“If that don’t beat all. I never saw such a dog.”

Posted on March 11, 2013 by Sarah under child stars, classic disney, kiddie faves, lit adaptations, maudlin mondays, sarah's faves

This week, I bring you an animal edition of Maudlin Monday. I can be deeply moved by films about wars or tragic romances, but few things disturb me greater than stories about innocent, loving animals that lose their lives. Animals have brought me so much joy in life, whether I’m running in the yard with my happy-go-lucky dog or cuddling with my affectionate cat. It is my sincere belief that if everyone had an adoring pet in their lives, the world would be a much better place. There have been so many touching films about animals–The Adventures of Milo and Otis (1989), The Fox and the Hound (1981), The Three Lives of Thomasina (1963)–but none demonstrates the loyalty and friendship shared between human and animal quite like Disney’s 1957 film Old Yeller.

The story begins with a Texas frontier family whose father, Jim (Fess Parker), leaves Travis (Tommy Kirk), his oldest son, in charge of the farm and home as he goes to drive cattle. Travis is a young boy who takes on the responsibility of protecting and caring for his younger brother Arliss (Kevin Corcoran) and their mother, Katie, played by the beautiful and serene Dorothy McGuire. As Jim says his goodbyes to his family, his son reminds him that he wants a horse.

Travis: “Now, Papa, you know I been achin’ all over for a horse to ride. Now I told you time and again.”

Papa: “What you’re needin’ worse than a horse is a good dog.”

Travis: “Yessir, but what I’m wantin’ worse is a horse.”

Papa: “Alright boy, you act a man’s part, and I’ll bring you a man’s horse.”

The father has not even been gone more than a day when Old Yeller shows up on the family farm causing trouble. He frightens Jumper the mule while Travis is plowing the field, which causes the mule to drag Travis and knock down the fence. Old Yeller has unknowingly made himself an enemy. Travis is convinced that the dog will be nothing but trouble: “I know one thing: that old dog better not come around here while I got me a gun in my hands!”

When younger brother Arliss meets the dog, he instantly falls in love with the prospect of a new friend. Mama scolds Travis, explaining to him that his younger brother is lonely without a companion to entertain him. She reminds him that he had a dog when he was Arliss’s age.

Younger brother Arliss and Old Yeller become inseparable. Yeller becomes the boy’s companion, swimming, hunting, and even fishing with him.

The faithful dog dives into the pond to catch a fish for Arliss. Arliss thanks the dog, and then proceeds to tell his mother that he was the one who caught the fish in a fantastic tale:

Arliss: “Mama, Mama, look at this fish that I got; ain’t he a whopper?! … I had to dive way down deep under to catch this fish. He was way down deep under … there was this cave and it was real dark and muddy. And there was about a million other fish, and they all tried to eat me! And I had to throw rocks at’ em, and then there was these two big snakes …”

Travis: “Mama, you know them is just big windies Arliss was tellin’.”

Mama: “Now, Travis, let him tell his stories the way he wants to.”

Travis: “But Mama, I just seen that old yellow dog catch this fish.”

Mama: “Arliss is just a little boy with a big imagination. Won’t hurt him to let him use it.”

Travis: “We keep that old yellow dog much longer and it’s going to make Arliss the biggest liar in Texas!”

Travis is not a fan of the dog, believing him to be a bad influence on his younger brother. But Travis finally changes his mind about the dog when Yeller saves Arliss from an angry mother bear. Arliss tempts a young cub with bread, then attempts to capture it. The mother bear hears the cub calling for help and comes charging toward the small boy. Although Travis and the mother come running to Arliss’s aid, it doesn’t seem like it would have gone well for the child had his courageous dog not intervened and fought off the mother bear.

Once Travis realized the dog’s bravery in defending Arliss, he allows the dog to begin sleeping in bed with him and his brother. Unfortunately, it isn’t long after the event that Travis learns from a neighbor, Elizabeth Searcy, that Yeller is indeed the thief that he originally believed him to be. She explains that she has seen Yeller stealing food from her family, but she promises not to tell on him.

Elizabeth: “I didn’t want to tell you at the house … but it was him what done it …what stole all the eggs and bread and meat and stuff … I seen him swipe a pan of grandma’s cornbread, too. But I ain’t gonna tell.”

Travis: “I bet you do.”

Elizabeth: “No, I won’t. Wasn’t goin’ to, even before I knowed it was your dog.”

Travis: “How come?”

Elizabeth: “Because Miss Priss is gonna have pups, and your dog will be their papa, and I wouldn’t want him to get shot for stealin’.”

Elizabeth Searcy isn’t the only person who has heard of Old Yeller’s thievery. At one point, the dog’s former owner comes to claim him. He tells the family that although the dog robs everyone blind, he’s great help to him. Arliss refuses to allow the stranger to take Old Yeller back, throwing rocks at him and demanding that he leave the dog. Luckily for the family, the man is kind and allows Arliss to keep Old Yeller, trading him a toad and a warm meal.

The kind Mr. Sanderson warns Travis that he has seen multiple cases of hydrophobia (rabies) in the region. He instructs Travis that he will have to act quickly in killing any animal that he suspects is infected.

One day, Travis and Old Yeller go on a mission to mark the Coates family hogs. Old Yeller does a fantastic job herding the hogs for Travis, but when Travis falls from a tree, he is viciously attacked by one of the hogs. The hog rips his leg to the bone, but Old Yeller comes running to save him. Travis is able to get away, but poor Old Yeller is injured even worse. The family nurses the pair back to health, and Old Yeller has once again successfully saved a member of the Coates family.

It isn’t long before Old Yeller has saved every single member of the Coates family. While Mama and Elizabeth are standing next to a fire, burning the carcass of the rabies-infected family cow, they are jumped by a rabid wolf. Luckily for the women, Old Yeller comes to their defense. Travis is able to shoot the wolf, but not before it has bitten and scratched Old Yeller repeatedly. Mama believes that no healthy, sane wolf would have attacked them, and therefore she fears that they will have to kill Old Yeller, as he is likely to have been infected as well.

Mama: “I’ll shoot him if you can’t, but either way we’ve got it to do.”

Travis: “Mama, listen, Old Yeller just saved your life, and Elizabeth too, and he saved mine and Arliss’s. We can’t; we don’t know for certain. I’ll pen him up where he can’t get out, and then we’ll wait. We can’t just shoot him like he was nothin’! Don’t you understand?”

Mama: “Alright, son, if you think there’s a chance.”

After two weeks of keeping Old Yeller penned up, he shows no signs of the suspected infection. The family is hopeful that he is not suck. But a few days from when the family plans to release him from his dog prison, Travis brings Yeller some food, only to discover the dog growling maliciously. Travis tries to deny to himself and his family that the dog is ill, but when young Arliss sneaks out at night to try to set the dog free, the family is forced to confront the heartbreaking situation. Mama gets the gun, knowing what painful but necessary event must unfold.

Travis: “No, Mama.”

Mama: “There’s no hope for him now, Travis. He’s sufferin’. You know we’ve got to do it.”

Travis: “I know, Mama, but he was my dog. I’ll do it.”

With a single blow from the shotgun, Old Yeller is gone, and a young boy is devastated.

Following the heart-wrenching scene is a happy reunion, as Mr. Coates returns to his family bearing gifts and affection. His wife relates the story of Old Yeller’s impact on their family, and the father attempts to comfort his grieving son with a speech about loss:

“That was rough, son … but I’m mighty proud of how my boy stood up to it. Couldn’t ask no more of a grown man … Life’s like that sometimes. Now and then, for no good reason a man can figure out, life will just haul off and knock him flat, slamming him in the ground so hard it seems like all his insides are busted. But it’s not all like that. A lot of it’s mighty fine, and you can’t afford to waste the good part frettin’ about the bad. That makes it all bad. You understand what I’m tryin’ to get at? … When you start lookin’ around for somethin’ good to take the place of the bad, as a general rule, you can find it.”

Old Yeller is as maudlin as they come, demanding tears from all viewers, young or old. This was one of my favorite films as a child, and it is no less moving to me today than it was all those years ago. It teaches children about the importance of responsibility, about losing those we love, and about loyalty. It’s one of the saddest movies ever produced, but definitely one of the most important, in my humble opinion.

Old Yeller earns a big fat maximum of five (heaving, sobbing) teardrops on the Maudlin Meter.

“Madame has moments of melancholy.”

Posted on March 4, 2013 by Sarah under best.films.ever., maudlin mondays, sarah's faves

“Yes, this is Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, California. It’s about five o’clock in the morning. That’s the Homicide Squad, complete with detectives and newspapermen. A murder has been reported from one of those great big houses in the ten-thousand block. You’ll read about it in the late editions, I’m sure. You’ll get it over your radio and see it on television because an old-time star is involved–one of the biggest. But before you hear it all distorted and blown out of proportion–before those Hollywood columnists get their hands on it–maybe you’d like to hear the facts, the whole truth. If so, you’ve come to the right party.”

Joe Gillis (William Holden) is a struggling screenwriter. He hasn’t been able to land a contract for a film in quite some time, and he is behind in his bills. While this starving writer is attempting to outrun some repo men in his beloved car, he gets a flat tire and is forced to pull into the driveway of a home on Sunset Boulevard.

The setting gives this film its title: Sunset Boulevard (1950). It was directed by Billy Wilder; in fact, Wilder co-wrote the story (originally titled “A Can of Beans”) with Charles Brackett and D.M. Marshman Jr., and what superb writing it is. This was the last film that Wilder and Brackett collaborated on, and clearly the two were able to create magic: the film won numerous Oscars and Academy Award nominations. The dialogue in the film reads like a well-written novel.

Although narrated from the afterlife by Joe the starving artist, the main focus of the film is a forgotten silent film star: Norma Desmond, played by the powerful Gloria Swanson, herself a legendary silent film star. The part was perfect for Swanson, who had experienced a similar career shift as silent films turned to “talkies.” Many other real-life silent film-era stars make appearances in this film as Norma’s friends, including Buster Keaton and Anna Q. Nilsson; even director Cecil B. DeMille makes an appearance as himself.

“The poor dope, he always wanted a pool. Well, in the end, he got himself a pool.”

When Joe accidentally arrives at the dilapidated mansion on Sunset, he assumes it is uninhabited because of its poor condition: “It was a great big white elephant of a place: the kind crazy movie people built in the crazy 20s. A neglected house gets an unhappy look. This one had it in spades. It was like that old woman in Great Expectations: that Miss Havisham and her rotting wedding dress and her torn veil, taking it out on the world because she’d been given the go-by.” Indeed, Norma is quite similar to the reclusive and proud Miss Havisham. Both women live in lonely and decaying homes; both were jilted–one by a fiance, the other by her fans. When Joe first meets Norma, she mistakes him for a casket-maker. Her pet chimp has died, and she means to bury him in her backyard. This isn’t the only unusual happening in this bizarre home on Sunset…

Before he leaves, Joe realizes that he recognizes the curious woman: “Wait a minute, hadn’t I seen you before? … You’re Norma Desmond. You used to be in silent pictures. You used to be big.”

“I am big!” she insists. “It’s the pictures that got small.”

The only other inhabitant of the once great estate is the faithful (and slightly creepy) butler, Max (Erich von Stroheim, yet another real-life silent film era actor and director). Joe believes him to be crazy as well, as Max clearly worships the woman: ”She was the greatest of them all; you wouldn’t know. You’re too young. In one week, she received 17,000 fan letters. Men bribed her hairdresser to get a lock of her hair. And there was a maharajah who came all the way from India to get one of her silk stockings. He later strangled himself with it.” Max is an incredibly loyal employee, and we discover why later in the film. He caters to Norma’s every whim and protects her from potential pain. It’s more than loyalty that drives Max: it’s guilt and, ultimately, love.

“Madame is the greatest star of them all.”

Joe and Norma begin a relationship as writing “partners” when she hires him to edit a screenplay she has written. Joe knows immediately that the screenplay will not be successful, but he needs the money, and she has plenty of it to spare. Norma is determined to make a return to the big screen, and she plans to star in the film. She is desperate for Joe’s help: ”She sat coiled up like a watch spring, her cigarette planted in a curious holder. I could sense her eyes on me from behind those dark glasses, defying me not to like what I read, or maybe begging me to in her own proud way to like it; it meant so much to her.”

After Joe agrees to help her, she becomes very demanding and possessive. She insists that Joe live in her house while they are working together. Although she pays many of his debts for him, she rarely provides him with cash, making him completely dependent upon her for purchases. She buys him a lavish new wardrobe, expensive watches, and accessories. She denies him his own transportation by allowing his car to be repossessed, insisting that Max can chauffeur them in her luxury vintage car. In return, Joe is not only an editor to her screenplay, but a companion to her in her loneliness. She insists that they watch her old films for hours: “They were always her pictures. That’s all she wanted to see.”

“Oh, those idiot producers! Those imbeciles! Haven’t they got any eyes? Have they forgotten what a star looks like? I’ll show them! I’ll be up there again, so help me!”

Norma’s desperation for fame drives her to be not only delusional, but also suicidal. Max explains that there are no locks in the home, as it is too dangerous to allow Norma to lock herself away: “Madame has moments of melancholy. There have been some attempts at suicide. We have to be very careful: no sleeping pills, no razor blades; we shut off the gas in Madame’s bedroom.” When Joe goes out to a party on New Year’s and leaves Norma at home, her desperation overcomes her, and Max informs Joe that she has taken a razor to her wrists. It is at this point, perhaps out of guilt, that Joe begins a romantic relationship with her.

Joe quits writing his own screenplays, and although the arrangement is rather suffocating, he seems to become fairly content in his pampered lifestyle; that is, until he begins working on a new film with twenty-two-year-old Betty (Nancy Olson). Betty is the fiance of one of Joe’s friends, and she works in the film industry as a reader. Although she has worked her way up to this position, she is dissatisfied with it, and wants to become a writer herself. The two begin to secretly work on a screenplay together, and naturally, a romantic relationship develops.

“Don’t you sometimes hate yourself?” “Constantly.”

When Norma discovers the relationship, she destroys it by calling Betty and explaining the nature of her own relationship with Joe. After the incident, Joe has had enough of the pampered lifestyle. As he attempts to leave her, Norma shoots him three times with the gun that she had recently purchased to end her own life. Authorities find his body floating face down in Norma’s swimming pool. It may seem strange, but I felt more sympathy for Norma in this case than her victim; there’s no doubt in my mind that she would successfully plead insanity in a trial.

The story was so successful and moving that it was adapted into a musical and performed in London and on Broadway. A score was written for the musical by none other than the incredible Andrew Lloyd Webber, and although the show received seven Tony Awards, it ended its run in 1997.

“You see, this is my life! It always will be! Nothing else! Just us, the cameras, and those wonderful people out there in the dark! … All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.”

This behind-the-scenes story of an aging and forgotten star, once worshiped by so many, is a sometimes acerbic, witty, and biting satire of Hollywood. But there is also something inherently nostalgic and moving about Sunset Boulevard that makes it an appropriate subject for this series. Although I can’t say that this film made me cry, its dark themes of failure and loneliness allow it to be classified as a wonderfully maudlin piece, for despite her narcissism and snobbery, Norma’s heartbreaking desperation to be loved once more surely must pull at the heartstrings of even the most cynical viewer.

Sunset Boulevard merits a three on the “Maudlin Meter” tear scale.

Revisting The White Cliffs of Dover (don’t forget the tissues).

Posted on August 27, 2012 by Sarah under maudlin mondays, melodrama, sarah's faves

The White Cliffs of Dover is a 1944 film starring Irene Dunne and Alan Marshal. This film shares the story of the life of an American woman living in England during both World War I and World War II.

Filming this flick must have been quite a challenge for the beautiful and talented Dunne, who was also starring in A Guy Named Joe simultaneously (production on Joe had been delayed due to that film’s star, Van Johnson, being seriously injured in a car accident–funnily enough, he recovered in time to play a supporting role opposite Dunne in this film, too!). Nonetheless, Dunne’s performance is flawless. One can’t help loving with her and grieving with her as she undergoes life’s trials. The movie is the very definition of star-studded, featuring a healthy mix of stars young (Elizabeth Taylor, Peter Lawford, Roddy McDowell, June Lockhart) and not-so-young (Dame May Whitty, Frank Morgan, C. Aubrey Smith, Gladys Cooper). Although sneered at by some critics for its rather forced political theme, this film was well-received in both the United States and England. I watched this movie years ago, but found it was even more charming and moving upon this second viewing.

The film starts with Susan (Dunne), a WWII nurse, anxiously staring out into the night from a hospital window. A fellow nurse comes in to bring her a welcomed cup of tea.

Margaret: “Why don’t you take your cap off and lie down for awhile?”

Susan: “We were told to stand by. There must be some very good reason. It helps to be doing something.”

Margaret: “You’re worried?”

Susan: “Who isn’t, nowadays?”

Margaret: “I thought your son was to stay the week with you?”

Susan: “He called to say his leave had been cancelled. I haven’t heard anything since. It’s been five days now. I’m terribly worried.”

Margaret: “So when we were told to stand by for emergency, you made up your mind he’d be in the thick of it?”

Susan: “Yes, Margaret, I’m afraid I did.”

Margaret: “Well, you can be wrong, you know. I hope you are. Do try and rest.”

The hospital receives a message from the surgeon general that an expected 5,000 casualties will be arriving within 24 hours. Susan is terrified that her son will be among them. As she thinks about how this came to be, we are taken to a flashback of when Susan first came to England. As a young woman, she arrived on a boat from America with her ornery father, a newspaper man. Susan is obviously excited. She has never traveled before, and she is enthralled by the history that England offers. Hiram Dunn (Frank Morgan), Susan’s father, is a rather spirited (grumpy) man. He constantly complains about the rain and chill: “It’ll be like this the whole time we’re in England!” Unfortunately for him, he becomes ill for the entire two weeks that they are to stay in England. Susan is unable to see much of the country, but she is thrilled when she is invited to a ball on the last night of their stay. A friendly elderly man invites her to join him, and he even goes so far as to hunt for a young man for her to dance with. He makes a smashing choice in the dashing young Sir John Ashwood (Marshal). Sir John is immediately taken by Susan the moment he sees her. They spend the evening dancing and talking in the moonlight.

John begs her to stay in England for longer, but she tells him that she must return with her father. While Susan and her father are packing to leave, Sir John arrives at their boarding house to ask her father’s permission for Susan to stay behind. At first, her father is very protective and against the idea; however, John is extremely persuasive and persistent. Susan spends a week with Sir John and his aristocratic family. They take long walks in the gardens and spend time getting to know each other. One night, while Sir John is showing Susan the family portraits, he points out an open space for the portrait of his future wife.

Susan: “You must have often wondered what she’d be like.”

John: “Yes, I have, until a few days ago. Then, I began to hope she’d be tall and fair, with a mind of her own, and that when my great-grandson showed visitors her portrait, he’d say, ‘This is my great-grandmother. Lovely, isn’t she? She was an American.’”

Susan: “John …”

John: “You must’ve known. I’ve been out of my mind since I first saw you in the Adam Room. I meant to wait, give you more time, but it’s out now … Don’t say no, Sue. If you can’t give me the right answer, pretend I haven’t spoken.”

Susan: “May I do that John, for these few days? I don’t want to make decisions; I just want to live and be happy.”

John: “You are happy, Sue, happy here?”

Susan: “When we are together, yes, when we are alone.”

John: “What does that mean?”

Susan: “Please don’t ask me. It’s just that, it’s all so strange, this place, your family.”

Susan is correct in her perception of tension within the family. While Susan and John are quite busy falling in love, his family is not pleased with their courtship. Even though they are clearly aware that Susan and John are interested in each other, they speak openly in front of her of their wish for John and family friend Helen to marry. Susan feels this tension and lashes out against them. Her outburst seems to make them feel guilty and treat her kindly: “It’s a compliment not to be like an American? How insulting! … I came here loving England and all it meant to me. I was happy to come here, I was so sure I would like you all because of John. I hoped you would like me. But I was an outsider, I didn’t belong. You made that perfectly clear!”

Ahh, young love.

Although the family apologizes, Susan is utterly embarrassed at her outburst. She leaves a goodbye message for Sir John and leaves on the morning train. When she gets off the train to find her boat, she is surprised to find John waiting for her. She tries to argue with him that she should return to America, but once again, he is quite persistent. He talks her into marrying him, and they seem quite happy.

Unfortunately, the happiness is short-lived. On their honeymoon, they learn that England has gone to war. Because it is tradition in the Ashwood family that the males join the military, John learns that he must go to war, almost immediately. The couple is separated for three years while John fights in WWI with his regiment. Susan lives in a constant state of fear while John is away. She worries from day to day that he may never return. When she visits him in France, they stay at a hotel with a beautiful, quaint bandstand visible from their balcony overlooking the sea.

It is on this visit that she becomes pregnant with their son, whom they name John, even though it goes against the Ashwood family tradition of naming the first male Percy. Unfortunately, when baby John is only an infant, his father is killed in action. Susan is devastated, and ignores her mother-in-law who tries to convince her to go on with her life.

“Enough happiness to last us the rest of our lives …”

When young John grows a little older, Susan attempts to move with him back to America so that he will not go into England’s military as his father had done. She tells her mother-in-law that she will teach her son to run when he hears cannons so that he will not die as his father had. Young Sir John is much like his father, however, and persuades his mother to stay and allow him to continue the Ashwood family traditions. This scene is especially heartbreaking, as we know from the beginning of the film that he does end up in harm’s way as a soldier in WWII.

This film is heartbreaking. We watch as Susan grows from a carefree young woman in love to a grieving widow, scared of also losing her only son. This film is about family. It is about the most important parts of our lives, and it is about the tragedy of war and dying young. It brings out our greatest fears of losing those that we love the most.

The White Cliffs of Dover is definitely a five on the “Maudlin Meter” tear scale!

An Invitation to Despair

Posted on July 2, 2012 by Sarah under maudlin mondays, melodrama, sarah's faves

For this week’s entry in the Maudlin Mondays series, I chose to watch the 1952 film Invitation, mainly because of its star, Dorothy McGuire, who plays the role of Ellen Pierce. A few days ago, I watched The Enchanted Cottage, also starring McGuire.

In The Enchanted Cottage, she plays a kind, plain-looking young woman who falls in love; in Invitation, she also plays a kind, plain-looking young woman who falls in love. Attention, Hollywood filmmakers: if you would like an actress to be “plain-looking,” don’t hire a woman who looks like this:

I don’t mean to say that McGuire should not have received the role. She was perfect as an innocent and kind young woman, nearly driven to madness after learning that her father (Louis Calhern) paid a man to marry her.

At the beginning of the film, we learn that Ellen’s father is a very rich and generous man; a fur coat is delivered to Ellen, which she hangs it in the closet, alongside many other fur coats. Ellen is worried that her husband Dan (Van Johnson, a.k.a. “The Voiceless Sinatra”) will become irritated with her father’s generosity:

Ellen: “Oh, Dan, you really hate it, don’t you?”

Dan: ”It’s been so much: the house, the car, the china…”

Ellen: “I’ll talk to him about it.”

Dan: “No, don’t. After all, your father’s got a right to be as generous as he wants.”

Ellen: “You see, Dan, he doesn’t realize that he doesn’t have to make up to me for anything anymore.”

Dan: “What do you mean?”

Ellen: “Oh, you know, he doesn’t realize that there’s nothing more he can give me because now I … I have everything.”

Ellen is a devoted wife. She sends her husband off to work with a kiss after his morning coffee. She promises to have a cocktail ready for him when he returns from work. In fact, her whole life seems to revolve around her husband:

Ellen: “Do you know what the excitement of my days is now? Every morning there’s the excitement of having my breakfast with Dan and getting him off on the 853, and then, nothing, until midday, which overflows with the excitement of planning dinner with Agnes, and then nothing. Until early evening, when there’s the excitement of Dan’s coming home. Oh, it is exciting, it’s terribly exciting; but it’s not the kind that’s bad for me. It’s the excitement of knowing, from a lifetime of having been sort of pitied and left out of things. This morning I poured a second cup of coffee for a husband of my own.”

Her father discusses his concern for his daughter’s health with Dr. Pritchard (Ray Collins). Ellen attempts to soothe his worry over her health by telling him, “You want everything there is for me … Please try to get it through your head that despite everything, I’m really very happy. The fact that you didn’t give me the thing that makes me so happy shouldn’t make any difference, should it?”

Her father gives Dr. Pritchard a knowing glance as he says, “No, I guess it shouldn’t.”

In the next scene, Ellen visits her old best friend, Maud (Ruth Roman). We sense the tension immediately as Maud retreats inside her house without saying hello as Ellen pulls up. Nevertheless, Ellen repeatedly tries to smooth things over with her angry friend.

Maud: “Please say what you have to say to me and go … Nobody knew better than you that I was in love with Dan, and suddenly, without any warning, he marries you … Well, let me tell you something, in some respects, the daughter of a professor of bacteriology may look a lot better than the daughter of Mr. Simon Bowker, but when it’s a struggling young architect that’s doing the looking, believe me, there’s nothing prettier than a capital dollar sign.”

Ellen is struck by Maud’s cruel words, but Maud seems relentless. She looks so calm as she smokes a cigarette while lounging on the couch, speaking these harsh words to her once-close friend with confidence. Her beauty and nonchalant hatred reminds me of the way that Maxim de Winter describes his infamous first wife in the boathouse scene in 1940′s Rebecca. Maud is indeed the evil vixen in this film; she is bound and determined to have Dan for herself, by any means necessary.

Maud: “Business seems alright for him lately, doesn’t it?”

Ellen: “You saw Dan?”

Maud: “Oh, don’t worry, I just happened to be in the building, and dropped into his office. Oh, he’s still yours, at least for the time being. I told you, remember, the day of your wedding, ‘I don’t give up so easily.’ Remember? I said, ‘The first round goes to you, or your father’s money … You can have Dan,’ I said, ‘for about a year on loan.’ And that’s why you’re really here, isn’t it? Because the year’s dwindling out fast. Only a couple of months left, and you’re scared to death. Well, Ellen, do you think I have given up?”

Rebecca de Winter, meet Maud.

When Ellen returns home and confronts her husband, he explains that he was never in love with Maud; however, he also says that he probably would have married her, had he not married Ellen. This seems to quell Ellen’s fears for some time.

Through a series of flashbacks, Ellen begins to put the pieces of the puzzle together. It is an invitation sent by Maud that is the catalyst for Ellen’s discovery. All in one afternoon, Ellen discovers that she has a potentially fatal medical condition, and that her father likely paid Dan to marry her. Obviously, this is a devastating discovery for our sweet and innocent leading lady. McGuire’s performance brought me to tears several times; my heart broke for her as she discovered that her husband had not married her for love, but for her father’s money. In the scene pictured below, Ellen telephones her father to confirm her suspicions about his influence over her husband. She learns all at once that she has little time left to live, and that her father made a deal with her attractive husband to allow her happiness in her supposedly short life. This is an especially painful realization for Ellen, as she has been ill almost her entire life. She had never had the attention of young men, and she wasn’t allowed much physical activity such as sports and games with her friends. She believed that her husband loved her, and she seemed so very happy as a doting wife. When she confronts her father over the phone, she repeatedly screams that she wishes for death. It is a moving and tragic scene.

Ellen: ”Explain?! Get well?! Who wants to get well?! I want to die, Father. Don’t you understand?! I want to die!”

Truly, it is the superb acting in this film which made it so memorable. Dorothy McGuire made my heart break alongside Ellen’s. Ruth Roman was entirely successful in making me fear husband-hunting vixens like the beautiful and cruel Maud. By the end of the film, Louis Calhern actually made me learn to love her misguided father, for although he makes some terrible decisions, ultimately, he loves his daughter dearly, and only wants her to have some happiness in her short life. Last, but certainly not least, Van Johnson stole my heart with his sincere devotion to his wife’s health and well-being: “I love you, Ellen … I love you so much more than I ever dreamed it was possible for me to love anyone.” With his freckled face and friendly attitude, who could resist his charm? If you’re a fan of Dorothy McGuire, Van Johnson, or Ruth Roman, this is a must-see film.

As a result of the excellent acting, Invitation is awarded three teardrops on our Maudlin Meter.

Between Day and Night

Posted on June 11, 2012 by Sarah under maudlin mondays

Three Comrades (1938) is a love story about a boy and a girl … and their two friends.

When I originally read the description for this movie–“A World War I veteran and his two partners love a doomed woman in 1920s Germany”–I assumed that this would be just another film about a love tri … ahem, quadrangle. However, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I was wrong. Erich (Robert Taylor) and Patricia (Margaret Sullavan) fall in love and marry, and Erich’s two war comrades, Otto (Franchot Tone) and Gottfried (Robert Young), are there to lovingly support the couple every step of the way. The loyalty and love in the friendship of these comrades is what makes the film so endearing. Erich and Patricia fall in love during a turbulent era, and their two friends are always there to ensure that they stay happily together.

Erich and Patricia meet when she is on a date with a German aristocrat. The three comrades race the arrogant Herr Breuer with their prized car, Baby. Although Baby is not much to look at, she is extremely fast. Erich is instantly drawn to Patricia, and his two friends act as wingmen to assist him in impressing her while keeping Herr Breuer busy. Patricia seems to be quite taken with Erich as well and gives him her phone number.

When Erich lies by telling his pal Gottfried that he threw away Patricia’s number, Gottfried reprimands him, and tells him that he doesn’t know how special a girl Patricia is. He describes her eyes, and, in an extremely creepy manner, describes her hands: “And her hands, long and slender. Like romaine salad. Otto and I appreciate such things …”

When Erich does decide to call her, his awkward attempt at courtship is quite charming:

Patricia: “Hello?”

Erich: “Uh, hello, this is that man.”

Patricia: “What man?”

Erich: “Oh, that man you met the other night.”

Patricia: “I’ve met lots of men on lots of other nights.”

Erich: “I don’t know exactly how to describe myself. I was one of the men that beat you.”

Patricia: “Really? You must have the wrong woman.”

Erich: “No, in our car, I mean.”

How could any girl refuse? Erich and Patricia go on a date to a bar where they run into Gottfried and Otto, and the friendship between the gang begins.

Three Comrades and a Lady

Later in the film, Erich and Patricia have a date to attend the opera. Erich, a poor taxi driver, doesn’t have a suitable tuxedo to wear. Otto and Gottfried help Erich get dressed by lending him their coat and jacket. Unfortunately, Erich can’t fit into the clothes, and so they tear them and tie them up. As long as Erich doesn’t remove his jacket (and doesn’t move much), no one should be able to tell that the clothes don’t fit. At the opera, Erich and Pat run into the arrogant Herr Breuer, who invites them to an after party. While they are dancing at the party, Erich’s jacket starts tearing and popping out of place. Although Pat tries to help him, he leaves her at the party, followed by hoots of laughter at his expense by her friends. Erich leaves and goes straight to the bar, where he meets Otto and Gottfried. He proceeds to get very drunk and assumes that it would be best to leave Pat with richer, more suitable men. He leaves the bar near dawn and finds Pat sleeping on his doorstep. She walked all the way in her beautiful new gown and slept in the cold as she waited for him to return. He wraps her in his arms to keep her warm:

Patricia:“I don’t want you ever to run away and leave me. It’s much warmer now, and this is a lovely time of day.”

Erich:“It isn’t day and it isn’t night.”

Patricia: “It’s the edge of eternity. Let’s stay right here forever.”

Erich: “Between day and night?”

Patricia: “It’s where we were born into. It’s where we belong.”

[They kiss.]

Erich: “You’re cold, Pat. Let me take you home.”

Patricia: “Take me home? How? I am home.”

Sigh.

Gottfried talks to Erich, attempting to talk him into marrying Pat, while Otto talks to Pat, attempting to talk her into marrying Erich: “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you. You’re scared … scared of having any joy in your life because it will make it all the much harder if you lose it. You’re afraid. Now you’re not being fair, Pat. You’ve got to think of Erich now. You’re being a coward. You’re being selfish.”

Pat tells him it isn’t true, and admits that in actuality, she is ill. She’s afraid that her illness will return and that she will not be able to have a normal life with Erich.

Otto dismisses this, telling her, “Then live, Pat. Take the gamble. Stake your life on a love like yours and Erich’s every time.” He tells her not to tell Erich of her illness. He wants her only to live happily and to make Erich happy as well.

In the next scene, we see the wedding in the neighborhood bar. All the comrades are in attendance. After celebrating with their two friends, Erich and Patricia leave for a seaside honeymoon. Patricia attempts to do a pull-up on the boardwalk and suffers a hemorrhage. Her doctor is called and Otto risks his life driving like a madman to get the doctor to the hotel to save Pat’s life.

The Great Depression hits, and the three comrades struggle to earn a living. The doctor wants to give Pat surgery, but she is worried about the cost; nevertheless, Erich vows to get the money. When Erich tells Otto the cost, Otto tells him not to worry about it. He tells Erich that he will go back into town and return with the money the next day. Otto makes a great sacrifice in selling his beloved car, Baby. Erich and Pat are madly in love, and the actions of both Otto and Gottfried demonstrate that they love the couple dearly. They would do anything in the world, sacrifice anything, in order to keep Erich and Patricia happy.

Directed by Frank Borzage (known for his romantic tearjerkers) and adapted for the screen by novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald (with extensive edits by producer Joseph L. Mankiewicz), this film is one of wit, romance, and tragedy. Margaret Sullavan’s portrayal of an ill and doomed woman, full of immense love for her husband and friends, earned her a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Actress that year.

Love: A Storm of Unhappiness

Posted on June 4, 2012 by Sarah under girls of summer, maudlin mondays

I have always been intrigued by stories of self-sacrifice and characters who doom themselves by doing the so-called “right thing.” When watching movies, I find myself rooting for characters to follow their hearts, regardless of the consequences. Things that I would never approve of in the real world, I champion in fiction. Outcast Lady (1934) is one of those films in which I find myself yelling at the screen, “Just tell him the truth! You can be in love; you can be happy!” But alas, I suppose it would have made a much shorter and less-interesting film. Outcast Lady, directed by Robert Z. Leonard, is the story of a woman who loses everything that matters to her in the world in order to do what she feels is necessary to protect the honor of her late husband and the idolized man her brother holds so dear.

The movie is based on a controversial play called The Green Hat (1924) by Michael Arlen, which was previously filmed in 1928 under the name A Woman of Affairs, starring Greta Garbo and John Gilbert and directed by Clarence Brown. Woman retains much more of the sensational material from the play. But as Outcast Lady was filmed after stricter enforcement of the Production Code began in 1934, the script was severely watered down. In place of the racier themes of the earlier film, screenwriters Zoe Akins and Monckton Hoffe heightened the sentimental elements of the plot to tearjerking levels.

Childhood sweethearts Iris March (the beautiful Constance Bennett) and Napier Harpenden (Herbert Marshall) find themselves utterly in love and plan to marry; however, their plans for romance are dashed by Napier’s father, who disapproves of Iris and her family (Iris’s brother Gerald is a raging alcoholic and gambler). Napier tells Iris that he must travel to India to fulfill his father’s wishes of a great career for his son, and promises to return to marry her one day. Iris waits several years for his return, but eventually begins to believe that he will never return for her. Instead, she marries Gerald’s best friend, Boy Fenwick (Ralph Forbes), another of their childhood playmates. Gerald (Hugh Williams) idolizes Boy, believing him to be almost saint-like. Gerald’s love and worship of Boy is evident, and he begs his sister on her wedding day to be a good wife: “You’re Boy’s wife now, and if you ever forget it, I hope he beats you. Now do be good.” He knows that his sister is still in love with her childhood sweetheart, Napier, but he hopes that she and Boy can have a happy marriage regardless.

Iris is indeed a dutiful and devoted wife (at least, for their one day of matrimony). On the first night of their marriage, she reads a note given to her by a stranger, explaining that her new husband had been imprisoned for an unspoken, horrible crime. Iris attempts to console Boy; at first, she tells him that she completely dismisses the allegation. However, Boy admits the truth in the allegation.

Boy: “I’ve seen you in my mind a thousand times when you found this out. I’ve seen you take it just like this; of course, I hoped you would. But now …”

Iris: “Don’t worry. I’ll never speak of it again … I won’t even think of it.”

Although his wife is completely forgiving and understanding, Boy cannot handle the fact that she now knows his dark secret. He locks the door to the hotel room and leaps from the window. When confronted about his death, Iris refuses to allow the men who found the note to reveal it to the public: “The truth must not be known…When he saw the horror that must have come into my face, I suppose he tried to atone by it… I won’t have them made public. He has atoned; he’s dead. What good will it do the world to know why he died. Please, if you want to help me, say nothing. Nothing!” Iris sacrifices her own reputation and chance of happiness in life in order to protect her late husband’s good name, as well as to spare her brother from the realization that his dear friend was not as perfect as he believed.

The doctor who finds her husband’s body explains to family friend Hilary (Robert Loraine): “Mrs. Fenwick doesn’t realize that if the public thinks her husband committed suicide on his wedding night, her own reputation may be blackened.” Nevertheless, Iris refuses to make public the knowledge of her husband’s motive for suicide. Everyone blames Iris for his death. Her name is dragged through newspapers; her own friends and family condemn her. Her drunken and enraged brother confronts her with his accusations: “Boy is dead because Iris wasn’t good enough for him. I’ve always known it, and in the end, he knew it too, and it killed him. Why shouldn’t she be blamed?” He vows never to forgive his sister for causing the death of his friend.

For his part, Napier, too, has difficulty accepting Iris’ supposed part in Boy’s death:

Iris: “Boy died deliberately because he found he made a mistake in marrying me.”

Napier: “You don’t know what you’re doing: what you’re making people think … But Iris, this can’t be true that Boy killed himself because of something you’d done. Say it isn’t!”

Iris: “What difference does it make?”

Napier: “It means that if it is true, I couldn’t forgive you either.”

Iris: “There’s no question of forgiveness at a time like this. One simply loves or doesn’t love.”

Napier: “I’ve loved you more than you’ll ever know. I can forgive you for wrecking my life, but not your own.”

As a result of Boy’s mysterious death, Iris is outcast by her friends and family. Boy was thought to be a most honorable man; the idea that Iris could have done something so horrific that Boy would kill himself makes her a social pariah. She travels far, but the rumors of her husband’s mysterious death follow her everywhere. She stays away for many years, and Napier, believing her responsible for Boy’s death, eventually becomes engaged to another woman. Because she refuses to tell the truth about Boy’s dark past, Iris’s chance of happiness in life is ruined. Thus, she chooses the happiness of her brother over her own.

Hilary: “Iris, why did you insist on ruining yourself by lying?”

Iris: “I wanted Gerald to keep his love for his dead friend. It’s my gift to his future.”

After several years of travel, Iris receives a letter from Hilary, warning her of Gerald’s ill health. Despite her intentions of saving her brother from destitution, he drinks himself to death in his hatred toward her. Hilary implores her to confess the truth to Gerald: “Iris, your gallantry hasn’t saved Joe. Don’t you think he needs your love and care more than his belief in Boy Fenwick? Let me tell him why Boy died. You know he’d never tell anyone else.” Iris agrees, but Gerald refuses to see her when she comes to care for him, and she is not able to tell him goodbye before he dies. He does, however, tell Hilary to send his love to his sister, and to tell her his hatred has washed away.

Iris’s gallantry, which has ruined not only her own life, but potentially the lives of her brother and Napier, proves to be ineffective in the end. This tragic film is tailor-made for those who enjoy unrequited love and enough suicides to make Shakespeare jealous.

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.

Posted on January 24, 2011 by Brandie 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:

Nothin’ like a good piece of ass.

Posted on October 18, 2010 by Brandie under brandie's faves, hey y'all ... you're in the south, maudlin mondays, they made movies after 1970?

To kick off our Maudlin Mondays series, which looks at some of the biggest, most manipulative tearjerkers ever to grace a screen, I want to begin with a look at a relatively recent film–one that many down here in the South (well, many women, anyway) consider a modern classic–1989′s Steel Magnolias.

Let me insert a spoiler warning here: I’ll be discussing the ending of the film, so if you’ve never seen it and don’t want the ending ruined for you, stop reading now.

Gotta love that 80s style.

Why go with this film as opposed to the myriad of weepy classics from which I could have chosen? Well, partly because I’ve never cried so much at a movie than I did the first time I saw this one. In fact, I cried so much, I gave myself a migraine that lasted for a day and a half.

Now THAT is a tearjerker.

And in truth, this movie (along with Fried Green Tomatoes) is like a rite of passage for a good Southern girl. Everyone I know has seen both of these movies. I have never heard anyone say they did not like them, either. Seriously, talk about your beloved films–in this neck of the woods, it’s akin to blasphemy to say that you dislike one or both of them.

Revolving around the complex relationship between an overprotective mother, M’Lynn, and her dangerously diabetic daughter, Shelby, Steel Magnolias examines the friendship formed between six very different women with two things in common–a strong, distinctly Southern point of view, and a steely (get it?) determination to support one another through farce and celebrations, triumphs and tragedy. The film is derived from a play by Robert Harling, who based the character of Shelby on his own sister, Susan, who died of complications from diabetes.

The movie begins with a wedding and ends with a funeral and an Easter celebration. There’s an obvious cycle here–from hope to sadness to rebirth (how appropriate that the final scene feature a woman going into labor on Easter Sunday, huh?), and there is as much to laugh at as there is to cry about–a veritable ping-pong match of emotional turbulence. Such an overabundance of feelings can be somewhat tough to take in a mere two-hour running time, so if you’re in an especially vulnerable frame of mind, watching Steel Magnolias is probably a bad idea (though if you’re like the character Truvy, who claims that “laughter through tears is my favorite emotion,” you’ll probably be fine. Stock up on tissues anyway before watching).

As much as this film puts the viewer through an emotional ringer, it’s worth it for the bon mots offered by the script. This is one damn quotable movie. And having seen it as many times as I have, I can pretty much quote the entire thing verbatim. Recently, my friend Michelle and I watched it with one of her sons, and he left the room in disgust after five minutes because both of us kept speaking the dialogue in unison (yes, with this movie, we’re those kind of people).

"Looks like two pigs fightin' under a blanket."

In 1998′s You’ve Got Mail, Tom Hanks’ character, Joe Fox, refers to The Godfather (1972) as the “I Ching,” claiming that a quote from that film is the answer to every possible question. Well, far be it for me to challenge Mr. Hanks, but for the people I know, it’s this film.

What’s your favorite color? “Pink is my signature color.” How do you know that man is gay? “All gay men have track lighting. And all gay men are named Mark, Rick, or Steve.” Don’t you feel bad for being mean? “Well, you know what they say: if you don’t have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me!” Why are you mad at me? “You are a pig from hell!” What’s for dinner? “Bleedin’ armadillo groom’s cake!”

Ohh, that armadillo groom’s cake. What joys does it not provide? It gives us the title of this post (as a belligerent Ouiser gives the father of the bride the hindquarters of the cake in retaliation for his earlier insults) and a running joke at practically every Southern wedding featuring a separate cake for the hubby.

"That looks like an autopsy."

But the intervals of laughter don’t last very long in this movie, as every good moment is counterbalanced by a moment of heartbreaking anxiety. For every hilarious line of dialogue, you get a speech like this, as M’Lynn reflects on her daughter’s recent death.

“I find it amusing. Men are supposed to be made out of steel or something. I just sat there. I just held Shelby’s hand. There was no noise, no tremble, just … peace. Oh, God. I realized as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life, and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life.”

And … the waterworks.

Part of the reason this film works so well is the cast. The only weak link is Daryl Hannah, whose Annelle goes from sad sack to slut to holy roller in the quickest religious conversion since Moses saw the burning bush. I can’t help but think another actress at the time (Sarah Jessica Parker–who is a better comedienne than she is sometimes given credit for–or maybe a pre-crazy Sean Young) could have done wonders with this character. Surprisingly (to me, anyway) Julia Roberts, an actress of whom I have never been very fond, does a wonderful job of conveying Shelby’s progression from spoiled brat to self-sacrificing mother. And Dolly Parton, in her best film role since 1980′s 9 to 5, is a bright spot of comedy as beauty-shop owner Truvy.

But the film truly belongs to the other three actresses. Olympia Dukakis (Clairee) and Shirley MacLaine make a hilarious duo, and demonstrate an easy camaraderie on screen that really makes you believe these characters have been the best of frenemies for years. There’s a sense of love even at the heart of their most biting insults (Clairee: “The older you get, the sillier you get.” Ouiser: “Yeah, well, the older you get, the uglier you get.”). And I also love Ouiser’s interactions with M’Lynn’s husband, Drum (“Ouiser, you look like hammered shit.” “Don’t you talk to me like that!” “Oh, I’m sorry. You look like regular shit.”).

"Drum loves pork and beans--eats 'em with everything." "That explains a lot."

The heart of the movie, however, is Sally Field’s performance as M’Lynn. She transcends the maudlin material and comes up with a performance that is simple and lovely. The scene in the cemetery after Shelby’s death is a particularly brilliant juxtaposition of heartbreak and hilarity, as M’Lynn finally expresses her anger at Shelby’s death while Clairee attempts to soothe M’Lynn’s sorrow … at Ouiser’s expense.

If you’re looking for a movie that will give you a good, solid crying fit, Steel Magnolias is the one for you. Break out the tissues, pop a couple of Tylenol to prevent that inevitable crying headache, and just get ready for the roller coaster to follow.