Category Archives: supernatural films

“Successful angels do not use sarcasm!”

Posted on by under hahas, lit adaptations, supernatural films

Charles (Clifton Webb) and Arthur (Edmund Gwenn) are an unlikely-named pair of angels who are sent down to earth to fetch a young soul named Item (Gigi Perreau). Item has been hanging around the home of the Boltons, Jeff (Robert Cummings) and Lydia (Joan Bennett), for seven years, waiting to be born. But the show-biz couple are too busy to have a baby–even though Lydia says she is ready to have a child, Jeff insists that they dedicate themselves to the theater and their new play instead.

Charles and Arthur try to convince Item to come back to heaven with them, but she steadfastly refuses, because she has grown to love the Boltons and wants them to be her parents. Charles decides that the best way to convince the Boltons to start a family is to materialize into human form and pose as an “angel investor” to back their new play. Item takes him to the movies to see a Gary Cooper film, The Westerner (1940), and Charles bases his new persona around the actor, taking on a cowpoke accent and claiming to be a sheep rancher from Texas named “Slim Charles.”

Jeff is thrilled by the prospect of finding someone willing to fork over the funds, and he invites Charles to join him and Lydia at their dairy farm in Pennsylvania, which the pair has converted into a summer home. When Charles seems less than willing to write a check for the play, Jeff tells the playwright, Daphne Peters (Joan Blondell), to cozy up to “Slim” and convince him to sign on the dotted line. Charles finds himself enticed by Daphne, and experiences the first stirrings of love. Arthur, who has tagged along to keep an eye on Charles, tells him that falling in love would be the worst thing he could do, and puts him back on track to complete his mission.

In a private moment, Lydia confesses to “Slim” that she thinks her marriage may be over and she regrets never having had a child. Charles convinces her to fight for her marriage, and that she needn’t consult Jeff first if having a baby is what she really wants. Charles and Arthur set the mood for the couple that evening, hoping for the best. But soon enough, trouble arrives in multiple forms: Daphne’s ex-boyfriend, B-movie actor and wannabe gangster Tony Clark (Jack La Rue) arrives to win her back; a former angel investor, Tex Henry (Harry von Zell) arrives, interested in financing the play himself; the IRS gets involved when no record of a “Slim Charles” can be found; more marital tensions build between the Boltons as their anniversary approaches; and Charles finds himself corrupted by some very human temptations as his plot goes off the rails. It’s up to Arthur and Item to remind Charles of who he really is and help him get his plan back on the right track.

For Heaven’s Sake (1950) was adapted from Harry Segall’s 1949 play May We Come In? by writer/director George Seaton. Segall was well-versed in the topic of angels–his play Heaven Can Wait was adapted for film three times, as Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941), Heaven Can Wait (1978), and Down to Earth (2001), and Segall won an Academy Award for Best Original Story for that first picture. Nor does this film mark Seaton’s first go-round with fantastical or supernatural elements; his screenplay for the perennial Christmas classic Miracle on 34th Street (1947) won Seaton the first of two Oscars for Best Adapted Screenplay (the second, incidentally, was for his decidedly non-whimsical script for 1954′s The Country Girl).

Clifton Webb was at the height of his immense stardom at the time he made this film. After becoming an almost overnight sensation as viperous Waldo Lydecker in Laura (1944), Webb had reached new heights of stardom with the introduction of Lynn Belvedere, know-it-all extraordinaire, in 1948′s Sitting Pretty. The naturally sarcastic and biting edge that marks those roles works well for him here, too, as the impatient angel who finds himself tempted by the spoils of humanity. Though he’s surrounded by a capable supporting cast (including lovely performances from Joan Bennett and an always cheeky Joan Blondell, as well as a nice turn by Seaton’s former Santa Claus, Edmund Gwenn), Webb is the center of the film, and he carries it with an air of suppressed glee that underlies many of his scenes.

Take, for instance, the sequence in which Charles plays the blues on his harp. As the camera pans around the room, we see all of the decadence to which Charles has aligned himself as a human–cigarettes, booze, glossy-mag photos of beautiful women, a copy of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary … it’s a veritable den of iniquity. There’s a hilarious double-take by the camera as it passes over a photograph of Marilyn Monroe, stops, and jerks back to bring the picture into frame once more. Then we finally see Charles, clad in a silk dressing gown, plucking his harp and scatting, throwing around slang, and giving himself over to the “musical profanity” (as Arthur calls it) without a care in the world. As he plucks and sighs and hums along to the tune, waving his hands in the air and rolling his eyes in ecstasy, it’s obvious that Webb is having quite a bit of fun in his role (to say the least).

The other highlight of this film is a delightful sequence in which Daphne’s ex-boyfriend, Tony, confronts “Slim” over Daphne’s affections, while Daphne reacts with sarcastic commentary and ample eye rolling. It’s a bit of a “meta” moment: the actors are playing characters who are themselves playing roles and maintaining a certain facade within the movie, with Charles (the angel) playing the Western hero, and Tony (the B-movie actor) portraying the hardened gangster. The scene is an entertaining mash-up of genre cliches and hackneyed impersonations:

Charles: “I wouldn’t try to molest the little lady if I was you.”

Tony: “Out of my way, stupid.”

Charles: “When you say that, stranger, smile.”

Tony: “If you wanna collect your old age pension, you better not start nothing, see?”

Charles: “Now, I ain’t a-looking for trouble, stranger, but if trouble comes a-looking for me, I won’t be hard to find.”

Tony: “Tough, huh?”

Charles: “When I’m riled.”

Tony: “Yeah?”

Charles: “Yeah!”

Daphne (mockingly): “Yeah!”

As if the dialogue isn’t perfect enough, the staging of this scene is hilarious. The two men, clad in their respective cliched garments–Charles in a plaid shirt, Tony in a suit and fedora–get right in one another’s faces. Tony hulks menacingly and pulls a knife, while Charles puffs out his chest and nonchalantly rolls a cigarette. Tony threatens to cut a button off Charles’ shirt, and Charles, forgetting all angelic decorum, blows the tobacco in Tony’s face and decks him. Daphne is thrilled–”Beautiful, Slim! Gary Cooper couldn’t have done it any better”–and Charles stands tall, a satisfied smirk on his face as he hitches up his pants and tosses her a wink. Beautiful, indeed.

All in all, For Heaven’s Sake is a delightful entry in the “supernatural fantasy” genre that found such popularity in the 1940s. Like many of its brethren, this film succumbs to sentiment in the end–almost cloyingly so–as Charles finds redemption and Item’s dream comes true. Still, despite the mushiness of the ending, the story leading up to that inevitably sappy finale is an entertaining one, and the film is well worth a viewing or two, especially for Clifton Webb fans. I wouldn’t call this his best role, but as a cinematic brother to Webb’s far superior Mr. Belvedere, Charles the angel is undeniably appealing.

“I don’t want anybody’s body—I want MY body!”

Posted on by under 4-star films, brandie's faves, fantasy, supernatural films

Clara, of Via Margutta 51 fame, recently reviewed Ernst Lubitsch’s 1943 fantasy-romance Heaven Can Wait, and her post on the film prompted me to re-watch that movie for the first time in years. It’s a delightful movie, awash with the magic of the famed “Lubitsch touch” and marked by a fabulous cast, with particularly fine performances from Don Ameche and Charles Coburn. And Heaven Can Wait remains one of the more enjoyable additions to the trend of so-called “supernatural” romance hybrids (I Married an Angel, It’s a Wonderful Life, and The Bishop’s Wife among them) that abounded in the 1940s. But because of its title, it is often confused with Warren Beatty’s 1978 movie of the same name. Ultimately, the latter film has nothing in common with Lubitsch’s work other than the title, and is instead based on source material from Academy Award-winning writer Harry Segall’s play entitled … wait for it … Heaven Can Wait.

Confused yet? Well, the Beatty film was not the first (nor the last) adaptation of Segall’s premise. The play was initially filmed in 1941 under the title Here Comes Mr. Jordan, and it became a smash hit, eventually garnering seven Oscar nominations and winning two, for Best Story (Segall) and Best Screenplay (Seton I. Miller and Sidney Buchman). And having watched it again this weekend, I can tell you that the ensuing years have not stripped this movie of its considerable charms.

Here Comes Mr. Jordan stars Robert Montgomery as Joe Pendleton, a boxer and (very) amateur saxophone player who is preparing for the most important fight of his career when the plane he is piloting malfunctions and hurtles toward the earth. An inexperienced angel (Edward Everett Horton) plucks Joe’s soul from his body before the plane crashes, taking him to heaven, which is managed under the auspices of the proper Mr. Jordan (Claude Rains). Upon finding out that Joe is actually guaranteed fifty more years of life, and realizing that Joe’s body has, in the meantime, already been cremated, Mr. Jordan promises to find Joe the perfect body in which to live out his remaining time on Earth. That “perfect” body happens to belong to a corrupt, wealthy businessman named Farnsworth, whose body just happens to be available because his wife and her lover have just drowned him in the bathtub. Though initially reluctant to step into such a dicey situation, Joe agrees to “take on” Farnsworth’s body temporarily so that he can help the daughter of one of Farnsworth’s victims, the lovely Betty Logan (Evelyn Keyes). Revealing his true identity only to his trusted and bewildered boxing manager, Max Corkle (James Gleason), Joe resolves to reclaim his chance at the championship by getting into shape and entering the ring as Farnsworth. But he doesn’t seem to realize just how “temporary” his new body really is …

"I was in the pink!"

To be sure, it’s a highly entertaining movie with a fascinating story. But the ultimate strength of this film—and the thing that makes it far superior to its successors—comes from some spot-on casting, particularly a leading man who’d never been better. Mr. Jordan is, in my opinion, the best role in Montgomery’s extensive repertoire, and he’s positively wonderful in the part. This movie came toward the tail-end of Montgomery’s acting career, and earned him his second (and final) Oscar nomination for Best Actor (after a nod for 1937′s Night Must Fall). He would go on to star in less than a dozen more films, some of which he also directed—most notably 1947′s Lady in the Lake (in which he played iconic detective Phillip Marlowe). He moved into television with a well-received anthology series, Robert Montgomery Presents, in the 1950s, a show that featured early performances from notable actors such as James Dean, Lee Remick, Joanne Woodward, Peter Falk, Gena Rowlands, and Montgomery’s own daughter, Elizabeth (of Bewitched fame). A staunch Republican, Montgomery also took a behind-the-scenes role as a media consultant for the Eisenhower administration, a position that became more and more important as television developed into an indispensable part of the American lifestyle.

"He said if I were to meet a fighter ..."

Two years prior to the filming of this movie, Keyes had appeared as the character for whom she would be best remembered: Suellen O’Hara in Gone With the Wind (1939). Mr. Jordan would provide Keyes with one of the few leading roles in her career. In all honesty, though I found her performance to be solid in this film, it’s easy to see why she filled mostly supporting roles throughout her career. She doesn’t have the “spark” of a Stanwyck or a Davis or a Hepburn, but she’s inoffensive and efficient in the role of Betty. Thankfully the strength of the supporting cast tends to make Keyes’ general lack of luster (for want of a better term) much less noticeable.

"Couldn't we have him reborn?"

My love affair with Rains continues with this film. He is the perfect Mr. Jordan—unruffled, wise, a little smooth, with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. Rains out-and-out steals practically every scene he’s in, as he is apt to do in many a picture (Captain Renault, anyone?). And Horton, as the affronted and brand-new Messenger 7013, is not far behind in the scene-stealing race as he turns in a typically ticklish performance. The snappish repartee between Horton and Montgomery (“I’M the one who says, ‘Let’s go!’”) is a highlight of the film.

"I'm goin' around again!"

Gleason collected an Oscar nomination for his role as Corkle, and frankly, it was justly deserved. The scenes in which he wanders around in eye-popping vain looking for the elusive Mr. Jordan are hilarious. I just love Gleason’s distinctive voice—you’d never mistake him for Cary Grant, that’s for sure, but in its own unique way, it’s appealing all the same. He’s been a favorite supporting player of mine ever since I first saw him as Lieutenant Rooney, the incredulous policeman in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944).

I have to give special mention to Rita Johnson, so deliciously duplicitous as Ray Milland’s bitchy fiancée in one of my favorite films, The Major and the Minor (1942). Here, she plays nicely to type as Farnsworth’s murderous wife. And next time you watch the film, keep an eye out for a young Lloyd Bridges in a bit part as the pilot of the heavenly aircraft who checks out Joe’s “record.”

"He never batted an eye ..."

The two remakes of the Here Comes Mr. Jordan model are, in turn, a well-received hit and a definitive miss. Beatty’s Heaven Can Wait represents the former: though it changes the premise slightly, updating it for a 1970s audience, the spirit of the original story remains wholly intact. In this version, Pendleton is now a quarterback, not a boxer; Miss Logan is now an environmentalist, not the victimized daughter of a wronged financier; Pendleton “dies” not in a plane crash, but in a car accident. The minor changes don’t detract from the original story altogether much, and, aided by a capable cast that includes the always-suave James Mason as Mr. Jordan, Heaven proves to be an entertaining film in its own right (and I admit this grudgingly, as a serious non-Beatty fan). The most recent adaptation of the story, however—2001′s Down to Earth—is solidly in the “miss” category. In fact, it’s nothing short of abysmal. This is less a remake than a general bastardization of the premise: Chris Rock stars as a stand-up comedian who is brought back in the body of a rich white industrialist. Sounds about the same on first glance, but other than the basic plot structure, almost everything about the concept is changed, and in the place of the original’s “fish out of water” charm, a myriad of racial inequality jokes are inserted into the screenplay that are painfully unfunny.

"So long, champ."

In the end, for my money, there’s no beating the original. If you’ve never seen it, I suggest adding it to your “must watch” list pronto. And if you have seen it—and its remakes—tell me: which version of the story is YOUR favorite?

“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.