Tag Archives: cuddles!

Just a small town girl.

Posted on by under girls of summer, magnificent musicals

One day, the Kimbell family of tiny Duck Creek, Connecticut, sits down for dinner after church. As patriarch Gordon (Robert Keith) says grace, they are interrupted by visitors. Wealthy Rick Belrow Livingston (Farley Granger) and his tap-dancing Broadway star girlfriend, Lisa Bellmount (Ann Miller), who are on their way to elope, have been pulled over for speeding through the town. The police bring the pair to the Kimbell home so Gordon, the town judge, can pronounce his sentence for the offense. Rick’s snooty attitude and sense of entitlement angers Gordon, and he throws the young man in jail for thirty days.

Later that night, Rick’s mother (Billie Burke) arrives in town during a box social and tries to convince Gordon to release her son. But talking to Gordon makes her realize that jail just might be the best place for him at the moment, and she leaves without Rick knowing she was even there. Meanwhile, when the box meals (and their preparers) are auctioned off to the highest bidder, Rick–who observes the entire ritual from the window in his cell–buys a meal with the reluctant Cindy Kimbell (Jane Powell), Gordon’s daughter. Like her father, Cindy heartily disapproves of Rick’s attitude, and clearly tells him so.

After a couple of days of community service and a feigned “hunger strike,” Rick eventually plays on Cindy’s sympathy and convinces her to let him leave jail for an evening to spend time with his mother. In actuality, he’s trying to get back to New York to see Lisa for her birthday. Cindy insists on tagging along, but Rick manages to ditch her at his mother’s house and heads off to see Lisa. Rick’s butler inadvertently locks Cindy in a refrigerated fur cabinet, and when Rick discovers this, he leaves Lisa and rushes to Cindy’s rescue. The two of them spend the night on the town together (in a “walking the city streets” montage that is staged quite like a similar scene in 1959′s Pillow Talk) and find that they are greatly attracted to one another.

Their end-of-the-night kiss is witnessed by Ludwig Schlemmer (Bobby Van), Cindy’s reluctant boyfriend, whose father, “Papa” Schlemmer (S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall), has been pressuring him to propose to the girl. Ludwig is ecstatic that Cindy has apparently found a new love, because he has no desire to marry–instead, Ludwig longs to go to New York to be a dancer (against his father’s wishes). When Papa alerts Gordon to Cindy’s newfound affection for Rick, Gordon grows concerned that a relationship with Rick will not be good for his daughter. Can Rick and Cindy forge a relationship in the face of parental challenges and erstwhile beaux? And will Rick be able to adapt to a simple, small-town frame of mind, or will the lures of the “big city” cause him to leave Cindy behind and return to life as he’s always known it?

Small Town Girl (1953), directed by László Kardos, is not as well-known as other MGM musicals of the 1950s. This doesn’t mean it’s a “bad” film; in fact, despite its relative obscurity, it is somewhat appealing and features a few rather entertaining musical numbers. But the movie ultimately suffers in comparison to other MGM greats because the film’s purported stars, Jane Powell and Farley Granger, are actually the least interesting characters in the film: their romance is somewhat bland, and the pair lacks convincing chemistry. Though Powell is, as always, a lovely presence, Granger is not particularly known for his singing or dancing prowess, so his leading a musical is rather odd (the only number he “performs” in the film is a made-up verse set to the tune of “Frère Jacques”). Reportedly, Van Johnson and Peter Lawford were also in contention for the role; their casting would probably have made more sense, and might have resulted in a memorable duet or two with the musically-adept Powell.

Instead, Bobby Van is the undisputed star of the picture. His Ludwig is joyous and goofy, a long-limbed, freewheeling, energetic bundle of fun with an adorable Cary Grant impersonation. The most famous sequence in the film is probably Van’s exhausting and exhilarating “hopping dance” through town after Cindy rejects his proposal. The entire scene–choreographed by the famed Busby Berkeley–appears to be a continuous long take, though there are four subtle cuts at various points during the number. Still, it is an amazing feat of athleticism and staging, not just on Van’s part–which is impressive enough, with a series of two-footed hops that he must have felt for WEEKS afterward in his knees and ankles–but also with the careful coordination of hundreds of extras, automobiles, and even a dancing dog! The music that accompanies this sequence is an almost entirely wordless reprise of “Take Me to Broadway,” which Van performs in full earlier in the film, indicating that Cindy’s rejection is the impetus that will send the young dancer straight to the Great White Way no matter what Papa says. [Note that in the background of this scene, there is a billboard advertising another MGM production, 1952's The Merry Widow, starring Lana Turner, which had been released the autumn before this film.]

Another wonderful musical interlude comes courtesy of Miller (as if they would put her in a musical and not let her show off her stuff!), whose arguably best moment in the film comes in her performance of “I’ve Gotta Hear That Beat.” It’s a beautifully-staged number, opening with a sole spotlight on the black-clad Miller, singing and tap-dancing up a storm. As the camera pulls away and the stage lights come up, we see the members of the orchestra–or rather, we see their disembodied hands, playing their instruments through the floor of the stage as Miller shimmies and taps her way around them (well, the drummers and the stringed instruments are playing; the saxophonists and the clarinetists merely hold their instruments and move their fingers in rhythm). Watching Miller circle endlessly through her accompanists is–per usual in one of her pictures–like watching poetry in motion. I will never, ever get tired of watching Miller dance in anything she does. She’s beyond brilliant.

Other notable members of the cast include Nat King Cole, playing himself as he serenades the newly-infatuated Cindy and Rick with “My Flaming Heart” (which was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Song); Fay Wray, as Cindy’s level-headed mother; character actor Robert Keith as Judge Kimbell; Billie Burke as Rick’s flighty yet caring mother (whose pink, floofy gown in the “birthday” scene is greatly reminiscent of Burke’s Glinda costume from 1939′s The Wizard of Oz); and, of course, longtime True Classics fave “Cuddles” Sakall, who brings his usual level of befuddled charm to the role of Ludwig’s nosy father. One more notable star almost joined the cast before his untimely early death–country singer Hank Williams was supposed to make his screen debut in this film as Duck Creek’s sheriff, but sadly passed away in early 1953, four months before the movie’s release.

I find it almost impossible to talk about Small Town Girl without mentioning the sometimes heavy-handed religious thread that runs throughout the movie. The film is bookended by scenes in a church–it opens with Cindy performing a solo, and ends with Rick and his mother sitting in the pews, watching Cindy and the choir sing a chorus of “Hallelujah” while she beams at her new love with pride. There is a not-so-implicit Christian message of redemption in the film–in essence, the bad boy who is made good by the love of a good woman and a good town. Duck Creek is painted as a kind of idyllic Utopia, separate from the negative influences of the big city, with its fast women, loose morality, and dependence upon consumerism. And yet at the same time, the movie celebrates Ludwig’s desire to leave the small town to conquer Broadway–only Papa condemns his choice, though in the end he, too, gives in. Ultimately, the message of the film is compromised by its attempts to at once vilify and celebrate the world that Rick eventually chooses to leave behind. Are we to assume that, because Ludwig grew up in Duck Creek, he will bring his unfailing morality to the big city and “clean up the joint” (so to speak), when, in all likelihood, Ludwig becoming a Broadway star will likely mean corruption of that very moral compass (if we’re talking in realistic terms, that is) …?

That little quibble aside, Small Town Girl is definitely worth a viewing. It may be a minor entry in the spectacular MGM catalog, but even a “minor” MGM musical is admittedly better than half the films to come out of the classic Hollywood era. They’re just that entertaining, and this one is especially blessed by a fantastic supporting cast. Try taking your eyes off Bobby Van once he gets to hopping. I daresay you’ll find it impossible to look away!

A little bit o’ Buster in the good ol’ summertime.

Posted on by under hahas, loving lucy, magnificent musicals

This post is our small contribution to Project Keaton, a month-long celebration of all things Buster Keaton. Check out The Kitty Packard Pictorial for more information, and see the Project Keaton Tumblr site for contributions from other bloggers and participating writers from around the world!

By the 1940s, Buster Keaton’s days as one of the giants of silent film were long over. It would take another couple of decades for the genius of his early work to gain the critical appreciation it enjoys now. In the meantime, Keaton existed in a kind of cinematic limbo. While on contract with MGM–the studio where he had found such great success with silent classics The Navigator (1924) and The Cameraman (1928)–he spent much of his time as a gag writer, preparing and choreographing bits for other performers. But even though most of his work was behind the scenes, Keaton did appear in supporting roles in a dozen B-pictures throughout the 1940s, culminating in his appearance in the 1949 musical In the Good Old Summertime.

Summertime is a musical remake of the 1940 Ernst Lubitsch charmer The Shop Around the Corner, starring Van Johnson and Judy Garland in the roles played by James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan in the earlier film. The action is moved from Budapest to Chicago, and the main characters are coworkers in a music store which is, coincidentally enough, owned by the Hungarian Otto Oberkugen (who is rather appropriately played by Hungarian actor S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall). The essential plot remains the same: Andy (Johnson) and Veronica (Garland) are constantly at one another’s throats, but unbeknownst to each other, they are secret pen pals who have gradually fallen in love with one another through their correspondence. Like its predecessor, Summertime is populated with a fantastic supporting cast, including Keaton, Spring Byington, and True Classics’ beloved “Cuddles.” There’s even a brief cameo at the end of the movie by Garland’s two-year-old daughter, Liza Minnelli.

A resigned Buster and an oblivious Cuddles.

Keaton plays the role of Oberkugen’s put-upon nephew, Hickey (the counterpart to Felix Bressart’s abused underling Pirovitch in Corner), and his trademark “stone-faced” persona is put to excellent use here. But his finest moment in the film comes from a spectacular pratfall which destroys a violin. Oberkugen’s most prized possession is a rare Stradivarius violin, even though he cannot play the instrument worth a damn. Andy “borrows” the violin one evening, loaning it to a friend of his for an important recital. On the same night, however, Oberkugen wants to give a performance at his engagement party to Nellie (Byington). Andy substitutes another violin, but as Hickey carries it to the stage for Oberkugen’s performance, he stumbles and smashes the instrument beyond recognition, much to Oberkugen’s horror.

Keaton executes the fall brilliantly. There is nothing contrived about his stumble; to the audience, it looks as though the actor has genuinely tripped on his own two feet without forethought, and even though his arms windmill comically, the performance is not overly exaggerated. And afterwards, as Keaton tries in vain to put the demolished instrument back together, his panicked befuddlement is still believable. Classic Buster, in every sense.

As seamlessly as Keaton performs the stunt, however, he was not originally supposed to even play the role. In the first script of the film, the character of Hickey was conceived as a young romantic rival to Andy. MGM turned to Keaton to come up with a plausible and funny scenario for the violin-breaking scene. Yet after composing the trick, director Robert Z. Leonard realized that no one else would be able to pull off the scene as believably as Buster Keaton. The part was rewritten as an older man specifically for the actor.

Keaton also coached Johnson and Garland through the inspired shtick of their characters’ initial meeting (which you can see in the first few minutes of the video embedded above), during which Andy inadvertently destroys Garland’s umbrella, dress, and hat. Garland is particularly winning in this bit–she does all the heavy lifting, from the tumble to dealing with her suddenly unruly mop of hair–while Johnson lays on a thick layer of slightly befuddled charm.

As a side note, this wasn’t the first nor the last time Keaton would serve in the role of comedic mentor. For instance, in the mid-1940s, Keaton shared an office at the studio (jokingly christened “The Boors Nest”) with his former silent screen director Ed Sedgwick and starlet/B-movie queen Lucille Ball. Recognizing her skill and strong sense of comedic timing, Keaton showed her all of his patented “tricks of the trade” when it came to the rigors of physical comedy and the intricacies of working with props. Perhaps most importantly, Keaton taught Ball how to own and yet respect her props, a quality that can be seen in countless I Love Lucy episodes. Indeed, Keaton’s influence on the development of the Lucy Ricardo character cannot be denied–it’s there every time Lucy accidentally sets her putty nose on fire or ends up with a loving cup on her head.

Buster and Lucy, clowning around.

In the Good Old Summertime shows that, even at the age of fifty-four and years removed from his heyday of dangerous stunt work in silent pictures, Buster Keaton could still throw his body around with sheer abandon, and make even the most slapstick-y of pratfalls look completely natural and effortless. Summertime was the final movie Keaton would make for MGM, and in some ways, it marks the end of an era. Before his death in 1966, Keaton would go on to small parts in other movies–a brief appearance in Sunset Blvd., a role opposite fellow silent screen legend Charlie Chaplin in Limelight (1952), the obligatory cameo in the comedian-packed It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963)–but leaving the studio that had produced some of his biggest hits put a definitive period on a major chapter in Keaton’s life and career.

CMBA Guilty Pleasures Blogathon: Cinderella Jones

Posted on by under blogathon, cmba blogathon, discussion post, magnificent musicals, we're not ashamed of our love, wwii films

This post is our contribution to the final CMBA blogathon of the year, a veritable feast of guilty pleasures ranging from pre-Code flicks through the fabulous excesses of the 1980s. To see the wonderful contributions from other CMBA members, check out the list on their site! The celebration starts today and continues through Tuesday.

For this post, Carrie and Brandie present a long-overdue discussion about one of their favorite minor classics.

BRANDIE: Let’s (finally) talk about our “guilty pleasure” movie, 1946′s Cinderella Jones, starring Joan Leslie, Robert Alda, and S.K. “Cuddles” Sakall. Do you remember the first time we saw this movie, Carrie?

CARRIE: Yeah … late night, flipping through channels in my apartment. I don’t remember what scene we saw first, but we kept watching out of pure incredulousness, as I recall. We were so tired, we recorded the rest to watch the next day. Many months later, when we saw the actual beginning, I think the movie was even crazier. I still love the scene with the shrunken head. At what point did we decide it was a guilty pleasure?

BRANDIE: Oh, it didn’t take us long to determine that we weren’t exactly watching Citizen Kane. By the time the soap sandwich incident came up, we knew this movie was something ludicrously special.

Cinderella Jones is such an odd little movie. There’s really no better word to describe it. It was filmed in the midst of World War II–thus accounting for the patriotic theme and the presence of a convoy of soldiers–but it wasn’t released until 1946 because the studio (Warner Bros.) wanted to distribute the film after Rhapsody in Blue (1945) in order to capitalize on Alda’s growing popularity. This forced the editors to re-cut the movie to remove most of the references to an “on-going” war. The result is a somewhat disjointed picture. And for a musical, the songs aren’t all that memorable or well-staged, which is surprising considering the movie was directed by Busby Berkeley.

I think for us, the biggest draw, at least initially, was the presence of Sakall, one of our favorite character actors. How much do we love our Cuddles??

CARRIE: WE LOVE CUDDLES!!!!!! We had to watch it for him, and he has such a wonderful character in this film. He’s the mentor that everyone wants. I loved how kind he was to Judy (and how unconcerned he was about annoying the university administrators). We should set up the plot for those who haven’t seen the movie. Judy (our “Cinderella”) is from a very eccentric family, and is about to inherit a substantial fortune. However, she has to marry someone “smart” to help her manage it. We’ll excuse the affront to feminism by owning that she probably did need help at the time (note above where Brandie references a “soap sandwich”–literally). So, she goes to university to find someone educated. Cuddles, a chemistry professor actually called “Cuddles,” helps her matriculate, and then helps set her up for romance. Needless to say, we were ecstatic that the moniker “Cuddles” was worked into the film. That probably is what cinched it for us. However, if that’s not enough for you, there is always the random military appearance and accompanying musical number at the end. As Brandie said, it’s a musical … sort of. They honestly didn’t know what they were doing with it when they made it. Perhaps that’s why it’s so charming. No one knows what to do with Judy Jones … including the filmmakers.

In the film, Cuddles is the only person who seems to have a plan for Judy (and is conniving enough to make something work out in her best interest). So, is Cuddles enough to save the film?

BRANDIE: Sakall’s performance as Professor Popik is my favorite part of the film, hands down (as a side note, I find it interesting that in this part, he embraces the name “Cuddles” for his character even though he reportedly despised being called “Cuddles” in real life). He’s adorable, he’s funny, and he sings (!!!!) and dances (!!!!!!!!!!!), albeit briefly.

I do think the casting all around is relatively strong for what is, in essence, a “B” picture. Some of the best character actors of early Hollywood appear in this film, including Edward Everett Horton, Elisha Cook, Jr., Charles Dingle, and Ruth Donnelly. And the entire thing is anchored by Joan Leslie’s admittedly adorable portrayal of Judy. It’s a hard part to play, when you think about it, having to embody someone who is an unmitigated airhead. She is a charming actress, though, and even when Judy is utterly annoying, Leslie makes her somewhat lovable. She plays well opposite Alda’s Tommy Coles, though to me they lack a certain amount of chemistry. That’s part of the problem with the film, I think: Leslie has the most chemistry with Cuddles, and he’s not exactly romance material here–he’s more of a father figure than anything else. Her other love interest, William Prince (otherwise known as Professor Williams, or “he who is at the receiving end of the soap sandwich”), is a rather dull figure, and I can’t imagine that anyone watching this film would think Judy belongs with him in the end, perceived intelligence or not. I can’t help but wonder if the film would have been somewhat stronger, romance-wise, with Dennis Morgan–the original choice to play Tommy–in the lead (that Dennis Morgan … what a dreamboat).

For me, the weakest thing about the movie is the way the story itself is presented. The idea of a ditzy dame trying to land a husband in order to inherit millions is the stuff of a screwball comedy wet dream, and yet the filmmakers really don’t do enough with the idea to highlight the sheer insanity of the plot. In trying to shoehorn the story into a musical-type format, the satirical edge of the material is ultimately lost. And it’s a shame, because while there are some moments that are giggle-worthy, Cinderella Jones never quite embraces the “madcap heiress” possibilities in the way other films such as It Happened One Night (1934) do.

Originally, the movie was to be called Judy Adjudicates (try saying that ten times fast), but that title was ditched in favor of Cinderella Jones, because let’s face it: when you’re writing a title song for a movie, “Cinderella Jones” flows much easier off the tongue. That song, by the way, is the musical highlight of the film, and Berkeley staged a charming dance number in which a number of girls willingly lose a piece of footwear and a gaggle of guys then try to match the missing shoes to their lovely owners (this performance is embedded above). Still, though a high point of this particular film, the number doesn’t hold a candle to some of the previous Berkeley-choreographed/directed musical spectacles such as 42nd Street, Footlight Parade (both in 1933), Gold Diggers of 1933, 1935, and 1937, Babes in Arms (1939), and the fabulous “I Got Rhythm” sequence from Girl Crazy (1943). The songs from the movie, which were composed by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne, are serviceable, but few are truly memorable. However, one of them, “You Never Know Where You’re Going ‘Til You Get There,” found new life when it was later used in a couple of Looney Tunes shorts.

And yet, knowing the weaknesses of the musical numbers and the story itself, this is still one film that I simply must watch every time it appears on TCM (showings, however, are sadly rare). There’s just something about this movie that I really, really love, and it’s hard to articulate precisely why.

CARRIE: I still have it living on my DVR. It’s the kind of thing you watch after a really long day, with popcorn and coke or maybe ice cream. If you run across it on TCM (the only place you’re likely to find it), it’s worth a watch just to try it out. I guess you can have a “failed” film and still maintain longevity. Thank you, TCM.

BRANDIE: As I recall, this movie was the one that really prompted the idea for our blog. When you run across something that confounds, amazes, and entertains you–all at the same time–you kinda want to talk about with other people. We’ve actually been planning to write about this movie for more than a year now, and the Guilty Pleasures blogathon just presented the perfect opportunity for us to do so.

What’s your favorite scene in the movie, Carrie?

CARRIE: I knew you were going to ask me that, because I was going to ask you that. It might actually be in the beginning, where they go to have the will read and they are going to explain to Judy the terms of her inheritance, and she shows up with a head in a box. It’s the most random thing I had ever seen, and I wish I had thought of it. I think the script writers asked themselves, “What would be the oddest or most uncomfortable thing you could take to a reading of a will?” “Oh, that’s easy, a shrunken head in a box.” Of course, this is before all of our crime procedurals on primetime television would have us take that idea in a completely different direction. It was actually one of the most neatly-constructed scenes. It played like a well-done piece of improv comedy, and everyone must move and react to this strange addition to an otherwise basic scene. I loved all of the reactions and how perfectly deadpan Joan Leslie is; she is completely committed to her character’s behavior, which drives the entire structure of the scene. It makes perfect sense to Judy, so it makes perfect sense to Joan. It really is masterful in an otherwise insane picture.

So, how about you, Brandie?

BRANDIE: As ridiculous as it is, I really like the diner scene with the soap sandwich. When Judy enrolls in the all-male university, she finds that, despite Cuddles’ support, she is not really welcome. So she goes to a nearby diner and begins working as a waitress. When Professor Williams comes in (at Cuddles’ urging) to convince Judy to return to the school (in the interests of a large monetary donation when Judy finally gets her inheritance), he orders a cheese sandwich, and a flustered Judy grabs a bar of soap instead of a hunk of Cheddar cheese. Williams ends up with a mouthful of soapy bubbles and throws a temper tantrum, to which Judy responds in kind … and then she proceeds to inadvertently fix him ANOTHER soap sandwich. It’s a moment of sheer silliness, but Leslie really sells it.

Incidentally, some of our readers may not be aware that the lovely Joan Leslie is still with us at age 86. She began acting when she was still a kid–in her first movie, 1936′s Camille, she was only 11 years old! She’s not as well-known as other actresses from the time period, but Leslie ultimately starred with some of the biggest names in Hollywood: she worked with Alfred Hitchcock in a small role opposite Joel McCrea in Foreign Correspondent (1940); at barely 16, she played one of Humphrey Bogart’s love interests in High Sierra (1941); later that year, she was Gary Cooper’s love in Sergeant York; and she was James Cagney’s adoring wife, Mary, in Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942). She earned her dancing chops with Fred Astaire in 1943′s The Sky’s the Limit. And she had also previously starred with Alda in Rhapsody in Blue. So Leslie definitely made her mark in some really great films. Her career really peaked in the 1940s, though she continued acting in movies and on television periodically throughout the next fifty years.

Cinderella Jones may be little more than a footnote in the careers of Leslie and Alda, but I can’t deny it’s one of my (now not-so-secret) favorites.  Someone put this quirky little gem on DVD already!!!

CARRIE: This is just a great movie to end a long day, or to enjoy anytime for some silly entertainment. The film is hardly up to the skill of its actors, but that’s some of its charm. It’s possibly our guiltiest of guiltless pleasures.

Dear friend.

Posted on by under best.films.ever., brandie's faves

I adore The Shop Around the Corner. I say that mainly to warn you that this post will feature much fawning and adoration for one of the best films I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. And the fact that it has become a holiday classic over the years is merely a bonus, meaning more and more people are exposed to its sheer brilliance every holiday season.

Released in 1940, Shop stars James Stewart as Alfred Kralik, salesman at Matuschek and Co., a store in Budapest. When Klara Novak (Margaret Sullavan) comes in looking for employment, she charms store owner Hugo Matuschek (Frank Morgan) and earns herself a position, much to the irritation of Kralik. The film explores their antagonistic relationship at work, juxtaposed with their growing romantic relationship as secret pen-pals. When Kralik discovers that the woman who drives him nuts at work is the epistolary woman of his dreams, his reaction sets off a chain of events that leads to the ultimate happy ending.

Seems like a simple enough movie, right? Yet The Shop Around the Corner is anything but. The film, directed by Ernst Lubitsch, is the premier example of what scholars and critics have labeled the “Lubitsch touch.” There is no true definition of what people mean when they label the director’s films as having that special quality. Generally, the Lubitsch touch represents an amalgamation of seemingly contradictory styles into one beautifully-rendered production. To that end, The Shop Around the Corner combines romance, drama, suspense, wit, melodrama, sophistication, and humor into one cohesive statement about the human experience. How many other films can do that–make you feel happy, sad, lonely, joyful, depressed, and vitally alive, all at once?

This is one of those movies in which the supporting cast is just as important as the leading roles. The Matuschek and Co. crew provide a heartfelt and sometimes sober backdrop for the romance developing between Kralik and Novak. Morgan, as their unhappily-married boss, is perhaps at his most brilliant in this film, engaging our sympathies as he stumbles through the movie. The subplot concerning Matuschek’s growing suspicions about Kralik’s supposed dalliances with his boss’ wife runs the risk of delving into the maudlin, but Morgan maintains a nice balance of melancholy and bluster.

The movie also features several standout performances among the other members of the supporting cast, including frequent Lubitsch collaborator Felix Bressart as Kralik’s friend (and Matuschek’s punching bag) Pirovitch, and Joseph Schildkraut as Vadas, the smarmy two-faced employee who is actually romancing the boss’ wife. William Tracy also provides a great comedic turn as smart-mouthed Pepi, the store’s errand boy.

True, there is a sense of sentimentality at the heart of this movie. You’d have to be the grinchiest Grinch in the history of grinches not to respond to the truly lovely romantic touches sprinkled throughout the script. And seeing as how the bulk of the action happens around Christmas, such sentimentality is to be expected. But Shop is so much more than that. It’s hard to put into words exactly what I mean.

All I can say is, this movie touches something inside of me. Sometimes, when times are tough, all we need is a reminder that love and hope can be found anywhere–in the friendship of an understanding pal, or a kind gesture from a figure of authority, or even in a heartfelt letter from an anonymous source, assuring us that someone–anyone–is out there listening and caring and believing in us. There is so much love in the world, and in The Shop Around the Corner, it’s encapsulated neatly into 99 minutes for our viewing pleasure. How can you beat that?

You know what? Here’s how much I love this movie–I, a notorious hater of remakes (as there have been so few that have actually worked over the years), actually don’t mind the two remakes this movie spawned. Granted, neither of them reaches anywhere near the levels of brilliance to which Shop ascends, but each has its moments.

1949′s In the Good Old Summertime stars Judy Garland and Van Johnson as the feuding pen-pal paramours. By virtue of its stars, this film has been injected with a healthy dose of musical numbers, and the action has been moved to a Chicago music store. If you are a consistent reader of this blog, it should not surprise you that one of the big draws for me in this film is the presence of S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall as Garland and Johnson’s boss. The movie also features stone-faced classic film stalwart Buster Keaton–employing some deft physical comedy with Cuddles’ precious violin that recalls some of his more celebrated movie stunts–and the ever-appealing Spring Byington. The movie also marks the first ever big-screen appearance of two-year-old Liza Minnelli, Garland’s uber-talented daughter.

Summertime is the lesser of the two remakes. Transforming the script of a previously-produced film into a musical was not unheard of in Hollywood–look at the bulk of the Dean Martin-Jerry Lewis films, for instance–but some accomplished this much more cleanly than others. As the male lead, Johnson lacks Stewart’s earlier earnestness and demonstrates little of Tom Hanks’ later charms. Garland, whose legendary troubles had reached a pinnacle in the late 1940s, only seems to come alive during her musical performances, and even then, she lacks much of the spark that made earlier films like 1944′s Meet Me in St. Louis so memorably endearing. Still, though this remake is little more than a trifle, it is an enjoyable one nonetheless.

When Shop was reworked in 1998 for the Internet age, pairing golden film couple Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan for the third time, the screenwriters did a better job of retaining the spirit of the original. I’m not the biggest fan of Nora Ephron (who tends to wring the maudlin out of the most inane of situations), but I think this may be her best script ever, combining the influence of the original film and elements of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Thankfully, the story does not lose any humor upon being translated from a turn-of-the-century period piece to a modern-day examination of the sticky intertwining of business and personal relationships.

Still, some of the emotion at the heart of The Shop Around the Corner is lost when the secret pen-pals are taken out of a shared workplace and put in competing businesses. Part of the deliciousness of the original is the close quarters in which Alfred and Klara find themselves, and though Mail throws Hanks and Ryan together as often as feasibly possible, the romantic tension takes longer to build, and it ultimately seems less vital, somehow, than the pairing of Stewart and Sullavan. That being said, Mail is quite entertaining, and makes one wish that Hanks would go back to his romantic comedy roots, as he embodies such roles quite nicely.

Despite their respective appeals, however, the remakes have nothing on the original. If you have never seen The Shop Around the Corner, you have deprived yourself of an amazing film experience. Make sure you catch this unparalleled piece of cinema history–it’s guaranteed to be a film you’ll remember.

Hunky-dunky!

Posted on by under brandie's faves, carrie's faves, character actors

Nothing makes me smile more than when I’m watching a movie on TCM that I have never seen before and the smiling, round face of Cuddles Sakall appears on the screen. And this past Friday’s lineup had double the Cuddles; the network’s night of Gordon MacRae films featured two movies co-starring Sakall, Tea for Two and The Daughter of Rosie O’Grady (both from 1950). After realizing this, I promptly jumped on the phone to Carrie, where all I had to say was the word, “Cuddles!!!!” and she knew exactly what I was talking about.

What can I say? Some actors are just that delightful.

S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall may not have liked the nickname, but it fit his on-screen personality perfectly. In more than 40 films between 1940 and 1954, Sakall played memorable characters long on jolly good humor and short on English language skills.

Born in Hungary in 1883, Sakall got his start in vaudeville and became a film star in his home country. At the age of 57, as World War II broke out and it became increasingly dangerous for the Jewish Sakall to remain in Europe, the actor immigrated to America, making his Hollywood film debut opposite Deanna Durbin in It’s a Date (1940).

Sakall is perhaps best known for the role of Carl, the headwaiter of Rick’s Cafe Americain in Casablanca (1942). And loving that movie the way I do, I naturally mark this performance as a personal favorite. But the majority of his film roles are much less dramatic in nature; indeed, Sakall is a bright spot in many a classic romance, usually offering some much-needed comic relief.

Among his more notable parts are Professor Magenbruch, one of Gary Cooper’s hapless colleagues in 1941′s Ball of Fire; Charles Coburn’s butler in the same year’s The Devil and Miss Jones; Schwab, one of James Cagney’s backers in the fabulous 1942 musical Yankee Doodle Dandy; and Mr. Oberkugen, Judy Garland’s excitable boss in 1949′s In the Good Old Summertime (a pale, yet still somewhat enjoyable musical remake of 1939′s The Shop Around the Corner).

And in one of our guilty pleasure trifles, Cinderella Jones (1946), Sakall takes on yet another professorial role. Look for more commentary about this film next month–Carrie and I have been waiting for a chance to review it, and TCM’s finally replaying it on December 12th!

But more than any other, I particularly adore his role as Felix, Barbara Stanwyck’s chef and best friend, in 1945′s Christmas in Connecticut. Trying to learn the meaning of the word “catastrophe,” Felix mercilessly mangles the word into the barely intelligible “catastroph” and answers every increasingly absurd crisis with a shrugging assurance that all is “hunky-dunky.” And the scenes in which he attempts to teach Stanwyck how to flip flapjacks are utterly hilarious (“Watch now. I show you how to flip-flop the flop-flips”).

Cuddles passed away shortly after his 72nd birthday in 1955. His final film, The Student Prince, had been released seven months prior. It’s sad to think that his career in Hollywood was so relatively short, a mere fifteen years. But in those fifteen years, he definitely made his mark–for it’s hard to think of any character actor from the classic days of Hollywood who was more endearing, more adorably amusing, and more heartfelt than Cuddles Sakall.

Tell us: what’s your favorite Cuddles film?

“That is the kind of woman that makes whole civilizations topple.”

Posted on by under 31 days of oscar, 4-star films, brandie's faves, screwball legends

The incomparable Barbara Stanwyck meets her match in a group of nerdy professors in 1941′s hysterical Ball of Fire, a film generally recognized as one of the last screwball comedies to come out of the so-called “Golden Age” of the genre. A burlesque performer with the … unique name of Sugarpuss O’Shea (Stanwyck)  is approached by Professor Bertram Potts (Gary Cooper), a naive, bookish scholar who is working with seven other professors to compile an encyclopedia of modern slang. Her brash, ballsy speech, peppered with inexplicable phrases, intrigues the young man, yet she is uninterested in working with him. But when her gangster boyfriend, Joe Lilac (Dana Andrews), discovers that the police want to question Sugarpuss about his activities, he urges her to find a place to hide, and she inveigles a place to stay with Bertram and crew in exchange for her language “expertise.” But just as Sugarpuss falls for Bertram, Joe decides he finally wants to marry her to prevent Sugarpuss from testifying against him …

The script, written by Billy Wilder as a tongue-in-cheek adaptation of the Snow White fairy tale (in the wake of Disney’s successful 1937 animated feature), was the last he wrote before he began directing his own films. In fact, the movie’s director, the prolific Howard Hawks, allowed Wilder to shadow him on the set in order to learn more about the ins and outs of directing (though Wilder would later comment that he actually didn’t learn overmuch from Hawks). The story is unmistakeably a Wilder production–quick-witted, sly, sarcastic, and fun.

The cast is remarkable, led by a radiant Stanwyck who, as always, lights up the screen as the pushy, seductive burlesque dancer. As the unexpected Snow White-type figure, reigning over her bemused, befuddled professor “dwarves,” she is a real pleasure to watch. Cooper seems initially out of place as staid Bertram, but he comes alive throughout the film and ably handles Bertram’s eventual awakening with aplomb.  The two leads display wonderful chemistry; not surprising, considering they had recently been paired in 1941′s Meet John Doe for Frank Capra (in fact, Cooper suggested Stanwyck for the role of Sugarpuss after Ginger Rogers and Carole Lombard turned it down). The seven older professors, most notably prolific character actor S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall and Henry Travers (best known as Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life), are just plain delightful. Andrews, too, is great as the “bad” boyfriend, and Kathleen Howard, as the put-upon housekeeper, Miss Bragg, is hilarious.

It’s a sexy, funny, and just plain enjoyable romp, so be sure to watch!

Oscar checklist:

Nominations: Best Actress (Stanwyck), Best Sound, Best Music, Best Screenplay

“Damn the torpedos! Full speed ahead!”

Posted on by under 3-star films, 31 days of oscar, ahh romance, brandie's faves, wwii films

The More the Merrier (1943)
and The Devil and Miss Jones (1941)

Airing noon and 2PM EST

Jean Arthur has always been one of my favorite actresses. To look at her–and to listen to her–you might wonder how on earth this woman managed to succeed in Hollywood.

She’s lovely to look at, true, but at her peak, Arthur was well into her 30s (though she didn’t look it, did she?) and making top-grossing films in a town that, to this day, values youth over age and experience. She walked away from film soon after reaching the pinnacle of her career (only returning to the screen twice more in celebrated roles), reportedly because she suffered from such severe stage fright that, according to her frequent director Frank Capra, she would vomit between takes–an issue that likewise caused her to fervently avoid interviews. She became a virtual recluse after retiring from acting for good in the 1960s, though she would spend some of her later years as an acting teacher at Vassar (where one of her students was a young Meryl Streep). And, through it all, there was that voice–sometimes high-pitched, sometimes husky, a little smoky, the slightest bit squeaky–certainly a far cry from the homogenized vocal tones of many of her contemporaries. An odd voice, to be sure, but memorable above most others. This clip, from 1937′s Easy Living, highlights that quirky voice brilliantly.

It’s this essential quirkiness that makes Arthur such an enigma, and so fascinating a figure in the history of cinematic women. Unlike many of her more ambitious counterparts, it was almost as if Arthur had simply stumbled into the profession; as she stated herself in a rare 1971 interview, “I guess I became an actress because I didn’t want to be myself.” Thankfully, despite her apparent lack of cutthroat drive, she had the talent to thrive on the silver screen in every role she tackled. And while Arthur was a talented dramatic actress, to be sure (for evidence, just watch her turn as the cynical chief of staff in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington), with a nimble wit and impeccable timing, Arthur was an extraordinarily adept comedian.

Two of her most winning comedies are playing today on TCM, starting with 1943′s wartime comedy The More the Merrier.

In the second of three films for director George Stevens (the first being the previous year’s The Talk of the Town with Cary Grant; the third, Arthur’s final film, the classic 1953 Western Shane), Arthur plays Connie, a single woman looking for a roommate to share her apartment in the midst of the Washington housing shortage (a real problem in D.C. during World War II). The retired and wealthy Benjamin Dingle (Charles Coburn) finds himself without a place to stay and answers Connie’s ad; against her better judgment, Dingle convinces her to let him stay. When Dingle allows a young serviceman, Joe Carter, to move in and share his half of the apartment, Connie becomes angered but cannot ask them to leave as she has already spent Dingle’s rent money. The three share the apartment somewhat uncomfortably, but despite the fact that Connie is engaged to an uptight politician, she and Joe begin to fall in love, and an already complicated situation becomes ridiculously convoluted …

You can imagine that the Production Code had quite a bit to say about this film’s premise, what with two bachelors living in the same apartment with a young, unmarried woman. Still, any expression of disapproval on their part did not alter the film’s content, and the somewhat cheeky camera setup, in which the film viewer sees McCrea and Arthur sleeping in twin beds side-by-side, the thin wall between them barely visible on the screen, remains a sly wink at salaciousness.

[Side note: this film was remade in 1966 as Walk, Don't Run, which has the distinction of being Cary Grant's final film; still, the original is definitely superior.]

Arthur is hilarious as the put-upon Connie; her confusion and inability to argue the situation are played to great comic affect, and for someone who was 43 at the time the movie was filmed, she looks remarkably young and fresh. This film also marks Arthur’s only Oscar nomination, though she lost to Jennifer Jones (for The Song of Bernadette). McCrea is also typically wonderful as the stalwart young sergeant waiting to head to war. But Coburn steals the film as the meddlesome millionaire. As he enters a scene, yelling, “Damn the torpedos, full steam ahead!” you can’t help but laugh with delight. Deservedly, after a long career of memorable character roles in some amazing movies (including the next film discussed here), Coburn finally won an Oscar for Supporting Actor for this film.

Though Merrier marks perhaps their best-known collaboration, Arthur and Coburn had previously appeared in two other films together, and their agreeable affinity was evident from their first pairing, in 1941′s The Devil and Miss Jones.

In Devil, Arthur plays Mary Jones, a shoe clerk working for a store owned by John P. Merrick, the wealthiest man in the world. In an attempt to unmask employees who are secretly trying to organize a union, Merrick goes undercover in his own store and befriends Mary and her friend Elizabeth (Spring Byington). In the process, he is introduced to Mary’s boyfriend, Joe (Robert Cummings), who turns out to be the ringleader of the union movement (and who had previously hung Merrick in effigy in front of the store). His friendship with the three workers eventually opens Merrick’s eyes to the difficulties faced by the working class, but his new friendships–and his budding romance with Elizabeth–are threatened as he continues to conceal his true identity from them.

This film really is an ensemble piece; though Arthur and Coburn, the titular pair, are the centerpiece of the film, the supporting turns by Cummings (an underrated comedic actor) and Byington (a reliable character actress whose presence graced many a classic picture) are essential to the success of the movie’s premise. The quartet is enjoyable and capable, and the pairing of Coburn and Byington, particularly, is sweet (it also bears mentioning that the film features a supporting turn by my favorite character actor, “Cuddles” Sakall, as Coburn’s hapless butler). And the film’s deliciously arch humor is evident from the start, as the opening credits conclude with the plea: “Dear richest man in the world: We made up the character in the story out of own heads. It is nobody, really. The whole thing is make-believe. We’d feel awful if anyone was offended. Thank you, the Author, Director and Producer. P.S. Nobody sue. P.P.S. Please.”

If you’re looking for some laughs, with just a touch of romance, make sure you watch these great films today. The Devil and Miss Jones is unavailable on DVD, and The More the Merrier is still relatively expensive, so best to catch these while you can!

Oscar checklist:

The More the Merrier

Wins: Best Supporting Actor (Coburn)

Nominations: Best Actress (Arthur), Best Story, Best Screenplay, Best Director (Stevens), Best Picture

The Devil and Miss Jones

Nominations: Best Supporting Actor (Coburn), Best Screenplay

“My mother thanks you, my father thanks you, my sister thanks you, and I thank you.”

Posted on by under 31 days of oscar, 5-star films, brandie's faves, daily recommendation, magnificent musicals

Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)

Airing at 12:15PM EST

As far as musicals go, Yankee Doodle Dandy is, without a doubt, one of the very best. In my mind, it’s one of the top five musicals of all time, right behind Singin’ in the Rain. Patriotic to the extreme and VERY loosely based on the life of Broadway actor and composer George M. Cohan, this film lives and dies on the back of its hardworking star, James Cagney, and he rises to the occasion, delivering a tour de force performance that few in Hollywood expected he could produce at the time.

Cagney is now remembered mainly for his work as a gangster/tough guy in films such as 1931′s The Public Enemy (in which he famously shoved a grapefruit in Mae Clarke’s face), Angels with Dirty Faces (1938), and 1949′s White Heat (where he played perhaps the most psychotic gangster ever shown in film, Cody Jarrett). But Cagney’s roots lay in dance (particularly tap) and vaudeville, and he relished the role of Cohan, which allowed him to combine his latent song-and-dance-man talents.

Cagney is effervescent in the role. The sheer joy of his exuberant dancing and pleasing vocals shine through his every move, and when called upon to show Cohan’s more serious side, the true depth of this performance really shows. He captures Cohan’s strangely appealing mix of cocky egotism and genuine likability. The songs are wonderful patriotic ditties, designed to uplift a country that had just entered World War II when the film was released, and it more than succeeds at that task. Watching Cagney sing Cohan’s signature tune, “Over There,” with a band of soldiers being deployed to serve in the war brings a tear to even the most jaded eye (yes, even my own). It’s no wonder this film would present Cagney with his only Academy Award.

The supporting cast includes several fine actors, particularly Walter Huston (father of John, grandfather of Anjelica) as Cohan’s father, Joan Leslie as Cohan’s wife, Mary, and Cagney’s own sister, Jeanne, who plays his on-screen sibling. The film also features one of my favorite character actors, S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall, in a minor role.

You definitely don’t want to miss this one. But if you do, it’s available on a 2-disc special edition DVD that features some great extras. Skip the colorized version if you happen across it; this one is best in its original black and white glory.

Oscar checklist:

Wins: Best Actor (Cagney), Best Score, Best Sound

Nominations: Best Supporting Actor (Huston), Best Editing, Best Screenplay, Best Director, Best Picture