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Cabin Fever Film Festival: NANA (1934)

In Uncategorized on July 9, 2020 at 3:21 pm

No actor ever had a more auspicious beginning or bigger build-up in Hollywood than Anna Sten, sadly later referrred to as “Goldwyn’s Edsel,” i.e., a profound failure. The legendary producer Samuel Goldwyn had discovered the Russian actress in a film adaptation of The Brothers Karamazov, and an aha! moment occurred to him with her cast as his great, inspirational muse, much as the beautiful Hungarian Vilma Banky had been for him in the silent era.

He brought her to Tinseltown and, in the words of Cole Porter’s topical “Anything Goes,” “If Sam Goldwyn can with great conviction / Instruct Anna Sten in diction / Then Anna shows / Anything goes.” She was, of course, physically made over, her large and lush Slavic features cosmeticized into a reasonable Garbo/Dietrich facsimile – mostly Dietrich – in order to play her debut American role, Emile Zola’s “Nana.”

No expense was spared: Hollywood’s one prominent woman director, the lesbian Dorothy Arzner, fresh off “Christopher Strong” with Katharine Hepburn, helmed the show, and Sten was surrounded by a cast which included Lionel Atwill, Richard Bennett, Mae Clarke, Phillips Holmes, Reginald Owen, Jessie Ralpph, Muriel Kirkand. She was luxuriously lit by the great Gregg “Citizen Kane” Toland, Rodgers & Hart were hired to compose a song she sings in a cabaret moment in the heroine’s career, Richard Day did the brilliant Belle Epoque sets and, sartorially, she had the distinction of being the only star to ever wear both of Hollywood’s two pre-eminent designers Adrian AND Travis Banton. The publicity campaign was completely over-the-top, with George Hurrell employed to make endless gorgeous portraits of her – he said her face took the light better than any actress in Hollywood and you could paint entirely different identities and moods upon it.

It had an ultra-gala opening at Radio Music Hall, but after a packed first week of the curious come to see what the ballyhoo was all about, the film – and Sten – flopped.

Goldwyn, undeterred, made two more films with his discovery, “We Live Again,” another literary adaptation (Tolstoy’s “Resurrection,” directed by Rouben Mamoulian, and “The Wedding Night,” directed by King Vidor). They were equally unsuccessful; the public just wasn’t buying Anna Sten.

This was probably due to a surfeit of foreign divas, indeed led by Garbo and Dietrich, on the screen then, with too many other exotic would-be super novas promoted by the various studios: Lillian Harvey, Gwili Andre, Tala Birell, Lili Damita, Elissa Landi, Greta Nissen, et al. It was a shame, because Sten really was the real thing, surely as beautiful as Dietrich, if not the all-encompassing Garbo, and perhaps even a better actress than both. None of her films are a disgrace – instead, it’s an indictment on public taste at the time that -even surrounded by Hollywood’s finest talent -this special, radiant and deeply moving and real performer could not catch a deserving break. Despite its heavily bowdlerized script (coming, too, as it did, in the first year of the censorious Hays Code, unfortunately), and some indifferent acting (zero chemistry between Sten and the always synthetic if Apollo-like Holmes), Nana remains one of the most visually beautiful black and white films ever made.

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https://ok.ru/video/322983627427

You Don’t Nomi

In Uncategorized on June 13, 2020 at 5:27 am
Screenshot_2020-06-13 you don't nomi - Google Search(1)This documentary about the reclamation of SHOWGIRLS, that ultimate guilty pleasure carries a certain fun if morbid cachet. It would appear to be the obsession of a lot of white male film critics whose voices predominate the soundtrack here weighing in with theories about its singular fabulous/horrendous affect that range from plausible – one seeing it as the third in a seminal trilogy of over-the-top showbiz and what it can do to a girl’s spirit opuses, joining VALLEY OF THE DOLLS and MOMMIE DEAREST – to far-fetched (like a whole megillah of know-it-all psychology pertaining to camera angles proffered by another dweeb).
It focuses heavily on the notorious film’s star, Elizabeth Berkeley, how she was sort of a pawn in her big screen debut, taking her role with a deadly earnest seriousness which rather contributes to the clueless fun of this appalling farrago. She did everything her lecherous auteurs, Paul Verhoeven , director, and Joe Eszterhaus, writer, instructed, and was devastated by the result and its negative reception. It’s nice to note that she has recovered sufficiently to be good sport enough that we see her good-humoredly introduce it at a packed Los Angeles screening, not long ago.
Gina Gershon, who, to me is really what makes the film any kind of watchable diversion, weighs in briefly and she, it seems was in on the joke from the beginning. Her villainous Crystal, a jaded, threatened Margo Channing to Berkeley’s ambitious Eve, is played with lip-curling gusto and laser-directed commitment to a character that is the last descendant of that honorable cliched tradition, the star who gets fucked off so the hopeful can go on in ehr place, stemming back to 42 STREET and, indeed Gershon is like Bebe Daniels with boobs.
The film could have been more fun had its creators focused less on critical opinion and more on the actual making of SHOWGIRLS. I would have much preferred to hear interviews with the costume and production designer choreographer, hell even bit players, than all these snarky, condescending freelancers, one of whom attempts to compare Elizabeth Berkeley’s performance to that of Maria Montez in the camp necessity COBRA WOMAN, wrongly describing Montez once the queen of the Universal lot, as a mere contract player in almost B-movies. Or another cargo shorts-wearing SHOWGIRLS queen, waxing eloquent about the various meanings of the name itself of Nomi – “know me,” or a more egocentric take “No, ME,’ etc., etc.
It would seem that everyone has their own personal relationship with this God-awful but inescapable movie, and I will always be grateful to it for affording me one of the most fun Manhattan nights ever.
 
When the Blue ray edition of it came out, I was invited to a special screening of it in Chelsea, followed by an after-party at “gentleman’s club,” Scores. Me and about 20 other journos were all seated in a VIP lounge and soon thereafter, the girls came in, gorgeous each and every one of them. After a bit, this one, a stunning Latina said to me, “Can I ask you a personal question, are you gay?”
 
“Yup,” I responded, “and so is every guy here.”
 
“Whew, I thought I was losing it or something. No one is tipping!”
 
And that cleared up, we proceeded to have a great time just chilling, as she described her eternal gratitude to the gay community for improving her love life. Evidently some homo pal of hers had clued her into rimming and “Now my boyfriend never strays. Hell, he doesn’t want to leave the house. Did you know there are [some figure] nerve endings in the anus, alone?”
Screenshot_2020-06-13 you don't nomi - Google Search(1)

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CABIN FEVER FILM FESTIVAL PICK: SO RED THE ROSE (1935)

In Uncategorized on May 29, 2020 at 4:13 pm

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Two movie Southern belles, two actresses up for the role of Scarlett O’Hara but too big to screen test, and one major link between them: William Wyler who cadged his ex wife, Norfolk, VA native Margaret Sullavan’s scene in King Vidor’s little-seen for reasons that are clear when you do see it, So Red the Rose (1935), for his lover Bette Davis, of Lowell MA, three years later in JEZEBEL. If JEZEBEL bore too many similarities to GONE WITH THE WND for David O. Selznick, it also had things in common with SO RED THE ROSE. A big white ball gown was an important plot point in both films as was the way both actresses, in Travis Banton and Orry-Kelly respectively, chose to sink to the floor while wearing it, each doing that during one of their most dramatic scenes. At the time Sullavan and Vidor made So Red the Rose, she was married to William Wyler, briefly and stormily, so I can easily see how that director  might have borrowed that floor work routine for Davis.
It’s a nicely pictorial moment for Sullavan, accompanied by the same kind of haunting voice-overs from the past, which Vivien Leigh would hear at the finale of GONE WITH THE WIND.  But in JEZEBEL, that same sinking gesture, in the context of the film, is absolutely breathtaking -one of Davis’ two or three most awe-inspiring filmed moments. The very audacity of such a histrionic choice is matched by the actress’ total commitment and focus on the task at hand:  her character, wayward coquette Julie Marsden’s need to display beyond the  shadow of a doubt how completely humbled she is before her erstwhile fiance, in an attempt to win him back. What is the beautiful surprise here is not so much that bold move — Davis was already known by 1938 for forever eccentrically  flinging her chassis around movie sets for dramatic effect,ever since her breakthough as the wildly unbridled, sadistic Mildred in OF HUMAN BONDAGE four years earlier – as the heart-breaking, contrite delicacy she brings to the moment, along with her trademark intensity. It took a martinet, who commanded total obedience on his set, with impeccable instincts like Wyler, to pull that rarest – for her – qualities out of her, something few others were  strong enough to do besides him, Edmund Goulding and Joseph L. Mankiewicz.
Wyler would go on to do two more films with Davis, the ever-wondrous THE LETTER, one of the true triumphs of the studio system, and THE LITTLE FOXES which could have surpassed all of his collaborations with her, were she simply not in it. She had already been feeling her Queen of Hollywood oats in THE LETTER when she idiotically refused to say that great final line of Somerset Maugham’s “With all my heart, I still love the man I killed,” and fought tooth and nail with Wyler over that. Her reasoning was that no normal woman could ever look her husband in the face and say that, not realizing somehow, through sheer hubris, that a. it’s one of the great lines in all drama, the absolute crux and climax of the whole play and all subsequent filmizations, and b. her Leslie Crosbie, who in a fit of jealous, racist pique, murders her clandestine lover because he has left her for a Malay woman, and coldly manipulates everyone around her to believe in her innocence,  is obviously no ordinary female.
And wouldn’t you know that when she was given her American Film Institute lifelong honor in 1977, she announced that she STILL thought she was right, telling Wyler, seated in the audience, that she was willing to go right back to Warners and reshoot the damn thing.
THE LITTLE FOXES would mark the end of not only her dalliance with Wyler, whom she had dreamed of marrying and moaned about in her later years when he wed – and stayed wed to – starlet Margaret Tallichet, but also their professional teaming. This time, their arduous fighting over her interpretation of Regina Giddens put paid to all that and, unfortunately Davis won that time, resulting in an impenetrably arid and rigidly stylized performance which she willed to be as different from Tallulah Bankhead, the originator of the role on Broadway, as she could muster.  The never-relaxed Davis, whose uptightness would become her predictable dramatic trademark,  excised all of the convincing sensuality, irresistible yet calculated  flirtatiousness and rich humor her stage rival undoubtedly brought to it, and did, by all contemporary accounts. Even that other conniving role, Mildred in Of Human Bondage, which she painted with such large, even over-the-top melodramatic strokes, had some character arc and complexity, transitioning from common, none-too-bright but strangely appealing little  Cockney  waitress to full out, terrifying  gorgon. What a shame that, seven years later,  her egotistic narcissism  made her director-proof and tasteless enough to even ignore the best in the  business, resulting in a monotonous performance fueled by a forbidding villainy from the start, which announced itself like the big stuffed birds on her period hats. .
Incidentally on THE LITTLE FOXES, the actress triumvirate of Bankhead, Davis and Miriam Hopkins, originator of the 1934 stage version which had first been offered to Bankhead, of JEZEBEL, rather continued here, as early signs on the set that Wyler and Davis didn’t see eye to eye, had Producer Sam Goldwyn and no doubt, Wyler, too,  imagining their former favorite actress, Miriam Hopkins, as Regina, should Davis, on expensive loan-out from Warners, decide to quit the the project.
Davis’ 1977 speech at the AFI award ceremony, honoring her, in which she discusses Wyler.
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Savannah’s pride, nd yet another Scarlett O’Hara contender, Miriam Hopkins, dressed by Donald Oenslager, photographed by Van Dam in 1933. After Tallulah Bankhead turned down the role in the Owen Davis play, Hopkins opened it on Broadway in December 1933, where it played for 32 performances, directed by Guthrie McClintic. It was part and parcel of the lifelong enmity between her and Bette Davis, which had probably started in Rochester, summer stock, being directed by a young George Cukor, when Hopkins was leading lady and Davis the ingenue of the company. It was said that Hopkins took delight in needling Davis by appearing on the first day’s shoot of THE OLD MAID (1939) in a replica of Davis’ JEZEBEL ballgown. But her naughtiness was not unwarranted, as the rapacious Davis had had an affair a year or so previously with Hopkins’ then-husband, director Anatole Litvak, which must have been the true burning start to their mutual hatred.

Screenshot_2020-05-27 So Red the Rose (1935) Margaret Sullavan, Walter Connolly, Randolph Scott

 

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