Tag Archives: spring byington

Ginger and Shirley and Christmas … Oh, My!

Posted on by under blogathon, holiday picks

This post is my contribution to the “Dueling Divas” blogathon hosted by Backlots. Go check out the other great entries that have been posted over the past three days!

Arguably, the two biggest dancing female stars of the 1930s–at least on the silver screen–were a sharp-tongued witty dame with legs to there, and a precocious, pint-sized charmer with precisely fifty-six curls on her head.

While Ginger Rogers hoofed her way across the screen in nine well-received films with partner Fred Astaire throughout the decade, Shirley Temple danced and sang her own way through a series of feel-good “lovable moppet” roles, becoming the savior of Twentieth Century Fox in the process. Both actresses had (and continue to have) immense fan bases, and both are remembered and cherished by film fans today for their respective dancing prowess and winning screen presence.

As Temple moved into more adult roles in the 1940s, and Rogers forged a very successful career outside of her partnership with Astaire (winning an Oscar for Best Actress for 1940′s Kitty Foyle in the process), the two of them would come together for their first and only film together, a Christmas-themed wartime melodrama called I’ll Be Seeing You (1944).

Mary (Rogers) and Zach (Joseph Cotten) happen to sit across from one another on a train at Christmastime. Zach is on furlough from a military hospital in the wake of a debilitating injury and shell-shock. Mary is also on furlough–from prison, where she has been serving a six-year sentence for manslaughter. Neither knows the details of the other’s “Christmas vacation,” but feel an instant attraction to one another. Mary goes to stay with her uncle’s family for Christmas, while Zach lies about visiting his sister in the same town so that he can see her again. Their feelings continue to grow throughout the week, and Mary’s aunt (Spring Byington) urges Mary not to tell Zach about her troubles. But Mary’s young cousin, Barbara (Temple) inadvertently tells Zach the truth about Mary’s life. Can Zach overcome his trepidation for the sake of their new-found love?

There is a touch of the maudlin to this film, particularly in the scenes in which Mary explains to Barbara exactly why she has been sent to prison. But this does not detract from what is ultimately an enjoyable little movie. There is an interesting dynamic between Rogers’ and Temple’s characters in that their prototypical roles are somewhat reversed in the film. Rogers usually plays the quick, tart-tongued worldly woman, but here she is meek and downtrodden, plagued with regrets for the things she has lost because of her misfortune. On the other hand, Temple has more than enough sass for both of them as Mary’s suspicious cousin. As opposed to her typical screen performances as the eternal optimist, here Temple is (at least at first) the sharp one, the cynical teenager who cannot fully accept her cousin’s presence until the truth behind her imprisonment is revealed.

There is an initial hint of rivalry between the cousins upon Zach’s arrival at the family’s home for dinner. Barbara stares at him longingly, shooting veiled, disapproving looks at Mary as though she feels her cousin is not good enough for the handsome soldier (as well she likely does). Of course, Barbara is far too young for Zach herself, but her obvious crush on him further colors her perception of her jailbird relation. Mary, for her part, strives to understand Barbara’s trepidation at having a convict for a temporary roommate, though it’s hard for her once she sees how Barbara has labeled all of the possessions in her room. But all indications of conflict are set aside once Mary explains the details behind her “crime.” And even though Barbara is ultimately responsible for driving Zach away by telling him about Mary’s past, it is the mistake of a child, born out of haste, not malice, and one that eventually leads to a positive denouement for the film.

I read an article several years ago that claimed that Rogers disliked Temple and loathed working with her on this movie, but I have not seen any evidence of that elsewhere. Who’s to say if the two really did have a fierce rivalry, or whether it was merely tabloidic speculation (yes, I’m aware I probably just made up a word)? Still, I thoroughly enjoy the combination of these two famous hoofers in this film–though, admittedly, real “hoofing” doesn’t play all that big a role in the movie. There is a YMCA ball near the end of the film, but neither actress gets a chance to really show off her skills.

Wouldn’t it have been beyond fascinating to see these two talents really hash out their perceived feud on the dance floor? I mean, seriously–it’s one of those interesting questions to ponder: who do you think would win in a head-to-head dance-off between Ginger and Shirley? Is that even a fair question?

(For the record, my money would be on Ginger, all the way. No offense, Shirls.)

“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.

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.

“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