excited" sequence, where Cámara and the other two gay stewarts perform and lipsync to the song is both surreal and technically the most interesting sequence in the film. But it serves no other purpose than providing an odd English title of the film, missing the double meaning of the word "pasajeros" in Spanish (i.e. passengers and transient). 

His next film, coming out in 2016, is supposed to be a melodrama. My hopes are still high. Melodrama has suited him better in recent years. And even if it ends an honourable failure like "La Piel que Habito", surely it won't be as hollow as this. But perhaps the lesson here is that one shouldn't try to redo the past. In trying to do so, Almodóvar missed its soul. 

Zaza (1938)

In George Cukor's career, "Zaza" comes after "Holiday" and before "The Women" and "The Philadelphia Story". In Claudette Colbert's, it comes between "Bluebeard's Eighth Wife" and "Midnight", two wonderful Wilder/Brackett scripted films. And yet, the film is little more than a footnote in both their careers.

While the film's story is perfectly banal (doomed love affair with a married man), for once I don't think the problems start with the script. It's solid, competent, gives characters a chance to develop and keeps the story moving at a good pace. To me the main problem are the two leads: Colbert and Herbert Marshall. Marshall has even less presence than in other films, and devoids his character of any charm - although to be fair he doesn't have as much screen time as his character should have. But I don't like him, and it pains me to see him on screen. Colbert on the other hand is completely miscast, despite a few glorious moments. When she plays Marshall (the meeting at the station, the backstage meeting) she excels - but then she overdoes the innocent girl moments. And this is the key - she is far too knowing for me to believe she could ever be deceived by a man, any man.

Cukor himself, should have been more at ease with the material - we are in his favoured milieu of the theatre ("A Double Life", "Les Girls"). The Portuguese Cinematheque note on film also draws comparisons with "Camille". But I never felt his heart was on this. The good moments - the opening and closing, the scenes I mentioned above, and Colbert's scene with the doll - are few and far between. The opening scene in particular, with the camera travelling through the occupants of third class train carriage ending in Colbert in a shot that anticipates her similar introduction in "Midnight" On the other hand, certain scenes drag (Colbert's visit to Marshall's Paris apartment) or fail to achieve the right tone (most of the backstage scenes, where there is a lot of repetition).

The best thing in the film are the three supporting actors, playing Colbert's stepmother, her maid and her agent/partner (respectively Helen Westley, Constance Collier and Bert Lahr). Their presence helps bridge the duller moments of the film.

The Story of Temple Drake (1933)

The opening credits of  "The Story of Temple Drake" start with the image of a decaying Southern plantation house during a storm. Immediately you are aware that something darker is coming. But this is not a horror film. Instead is an adaptation of Faulkner's novel "Sanctuary". What follows is one of the most unique, key films from the 1930s that due to rights issues (methinks) has lingered around in vaults (originally a Paramount production, if I am not mistaken 20th Century Fox now holds the rights).

From the introduction and the introduction to her lingerie, we know Temple Drake is not as virtuous as her grandfather would like, and certainly not as girls should be. She herself states she isn't, even if there is a half hearted attempt to disguised it later on when we see what some of the more frustrated men wrote on the toilet's wall. The character enjoys sex and she knows it: later there is a clear implication that during their time together, the only moments when she "doesn't look down" on Trigger are those in bed.

It is surprising that the film was made at all. The novel was deemed innappropriate material for cinema audiences, and while the film presents (as far as I know) a more sanitised version of the story, it still manages in its very short and fast paced 70 minutes to be extremely dark covering murder, rape and Stockholm Syndrome. As if to provide the contrast, the film is beautifully shot by Karl Struss (who won an Oscar for "Sunrise") with the key night sequences shot with a very noir feel.

This is arguably Miriam Hopkins' best performance. While the final sequences provide her with the showcase piece that most actors love to have (and she's very good in those), her best moments come after the rape scene: the blank expression being the most outwardly expression of the shock she has just experienced. But generally, there are no hysterics, not even small ones, and in the end the all scenery is intact. And it's not just Hopkins that give a career best. Jack La Rue as Trigger is unforgettable. His close-ups are the most menacing of the 1930s. His presence alone is enough to make the audience unconfortable.

Furthermore, it's not just Temple and Trigger, all the characters are unsympathetic except the murdered boy: the judge, the grandfather, the boy who abandons Temple, the couple, even the lawyer who wants to marry Temple Drake. The film neither needs or asks for your sympathy. "Baby Face" the closest I can think in that it doesn't ask sympathy from the viewer. The irony is that two of the most daring films of the 1930s in terms of characterisation (along with Mae West) helped a new order that enforced the Production Code and forced into the underground the seedier side of life.

"The Story of Temple Drake" is a very special film. For a moment in time, it promised to set a direction for a (Hollywood) Cinema that never came to be. The surest sign of this is the impact the film continues to have in the lucky few than have found it. If you have a chance to watch it, grab it.

Kay Francis' diamonds: Jewel Robbery (1932) and Trouble in Paradise (1932)

In 1932, Kay Francis twice got her jewels stolen by very skilled thieves. First, William Powell took her new diamond ring in “Jewel Robbery”; then Herbert Marshall took her new diamond purse in Lubitsch's “Trouble in Paradise”. In both instances, the thieves returned the stolen item and return for her. I have now watched both films three times over the last 18 months or so, the last time as a double bill at the BFI. So I have decided to write about them together as well.

“Trouble in Paradise” is one Ernst Lubitsch's most famous titles. Along with Francis, it stars Herbert Marshall and Miriam Hopkins as the duo intent in stealing as much as possible from Francis' Madame Colet, a widow who owns a perfume company. William Dieterle's “Jewel Robbery” co-stars William Powell as the thief with designs on Francis. The first was made by Paramount, the second by Warner Bros., but in an atypical style – in fact, if you showed me the film without credits, I'd have bet on Paramount. I love both films. But if I have to chose a favourite, I'd go with “Jewel Robbery”, as I feel it has improved with every viewing. However, it suffers from two obvious disadvantages even before one watches it: its availability and its similarity to Lubitsch's film.

On the first point, one of the great problems in defining the film canon (or any other canon) is availability. If a film is not shown, how are we to judge it? “Jewel Robbery” is neither well-know nor was it easily available or screened: and if no one can see it, no one can judge it. If it has no reputation, then it's forgotten. Fortunately, more recently it seems to have been rescued and it even has made it into the wonderful “Forbidden Hollywood” DVD sets (which is how I first discovered it). Don't get me wrong, this a Hollywood factory product; just a damn good one. On the second point, the film probably struggled with is its thematic similarity to the better known Lubistch and more important its well-deserved reputation in his canon. I have no idea of the production order of the films, and whether WB copied Paramount or vice-versa (since Kay Francis was borrowed from WB I wouldn't discard it) or if it was just a coincidence, but “Jewel Robbery” made into the screens two months earlier according to IMDb.

Kay Francis is, of course, the obvious thing the two films have in common. And despite the many, many wardrobe changes (the most extreme example being the “Yes Madam Colet/No Madam Colet” sequence in “Trouble in Paradise”), the characters are quite different. Lubistch goes at lengths to show that Madame Colet, while a bit naïve and very rich and keen on pretty things, isn't a bad person – she fights her boardroom quite charmingly saying she won't lower her employees wages. By contrast, in “Jewel Robbery” and by her own admission, Francis' character is a thrill seeking, superficial and bored lady who lunches. This is maintained throughout the film, from her glorious awakening and bath to her final close-up. What both films show is that Francis was a good comedienne and ask an interesting “what if” her career had been in Paramount comedies rather than the WB cheaper women's pictures.

Both films are also prime Pre-Code examples. Just to stick to “Jewel Robbery”: suggestive dresses (the dressing gown), drug use, adultery for thrills, trivialisation of marriage (the suggestion that she should be faithful because of diamonds) and several stages of undressing, many, many hints of sex and of course, Kay Francis' glorious, naughty final close-up. At moments it feels like it out-Lubistches Lubitsch...

But “Jewel Robbery” has two great advantages over the Lubitsch. The most obvious is the leading man. William Powell is a perfect cast as the suave, seducing thief. The initial robbery sequence is a perfect display of his easiness in the role. Herbert Marshall is just flat. It's his best performance as far as I can tell, but there isn't much competition there. The second is the flow of the film. The tight timescale (the action lasts less than 24h) helps maintain a coherence that is missing in “Trouble in Paradise”, which goes from Venice to Paris over the course of several months, and more importantly the way it frames the two women in the picture: Miriam Hopkins dominates the first 20min or so, then disappears for a considerable amount of time and never fully reappears.

But it is the Hopkins/Francis duality that actually gives “Trouble in Paradise” its strongest grip over the audience. Like in “The Philadelphia Story” a few years later, you are never sure which woman will win – for this is a duel between the two and the spoils are the man and the jewels he steals. Then, there are the many wonderful witty moments Lubitsch filled his films with. From the dialogue (e.g. “maybe I am wrong, maybe he is her secretary”); the closed doors and changing clocks; and finally the two most obvious sexual moments in Lubitsch's work I am aware, the two moments when Hopkins and Marshall out-steal each other.

The other thing that works well in the Lubitsch film is that is clearly an ensemble piece. Hopkins is wonderful whenever she's given a chance (as she would be later in “Design for Living”) even if her mannerisms occasionally are a bit too much. Then there are Charlie Ruggles and Edward Everett Horton in one of his less prissy roles, albeit the one that suggests that he may prefer “business associates” of both genders. C. Aubrey Smith and Robert Greig complete the cast. By contrast, “Jewel Robbery” becomes quickly a two hander between Francis and Powell (in their sixth of seven collaborations).

I think these are two of the best Pre-Code comedies Hollywood produced. They are precursors of the elegant comedies to come, mostly done by Paramount and starring the likes of Claudette Colbert, Carole Lombard and Barbara Stanwyck. They're also more adult that what would become the norm in film; films where excitement and thrills (or lust, if you prefer) win over love and wholesome values. Which probably make them perfect for the 21st century.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)

"The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes" is one of Billy Wilder's last films - released in 1970, there would be only three more films before he retired just over ten years later. Starting off as a humourous take on the famous detective, the film ends as a more classic, if still deliciously funny, Sherlock Holmes adventure. It mostly covers two episodes, the first concerning a Russian ballerina, the second a Belgian woman in search for her husband.

There are many Wilder touches throughout the film that alone would be worth the price of admission: the wonderful dialogue in the ballerina's dressing room; the scene backstage at the theatre when gossip spreads like fire and one set of dancers replaces another; the special appearance of Queen Victoria (and his own "we are not amused"); the monks at the end. But interestingly, the ending. The mastery of Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond's script is that the tone darkens so progressively, so subtly, that the rather bleak ending is neither out of place nor could allow a happier one.

Of course what we see is not what Wilder intended to be seen. While I feel that the film works perfectly well as it is, it’s well known that two whole episodes, accounting for over an hour of footage, were cut and the footage lost. With time, the sound of one of these episodes and the images of the other have been found, and were presented as extras in the US release of the film. Regretfully, I do not own it, so (annoyingly) I haven’t seen them.

The perfomances are wonderful throughout, with Robert Stephens and Colin Blakely wonderful as Holmes and Watson. Christopher Lee is also a delight as Mycroft Holmes, as a mastermind of British Intelligence which Mark Gatiss (co-creator of the BBC's "Sherlock") admited in the screening's introduction that he used as an inspiration for his own performance as Mycroft.

Alexandre Trauner, one of the greatest art directors and a regular Wilder collaborator also shines here. The sets are impeccable, detailed, lived in – as they were, for instance, in “The Apartment”. I think it’s a serious praise to his work, that while I am convinced that the London exteriors were sets, I am still wondering it they might have been the real thing.

In a career that includes "Double Indemnity", "Sunset Blvd.", "Some Like it Hot" and "The Apartment", a film like this is easily eclipsed. But even if it's not a first rate Wilder, it's still a delight and won’t disappoint.

The Philadelphia Story (1940)

I have no idea how many times I have watched "The Philadelphia Story". Three at least, very likely more. I remember for a while it being my most wanted in my "must watch" list, the high expectations and the deception it followed. I really didn't like it. I found it flat. None of the subsequent viewings (on TV/VHS/DVD) changed it. However, watching it at the cinema I fell for it and realised how good it is. But I am wondering what changed. Did I become more agreeable to the film with age? Or watching a nice print at the cinema made a difference? Or possibly both.

Based on a play by Philip Barry, "The Philadelphia Story" was directed by George Cukor and starred Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant (in their last film together) and James Stewart. It's a story of woman having to choose between three men while finding out that the flaws in oneself are what make us human and life worth living. It's also funny and at moments, very tender. The film also has an interesting backstory, with Hepburn (for whom the play was written) outsmarting Hollywood and ensuring the film was done on her terms, and in the process relaunching her career.

One of the things I noticed for the first time is how little Cary Grant (top billed) appears - or is perceived to appear - compared to James Stewart. Both are good, and Stewart got an Oscar for this (or as most people see it, a delayed one for "Mr Smith goes to Washington"). They both play well against each other, particularly in a key scene after the party in Grant's house: Stewart does a very good drunk, with Grant playing his straight man. Grant's character is actually the most interesting one to me, because he is the one that reveals the least. He is smart and aware. He is loyal to his ex-wife and clearly is in love with her, but we know very little more. But what's special is that this is not because he is underwritten but because he is a fully rounded character, acting consistently but choosing to do more than hint at his thoughts.

Another character the films gets extraordinarily well is Ruth Hussey's photographer. Her character shows an unusual maturity, almost modern, for 1940s films, waiting quietly for the right time to show her feelings (which technically she never really does, as I don't think she thinks the time was right). This was Hussey's career high and she got an Oscar nomination out of it, losing to Jane Darwell for "The Grapes of Wrath".

But the film belongs to Katharine Hepburn. She's is the focus of your attention despite the fact the film is constructed around her. Yet, she's never showy and delivers her character's transformation from self-righteous goddess to human being in a organic way. The final scenes are among her finest screen moments, particularly when she relinquishes one of her two men. She also looks amazing, exactly like one the many drawings Hirschfeld did of her.

Of course the film is not without faults. Virginia Weidler's performance hasn't aged well (or it could be that I never liked her in any of her films... I vaguely remember her being particularly annoying in "All this, and Heaven too"). The subplot with the father made me cringe: blaming the daughter's lack of devotion for his affairs?! This is probably the greatest plausibility
hole in Philip Barry's play and David Odgen Stewart's Oscar winning script.

Funny Face (1957)

Audrey Hepburn's male partners are a good case study for Hollywood sexism and ageism. In the 1950s and 1960s, she was often paired with older men, some old enough to be her father (Bogart, Cooper, Astaire, Fonda and Cary Grant - although he was in a category of his own). While we are expected that this bright, gorgeous creature could fall in love with older men; older women often had to suffer if they dared wishing to be interested in virile young men. This is one of the more extreme cases in this series - at some stage Astaire actually says that he doesn't care for her intellect. In the same vein, there is a scene where domestic violence turns rebellious women into devoted ones (this is set in France, so it could be aimed at French women). In fact, faced with Astaire's irrestitible charm, she abandons all intellectual preocupations for love.

Stanley Donen directed "Funny Face", which tells the story of a pretty young girl with intellectual ambitions that accepts a job as a modelling job in Paris so she can meet her favourite philosopher. Recycling Gershwin songs, it really intended to cash on Audrey Hepburn's stardom.

The satire has dated badly (the intellectual circles, the philosopher more interested in more material pursuits), and the romantic bits are over the top (the swans and the barge are really good examples). Hepburn is beautifully photographed (and the new restoration looks impeccable) and murders a few Gershwin songs (particularly "How long has this been going on?") but she has nothing else to do other than showing pretty clothes - although she does it well, creating an iconic image in the Louvre sequence. As for Astaire, all he does is repeat all he had spent the previous two and half decades doing. And while it's fun to see Paris in the 1950s (and how little the city centre has changed) and Givenchy and Edith Head get to show off their talent as designers, I fear this one is for hardcore Audrey fans only.

The sole redeeming feture of the film is Kay Thompson who gets the best number ("Think Pink!") and lightens up the others she appears. Oh, and Audrey's photographs within the film are very good indeed.

I Married a Witch (1942)

Veronica Lake is a strange one in Hollywood stardom. She had an iconic hairstyle which propelled her to stardom. She was in a few movies ("Sullivan's Travels", the Alan Ladd noirs) which have endured well, and partly because of this, she has a reasonable cult following. What she didn't have was a wide range in her acting skills, and in René Clair's "I Married a Witch" she is absolutely dreadful - and I am aware I am in a minority here.

Actually the whole film is somewhat odd, on and off screen. Produced by Paramount, it was sold by the studio to United Artists when Paramount had a surplus of films and UA not enough. Assuming the film was sold after Lake's peekaboo hair made its first screen appearance (I have no evidence for making this assumption), Paramount only would have sold it either they thought the film was a sure hit and a lot of money passed hands or if the studio had little faith in the film and disposed of it as quickly as it could. I have to say that with the film as the only evidence, I am inclined for the second option.

The film tells the story of a witch falling in love and marrying a man (Fredric March) whose family condemned her to burn centuries before. It is perhaps better known as one of the inspirations of the TV series "Bewitched". Originally set to be produced by Preston Sturges and starring Joel McCrea, that might have resulted in a better film, as March and Lake famously didn't get along. This occasionally shows - Lake lacks the catlike playfulness she should have had while seducing him (I keep thinking what Barbara Stanwyck, Carole Lombard or Irene Dunne could have done with it). Only at the very end of the film (when she sorts things out), was I happy with her performance.

Of course, the film fails elsewhere and I am not blaming Lake for it all. March is best described as competent here (and he could so much better) and the film takes a while to gather pace, with the first half dragging a bit. It does improve in the second half, particularly in the wedding scenes and the build-up to the climax. I also loved the epilogue (possibly the most Paramount-like moment of the whole film). The supporting cast, particularly a young Susan Hayward as the always nagging fiancée, is very good. She also would also have been a good choice for the lead. Oh, and the posters are great (and Lake does look very good indeed).

Family Honeymoon (1948)

"Family Honeymoon" is the last pairing of Claudette Colbert and Fred MacMurray. And of the six I have seen (I am missing the elusive "Practically Yours"), it is the dullest and most uninspired. It is also the most reactionary, even if it starts off with a good premise. A widow with three children is to marry an academic. However, the kids babysitter (her spinster sister) breaks her leg and is unable to manage the kids who tag along on the honeymoon.

Up to the end of WWII, marriage meant the couple was finally allowed to have sex (e.g. Minnelli's "The Clock"). This meant that the film (and its leads) could, particularly in comedy, increase and escalate tension with the audience knowing that at the end there would be some release (yes, I know awful pun). Whereas here the children are the excuse to keep everything censor friendly. Colbert dexterously avoids any move from MacMurray; one scene has her giving a stern look, completely emasculating him: MacMurray is an an absent minded professor who is not will not be rewarded until he ascertains his masculinity over an over feminine Colbert, who seems to have failed to notice her children are unruly until she looses her man - the double implication that a) a woman can't raise children without a man and b) a woman needs a man to guide her to life. These are lazy post-war Hollywood stereotypes at their worst.

The plot is also full of preposterous incidents (a mother not paying attention to their kids at a train stop?!) and a predatory woman (Rita Johnson, failing to do what Gail Patrick could do so well) to keep the story moving to its 90th minute. This latter point is actually extraordinarily annoying, as it passes all possible suspension of disbelief, with Johnson's character too eager to disrupt the honeymoon. Although I must confess that the party sequence at the end was a slight improvement over the rest of the film.

Neither Colbert or MacMurray do more than the bare minimum and I would suggest that all they thought of was the pay check, and honestly I can't blame them. Hattie McDaniel has a small role, just a bit more than a cameo, and looks very ill in what was one of her last film roles. Only Lilian Bronson as Colbert's sister manages to make something interesting of what is an disappointing
farewell of one of my favourite actor pairings of old Hollywood.

The Deep Blue Sea (1955)

There are some films that are lost without being so: films that have no home video release and are only screened very rarely. One of these is Anatole Litvak’s adaptation of Rattigan’s “The Deep Blue Sea” starring Vivien Leigh. Fortunately, the BFI decided to include it as part of the actress’ centenary season. It is telling that the original two screenings sold out very quickly and a third one was added. More worryingly, was the fact that the BFI only managed to locate one copy (of variable quality).

The film, like the play, is set during a day, after Hester Collyer (Leigh) is found after a failed suicide attempt. Ten months before the play starts, she abandoned her husband for Freddie, a younger man, and now is confronted with the eminent ending of that relationship as well.

The play is compelling and does wonders with the claustrophobia of the space, and the compression of time, but is designed as a play. A cinematographic adaptation will never be easy – you keep the play closed, and it’s not very film-like; or you open it up, which can tear the play’s fabric apart. The TV adaptation with Penelope Wilton and Colin Firth falls in the first category, while the 2011 film with Rachel Weisz went in the second (or at least the 20 minutes or so, I lasted watching it). However, this film fared better, partly because Rattigan wrote it himself. So instead of fabricating a whole story of an unhappy marriage (as in the 2011 version, which created a horrible mother in law), he kept the flashbacks to key moments during Hester’s affair, and all prior her leaving husband. He also added/developed a few supporting characters, although I wasn’t entirely convinced he pulled it off.

More disappointingly, at least to me, the film lacked the lust between the characters that I saw in the 2008 revival. This is a key plot point. After all, Hester doesn’t run away with Freddie for a companionship of minds. Repressed all her life, she finally found a way to escape her social chains. I understand that censorship was tighter on film (see the moralising tagline), this absence makes the affair more doomed and less understandable that it should be.

The contemporary reviews praised Kenneth More for his portrayal of Freddie. I wasn’t particularly impressed. I assume his casting was due to having originated the part on stage. But Freddie is supposed to be good looking, or at least extremely charming (Colin Firth was a much better cast). More was too old, lacking on screen the sex appeal he might have projected on stage.

On the other hand, Leigh was very good, much better than I expected. I liked the control in her voice (so unlike Blanche DuBois, much closer to her younger self), and the occasional fire she allowed her character to release. There was a close-up towards the end that Litvak might have borrowed from “Gone with the Wind” and felt a bit out of place.

O Lugar do Morto (1984)

First, a confession. Like most Portuguese persons I know, I don't watch many Portuguese films. My reasons are many - ackward dialogues, often wooden performances, poor availability (good luck in finding some titles...), terrible sound quality, and an industry that by large makes films more for its own pleasure than for a wider audience. A wider reason is the small market. Some Portuguese films are highly regarded by critics and festivals, but fail miserably to get bums on seats. There are of course exceptions. In the 1980s, one of these exceptions was "O Lugar do Morto" which for nearly a decade held the record for tickets sold. At the time it came out, the film also caused some scandal (which I am sure it didn't harm the box-office). For mid-1980s Portugal, the film dared to show two sex scenes (very tame even by 1984's international standards) and imply abortion (which was illegal then).

The film starts with a twice-divorced journalist, after a frustrating night with his lover, going to spend the last few hours before work asleep by the coast in his car. However, once there, a woman enters his car after a discussion with her male companion (we will never know the full nature of their relationship) and asks the journalist to take her away. He does so, she changes her mind, and when they return the man has killed himself. She runs away.

What follows is very much a cross between Hitchock and film noir. From the latter, there is an impending doom and randomness in the hero's life and his endless pursuit of this woman, who more than just a femme fatale, might easily be Death herself. From Hitchcock, there's the rhythm, the McGuffin (the dead man is really nothing else) and a scene clearly inspired by Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint in "North by Northwest".The title is a give away, but looses something in translation. The meaning is "death seat", the seat next to the driver. However, a literal translation could be "dead man's seat" or, and I am slightly inclined to prefer this one, "dead man's place".

I watched it recently for the first time, and for about two thirds of it, I was genuinely taken. It was one the best films I had seen in a long while. The performances were excellent (well, by large - the music critic was a noticeable disaster). Ana Zanatti, the leading lady is a famous face I grew up with, but I have no idea who the leading man (Pedro Oliveira) is or was, or what else has he done - IMDb credits him only with this, Google wasn't much more helpful and I found elsewhere he was a journalist. It is the pity, as he clearly had the talent and could have made a really good career. For the final third, I found the film dragged, the plot going on dead ends that I felt weren't necessary (the journalist's eldest son) and particularly, I found the ending incredibly unsatisfactory, although - and here's a spoiler alert - I liked the fact that I knew little more about what really had happened than at the start.

I was particularly appreciative of the fact that most of world the characters live and move is actually real Lisbon. The buildings shown are what they're supposed to be (schools, hotels, the headquarters of the criminal police). And as a particular pleasure, it allowed me revisit the Lisbon of my childhood, with orange buses, black dial phones, five or six digit phone numbers, kids' books I recognised and a few buildings that are no longer there.

La Ronde (1950)

After a few years in Hollywood, Max Ophüls returned to Europe and directed "La Ronde". I saw it for the first time in early 2006 in a screening at the Portuguese Cinematheque. I didn't like it at all despite I loving (some) Ophüls. But as I watched it again last night, I was much more in tune with it, and think my previous judgement was too harsh. I really like it. Yet, I still don't love it.

Plot-wise, the film relates the encounters (mostly sexual) between five women and five men, with one of them passing on to the next encounter (thus creating the circle) under the supervising eye of Anton Walbrook, who comments and guides the action, breaking the fourth wall and even cutting the action at moments.Two non-sexual encounters, one at the middle (where a married couple doesn't do together what they do with others) and one at the end (where two of the men cross each other in the street) elegantly provide the axis of symmetry and closure of the circle.

The film, although beautifully symmetric in is construction, as you'd expect from a film called "La Ronde" (which could be translated as  "The Circle"), is to me at least, too uneven in its balance. My issue with the film, and possibly the reason I disliked it so much before, is that the first half is so much better than the second. The first half up to the middle scene between the couple, is full of light touches and wit. In particular, the scene between the maid and the young man is a delight, with him playing the game so clumsily that it can't help endearing him to you. The following scene, with the young man again, and the married woman (played by the wonderful Danielle Darrieux)  is almost as good and has one the wittiest moment of the film, which i won't spoil.

The second half by contrast, lacks this wit and light touch and feels rushed when it shouldn't (the episodes with the count played by Gérard Philipe and the second with the poet) and drags when it shouldn't (the first episode with the poet). One of the consequences of this, is that the performances seem weaker in the second part and the characters not properly developed (the count and the actress in particular) . There's also less interaction of Walbrook with the female characters than earlier on, which he had done so well with Simone Signoret and Simone Simon. I really feel something is missing in what should have been a perfect circle. I understand that there is a longer version of the film which may solve this, but as at the moment it seems to be hidden from view. It might be that this version will be the one that makes me love this film.

The film's cast is a veritable who's who of European actors, mostly French, of the time (the ones I mentioned plus Isa Miranda, and Jean-Louis Barrault, from "Les Enfants du Paradis"). But my favourite has to be Daniel Gélinas the young man, bringing a keen embarrassing to the role that you can't help but relate to. It got two Oscar nominations, for best art direction and best screenplay co-written by Ophüls himself.

Easy Living (1937)

I have a peculiar history with this film. I saw it first in 2000. Although neither loving or hating it, I thought it relevant enough to buy the R1 DVD when it came out in 2008. For some reason, I couldn't pass the first ten or so minutes of the film. I tried again later (twice, I think), and again, got stuck at more or less the same point. Should point out that at this stage I already had a second copy of the film, from an Italian boxset. Finally, I now managed to pass whatever was holding me in those particular first minutes. And I enjoyed it, but...

"Easy Living" was directed by Mitchell Leisen from a script by Preston Sturges. It's a Cinderella story where a millionaire "fairy godfather" (Edward Arnold) hands to working class girl (Jean Arthur) a sable coat that he doesn't want his wife to have, with that gesture unleashing a lot of complications. At its core, the film shares some elements (the millionaire "fairy godfather" with wife problems, a girl with no money) with Leisen's later "Midnight" (written by Wilder and Brackett). "Midnight" is however, the better of the two (in fact one of the great screwball comedies). In fact, "Easy Living" is the only time I could see some possible truth in the Sturges/Wilder argument that Leisen damaged their scripts. The film would have benefited from a tighter pace (the scenes in the suite drag a bit), particularly in the middle, and better on-screen characterisation (e.g. the hotel owner and his excessive stereotypes, the millionaire's wife and her relationship with her husband), which Sturges would probably bring. However, as "Midnight" has both of the pace and the characterisation, I am not willing to lay all the blame on Leisen. Afterall, Sturges was not perfect.

Leisen (or possibly Sturges) however, did manage to slip something rather brilliant past the censors: a moment where both leads are lying together, no foot on the floor. How you may ask? By placing them head to toes. On the he could-have-done-better, I really didn't like the reinforcement at the end of the woman's place is in the kitchen -  and this is Sturges' fault.

Another major disappointment was the cast. While Jean Arthur is lovely, she could do better and did (the Capra films, the early 40s comedies). As could Edward Arnold and even Ray Milland who is as one-dimensional as he can be as the love interest and heir-to-be (possibly Sturges fault again, but Milland's lack of charisma didn't help).

So, yes, I enjoyed the film. But I will not be in a rush to watch it again.

Daisy Kenyon (1947)

When I first saw "Daisy Kenyon" I was absolutely taken aback. I thought it was one of the most emotionally true and adult films Hollywood produced in the 1940s. On a second viewing, while I still agree with that, particularly during the film's second half, I was much less taken aback and start noticing things I missed or forgot from the first time around.

Otto Preminger's "Daisy Kenyon" is among many things a film about how good timing is an essential part of relationships. Daisy Kenyon (Joan Crawford) is a designer desiluded with her affair with a married man (Dana Andrews) when she meets war veteran (Henry Fonda) who proposes to her.

Among the things I liked about the film is Preminger usual pushing the envelope. The film touches subjects such as post-traumatic stress disorder; a mother using children at instruments to get back at their father; the plight of Japanese-Americans after World War II; and in a sense the maturity of the affair (Fonda's character acts like a normal human being). The cast is excellent. Joan Crawford gives one of her best performances, rid of some of her mannerisms, and Dana Andrews surprised  me tremendously. There a few moments who keep coming to mind, particularly his last scene. But the best, I think, is his reaction when Crawford tells him she has married Fonda. It is very subtle and really well done.

Yet, the film is unbalanced with something not quite right. Sometimes this is obvious: towards the end, Joan Crawford uses the most innapropriate shoes to get into the snow. Unrealistic touches like this are usually more evident in an otherwise realistic film. Sometimes it takes a bit of thinking to figure it out - while on the surface, the film seems to question till the end which man will end with Daisy, it's actually obvious, not just by the rules of the Hays Code but in more less obvious ways (there is a lot of rain whenever one of them is on screen).

No Time for Love (1943)

Mitchell Leisen's "No Time for Love", starring Claudette Colbert and Fred MacMurray is a slightly unusual romantic comedy of the 1940s. The key element that makes it different is its sexual politics, by how obviously it states that the attraction of its two leads is sexual, not romantic. This is highlighted by the fact that it is a socially unequal pairing (i.e. not a match of minds); he is a construction worker, she's a sophisticated photographer. This social inequality is a theme recurrent in Leisen's comedies of the early 40s, particularly "Take a Letter, Darling". Moreover, the audience's point of view (this being 1943 was expected to be mostly female) is Colbert's and Fred MacMurray is treated, from the first time we see him, as a sex object (shirtless and sweaty, see also his terrible portrait in a poster below).

In fact, the whole film works around this. Having seen him, and felt attracted to him, Colbert is unable to forget him (or stop lusting after him). When she inadvertently causes him to be suspended from his job; she offers him a temporary one, hoping (?) that spending time with him will cure her from her "problem". The film objectifies him as a masculine object of desire even further by pairing Colbert at the start with a man who isn't terribly different from her gay friends (something the film also doesn't shy from). And it is sexual jealousy they both feel, not a romantic one: she, when he has sex with the dancer; he, when feels less masculine than the model she's photographing.

(Slight spoilers ahead:) Perhaps feeling that all this was too overt, the characters' social differences are toned down slightly (turns out he's an engineer, not a worker - just doing the job of one for macguffin reasons), but by the time her most present (and hungry) gay friend joins them up, sex has resurfaced (their exit from scene and her last line should be enough). But, in difference to what would happen later in the decade, none conceded to the other. This is still a union of equals.

Both leads are great, Colbert exuding her usual charm and MacMurray giving one of his best comedic performances. It's also one of their best pairings. I also had a soft spot for Ilka Chase and Richard Haydn as Colbert's sister and aforementioned friend.

Claudette Colbert and Fred McMurray worked together in seven films. Six are available on DVD. The one missing is their second outing directed by Mitchell Leisen, "Practically Yours" which I would like very much to watch. Last screening I know of was in 2008, in Paris. But my bigger question is why was it missed from a boxset collecting some of their films?

The Show (1927)

The more I see of John Gilbert, the less I am convinced by him as an actor. In Tod Browning's "The Show" he plays an unsympathetic womaniser carnival player caught between a woman obsessed by him, her man seeking for revenge and an accusation of theft. If I admire the great leading man's choice of part, he chews way too much scenery to be credible or interesting to watch. His performance is one of the best examples of overacting of the late silent period.

The film itself also suffers from a lack of coherence in characterisation: Renée Adorée's Salomé changes (through no fault of her own) from a feisty man hunter to a devoted daughter simply by changing the sets: halfway through the film, we moved from the carnival (typical Browning) to melodrama within Salomé's appartment. This abrupt change in mood and the character's personality does no favours to the film, which works much better in the first half, despite the fact that, at times, it feels more like an amalgamation of ideas Tod Browning had used or would later use in his films. Nevertheless, Adorée was quite lovely and much better than Gilbert, her "The Big Parade" co-star.

The Browning touches in the carnival are wonderful: the strange creatures which antecipate "Freaks" and the atmosphere of, among others, "The Unknown"; and even the acts themselves. The woman-spider is just brilliant and the sword change is a really clever touch. Another positive was Lionel Barrymore's performance as "the Greek". He is truly the highlight of the film - sleazy, devious, and unlike Gilbert, subtle in his performance: no excesses, no hamming. I was just sorry he wasn't more in it.

On a final note, I felt sorry for the poor iguana in the film. To give the idea of a vicious attack, the poor animal was a few times put on a metal plate which was then electrified and I strongly suspect it might not have survived the film...

Davis vs Hopkins, round one: The Old Maid (1939)

They were two of the most famous actresses of the 1930s - one achieve stardom before the other, who ended having a longer career. Both had a reputation of being difficult. One made a career and won an Oscar out of the other's Broadway flop. They hated each other's guts. And they were paired by Warner Bros. in two films. Edmound Goulding directed the first and was meant to direct the second but decided he couldn't face the two again, and Vincent Sherman directed it instead. And from this rivalry, two of the great melodramas of the war period were born: "The Old Maid" (1939) and "Old Acquaintance" (1943). They are, of course, Bette Davis and Miriam Hopkins.

The two films hinge on a similar topic, the rivalry between two women who share a strong bond. The first film, "The Old Maid" is the darker of the two. Adapted from an Edith Wharton novella, it starts as the story of two cousins in love with the same man. On the day of Delia's (Hopkins) wedding, her former fiancé (George Brent) comes back to see her. Distraught, he founds consolation in Charlotte's (Davis) arms. When Delia finds out about this, and that a child was born, she acts out of spite, setting a chain of events which will bound the two women with an ever tighter knot. They themselves summarise it best, when after finding out Delia's machinations, Charlotte tells her that she hates her - to which Delia, horrified, replies "Hate, such word between us" and Charlotte tells her there was never another word. The ending, as Delia herself admits, is bleak. The two women will end alone, in a house, until one of them dies.

Although our sympathies are supposed to lie with Davis, the film becomes increasingly ambiguous as it progresses. Hopkins' character, is a clear bitch at the beginning of the film. She's a monster under fine lace, who destroys bit by bit her cousin's life. But, as she ages (looking increasingly younger) she becomes fully aware of the consequences of what she has done, and what that entails for both of them and seeks to atone for her actions. Davis' character, on the other hand, becomes harder and harsher, increasing less forgiving, after losing in sequence, the man she loves, the man she hoped to marry and her daughter. Davis avoids asking for our sympathy becoming nearly odious at times - although there is the wonderful scene, where alone she practices her voice to take all tenderness out.

The film (and "Old Acquaintance" as well) says a lot about women's position: you make a mistake (sex before marriage), and you're expected to pay for it for the rest of your life, even if only one (or two) other person knows. Or worse, if you try to show some independence (her orphanage) and you get crushed. You must always conform. This is, almost like Cukor's "The Women", a film about men, where although hardly visible, their presence or absence is overwhelming felt.

Other than the two leading actresses, the other highlight of the film for me was Donald Crisp, as the all sage Greek chorus. George Brent is hardly on the screen (he can't have more than three or four scenes) although that was enough to give him third billing. On the other hand, Jane Bryan as Tina just managed to irritate me, and to be fair, I couldn't care whether she got the boy or not.

On a final note, I watched the trailer immediate after the film, and you can actually see a couple of bits that didn't make the final cut, particularly a visit alluded to of Charlotte's fiancee to her orphanage.