Category Archives: ahh romance

She’s a rich girl, and she’s gone too far.

Posted on by under ahh romance, feminist fridays, hahas

In 1912, infant Dorothy Hunter (Miriam Hopkins) was orphaned when her parents drowned during the sinking of the Titanic. For years, her guardian, John Connors (Henry Stephenson), has shielded the young heiress from the glare of the media spotlight–few people even know what she looks like. After she finally comes of age, Dorothy travels to New York City to meet with the managers of her parents’ estate. They offer Dorothy a document to sign, but after an uneasy exchange of glances with John, she declines and John tells them to send her the papers to sign later.

It turns out that the “Dorothy” who attended the meeting is actually Sylvia Lockwood (Fay Wray), Dorothy’s secretary and best friend. After marrying Phillip Lockwood (Reginald Denny), Sylvia intends to resign from her job, since she and Phillip plan to move to England to be near his family. Dorothy, who is set to announce her own engagement to Donald (George Meeker), asks Sylvia to stay until after her wedding, to which Sylvia agrees.

Dorothy soon realizes that Donald has changed his mind about marrying her, and as the pair had been planning to marry for convenience rather than love, Dorothy wishes him well. But an offhand comment from Donald leads Dorothy to question whether she will ever find a man who will love her for her and not for her vast wealth. She asks Sylvia to continue impersonating her at her already-planned engagement party.

At the party, Dorothy–posing as “Dorothy Hunter’s secretary”–meets Tony Travers (Joel McCrea) and challenges him to a game of billiards, which she handily wins. Dorothy is smitten by Tony, but her doubts lead her to convince Tony to court “Dorothy Hunter” instead as a test of his affections. Against her better judgment (and Phillip’s objections), Sylvia plays along with Dorothy’s plan. As Dorothy falls deeper in love with Tony, she finds new ways to test him, as she remains unable to believe that he might actually love a mere secretary over the “richest girl in the world.” Ultimately, Dorothy’s continued masquerade and her inability to trust in Tony’s true feelings threaten to drive away the love of her life. Can she get over her issues and finally accept Tony’s love at face value?

Directed by William A. Seiter, The Richest Girl in the World (1934) is a fun little romance with an absolutely outlandish–and thereby thoroughly enjoyable–plot. That being said, the character of Dorothy is the very definition of the word “frustrating.” Though her worries about finding love for love’s sake, as opposed to the allure of money, are relatable, those concerns quickly devolve into paranoia. It’s hard to watch this movie and not want to reach through the screen at times and shake some sense into Dorothy. Still, while Dorothy’s scheme may be convoluted and unfair to Tony, it is understandable on some level–after all, faced with a similar situation, who wouldn’t question their lover’s motives?

There are few actresses I can think of who could best toe the line between frustrating and vulnerable than Miriam Hopkins. She does a wonderful job of maintaining Dorothy as a sympathetic figure despite the character’s sometimes annoying moments of self-sabotage. There are scenes in this film where Hopkins simply sparkles, demonstrating an appealingly natural comedic skill. It’s a stark contrast to the movies in which I was first introduced to Hopkins several years ago–films like The Old Maid (1939) and Old Acquaintance (1943), in which she indulges in almost histrionic overacting, or The Heiress (1949), in which she delivers an admirably subdued and layered performance. Still, though she was an adept dramatic actress, I would argue that Hopkins’ greatest strength as a performer lies in comedies like Trouble in Paradise (1932) and Design for Living (1933), where she could let loose her charismatic personality to full affect.

Hopkins, who was a notoriously difficult actress to work with (just ask Bette Davis), plays very well off of Joel McCrea–in fact, this was the first of five films that the pair would make together, and McCrea reportedly got along well with the sometimes temperamental star. In Girl, you see the first glimmers of the comedic persona that McCrea would later bring to full, glorious life in his collaborations with writer/director Preston Sturges. Here, McCrea ably plays the unwitting puppet in Dorothy’s scheme, by turns befuddled and commanding, hapless and determined.

As the “real” Sylvia/”fake” Dorothy, Fay Wray is lovely and refined, and does a remarkable job of conveying her character’s discomfort with the charade. This is Wray’s second appearance with McCrea, after the two starred together in 1932′s The Most Dangerous Game, which was shot on the same sets at the same time as Wray’s most famous film, 1933′s King Kong. Wray’s career was undoubtedly at its peak during the mid-1930s; by the end of the decade, she took on fewer roles, and she spent much of the 1940s in retirement before reemerging in the 1950s with small roles in films and on television. Playing opposite Wray is character actor Reginald Denny, in a rare supporting lead as Sylvia’s husband. Though Denny does not come close to matching McCrea in pure, masculine appeal, he is nonetheless delightful as the put-upon Phillip, who must silently endure the indignities of watching his wife be wooed by another man.

The film was written by Norman Krasna, who was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Story for his screenplay. Krasna crafted some of the best screwball comedies to come out of the 1930s and 40s, including Hands Across the Table (1935), Bachelor Mother (1939), Mr. & Mrs. Smith (1941), and The Devil and Miss Jones (1941), as well as other classic comedies such as Princess O’Rourke (1943, which won him the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay), White Christmas (1954), and Indiscreet (1958). With Girl, Krasna manages the impossible–taking an unbelievable plot and giving it a sensibility that, more often than not, belies the zaniness of the action on-screen. At the same time, he’s able to insert some thoughtful social commentary about class difference and the politics of moneyed romance. It’s an interesting case of juggling themes, and against all odds, it works.

In its third act, the film delves into questions of gender tropes that reflect the attitudes of the time period while likely giving modern-day feminists a series of minor heart attacks. When Dorothy takes the seemingly drastic step of feigning an affair with Phillip, John reacts with disgust, telling her that he “can’t even pity” her for going to such lengths to test Tony’s feelings. He accuses Dorothy of giving Tony too big of an “obstacle” to overcome: “Who do you think you are?” John demands. “You’re only a woman–just flesh and blood, like everybody else. What makes you think you’re so desirable?”

From our perspective now, this is a horrifyingly judgmental attack on Dorothy, particularly from the man who raised her from infancy and purports to have her best interests at heart. John essentially equates Tony’s ability to forgive “Sylvia” for her premarital sex romp with something as arduous as climbing Mount Everest. The damnedest thing is, despite her bravado, Dorothy actually agrees with John, proclaiming, “Maybe you’re right. No man in the world might want a woman that much,” before adding, “Then no one will have me.” In Dorothy’s mind, Tony has to love her enough to be willing to overlook even the most grievous sin–sex being the most horrible thing she can think of at the moment.

And Tony plays right into Dorothy’s hands, as in the end, his affection for “Sylvia”–in spite of her perceived transgression–overcomes his supposed love for “Dorothy Hunter,” and he vows to take “Sylvia” away from the dirty influence of Dorothy and her money and the loose morals that accompany it. As he charmingly explains to “Sylvia” before manhandling her away from the house: “I don’t think you’re worth saving. But if you’ve one shred of decency left in you, I’ll find it–or I’ll beat it into you.” Like I said … charming.

When “Dorothy Hunter” accepts Tony’s proposal, he tells her, “You know, I gotta start bossing you around so you’ll be broken in right.” It’s an unwittingly ironic statement on Tony’s part, because he still does not realize that he is the one who is being “broken in,” as Dorothy and Sylvia dangle him from the marionette strings. In this particular round of the battle of the sexes, Tony is the one being played. Dorothy–the real Dorothy–holds all of the power, and interestingly enough, it has nothing to do with her vast wealth, and everything to do with her ability to fool Tony and manipulate him in order to judge his behavior.

The movie ends with Tony still not having been clued in to who’s who–despite the fact that he and “Sylvia Lockwood” are married and enjoying their honeymoon on a transatlantic cruise as the film comes to a close. Once the two of them are wed (which, as John explains in a previous scene, is considered legal even though Dorothy marries under a different name–how, I can’t even begin to understand), Tony seems to have no problem with his new wife’s sexuality, as the movie ends on a highly charged note. “Sylvia” explains that she needs help buttoning up her tight satin dress for dinner that evening, and Tony immediately offers to help–”What are husbands for?” he asks with a smirk as he begins to lead her back to their cabin.

Dorothy: “Oh, we’ve got two hours left [before dinner].”

Tony: “May take longer than you think.”

THEY’RE TOTALLY GOING TO “DO IT,” YOU GUYS.

(You know, in case you didn’t grasp that.)

Gotta love those Code-era winks and nudges.

A kiss is just a kiss?

Posted on by under ahh romance, best of ... lists, brandie's faves

It’s Valentine’s Day! Yay for corporately-created holidays designed to entice people into spending copious amounts of money on flowers, candy, and various stuffed creatures of all types!

I mean … yay for love!

In honor of the day, I’m posting five of my favorite classic movie kisses, from the utterly romantic to the sentimental to the poignant to the giggle-inducing.

1. Lady and the Tramp (1955)

Yes, they’re dogs. But their inadvertent kiss over a plate of spaghetti, accompanied by the gorgeous tune “Bella Notte,” is still romantic as hell. Hey, even a tramp and a rich bitch can find love in this crazy world! Kind of gives you a case of the warm-and-fuzzies, doesn’t it?

2. Notorious (1946)

You knew I’d have a Cary Grant smooch on here. And nothing beats this two-and-a-half minute string of kisses, beautifully shot to highlight the intense emotion and passion behind the embrace. Devlin (Grant) may be an unmitigated bastard to Alicia (Ingrid Bergman) throughout much of the film, but this kiss indicates there’s more depth to his feelings for the woman than he himself is willing to admit or accept.

3. Rear Window (1954)

For a director best known for elements of suspense in his films, Hitchcock certainly knew how to stage a love scene. Even something as simple as being awoken with a kiss is heightened to erotic levels in Hitch’s capable hands. Grace Kelly never looked better on film, and discussions of an empty stomach have never been sexier.

4. Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)

It sets the bar for practically every cinematic kiss in the pouring rain. That particular motif has devolved into the realm of cliche over the years, but the rain-soaked embrace between Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) and Paul Varjak (George Peppard), complete with an overly patient cat and the lovely strains of “Moon River,” remains a memorable, beautiful moment (seriously, though–poor cat).

5. Singin’ in the Rain (1952)

The least romantic kiss on the list, and yet one of the best. Don Lockwood (Gene Kelly) loathes his silent-film leading lady, the screechy-voiced Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen), who has gotten his new lady love, Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds), fired from her job. While filming a love scene for their newest picture, Don lets Lina know just how deep that loathing really is. It’s a truly hilarious scene, and (in my mind) Kelly and Hagen demonstrate more chemistry in this moment than Kelly and Reynolds display throughout the entire film. Odd, sometimes, how the flow of combat heightens sensuality.

Now that I’ve had my say, what are some of your favorite classic movie smooches?

“Do you know what loneliness is, real loneliness?”

Posted on by under ahh romance, from stage to screen, lit adaptations, supernatural films, wwii films

The delightful 1945 romantic fantasy The Enchanted Cottage was first recommended to me by one of my favorite grad school professors (hi, Dr. Riley!). There were only three of us in this particular class, and we were flung together for three long hours every Wednesday afternoon, so a sense of easy camaraderie developed. There were many times when we found ourselves discussing topics completely unrelated to graduate-level English research (and thank God for that … believe me when I say there are fewer topics so dry and lifeless). This film, which Dr. Riley proclaimed one of his favorites, was one I had never even heard of, so when it came on TCM several weeks after his declaration, I sat down to watch it. And I’m glad I did, because it has since become one of my favorite films, too.

The Enchanted Cottage stars Robert Young and Dorothy McGuire as Oliver and Laura, two people who are hiding away from the world for very different reasons. Laura, a plain, homely-looking young woman, takes a job as a maid for the isolated titular cottage, which is situated on the grounds of a burned-out estate. The cottage had long been a hideaway for young honeymooning couples (all of whom have etched their names on the glass windows over the past hundred years), and its owner, Mrs. Minnett (Mildred Natwick), agrees to rent it to Oliver and his fiancée, Beatrice (Hillary Brooke), who are soon to be wed. Before Oliver and Beatrice can marry and move in to their new home, however, Oliver is drafted into the war. And when he finally returns to the cottage a year later, he is alone. His face disfigured and his spirit deflated, Oliver refuses to see Beatrice or his family, including his nosy, persistent mother, Violet (Spring Byington). An understanding and kind Laura, along with a new friendship with a blind musician, John Hillgrove (Herbert Marshall), help the despairing Oliver understand that his life is far from over. When Oliver and Laura, out of a shared sense of desperation and loneliness, eventually marry, they discover the magical nature of their little honeymoon cottage, and their marriage of convenience becomes one of true love.

This is such a beautiful story on a multitude of levels. It’s not merely a story about the magical influence of love—though it makes a powerful statement to that regard—but it is also about the beauty of acceptance. Oliver and Laura are, to the outside world, mangled and homely, unworthy of a second look by our perfection-obsessed culture. But in the cottage, where the outside world has no influence and, indeed, no meaning, they are exquisite creatures, for the inner beauty of their souls is reflected in one another’s eyes. And who but the hardest hearts among us can resist a simple, yet profoundly moving story such as this?

On a darker level, in addition to its attempts to underscore the proverbial idea that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, The Enchanted Cottage also serves as a bleak reminder of the price that is sometimes exacted from people in the name of serving their country. The original play, written by Englishman Arthur Wing Pinero in 1923, dealt with the trouble facing disabled veterans returning home from World War I. Pinero’s play had been filmed once before, for a 1924 silent production starring Richard Barthelmess and May McAvoy (which you can view on YouTube, though the quality is not all that great). But in adapting the story for the newer version, producer Harriet Parsons (daughter of notorious gossip columnist Louella) updated the time period to the 1940s to better reflect the immediacy of the soon-to-end Second World War; in fact, The Enchanted Cottage was released in theaters less than two weeks before V-E Day.

The play’s theme about the struggles of former soldiers to adapt to “normalcy” in the wake of war proved to be just as important a message two decades later, as young servicemen and women returned en masse from the battlefront with scars, missing limbs, and broken memories, sometimes to the abject horror of those they had left behind. A series of films with such messages were released in the subsequent months after peace was declared—most notably, 1946′s The Best Years of Our Lives, which so excellently portrayed the numerous difficulties faced by veterans after the war. While Lives naturally takes a much more realistic look at the trope of the returning soldier, films like Cottage nonetheless provide an intriguing and truthful glimpse at the horrific aftereffects of war. Though the reactions of Beatrice and his parents to Oliver’s newly-deformed visage may seem overly exaggerated in the context of the overarching, fanciful plot, they actually are not far off from the reactions faced by some wounded soldiers whose triumphant homecomings were soured by heartrending cruelty, indifference, or fear from their family, friends, and acquaintances.

Admittedly, Young is not one of my favorite actors. It’s not entirely his fault, as he was generally relegated to B-level pictures throughout his career, never really getting an opportunity to expand his talents on screen (though, like fellow B-movie star Lucille Ball, Young found great success—and the greatest use for his light comedic talent—on television, particularly in the 1950s series Father Knows Best). But The Enchanted Cottage provides Young with one of the few truly interesting parts in his film career. He is wonderful as Oliver, perfectly balancing the character’s bitterness at the turn in his fortunes and his growing respect and love for the homely young maid. McGuire, though not entirely believable as a frump even with a multitude of shapeless dresses and a serious lack of makeup, is nonetheless charming in only the third film role of her career (and the second in which she co-starred with Young—the first being her debut in 1943′s Claudia). Supporting characters Natwick and Marshall nearly steal the show, particularly the former as the crusty yet ultimately caring landlady who knows the cottage’s secret. The latter, playing the part of the wise and kindly blind pianist, performs a gorgeous piano concerto written by composer Roy Webb, who earned his seventh (and final) Oscar nomination for Best Original Score for the film. And Byington, always a welcome presence in her many supporting roles, effectively plays against type as Oliver’s overbearing and selfishly judgmental mother.

Overall, The Enchanted Cottage is a lovely, romantic little gem of a movie. It’s a fairy tale for us grown folks—fantasy, yes, but with a grain of pure and simple honesty at the heart of it. For whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not, we all want to be loved for who we are more than anything else, and it’s a lucky pair, like Oliver and Laura, who can recognize—and celebrate—the inner beauty in one another. That is the “true” nature of “true” love, after all.

“You’re dealing with your wife. You can forget the Constitution.”

Posted on by under ahh romance, classic pairings, hahas

It’s been delayed by a couple of weeks (apologies—it’s been a busy month!), but today we’re going to take a look at the final Doris Day-Rock Hudson pairing, 1964’s Send Me No Flowers.

In their third outing together, Day and Hudson are no longer sparring singletons, but a loving husband-and-wife duo, living out the mid-century American dream in the suburbs. George Kimball is a hypochondriac who insists that he suffers daily from various aches, pains, and undiagnosed illnesses, while Judy is his overly tolerant wife who secretly replaces her husband’s sleeping pills with sugar placebos. When George goes to doctor (and family friend) Ralph complaining of chest pains, Ralph tells George it’s nothing more than a case of indigestion. But when George catches the tail-end of a telephone conversation about another patient who is dying of a heart ailment, he believes he is the one slated for a visit from the Grim Reaper in only a few weeks’ time. With the help of best friend and neighbor Arnold (Tony Randall), George sets about trying to find a husband for Judy so that she will have someone to “take care of her” when he is gone.

The usual misunderstandings abound as Judy’s college boyfriend, Bert (Clint Walker), arrives in town and George begins to try to set up his wife with a ready-made second husband. Add in Judy’s growing suspicions that George is trying to cover up an affair with a recently-separated neighbor, and you have a series of screwball antics that nonetheless culminate in the prototypical happy ending.

I have to admit–this film is my least favorite of the Day-Hudson vehicles. The “war of the sexes” motif that makes their first two films so engaging is sorely lacking here. Even when their marriage dissolves into chaos, George and Judy are still not as fiery in battle as were Pillow Talk’s Jan and Brad or Lover Come Back’s Carol and Jerry—their conflict is tamer, somehow, lacking the sexual tension that served as the backbone for the film’s predecessors.

Indeed, throughout the movie, the sexuality is dampened—after all, the relationships between men and women are no longer fraught with passion when the battle is over and the war has been won … at least, that’s what films like this would have us believe. Still, there are hints of it in some scenes, but it’s used almost exclusively for comic effect; there are no flaming moments of sexual heat as in the “Possess Me” interlude in Pillow or the seaside kiss in Lover.

Take, for instance, the scene in which Judy discovers that George is not really dying, leading her to think that he concocted the entire “scheme” to hide his supposed affair. Fuming with suppressed rage, she sneaks into the bedroom where George is sleeping. Changing into a flowing, low-cut nightgown, she sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at her sleeping husband for a brief moment, and then proceeds to slap the ever-loving crap out of him, jerking him awake. As she soothes him out of his “bad dream,” Judy begins to remind him of a particularly amorous moment the two of them had once shared.

All of a sudden–heart ailment or no heart ailment–George is bounding with energy, leaping over the staircase banister and searching frantically through the kitchen for champagne and a couple of glasses. It’s the one moment of unbridled sexuality in the film—the mere promise of a night of good old-fashioned lovemaking has George forgetting his “condition” in a heartbeat—and it ends with a literal “cold shower” as Judy locks him out of the house, hurls the voluminous contents of his medicine cabinet at him from the second-story window, and douses him with the remains of his hot-water bottle.

The scene is reminiscent of a similar scene in Lover Come Back, when Carol tricks Jerry into taking a midnight drive to the beach and, once he’s divested himself of his clothing, peals out and leaves her naked would-be lover stranded. Indeed, there are quite a few moments in this film that will ring familiar to fans of the three films—just as Lover borrowed quite heavily from Pillow, so, too, does Flowers borrow from both of them.

Randall once again plays the second banana to Hudson, and he steals the show with a hilariously drunken turn as George’s confidant and would-be eulogist. The scene in which Arnold tries to read his heartfelt eulogy to a frustrated George, who has just been kicked out of his own home, is one of the best moments in the movie. As George moans and complains and snaps at him, Arnold begins to cross out the more laudatory sections of his speech in retaliation for George’s behavior, all while downing George’s bottle of champagne. The ever-effusive Paul Lynde also lights up the film in his scenes as the overly enthusiastic salesman who sells George a trio of cemetery plots (one for George, one for Judy, and one for Judy’s future second husband) and, ultimately, puts the couple back on the path to reconciliation.

The movie has moments of enjoyable, lighthearted comedy (despite the supposed looming specter of death in George’s personal rearview mirror). But one of the things that has always bothered me about this movie is the blatant sexism underlying George’s quest to find Judy a new mate. George wants to find someone to care for Judy because he thinks she cannot competently live on her own—as evidence, he points to her lack of knowledge about mortgages, her inability to recall how much she spent on ham at the grocer’s, and a mistake in writing out a check to pay a bill. He believes that Judy will “fall apart” when he is gone and be completely unable to provide for herself. And while Judy has moments of seeming ineptitude in the movie (the scene with the out-of-control golf cart, for instance, when she needs to be rescued by a strapping Bert on horseback), she proves herself quite capable of keeping a somewhat steady head in the face of George’s devastating news (her behavior in the latter half of the movie, as she flies off the handle at George regarding her suspicions, notwithstanding). It’s a little bothersome to watch George’s condescending attitude toward his wife throughout the movie, at least from a modern perspective.

Still, while far from the best film in either actor’s repertoire, Send Me No Flowers is not without its charms. The genuine love and respect that Day and Hudson share for one another once again comes through in their performances, and the talented, riotous supporting cast makes this one even more enjoyable.

In preparing for these Hudson-Day posts, I re-watched all three films (yeah, like it’s such an unpleasant task) courtesy of my Doris Day and Rock Hudson Comedy Collection. I purchased this two-disc set soon after its release in 2007, and I can’t tell you how many times these discs have made a run through the DVD player—it has truly been one of the best additions to my personal movie collection. The Comedy Collection unfortunately does not include extras beyond the theatrical trailers for each film, but the transfers are clean, bright, and beautiful, and I highly recommend the set if you don’t already own these films. It generally goes for less than $20 on Amazon (in fact, it’s less than $15 right now!), so make sure to add it to your personal collection today!

“At last, I’ve given the world what it needs … a good 10-cent drunk!”

Posted on by under ahh romance, brandie's faves, classic pairings, hahas

Two years after debuting a sparkling chemistry in 1959′s Pillow Talk, Doris Day and Rock Hudson re-teamed for another romantic comedy, Lover Come Back. Again, they were joined by Tony Randall and a slew of amusing bit players for an appealing, candy-coated concoction of wit, sex, and broad humor. Over the years, I’ve read several critical reviews of the Day-Hudson filmography that label Lover the best of the lot. While I disagree with that assessment (to me, nothing beats their initial pairing in Talk), the film definitely has some of the same immense charms.

Lover Come Back features Day and Hudson as Carol Templeton and Jerry Webster, advertising executives at rival firms in New York City. While Carol works long hours perfecting pitches to secure clients, Jerry wines, dines, and schmoozes potential clients, pandering to their egos, wallets, and libidos. When Jerry succeeds in snatching yet another client out from under Carol’s nose, she reports him to the Advertising Council for his unethical and untenable behavior. To head off Carol’s attempt to jettison his career, Jerry convinces a showgirl, Rebel Davis (Edie Adams), to vouch for him, promising her a prominent role as the spokesgirl for a new product, VIP. The only problem? VIP hasn’t exactly been invented yet. And as Carol catches wind of the new, hot “account” and grows determined to win it for herself, Jerry plays the role of Linus, VIP’s “inventor,” determined all the while to seduce her and divert her attention from her campaign.

Sound familiar? It should–the plot of Lover Come Back borrows heavily from its predecessor. Again, we have Hudson role-playing in an attempt to fool Day’s busy, devoted career woman. And Randall, as Peter Ramsey, the typically-absent president of Jerry’s advertising firm, again functions as the wealthy best friend figure, miserable despite his good fortune and envious of Jerry’s from-the-bootstraps rise to success. But does the similarity between the two films ultimately detract from one or the another? Happily, the answer to that question is a resounding “no.” Despite the shared themes and character arcs, Lover is just as enjoyable as Pillow Talk, with moments of sheer comic brilliance that are all its own.

Interestingly, the movie does allow for a small change in the perception of Day’s sexuality, which creates a slightly more daring atmosphere (at least, for 1961). In Pillow Talk, Day’s Jan Morrow is the one being pursued by Hudson’s knowing, highly-sexed Brad, only allowing herself to give in after an aggressive campaign on his part. But in Lover, Day’s Carol becomes more the sexual aggressor, at least initially, and it’s fun to watch. “Linus,” as portrayed by Jerry, is an innocent, unsure of how to interact with women and ignorant of the delicate sexual relationship between the sexes. Yes, it is a carefully calculated ploy on Jerry’s part to elicit sympathy (and, by extension, sympathy love-making), and Carol falls for it hook, line, and sinker, taking it upon herself to “school” the brilliant but hapless inventor on the ways of love. She even allows herself to be manipulated into taking “Linus” to a strip club, much to Jerry’s delight (the two actors’ facial expressions as the off-screen stripper throws bits of her costume at Linus/Jerry are utterly priceless, as indicated in the screenshot above).

As in Pillow Talk, the ensemble of supporting characters are a hilarious addition to the film. As Rebel, the gorgeous Adams is particularly effective, especially in her performance in front of the Ad Council, in which she declares Jerry to be beyond reproach as she leans over the table to give each man on the panel a better look at Jerry’s (faux) “good conduct” medal, nestled benignly in her impressive cleavage. Jack Albertson and Charles Watts play a pair of friends who always manage to run across Jerry as he’s wooing yet another pretty girl–their running commentary on Jerry’s remarkable stamina is laugh-out-loud funny. And Ann B. Davis (The Brady Bunch’s Alice) brings her prototypical snark to a small but ultimately pivotal role as Carol’s secretary, Millie, who arranges a (very) last-minute reconciliation for her boss and Jerry at the end of the film.

Part of the enjoyment of the movie comes from its satirical look at American big business in the early 1960s–particularly the advertising game. It’s interesting to compare this film to the current television show Mad Men, which takes a more serious (and perhaps bleaker) look at the field during roughly the same time period. True, the similarities between the two are surface-level at best. Still, there are hints of Jerry in Mad Men’s Don Draper: both are womanizing cads; both are determined to do what it takes to land an account; neither man is overly concerned by questions of ethics or morality. And there are tendrils of Carol Templeton in Men’s Peggy Olson: both are women in a predominantly male-driven field, trying to succeed despite the obstacles in their respective paths.

Filled with witty one-liners, some simply stunning costumes for Day, and several great slapstick moments (of particular note is the scene in which Jerry and Peter go hunting only to inadvertently attract the amorous attentions of a moose), Lover Come Back is nothing less than an enjoyable romp, courtesy of the dynamic duo of Hudson and Day.

“My analyst will never believe this.”

Posted on by under ahh romance, brandie's faves, classic pairings, hahas

This past weekend marked classic movie star Doris Day’s 87th birthday (at least, according to TCM’s online biography of the star … some sources list various other years as Day’s official date of birth). And what better way to celebrate than to dedicate this week’s posts to a trio of films from the beautiful, charming, and oh-so-funny actress?

To that end, we’re going to take a look at the three movies that gave us one of the cutest cinematic pairings of all time: that of Day and Rock Hudson. These three films–Pillow Talk (1959), Lover Come Back (1961), and Send Me No Flowers (1964)–are genuinely funny romantic comedies, trading on Day’s subtle sexiness and Hudson’s macho appeal in a series of battle-of-the-sexes romps. Add in a series of hilarious supporting turns from Tony Randall, and you have the recipe for pure entertainment … and the basis for pretty much every romantic comedy to follow (I’ll leave you to decide if that is ultimately a good thing or a bad thing, given the current state of romantic comedy…).

While each film has its respective charms, the indisputably best of the lot is the first (which, incidentally, won a very deserved Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay). In Pillow Talk, Day plays Jan Morrow, an interior decorator sharing a telephone party line with songwriter Brad Allen (Hudson). Brad’s constant appropriation of the phone–wherein most of his conversations involve him singing a variation of the same tune to one of his numerous female lovers–irritates Jan to no end, and sight unseen, the pair share a mutual loathing of one another. When Brad’s best friend, the wealthy Jonathan Forbes (Randall), tells Brad about his infatuation with his new designer (Jan), Brad is intrigued and determined to try to snag Jan for himself. The two of them happen to meet at a restaurant one evening, and knowing that Jan hates him, Brad pretends to be a rich rancher from Texas named Rex Stetson, in the process sweeping the unknowing Jan off her feet.

The film is a grown-up mix of sex and charm, and does much to dispel the virginal persona that had plagued Day up until this point in her career. Jan is a modern girl, ready to embrace a sexual relationship with Brad Rex that doesn’t include the exchange of wedding vows … that is, until his deceptions come to light. And the movie has fun playing with the sexually-charged nature of the action, inserting characters and setpieces that reflect the lustier appetites of the film. There’s a fertility goddess, a couch that turns into a bed with the flip of a switch, a randy Harvard man, and the infamous split-screen telephone scenes, including one in which Jan and Brad/Rex talk to one another while in their respective bathtubs.

As their talk turns amorous, each one stretches a leg up onto the wall of the bathroom, their feet “meeting” in the middle. His foot slides down the wall a moment, and hers retreats, as if tickled or startled, then slowly returns and plants itself firmly “against” his as Day purrs, “You’ll find that most people are willing to meet you halfway … if you let them.” And you thought a train pounding through a tunnel wasn’t subtle.

While Hudson, who had built his career on stalwart, manly leading roles, was reportedly nervous about trying his hand at humor on the big screen, there’s no hesitation in the end product. The comedy is brisk and witty, with Day and Hudson snapping off one-liners at one another like seasoned pros, aided ably by the always-reliable Thelma Ritter (whose drunken maid, Alma, almost steals the entire movie) and the eternally-befuddled Randall. And there’s a whole lineup of minor characters who have shining moments of comedic brilliance in the film–my particular favorite is the nightclub singer (Perry Blackwell) who realizes Brad’s game and sings the song “You Lied” in tribute to him … to which he responds with a roguish wink.

The character of Brad is an interesting one to consider because, in essence, he’s a real jerk. He dangles multiple women on the line–literally and figuratively. When one woman coos over the telephone, “I love you,” Brad’s response is a condescending, “I know” (you thought Han Solo originated that particularly heartfelt response, didn’t you?). And his mission to bed Jan becomes increasingly mean-spirited as the film continues. While playing the part of Rex, Brad also inserts himself into the “relationship” between Rex and Jan, calling her to warn her of the dangers of Rex’s “cowboy act.” He tells her Rex is going to try to lure her to his hotel room … and then ”Rex” brings her up to a hastily-rented room to fetch a coat. He tells her Rex is probably a “mama’s boy” … and “Rex” daintily lifts a pinkie when sipping his drink at the cocktail bar that evening. It’s almost cruel, the way he continually screws with her mind.

Yet we forgive Brad, as Jan eventually does, because … well, wouldn’t you forgive him, too? Hudson’s charm and ability to force the audience to empathize with Brad, particularly as he wages his campaign to win Jan back after the “great reveal,” goes a long way toward making his character seem less an unmitigated ass and more a misdirected, soon-to-be-reformed heel.

There are light elements of screwball sprinkled throughout the film, particularly the final scenes in which Brad, angered by Jan’s method of revenge (which involves turning his apartment into a scene worthy of Cirque du Soleil) kicks open the door to Jan’s apartment, yanks her pajama-clad butt out of bed, and carries her through the streets of New York to his apartment. These moments generally don’t overwhelm the film–the action, and the humor, stay heartily down-to-earth.

The only motif in the film that rings a note of ridiculousness is Brad’s series of fleeting interactions with an obstetrician and his nurse, whose office is located down the hall from Jonathan’s. Trying to hide from Jan one day, Brad ducks into the doctor’s office and begins complaining to the nurse about the “strange pains” he’s been having. The disbelieving nurse fetches the doctor while Brad slips out of the room, and the doctor, thinking that Brad might just be a miracle of modern science, berates the nurse for her “limited” thinking. While these two characters do end up providing a so-cute-it-almost-hurts coda to the film, the three scenes in the medical office are little more than pockets of painfully strained farce in a generally light and frothy picture.

Despite that minor quibble, Pillow Talk is a delight, pure and simple, from start to finish, and a must-see movie for fans of romantic comedy. If you want to see how the genre should ideally be done (attention, makers of crappy Jennifer Lopez ”comedies” like Maid in Manhattan), there’s truly no better example than this.

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.

Posted on by under ahh romance, maudlin mondays, remakes sometimes DON'T suck

In 1993′s Sleepless in Seattle, Meg Ryan and Rosie O’Donnell sob their way through a viewing of An Affair to Remember. Who can forget the characters mouthing along to the dialogue, their eyes welling up with tears? Director/screenwriter Nora Ephron could not have chosen a more appropriate inspiration for her modern-day romantic fairy tale–if you’re looking for a weepie that will make you reach for the tissues every time, you can’t go wrong with Affair.

The film stars Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in the tale of two people who meet on a ship and fall in love. Of course, it’s not as simple as that–Nickie (Grant), an artist and inveterate playboy, and Terry (Kerr), a singer and teacher, are both engaged to someone else, yet they fall in love with one another when their paths cross on an ocean voyage from Europe to New York. When the two part at the end of their trip, they agree to meet on top of the Empire State Building in six months–giving them ample time to remove themselves from their respective romantic entanglements–to begin their relationship in earnest. However, while on her way to keep the appointment, Terry is hit by a car and crippled in the accident. Nickie takes the perceived rejection bitterly, as Terry refuses to contact him to explain her condition. But a chance meeting at the theater leads Nickie to look up his old flame and finally confront her about why she never showed up that day.

“Oh, it’s nobody’s fault but my own! I was looking up … it was the nearest thing to heaven! You were there …”

And cue the waterworks.

The movie is a remake of the 1939 Irene Dunne–Charles Boyer film Love Affair. Both films were directed by Leo McCarey, and for the most part, the movies follow identical storylines (while we’re on the subject, I would personally recommend skipping the 1994 remake of the story, also titled Love Affair, starring Annette Bening and Warren Beatty. Despite the presence of the inimitable Katharine Hepburn–in her final film role–on the whole, it just doesn’t work this time around … though Bening, as Terry, makes a valiant effort at recapturing the magic of her predecessors).

It’s hard to make comparisons between the two, because I love elements of both movies. But I find myself wishing that Dunne and Grant had ended up as co-stars in a version of this film. Judging by their sentimental pairing in 1941′s Penny Serenade, it’s obvious the two stars were both quite capable of juggling maudlin material with some finesse, and I can’t help but imagine how they would have played off of one another in this story.

Still, Kerr and Grant make a charming pair in the film, her banked passion matching his suave charm quite well. The movie also features Neva Patterson, who passed away last month, as Nickie’s ex-fiance; Richard Denning as Terry’s former love; and Cathleen Nesbitt as Nickie’s adorable grandmother. While the movie is sometimes difficult to watch because of its insistence on pummeling the audience’s emotions, the solid performances make the sometimes sickeningly sentimental pill a bit easier to swallow.

What is it about this movie that makes it so maudlin? I blame the script–the dialogue seems to be deliberately crafted to wring every single tear from the audience.

“Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories. We’ve already missed the spring!”

“I really hope you’ve found happiness, and if you’re ever in need of anything–like someone to love you–don’t hesitate to call me.”

And the real doozy:

“If you can paint, I can walk! Anything can happen, right?”

Put a fork in me and pass the Kleenex–I’m done.

Kerr is particularly effective in her delivery of some of these lines, especially in the final scenes of the film during her character’s confrontation with Grant. As the camera focuses on her face–lips quivering, eyes shining with unshed tears, an expression of almost unbearable angst etched in every pore–well, only the hardest of hearts can’t feel a stab of sadness for Terry’s sorrow.

Yes, I’m a sucker like that.

If you’re looking for a film that will set you off on a cinematic crying jag the likes of which you may never have experienced, An Affair to Remember is just the ticket. We recommend several boxes of tissues, a couple of aspirin for the inevitable headache … and maybe a couple of shots of Jack Daniels beforehand to brace yourself for the sometimes cloying sentimentality to follow.

Our Maudlin Meter rating for this film:

A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes.

Posted on by under ahh romance, classic disney, nikki's faves, saturday morning cartoons

As has been mentioned a couple dozen times over the past two weeks, today is the day I get to talk about one of my top three favorite Disney films of all time, 1950′s Cinderella. Everyone knows the story of the orphaned cinder girl who works for her evil stepmother and sister(s) and then, with the help of her fairy godmother, goes to the ball, meets and falls in love with the prince, runs away at the stroke of midnight, and can only be identified by her glass slipper. This is one of the truly universal stories, as every culture for the past 2000 years has some variation on the classic. For example, in the Chinese version, written down over 1000 years ago, the fairy godmother character is actually a magical fish, while the Grimm Brothers version uses a magic tree on the mother’s grave. Walt Disney chose the version written by Charles Perrault in 1697 with the fairy godmother and magic pumpkin, a much gentler version than the Grimm version, where the sisters cut off portions of their feet so the slipper fits and, at the end, get their eyes poked out by birds (those Grimm brothers didn’t play when it came to handing out punishments). Cinderella has been adapted for every possible entertainment medium including opera, ballet, theater (both musical and play), movies, books, songs, television episodes, and even a comic book or two. The term “Cinderella” is even used to describe sports teams (particularly in NCAA basketball) that make an unlikely trip to the post season and succeed beyond all expectations.

In a lot of ways, the Walt Disney Company was a Cinderella trying to get to the ball when this film debuted. Disney had not had a commercial success since Snow White in 1937. Bambi and Dumbo, while now some of the most beloved films in the canon, were not financially successful the first time out at the box office; and then came World War II, which put many projects on hiatus and forced Disney to put together the package films to remain afloat. While the package films did break even, they really didn’t make the studio much money–to the point that the company was in trouble of going under. Roy O. Disney, Walt’s brother, even went so far as to suggest to Walt that they get out while they still could and retire. But Walt said no and decided to give the single storyline feature-length film concept one last chance. It was a great risk but in the end, it was definitely worth it. Cinderella was one of the highest grossing films of 1950 and has done very well in subsequent releases.

Cinderella has everything that makes a great Disney animated feature: beautiful animation, great characters, and wonderful music. Disney was always innovating with new techniques in animation, and this film was no exception, as it would mark the first time that the entire film would be acted out in live-action and filmed so that the animators would have a point of reference. Cinderella also features one of Walt Disney’s (and my) favorite bits of animation: Cinderella’s dress transformation.

In the category of great characters, this film boasts a good heroine, fun sidekicks, a nasty henchman, and an evil, EVIL villain:

  • I know Cinderella gets a lot of flak from the feminists today for being a doormat but really, in the time this is portrayed, what else was the girl supposed to do? She wasn’t married and had no means of support. Besides, this was HER house. Stepmom and sisters were the interlopers, not her. But beyond that, Cinderella really wasn’t a doormat. Yes. She did as she was told, but she did try to stand up for herself (not that it did any good). She also had no qualms about scolding Lucifer, was probably breaking half a dozen rules having mice in the house, and was even a little sarcastic (at least to herself) when pondering whether to deliver the ball invitation during the “music” lesson. So, no, I don’t think she was a doormat–just a girl trying to make the best out of a bad situation.
  • CinderellaJaq and Gus Gus are probably my two favorite Disney mice (yes, that’s ahead of Mickey). Jaq is the clear leader of the mice (well, at least the guy mice, anyways) and their spokesmouse. He’s the guy who comes up with the bright ideas and spurs his fellow mice into action. Gus Gus, on the other hand, is the newest member of the household and is still learning the ropes. While he is not always the brightest mouse, he makes up for it with fierce loyalty and determination, as seen with his adventure to get the key back up to Cinderella.
  • As far as nasty henchmen go, Lucifer the Cat probably only ranks below the Siamese cats (Lady and the Tramp) in terms of pure nastiness. This cat is so mean that he purposely walks dirt all over the clean entryway and does everything possible to thwart the mice in whatever they are doing. Even Cinderella can’t think of one good thing about the cat when talking to Bruno. He also gets great joy out of being evil. Think about the scene with the breakfast trays where Lucifer is trying to catch Gus: when he thinks he’s finally going to get Gus, Lucifer is almost giddy and then crushed when Gus gets away again. One of his best scenes, though, is the one where Lady Tremaine is giving Cinderella her extra chores after Gus shows up on Anastasia’s tray. He perfectly punctuates everything Lady Tremaine says until she adds the thing about his bath and he looks like at her like, “You could have left me out of this.”
  • Lady Tremaine is definitely in the top three among villainesses (and I would say top five across all Disney Villains) in terms of pure evil and ruthlessness, which is why it’s fitting that her voice is provided by Eleanor Audley, who would later go on to voice Maleficent (best Disney villain EVER). Lady Tremaine is very focused on doing everything in her power to get her daughters into the best circles possible, Wicked Stepmotherpreferably at the expense of Cinderella. She takes almost a delight in watching her awful daughters destroy Cinderella’s dress, then calmly wishing her a goodnight. Later, she gets similar joy at the Duke’s reaction after she trips his footman, shattering the glass slipper.

But what everyone remembers most about Cinderella is the music. Songs like “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” and “The Work Song (Cinderelly Cinderelly)” have the lovely effect of getting in your head and not going away. You know what I’m talking about, as you will probably be humming one or the other for the rest of the day even though (melody-wise) they are two of the most obnoxious tunes ever. My favorite song from this classic, however, is the title of this post: “A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes.” This song sums up beautifully the point of the whole film, which is: even in tough times, trust in your heart and have faith, and eventually things will get better. Dreams do come true, but you have to believe in them and work towards them. Even Cinderella worked towards her plans by getting all her chores done so she could go; she just had a little help with the dress and transportation.

While the classic story has been adapted, modernized, and parodied by everyone from Rogers & Hammerstein and Jerry Lewis to Drew Barrymore, Hilary Duff, and Shrek, this beloved version is the one that most people think of first. The motifs of fairy godmothers, magic pumpkins, the stroke of midnight, and glass slippers are such a part of our cultural fabric that we’ve all used them at some point or another–even in unexpected places, like this corporate Disney commercial from 2002:

If somehow you’ve managed to miss this classic or haven’t seen it in a while, go quickly and watch it, because for a short time, you will remember that “if you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true.”