It’s an absolute pleasure to announce the first Bustles And Bonnets: Costume Blogathon. I am proud to be co-hosting with the wonderful Gabriela from Pale Writer, who originated this fascinating idea for a blogathon that celebrates the costume drama and the sumptuous design that accompanies great stories. Of course, the use of costume is more than just dress and design; it establishes context, delivers deeper thematic concerns and enhances character. For these reasons and more, Gabriela and I sincerely hope that you will join in and contribute.
Here are the rules for the Blogathon:
1. There have been hundreds of costume films and television series made. Because of this, we will be allowing NO duplicates, and only three posts per participant. Please only submit new work, as we won’t be accepting any posts written previously.
2. You can write about any kind of Costume film you like. Whether it be a comedy, drama or musical. However, the film must be set any time from Before the Current Era to the 1960s. So films that are set in the 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, 2000s, 2010s or 2020s do not count. It is a costume film Blogathon after all!
3. This blogathon is dedicated to costume films and we want to celebrate them, so let’s please keep things nice and not write anything derogatory or defamatory about these types of films.
4. The Blogathon is being held from the 19th to the 20th of March, 2022. Please submit your entries either before or by those dates. If you find that you need a little extension, please let either Gabriela or myself know.
5. Please take one of the banners and put it somewhere on your site to promote the blogathon. We’d also very much appreciate it if you included one of the banners in your post for the blogathon.
6. And most importantly, please let us know what you would like to write about for the blogathon, by either commenting on this post, Gabriela’s post or leaving a reply on my contact page, or contacting me on twitter Paul@PaulBee71or Gabriela at @noir_or_never or Please include the name of your blog and a link to it, as we don’t really want to act as amateur sleuths and hunt for you! Please tag Gabriela or myself on twitter when you share your entry on there, so we can retweet it .
List of Participants
Pale Writer: Sense and Sensibility (1995) and Dangerous Liaisons (1988)
Silver Screen Classics: Marie Antoinette (1938)
Taking Up Room: Lights Of Old Broadway (1925)
Realweegiemidget Reviews: Mrs Stoffel (1984)
Whimsically Classic: The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939)
Silver Screenings: The Unsinkable Molly Brown (1964)
Fletch Talks: Excalibur (1981)
Cinematic Scribblings: Howard’s End (1992)
Charity’s Place: Jane Eyre (2006), Nightmare Alley (2021) and Last Night in Soho (2021) (TBC)
Brittany B: The Toy Wife (1938)
The Stop Button: The Desert of the Tartars (1976)
18 Cinemalane: Cyrano de Bergerac (1950)
The Classic Movie Muse: Jupiter’s Darling (1955)
Cinemaven: Belle (2013)
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
There are some films which we watch many times over. The excitement as the studio logo emerges on the screen and the opening titles begin to roll is palpable. The fact that we know what the plot twists are, how the characters will fare and what the ending will be is besides the point. Indeed, knowing that certain moments are coming gets us excited, nervous, afraid or angered – it’s all part of the journey that we’ve experienced and get to enjoy again. There’s every chance that we’ll discover something new along the way as well. After all, film is a powerful emotional experience. In some cases, there are films which are simply a joy to watch for the ‘umpteenth time’. For me, it’s one of the greatest films of the classic era; The Adventures Of Robin Hood (1938).
The Warner Bros. masterpiece is a testimony to why the studio system worked and brings together all the best elements of what is termed the classic era of film-making. It’s spectacular in its’ grandeur and the audience takes a roller-coaster ride into adventure, romance and some of the greatest actions scenes ever put to the screen. The tale of the former Saxon lord turned rogue outlaw under Norman rule goes back hundreds of years and of course the 1938 version was not the first and was not the last. But there’s no doubt in this reviewer’s mind that it is the best.
Prior to Warner Bros. wanting to remake the film, the 1922 version with Douglas Fairbanks Snr was considered the quintessential version. It seemed impossible that anyone could usurp Fairbanks as Robin Hood, who in the public mind was the embodiment of the legendary literary character. Interestingly, Fairbanks had thought ahead and wanted to assure this would be the case, copywriting his script and the key concepts behind the character. As David Bret points out, Fairbanks was so determined to be original that he ignored much of the traditional ballads, allowing the scriptwriters Norman Reilly Raine, Seton Miller and Rowland Leigh plenty of material to work with and avoid copyright problems. As a result, the legendary tales from the original ballads are brought to life and remain the best shown on film. The screenplay is tight and the dialogue perfect for the action. No scene is wasted.
It’s impossible to imagine James Cagney in the role; yet he was slated for the role and arguably would have remained so if he had not walked out on his contract. As much as this reviewer is a fan of Cagney, it is fair to say this would have been disastrous casting. In fairness to Warner Bros. there were constant headaches and dramas caused by the newly cast star but without Errol Flynn, the picture would not have been the massive hit that it would become. There would be other problems on the film as well. Director Michael Curtiz replaced William Keighley who was removed from the film for several possible reasons). The relationship between Curtiz and Flynn was complex and difficult. Yet they collaborated on 12 films. Curtiz was undoubtedly the top director at Warners and knew his business, and it is evident in the tight pacing of the film.
At the time of the film’s release, Warner Bros. poured serious money into production (eventually pushing past the $2 million mark), with the vision of a film that would surpass anything that Hollywood had ever seen. They wanted everyone to know it and even the famous logo is redesigned as a hallmark to the milestone status of the film. Hal B. Wallis’ production unit would end up crafting a masterpiece that still stands as a template for masterpiece film-making. As Roger Ebert stated, ‘it is a triumph of the studio system’.
The casting is superb and again shows how the studio system had perfected the art of using its wide talent base. As a result, it doesn’t just sit on the shoulders of its stars which means every scene has a richness of its own, even if Errol Flynn isn’t in it. And when Flynn is present, each player compliments the other through their performances. If Errol Flynn has become the popular incarnation of Robin Hood, look at the rest of the cast. Olivia de Havilland is wonderful as Maid Marian and the band of Merrie Men; Little John (Alan Hale), Will Scarlett (Patric Knowles) and Friar Tuck (Eugene Pallette) are merry. Claude Rains is a perfect Prince John and the ever-dependable Basil Rathbone shines as Robin’s nemesis, Sir Guy of Gisborne.
The huge budget is evident in the lush settings, beautiful costumes and of course, the action, drama and romance is heightened by the rousing and beautiful score by the great Erich Wolfgang Korngold. For me, it is this amazing technical achievement and use of brilliant Technicolor which is impressive. Whilst colour had been available for some time, the three-strip process meant deep saturation achieved through complex lighting and very expensive cameras. Cinematographers Sol Polito and Tony Gaudio certainly knew their business and would have utilised the Technicolor experts who knew how to combine colour, contrast it and achieve the best results on film. The depth, warmth and beautiful palate of colour is breath-taking. Have a look at the archery tournament; it’s a stunning example of how the key elements all come together:
Of course, it is about Robin Hood and Errol Flynn was never better. It speaks volumes for the intuition of Hal B.Wallis to cast Flynn when Cagney walked out of the studio. Watching Flynn on screen as the legendary outlaw is watching a masterclass of natural acting. There’s an infectious energy that emanates from Flynn and he combines the devil-may-care attitude and sense of justice of the literary character with an overwhelming sense of fun, adventure and excitement. Flynn is Robin Hood. Make no mistake though, Flynn brings a beautiful range of emotion in channelling the outlaw. Note his casual contempt for Prince John at the banquet, as well as the wit and fearlessness he shows as he struts into the lion’s den. He laughs in the face of danger whilst fighting for his friends and the oppressed people of England with deathly seriousness. His love for Maid Marian is as gentle as he is strong whilst admiration for her spirit. And when he fights with sword in hand, the action is outstanding:
What stands tall with The Adventures Of Robin Hood is that it is the perfect balance of action, adventure and drama with the moral standpoint of our hero. These men are not just a band of men on a lark, carousing and causing problems for their Norman lords. The struggle is very real, made evident when Robin shows Marian the suffering of the Saxons and the montage sequence showing the brutality and cruelty meted out. Robin shows no fear in telling Prince John to his face that he plans rebellion but that his hatred is for oppression not the Normans. Underlying the film is the essence of the legend itself; the importance of fighting against tyranny and protecting those unable to defend themselves in that fight. Is this a lesson that has ever become redundant?
Time Out made the following comment in its assessment of the film:
‘One of the few great adventure movies that you can pretend you are treating the kids to when you are really treating yourself’.
It’s how I have felt about The Adventures Of Robin Hood since I first saw it as a child and it remains an absolute treat, no matter how many times I have watched it. It will always remain so for me and I hope I get the chance to treat my grandchildren someday while treating myself again.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
As we remember the great Sidney Poitier, I thought it worthwhile re-blogging this article on A Patch Of Blue. There are other films starring the great actor – some of far greater importance, depth and nuance – but Poitier’s performance in A Patch Of Blue exhibits his range, emotional content and delivery that illustrates his professionalism as well as his great talent.
Thank you Sidney Poitier for your wonderful presence not only on film but in life, and the richness you gave us all with your beautiful presence.
Selina D’Arcy: I said what I did because I love you so much. Gordon Ralfe: I know why you said it. I’m glad you said it. You brought me back to Earth. Selina D’Arcy: I didn’t want you to come back to Earth. I wanted you to make love with me.
Hollywood is often accused (and not without good reason) of focusing on the glamorous and dealing in illusion. At the risk of stating the obvious, the very nature of art is illusion and any attempt to portray reality is going to be limited by or affected by the perception of the artist and the creative elements at their disposal. Yet within those bounds is a near infinite array of methods in portraying a narrative. Even the attempt to portray the harsher realities of the life experience are fraught with difficulty and the aim of the film-maker…
Audiences usually honour and fawn over a film’s major stars, which is understandable, particularly during the golden years of the studio system. Production was shaped around those stars with direction, camera angles and lighting shaped around what best accentuated the talents (or limits) of the film’s star or stars. Even the right director often needed to be picked.
Most importantly, the supporting cast must be superb. They will lift the tone of a film and the work of the director, and of course assist the performances of the film’s stars. What they bring to the screen can often go un-noticed but it’s important to acknowledge and celebrate the work of great supporting actors and actresses. Without them, a film is incomplete.
For these reasons and more, Louis Calhern must be recognised as one of the finest actors of the classic period. What made him special was his adaptability as well as his gifts of presence, subtlety and voice. The tall and urbane actor could use a glance or small hand gesture to convey more than anticipated and add further meaning to a particular scene. The Brooklyn-born Calhern is perhaps best known for his later work post-WW2 but there is a fair body of work from the silent era onwards, as well as the stage.
This article will look at a cross-section of his finest performances on the silver screen.
Ambassador Trentino – Duck Soup (1933)
Comedy is a tough gig. Playing straight in a comedy is arguably tougher and when you’re working with the likes of the Marx Brothers, you need to be really good. Calhern plays Trentino, the Ambassador of Sylvania who has designs on Mrs. Teasdale (Margaret Dumont). However, his real goal is to make war with Freedonia and take the country over himself. This madcap satire sees Calhern work smoothly as he is tormented at first by Chicolini (Chico) and Pinky (Harpo), who he has hired as spies. The scene in his office is hilarious and he weaves between the antics of Chico and Harpo, giving them room to enact their anarchy. Likewise, his timing is perfect when he’s up against Groucho as the Freedonian leader, who delivers his legendary rapid-fire quips and insults with aplomb. What makes Calhern’s performance memorable is his physicality in the delivery of faux shock to Groucho’s insults and how it adds to the impact of the interactions. The Marx Brothers are always going to own any area they are standing in but like the indomitable Margaret Dumont, Louis Calhern gets what needs to be done and does so with the talent and reaction of a true artist.
Captain Paul Prescott – Notorious (1946)
Hitchcock’s superb masterpiece is rightfully remembered for the perfect pairing of Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. However, it’s easy to overlook the importance of Calhern as Cary Grant’s secret service boss. Again, Calhern provides the role with a suave and controlled presence befitting a man who has had long experience in espionage. The delicate air of confidence is a fine counter to the tension of the job at hand and what Devlin (Cary Grant) and Alicia (Ingrid Bergman) are dealing with. Elegant and distinguished, Prescott is a man whose wide experience shows during the planning scenes. He has confidence in his abilities as well as the job at hand. There are moments which show that he too can be surprised but still maintains control. Despite the professional and measured control that Prescott displays, Calhern still uses brilliant subtlety to convey his concerns and understanding for Devlin and Alicia. Watch the scene at the Bureau where Alicia reveals that Sebastian (Claude Rains) wants to marry her. Devlin can barely contain himself and with a slight glance, Prescott shows he more than understands what the implications are. In the midst of it all, Calhern provides the ballast which keeps everything from tipping over. It’s a testimony to his skill.
Judge Oliver Wendell Holmes – The Magnificent Yankee (1950)
It would be a starring role for Calhern, which saw him deliver on film what he had already done on the stage. The famous and respected Supreme Court Justice is played with Calhern’s usual poise but also with a touching humanity. The film is not a strict biopic and the film is relatively ‘safe’ as well as not particularly remarkable in terms of what it shows about Holmes’ life. But Calhern shows the scope of what he could do and whilst not doing particularly well at the box office, it was appreciated by the critics with Calhern’s performance garnering him an Oscar nomination for Best Actor. For one whose reputation was one of a highly skilled supporting actor, this accolade was quite an accomplishment.
Alonzo D. Emmerich – The Asphalt Jungle (1950)
As the slippery, crooked lawyer, Calhern gave his greatest performance in a role that has few if any redeeming features. Emmerich is a thoroughly unsympathetic character, keeping a much younger girl, Angela (Marilyn Monroe) in an apartment for his pleasure while his unwell wife stays in bed at home hoping for his attentions. He double-crosses those around him and his cowardice disgusts Dix (Sterling Hayden). Calhern delivers Emmerich as a weak and morally corrupt man, with the façade of propriety. But as his plans unravel and the heist goes wrong, his desperation takes over. As the law finally catches up with him, he resigns himself to his fate. Here, Calhern is superb as the pressures of trying to get out from under are cast aside. As he writes a final note to his wife, there is a moment where Emmerich actually feels something for his wife, but it’s not enough to salvage anything. In one facial expression, Calhern wears the complexity of emotions on a mask of resignation right before he takes his own life. Calhern plays a man who may be corrupt, immoral and crooked but he is playing a man whose flaws and weaknesses have consumed him, and he does so with absolute brilliance. He also delivers one of the greatest lines in film noir: ‘Crime is but a left-handed form of human endeavour’.
Special Mentions
Julius Caesar (1953)is today best remembered for Marlon Brando playing Mark Antony. The cast was also impressive with the likes of Sir John Gielgud, James Mason, Greer Garson and Deborah Kerr. Despite the title, the original play (which is faithfully represented in the film) focuses on the interplay and dilemma faced by Brutus, along with Cassius and Mark Antony. Yet Calhern deserves to be praised for his turn as the Roman dictator and uses his presence well to deliver a credible lesson in how power can be abused.
The Blackboard Jungle (1956) still maintains a raw energy and was controversial on its’ release. As the deeply cynical Jim Murdock, Calhern delivers a teacher who has lost not only his energy but filled it with contempt for the education system. Long lost is the belief that he can make a difference and he scoffs at the attempts of Dadier (Glenn Ford) to do so. Watch Calhern’s response to Ford’s attack on his cynicism. There’s no anger or resentful reprimand and his measured and calm reply suggests he’s heard it all before delivering a ‘get him’ gesture that says everything. Yet even he will later change and encourage Dadier, realising that he was wrong.
Louis Calhern was the consummate professional, able to use his wonderful skills across an array of interesting and varied roles. Other wonderful films he appeared in include Blonde Crazy (1931) with James Cagney and Joan Blondell, 20,000 Years In Sing Sing (1932) with Spencer Tracy and Bette Davis, The Count Of Monte Cristo (1934) with Robert Donat and Executive Suite (1954) with William Holden and Barbara Stanwyck. He even did a musical in Annie Get Your Gun (1950) as Buffalo Bill. Undoubtedly, you will have seen him in many more films.
Louis Calhern was not a star but he was the consummate character actor on whose shoulders stars relied on. His magnetism and professionalism are more than evident every time he appears on the screen and his presence made every film he appeared in a better film. For these reasons, Louis Calhern deserves to be honoured.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
“Take two turkeys, one goose, four cabbages, but no duck, and mix them together. After one taste, you’ll duck soup for the rest of your life.” Groucho Marx
Of all the films that the Marx Brothers made, Duck Soup is the one that usually ends up at the top of the list as their best. True, it often competes with A Night At The Opera (1935) which took MGM genius Irving Thalberg’s approach to shape a clear storyline with less gags, more music to become a huge hit. Running at 68 minutes, Duck Soup took Marxist anarchism with all its acerbic humour and poured it on thick. Resplendent with fast dialogue, double entendres, absurdism and visual gags, Duck Soup remains their greatest comedy, whilst delivering a powerful knock-out punch to the absurdities of how governments rule and the nature of war. Groucho biographer Stanley Kanfer raises an excellent point that despite script co-writer Harry Ruby’s claim that what the brothers did was strictly entertainment, ‘the result far outran the intent’.
In 2015, Craig Brown in The Guardian made the excellent assessment:
‘Duck Soup has been praised for its understanding of paranoia in international diplomacy and of the economics of warfare. It is full of gags about the futility of war and its financial advantages’.
It is a film that does all this and more.
As the opening credits roll, the first visual gag of ducks swimming in a large boiling cauldron is more than a nod to the nonsensical title of the film. Indeed, the inter-war years saw a world which was very much a boiling cauldron; one where the Depression had hit the world, democracy and capitalism were in crisis and fascism had emerged as a real danger to the world. Whether or not this may not have been the intent of director Leo McCarey, it does introduce us to an imaginary nation aptly named ‘Freedonia’ that appears to be in political chaos. The immediate absurdity emerges where the government, relying on the financial support of wealthy widow Mrs. Teasdale (Margaret Dumont), asks for more money. She acquiesces on one condition – that Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho) be made the leader of all Freedonia. The ensuing musical number with its pomposity and ‘Hail, Hail, Freedonia’ anthem meets the anti-climax of Firefly not only turning up late after sliding down a fire-pole into the proceedings but asking if someone is expected before standing in line to salute their approach.
What follows is perhaps one of the best and funniest interactions on the silver screen between Groucho and the long-suffering but brilliant Dumont. The brutal putdowns come thick and fast from Firefly as Mrs. Teasdale tries desperately to keep things on keel. Groucho breaks the fourth wall in a way that only he can, reminding us of the absurdity of it all:
Firefly jigs and dances, as he delivers his plans to all on how he will rule through song. It is a clever musical number, which again lampoons the concept of freedom, stifled by the rules and regulations put in places by government. But even more so, it reveals the deep power of the state over the individual and how the those who intend to abuse power and authority, do so under the guise of freedom. In the current world, this has become an even more confusing and difficult reality to comprehend.
The darker undertone is introduced with the intrigues of Trentino, the Ambassador of Sylvania (Louis Calhern), whose schemes include using Chicolini (Chico) and Pinky (Harpo) as spies to find the dirt on Firefly, marrying Teasdale to control Freedonia and using the gorgeous Vera Marcal (Raquel Torres) to seduce Firefly and bring him into disrepute. Firefly will see through it all, beating out Trentino for Teasdale’s affections (while still insulting her) and hiring Chicolini as his Secretary Of War. All the while the gags come thick and fast while revealing a deeper more cynical truth; despite a world which declares law and order, chaos seems to rule instead. Much like the dictatorships that were present in the world at that time.
Nothing is sacred in the Marxist world. Even with Freedonia in trouble, an emergency cabinet meeting sees Firefly playing a game of jacks and arguing with his cabinet members over procedure, how to handle industrial relations and taxes. Later when war is declared, Firefly still lets fly with the absurdities telling Trentino to ‘go, and never darken my towels again!’ Additionally, the slide into war is peppered with insults but again satirises the language of diplomacy and the oft-announced claims of peace made by nations planning for war. The parallel to what was happening in Europe needs no explanation.
The scenes with Chicolini and Pinky trying to steal the war-plans from Teasdale’s home are some of the most hilarious in the film. They are also testimony to director Leo McCarey’s eventual winning over the brothers regarding his view of comedy; it works best visually. As Kanfer points out, sight gags abound in the film and Harpo was particularly drawn to it. The sneaking into the house to steal the plans is an example of this or Harpo’s using blowtorch to light a cigar. A special treat during these scenes is to see Chico and Harpo impersonating Groucho, whilst maintaining their characters. It harkens to a famous story where during stage performances for A Day At The Races, the brothers interchanged their personas with the audience unaware of the changes. Of course, the old mirror scene gag is cleverly worked in with Harpo and Groucho adding their own Marxist flavour.
Courtroom procedures likewise are lampooned with plenty of puns and nonsense. Firefly flits between ardent prosecutor and defender of the hapless Chicolini, who innocently sees the whole proceedings as one huge joke. It leaves Firefly with the only fitting assessment of Chicolini.
FIREFLY: Gentlemen, Chicolini here may talk like an idiot, and look like an idiot, but don’t let that fool you. He really is an idiot’.
The musical number announcing and celebrating the declaration of war is also a send-up of the propaganda and jingoism that had aided and abetted the destruction and horror the world had seen only 15 years earlier. Again, there is a darkness to this musical number, in context of not only the previous war but the one to come in only six years’ time. Lyrics such as ‘All God’s chillum got guns’ is an explicit ridicule of the evoking of God during war by opposing nations. Complete with banjos, minstrel singing and southern anthems, the reminder of how war can divide nations as well as destroy them is more than clear.
The final war scenes never let up with the rapid-fire dialogue, whilst leaving nothing that cannot be ridiculed and lampooned. The various military uniforms worn range from contemporary uniforms to those worn during the Revolutionary Wars and the Civil War. Even Davy Crockett’s raccoon hat has its moment when things gets desperate a la The Alamo. The message is very clear – all war is at best absurd. The recruitment drive is ridiculed, as Harpo with sandwich board sporting ‘Join The Army And See The Navy’ walks through the battlefields. Firefly tells his general when it is reported that the men are dying life flies to ‘run out get some trenches’ as he hands him some money to buy some. The dark irony of friendly fire is derided, as Firefly uses a machine gun on his own men, followed by the farce of awarding himself the Firefly Medal, again reflecting the habit of dictators covering their chests with all manner of medals. Even a call sent out for reinforcements is sent ‘collect’. The final moment sees poor Margaret Dumont suffer further indignities, as the end credits roll for the final reel.
There are some memorable scenes that are wonderful examples of Marx Brothers mania. Chicolini and Pinky’s interactions with poor Edgar Kennedy are both hilarious and frustrating. Kennedy, of course, was famous for his ability to shape the ‘slow burn’ and worked with everyone from Chaplin to Laurel And Hardy and was an original Keystone Kop to boot. He turns up later in the film in the risqué scene when Harpo does his turn as Paul Revere. Spying on a half-dressed woman about to have a bath, Harpo discovers that the woman is Kennedy’s wife and hides in the filled bath-tub only to find himself in there with Kennedy. Louis Calhern plays it perfectly straight as the Ambassador and villain and Dumont is outstanding as always.
One must feel for Zeppo whose place as a Marx brother on the screen becomes superfluous. Whilst solid playing straight man to Groucho, he knew that it was time to move on and so it was the last time he would appear on screen with his brothers. But we needn’t feel too bad, as soon afterwards Zeppo would find success as a Hollywood agent.
Contrary to the oft-repeated claim, the film was not exactly a total flop. True, there was some criticism from The New York Times and The Los Angeles Times. It did not do so well in the small towns and mid-West and was perhaps too cerebral for the masses looking for escapism from the Depression. Yet as Simon Louvish points out in ‘Monkey Business: The Lives And Legends Of The Marx. Brothers’, Duck Soup grossed nearly as much as Horse Feathers (1932) and was Paramount’s fifth highest earner for 1933. Variety initially gave it a positive review as well. Yet the immediate memory of the film after initially doing well was not a fond one. Stefan Kanfer makes the point that the Depression saw people looking for something to hold them together against the cruelty of what they were going through. The cynicism of Duck Soup just may have been too much and with Americans in an ‘isolationist mood…a satire of Balkan despots was too esoteric for their tastes’.
It was not a film which exactly placed the Marx Brothers on the scrap-heap and the ending of the Brothers’ contract with Paramount was very much a mutual agreement. But for the Brothers, it meant a complete re-assessment of who they were, where they were at and what direction they would go in. As Marxist history shows, it was Chico who found the way forward through Irving Thalberg and MGM. Interestingly, Groucho would later state that he enjoyed working with McCarey and would claim he was ‘the only great director we ever worked with’.
Perhaps this is what makes Duck Soup so beloved and usually at the top of the list for Marx Brothers fans. Once they went to MGM, fans would never again see the wild brilliance which first made them stars. In some ways, Duck Soup is the swan song of that legendary approach to comedy and the final testimony to that brilliance. As wonderful as A Night At The Opera and A Day At The Races (1937) are, the comedy of the Marx Brothers is more tempered and refined. Duck Soup would see a revival in the 1960s, in big part thanks to Groucho’s stardom on television, as well as its anti-establishment comedy finding a new home amongst university students and the growing movement that was challenging the conventions of society. Indeed, the irreverence, anarchism and inherent deflating of pomposity and entitlement that underpinned the Marx Brothers, would endear them to new generations.
Duck Soup works because it’s funny. And I’d like to believe it will continue to be so for future generations.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
As it’s classic horror month, here’s an older article submitted for the 2018 Great Hammer-Amicus Blogathon. It was fun to write and of course the film is fun to watch.
During the classic era of cinema, it is indisputable that Universal was the master of the horror film. They would introduced to audiences iconic monsters that are known and loved and in Lugosi, Karloff and Chaney (Snr and Jnr) gave us wonderful actors who themselves became deserved icons of the silver screen. When the first cycle of horror films began in the early 1930s, high production values and story development were key with directors such as James Whale and Tod Browning, as well as the cinematography of the brilliant Karl Freund, shaping now classic films. By the 1940s, however, not only had production values changed but audiences had as well, and what were initially quality films became arguably less so, with more of an exploitive approach that sought to capitalise on ‘monster combinations’. The final nail in the coffin (excuse the pun) was the Universal pantheon of…
Recently during the lockdown here in Australia, I’ve been re-watching the brilliant films of Val Lewton. There’s so much more I could add to this article written in 2016 but thought it was worth re-blogging at any rate, in honour of this underrated cinematic genius.
‘There is no beauty here, only death and decay’ – Paul Holland ‘I Walked With A Zombie’ (1943)
So another Halloween has passed by, where people not only decided what to wear at parties (or when trick-or-treating) or what party to go to but also what horror films to watch. TV horror marathons ensued, playing everything from classic Universal to 50s sci-fi to slasher films. It’s always an interesting time from the point of view of film fans, as we get to share with others our favourite classic (and not-so-classic!) horror films. It’s always interesting to read must-see lists and top ten lists of all kinds. At times, we even discover something new – perhaps a gem from the past that we overlooked or a little-known film that finally gets some notice.
I’ve been looking at a number of lists, posts and articles on Halloween horror viewing across a range…
In honour of James Cagney’s birthday, here’s a reblog of an old article I wrote on The Roaring Twenties (1939) – the last of the classic gangster films.
“Cheating yes, cheating if you get caught. But you don’t get caught if you take care of the right people, and this is big business. Very big business.” James Cagney The Roaring Twenties (1939)
by Paul Batters
Previously on Silver Screen Classics, I focused on William Wellman’s The Public Enemy (1931); one of the trio of films that would institute the hallmarks of the classic gangster film. What would make the canonical three interesting was that they were made and released during the Prohibition Era with gangsters such as Al Capone very much in the news. It was also the time of the Great Depression where questions about democracy and capitalism were being asked. And of course, in Hollywood it was the Pre-Code era, where film was reaching into areas that would soon be shut down and not make an explicit appearance for many years later.
It’s the last day of the 2021 Swashbucklathon and that means the blogathon celebrating swashbucklers on film comes to an end. Our final entries are below for your enjoyment!
A huge and heartfelt thank you to all contributors. I hope that you enjoyed the blogathon and if people are interested I’ll run it again next year. If you missed the first two days, you can have a look through the following links:
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
Hello classic film fans. Here is Day Two of 2021 Swashbucklathon. It is a touch late but in the meantime, allow me to offer a huge thank you to the contributors and their amazing efforts
Here are some more great entries from our wonderful bloggers. Please don’t forget to like and leave comments on their blogs; it means a great deal to writers to have their work supported and appreciated. Sharing their work on your own social media is also very appreciated!
Day Three is on its way and hopefully some last minute entries as well. Thanks everyone!
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
DON JUAN (1926) Directed by Alan Crosland. Starring John Barrymore, Mary Astor, Warner Oland, Estelle Taylor, Montagu Love, Helene Costello, Gibson Gowland, Willard Louis. Screenplay by Bess Meredyth. Intertitles by Walter Anthony and Maude Fulton (both uncredited). Silent with Vitaphone musical score and sound effects.
General Abstract: Having settled in Rome after attending the University of Pisa, devil-may-care playboy Don Juan de Marana (John Barrymore) runs afoul of the tyrannical Borgia family, despotic Cesare (Warner Oland), powerful Lucrezia (Estelle Taylor), and the Count Giano Donati (Montagu Love). Juan has his way with, and is pursued by, many women; it is, however, for Adriana della Varnese (Mary Astor), the one he could not have, that Juan suffers the wrath of Cesare for ignoring Lucrezia and killing Count Donati in a duel.
Literary Origins
“But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think” – from Canto III, Don Juan, by George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron, FRS
Conventional wisdom, and a notification in the October 1926 issue of Photoplay magazine, have indicated that Lord Byron’s epic poem served as the underlying literary source for Bess Meredyth’s original screenplay to the 1926 swashbuckler Don Juan. While Byron’s massive satiric chef-d’oeuvre, begun in 1819 and still unfinished at the time of Byron’s death in 1824, might certainly have played a significant role in the development of Meredyth’s script, there was in reality a myriad of sources from which Meredyth might have drawn her ideas; the opening credits of the film simply stated “Inspired by the Legend.”
Fictional libertine Don Juan, sometimes known as Don Giovanni, the consummate roué who devoted his life to seducing women, has in fact been a staple character in literature and drama for many centuries. The first written version of the Don Juan story, the circa 1630 Spanish play El burlador de Sevilla y convidado de piedra, translated as The Trickster of Seville and the Stone Guest, by Tirso de Molina, portrayed as Don Juan as an evil seducer owing to his ability to manipulate language and disguise his appearance, a decidedly demonic attribute; subsequent versions of the tale included Molière‘s 1665 drama Dom Juan ou le Festin de pierre, Italian playwright Carlo Osvaldo Goldoni’s Don Giovanni Tenorio, written in 1735, José Zorrilla‘s 1844 play Don Juan Tenorio (1844), still performed throughout the Spanish-speaking world on November 2, All Souls Day. Wolfgang Mozart’s highly-praised 1787 opera Don Giovanni later inspired works by Alexander Pushkin, Søren Kierkegaard, George Bernard Shaw, Albert Camus, and German Romantic author E. T. A. Hoffmann.
Although Lord Byron’s lyric narrative has undoubtedly become the most famous presentation of Don Juan in English literatiure, the promiscuous rake was initially introduced to the English-speaking world in Thomas Shadwell’s 1676 drama The Libertine; Don Juans Ende, a play derived from an unfinished 1844 retelling of the tale by Austrian poet Nikolaus Lenau, influenced Richard Strauss‘s 1889 orchestral tone poem Don Juan. While Meredyth might have depended more heavily on one literary root over others, or perhaps disregarded all of them, she certainly had a treasure trove of literature and drama from which to create a scripted depiction of the great Renaissance lover.
Title Card from Don Juan (1926)
A Brief History of Vitaphone
“Vitaphone will bring to the audiences in every corner of the world the the music of the greatest symphony orchestras and vocal entertainment of the most popular stars of the operatic, vaudeville and theatrical field.” – Harry Warner
Undoubtedly the most important and far-reaching cinematic technical innovation of the 1920’s was the introduction of sound; August 6th, 1926, the debut of Warner Bros.’ lavish swashbuckler Don Juan, along with numerous film shorts, proved a pivotal date with the introduction of Vitaphone, a new sound-on-disc process.
Sound itself was not new to motion pictures. The combination of moving images and sound had begun with Thomas A. Edison; as far back as 1894. in the Kinetoscope parlours, customers could, by means of stethoscope-like ear-tubes, hear scratchy, poorly synchronized sound as they watched some fleeting, flickering images. Early sound-on-disc systems included the Chronophone, patented in 1902 by Leon Gaumont, and the Vivaphone, developed and marketed by the British firm Hepworth Film Manufacturing Company circa 1913. Using Photokinema, another sound-on-disc method, legendary director D. W. Griffith, in a filmed prologue to his 1921 feature Dream Street, stepped out in front of a curtain to talk to the audience about the motion picture. On April 15, 1923, in New York City, American inventor Lee De Forest, a pioneer in sound films, premiered eighteen short films produced with Phonofilm, a primitive sound-on-film system.
None of these motion picture sound experiments achieved sustained success; it was a sound-on-disc synchronization procedure developed by technicians and engineers at Western Electric, working in conjunction with Bell Telephone Laboratories, that caught the interest and attention of Sam Warner in 1925. Harry Warner, at the urging of his brother Sam, agreed to use this method for musical accompaniment to Don Juan. Christened Vitaphone by the Warner brothers, this system recorded the soundtrack on a 16-inch, 3,343-revolution-per-minute wax disc that played from the centre outward; this sound-on-disc method ultimately became the only disc process both widely used and commercially successful. The marriage of Warners and Vitaphone took place on April 26, 1925 with the signing of a contract; the consummation of the relationship, so-to-speak, climaxed a little over fifteen months later with the August 6, 1926 premiere of Don Juan, the first silent film embellished with sound effects and a full background musical score courtesy of Vitaphone.
The Vitaphone sound-on-disc system would subsequently enjoy only a brief period as the main recoring technology for Warner Bros. and First National Pictures, a studio in which Warners held controlling interest. While the sound quality of the phonographic discs produced a richer audio quality than the emerging optical sound, or sound-on-film, processes, the discs were prey to synchronization issues, could not be directly edited, which limited the ability to make alterations in a film after its initial release, and suffered from general wear and tear, degrading after numerous screenings of a film, requiring disc replacements. By 1929, such major studios as Paramount Pictures and M-G-M had abandoned the sound-on-disc system in favour of optical sound for their productions; RKO, which began its film operation in 1929, used only optical sound. However, for a time these studios did continue to reproduce a number of soundtracks on phonographic discs for theatres not equipped for broadcasting optical sound; consequently some soundtracks of otherwise incomplete or lost motion pictures, such as the full roadshow version of RKO’s Rio Rita, and M-G-M’s The Rogue Song, have survived. Among the first twenty-five inductees into the TECnology Hall of Fame upon its establishment in 2004, the Vitaphone sound-on-disc process was discontinued by 1930 in favour of Movietone optical sound, although Warner Bros. retained the Vitaphone trademark for a number of years for its live action and animated short subjects.
The voice of Vitaphone: a 16-inch disc being lined up with its synchronization mark
The Cinematic “Don Juan”
“‘I made it for money.’” – Response by John Barrymore to an interviewer’s comment “‘I thought you made Don Juan for satire'”
“In ‘Don Juan’ there are moments when I look like a male impersonation of Lilyan Tashman.” – John Barrymore
Originally intended as John Barrymore’s first film under his new Warner Bros. contract, Don Juan was postponed in favour of The Sea Beast, the first screen adaptation of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick; although he had starred in the 1924 version of Beau Brummel, Barrymore apparently disdained costume films. Quoted as saying “sweet-scented Don Juans affect movie audiences like a rough crossing of the English channel”. Barrymore agreed to the film, provided that a cinematic representation of Moby Dick, evidently one of his favourite novels, take precedence. As expressed by Barrymore:
“It [Moby Dick] appeals to me and always has. It has an especial appeal to me now, for in the last few years, both on the stage and screen, I have played so many scented, be puffed, bewigged and ringletted characters- princes and kings and the like that I revel in the rough and almost demoniacal character such as Captain Ahab”
The Sea Beast was a very loose variation of the Melville classic. Its script also written by Beth Meredyth, The Sea Beast imposed a great deal of licence on Melville’s narrative; Ahab competed with his half-brother Derek, an invented non-Melville character, for the love of Esther, a minister’s daughter; Ahab’s motivation to return to sea was not to pursue the white whale, but rather to try to forget that Esther loved another, and, in true Hollywood fashion, a happy ending was created in place of Melville’s original tragic conclusion. Literary liberties aside, The Sea Beast appeared to have appeased Barrymore; immediately following Don Juan Barrymore undertook more “pansy parts” , as he referred to them, in the 1927 motion pictures When A Man Loves, the third film to include a Vitaphone soundtrack of background music and sound effects, and The Beloved Rogue.
Its production starting on October 18, 1925, Don Juan contained the requisite elements of a swashbuckler spectacle with its inclusion of the hero’s scaling of stone walls, leaping off balconies, swinging on vines with rapier and poignard at the ready, breasting the Tiber River, and duelling enemies; in addition, the film offered the mandatory damsel-in-distress in the personage of Mary Astor as Adriana della Varnese. Astor, with whom Barrymore had been romantically involved when the two were performing several years earlier in Beau Brummel, was not Barrymore’s choice for the role; Barrymore preferred Dolores Costello, his newest paramour who would in 1928 become his third wife. As Astor had already been signed to the part, Warner Bros. was loathe to risk a breach-of-contract lawsuit.
Unlike contemporary actor Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., Barrymore was not generally known for athletic prowess and an ebullient screen personality; Fairbanks had forged his career on such cinematic costume adventures as 1920’s The Mark of Zorro, 1921’s The Three Musketeers, The Thief of Baghdad from 1924, and The Black Pirate, released the same year as Don Juan, whereas Barrymore had initially found his fame on stage, most recently as a Shakespearean actor, and through a very divergent variety of film roles. Nonetheless the October 1926 edition of Photoplay exclaimed:
“Hey Mr. Fairbanks, come home quick! John Barrymore is stealing your stuff. He climbs balconies, he rides horses, he fights duels and he makes hot, hot love. Here is a young feller who is determined to live down his dark past as a Shakespearean actor.”
While in all probability posing no serious competition to any Fairbanks feature as a film of action, Don Juan did surpass Fairbanks’ motion pictures in the element of romance. Certainly a Fairbanks film included an actress, such as beautiful Billie Dove in The Black Pirate, as a leading lady or love interest; the focus, however, in a Fairbanks vehicle centred on the actor’s acrobatic gymnastics, while Don Juan surpassed the swashbuckling component in favour of romance, containing between 127 and 191 kisses, depending on the reference source, bestowed by Barrymore upon a number of actresses, including Astor, Estelle Taylor, Myrna Loy, and others. Submitting himself daily for hours in the make-up and costume departments to transform the forty-three-year-old actor to a more youthful-looking, handsome Don Juan, including the dying of his grey-streaked hair to a shade of blonde, Barrymore seemed a perfect choice for the role of the Great Lover; his own reputation as a philanderer preceded him. While his performance was not met with unrestrained praise, with some critics describing the acting as “the worst they had ever witnessed”, Barrymore’s grace and elegance of bearing, and his steamy, for the era, love-making, captivated audiences. It is now somewhat difficult, and perhaps even unfair, to assess the acting style prevalent in the era of the silent film; without the benefit of spoken dialogue performances may appear florid, exaggerated, or overwrought in their quest for expression.
Warner Bros. most expensive film to date, produced on a reported budget of $546,000 , Don Juan was adorned with lavish period sets and the more fluid and creative camerawork evident in the motion pictures of the late 1920’s. No longer in its infancy, the silent cinema had artistically developed beyond the mere capturing of moving images; ironically the advent of sound would initially return the early “talkies” to a more stagnant state. While some sources have criticized Meredyth’s screenplay for the introduction and consequent abandonment of a number of characters, chiefly Adriana’s father and Don Juan’s sidekick Petrillo, and the historic licence taken with Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia, such objections may be viewed as petty in nature; many motion picture scenarios, both before and since, have followed a similar pattern as the narrative progresses. Any shortcomings in the screenplay notwithstanding, and marketed with such hyperbolic taglines as “The greatest adventure picture ever produced” and “It Thrilled the World!”, the latter catchphrase admittedly more in reference to Vitaphone than the film itself, Don Juan found favour with movie audience, earning a purported $1,693,000 in worldwide rentals.
Double-page advertisement for Don Juan in The Film Daily, September 1, 1926
The addition of the Vitaphone soundtrack, with its orchestral score played by the New York Philharmonic, distinguished Don Juan immeasurably, an aspect possibly more evident when compared to the all-silent version prepared for theatres not equipped for sound reproduction; while enjoyable and entertaining, the film alone was not markedly or especially superior to other contemporary features, either those in the swashbuckling genre or otherwise. Fairbanks’ The Black Pirate, presented in early two-strip Technicolor, made up for a thin plot with its action and technical polish; other 1926 offerings, such as Beau Geste and Old Ironsides, with its use of Magnascope, an early wide-screen process, provided similar adventure, sweep, and spectacle. Ultimately Don Juan was what it set out to be, no more and no less, namely a showcase for Barrymore, who was, at times, photographed in his famous profile and clothed in progressively tighter costumes; acting with “an abandon that will arouse the disapproval of the School of Eyebrow Lifters” the actor added another memorable, if melodramatic, character to his ever imposing curriculum vitae.
Legacy and Conclusion
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, you ain’t heard nothing yet.” – first words of screen dialogue spoken by Al Jolson in 1927’s The Jazz Singer
Its programme supplemented with eight short features that demonstrated the wonders of Vitaphone, including the Honorable Will Hayes, President of the Motion Picture Producers of America, directly addressing the audience, the New York Philharmonic playing the overture to Tannhäuser, and coloratura soprano Marian Talley singing Caro Nome from the Giuseppi Verdi opera Rigoletto, the world premiere of Don Juan was held on August 6, 1926 at the Warner Theatre in New York City, having been previewed two days earlier on an invitation basis; for the princely cost of $25 per ticket, first-night audiences were witness to an enormous milestone in the history of cinema. Interestingly, the audience responded to the arrival of this landmark innovation generally “warmly rather than wildly”.
In an opposite response, the press greeted Vitaphone with a more unbridled enthusiasm; in his review in The New York Times critic Mordaunt Hall proclaimed:
“The natural reproduction of voices, the tonal qualities of musical instruments and the timing of the sound to the movements of the lips of singers and the actions of musicians was almost uncanny”.
Hall’s review effusively continued:
“The future of this new contrivance is boundless [. . .] the vitaphone [italics mine] will give its patrons an excellent idea of a singer’s acting and an intelligent conception of the efforts of musicians and their instruments. Operatic favorites will be able to be seen and heard, and the genius of singers and musicians who have passed will still live”.
Photoplay echoed Hall’s thoughts, declaring in its October 1926 issue:
“The executives of Warner Brothers, the Bell Telephone Company and the Western Electric Company believe that the Vitaphone [italics mine] will revolutionize the presentation of motion pictures. It will bring famous singers and orchestras to the smallest theaters. [. . .] Perhaps, back in their minds, these experts believe that the Vitaphone [italics mine] eventually will make possible a genuine talking picture. However, no definite plans have been made along this line. So far they are confining their activities to an invention which bids fair to transform the exhibition of pictures.”
Albeit unknowingly at the time, the latter thoughts in the Photoplay article were very prophetic; on October 6, 1927, fourteen months after the premiere of Don Juan, Warner Bros. elevated Vitaphone to a new level with its release of The Jazz Singer. Although still often considered the first talking film, The Jazz Singer was in reality essentially a silent film with a synchronized Vitaphone soundtrack; it did, however, contain several scenes with recorded songs and dialogue, not a great deal of spoken content overall, but sufficient to change forever cinema development. Safely finding its standing in cinema history, The Jazz Singer has rather unfairly overshadowed the historical importance of Don Juan. In the interim months between the debuts of the two films, Warner Bros. had released six more silent features with a Vitaphonesoundtrack, rendering the technology still enjoyable but less wondrous; the importance of Don Juan has over time been relegated to the back burner. As time has passed, The Jazz Singer has continued to enjoy its reputation as a cinematic milestone; Don Juan has been diminished to a pebble in the course of motion picture evolution.
LITERARY SOURCES
Eyman, Scott, The Speed of Sound – Hollywood and the Talkie Revolution, 1926-1930 (New York: Simon & Schuster, Inc., 1997)
Hirschhorn, Clive, The Warner Bros. Story (Hong Kong: Mandarin Publishers Limited, 1982)
The 2021 Swashbucklathon has begun and it’s a thrill to be hosting. Just to recap what the Swashbucklathon is about, the main aim is to celebrate those adventurous films that have graced the silver screen since the inception of cinema.
There is still plenty of room for people to join in and I would love to see a host of writers add their articles to the roster. You may submit on any day of the blogathon and for a complete outline of the rules and how to join in please visit the following link: Announcing The 2021 Swashbucklathon.
Please share the blogathon on your social media and you are welcome to use the memes to advertise the Blogathon that your article will be part of.
Without further ado, let’s begin with the first entries. So sit back and enjoy!
We are under one week away from the 2021 Swashbucklathon and I’m certainly excited about it. The Swashbucklaton aims to celebrate those adventurous films that have graced the silver screen since the inception of cinema.
There is still plenty of room for people to join in and I would love to see a host of writers add their articles to the roster below. You may submit on any day of the blogathon and for a complete outline of the rules and how to join in please visit the following link: Announcing The 2021 Swashbucklathon.
Please share the blogathon on your social media and you are welcome to use the memes to advertise the Blogathon that your article will be part of.
Below is a list of current participants which may also help to spark ideas.
Robin Hood (1920) – Silver Screenings
The Sea Hawk (1940) – Whimsically Classic
Don Juan (1926) – Robert Short
Solomon Kane (2009) – Blogferatu
Peter Pan (1924) – Taking Up Room
The Sea Hawk (1940) – Movie Rob
TheCrimson Pirate (1952) – Movie Rob
Scaramouche (1952) – Movie Rob
The Man In The Iron Mask (1939) – 18 Cinema Lane
Plunkett And Maclean (1999) – Thoughts All Sorts
The Crimson Pirate (1952) – Fraser
Captain Blood (1935) – Stars And Letters
The Lady And The Highwayman (1989) – ReelWeegieMidget
The Mark Of Zorro (1940) – Debbie Vega
The Prisoner Of Zenda (1937) – Silver Screen Classics
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
‘Did you ever run away from the scream? You can’t. It will follow you through the woods. It will follow you all of your life’. Pete Morgan (Edward G. Robinson)
Cinema is filled with films that are celebrated and considered as timeless classics. Many are deserving of such celebration, yet there are many (at least in the opinion of this reviewer) which are not so deserving. More to the point, there are too many films that stand in the shadows and go unnoticed or unheralded. These unhidden classics need to be brought out into the light and celebrated. They are not always conventional and may even be unpolished and raw, yet that gives them an authenticity and value that makes them classics. Delmer Daves The Red House (1947) is one of those ‘hidden classics’ that deserves to be honoured.
The Red House has been described as noir although it is perhaps closer to the mark being described as a ‘horror film. Yet my contention is that this cinematic gem is a classic of American Gothic. The film’s strength lies in its unique approach to the conventions of the Gothic genre, conveyed through brilliant cinematography and delivered by a solid cast, underpinned by Miklos Rozsa’s musical score. Ultimately, it is a thriller where the audience is torn between the possibilities of the supernatural and the powers of suggestion. This Lewtonesque approach melds beautifully with the storyline and, like the protagonists in the story, we are led through winding trails in the woods trying to discover what the truth is.
Dawes transforms George Agnew Chamberlain’s 1943 novel of the same into a tale which perfectly traverses rural Americana with traditional Gothic tropes, in a fresh and interesting way avoiding cliches that would often turn up in far more celebrated Gothic films. Dawes establishes this in the opening scene, where the narrator describes an idyllic American farming community, where the farmers raise ‘good apples’ in ‘fine soil’ – a beautiful metaphor for the young people, who are a ‘healthy lot…where the girls don’t come prettier anyplace’. The wholesomeness of this salt-of-the-earth farming community, however, also contains a deeper secret. The mystery is already suggested by the ominous presence of Ox-Head Woods, where civilisation has yet to penetrate, with its deep, dark woods criss-crossed by broken trails leading to nowhere. Immediately, the audience is placed on a trail which will symbolically lead into a darker mystery.
The Morgan farm is described as having ‘the allure of a walled-castle…which few have entered’ accessed only by one road. Even in a rural America of farms, warm sun and the film’s focus on youth, the link to classic Gothic themes is beautifully linked. The symbolism of the Morgan farm as secluded and distant from the rest of society, suggests secrets, family trauma, tragedy and hidden tales. Here live Pete Morgan (Edward G. Robinson) and his sister Ellen Morgan (Judith Anderson) with their adopted daughter Meg (Allene Roberts). They are ‘self-sufficient’ with little need to interact with the outside world, ‘content with how things are’ and no need for outsiders to ‘spoil things’. Pete has a wooden leg from an old accident which also reveals a sub-plot involving Ellen and her unfulfilled love for the valley doctor who helped Pete when he lost it. Meg loves her adopted parents and she doesn’t question how she came to be adopted. She loves Nath (Leo McCallister) who much to Meg’s dismay is going steady with Tibby (Julie London). Dawes will take this seemingly simple orientation immediately into darker Gothic thematic concerns and build tension with a deft hand.
Dawes also touches on subjects which the Code must have shuddered at and yet incredibly still find their way onto the screen. Teenage sexuality and relationships are both more than overtly looked at and indeed become a central theme connected to the storyline. From the opening scene on the school bus, Nath is told by Tibby to bring his swimming trunks to their ‘swimming date’ so they can ‘change at the reservoir, just the two of us’. Next to them, the shy, innocent and pretty Meg sits disappointed but silent, knowing full-well what is being suggested. It becomes clear that Meg loves Nath but it is a love from afar and she says nothing as she treasures their friendship.
But Meg’s love and affection for Nath reveals something darker in Pete Morgan that the audience recognises goes beyond the normal concerns of a father or guardian. When Meg begs Pete to give Nath a job on the farm, Pete gives in to Meg because he could ‘never turn her down’. All seems friendly enough after a hard day’s work as Nath sits with the Morgans for supper but as he’s about to leave for home, Nath mentions taking a shortcut through the Ox-Head Woods. Suddenly, Pete’s manner changes and he argues with Nath that it would be foolish to take that shortcut. Nath ignores Pete’s pleading which becomes more frantic. As Nath steps out into the night, the howling wind and darkness barely drowns out Pete’s near-mad rantings of the ‘screams in the night’ from the ‘red house’. The complexity of Pete’s deep psychological pathology emerge in waves of panic and near-madness, revealing his fears as he calls out ‘did you ever run away from a scream?’ As Nath disappears into the night, across the wind-swept fields, Pete goes back inside looking near-mad, eyes wide as he mutters away to his sister and himself. Ellen knowingly looks on but Meg is confused as well as afraid. Here, Dawes takes a brilliant turn into the fine line between supernatural and human fear, as Nath becomes scared and disoriented in the Ox-Head Woods. Is there some supernatural force conjured up the wind? Or is his own primeval fears fuelled by Pete’s rantings? Are the screams coming from some terrible presence in the woods? Or the result of the wind in the trees accentuated by a highly charged imagination? What does the red house have to do with all of this? At any rate, terror overcomes Nath, who makes his way back to the farm. Pete seems to regather his wits and dominance, his fears and concerns abated by Nath’s return and his secret therefore safe for the meantime.
Nath is the boy Meg loves and he will become the agent of change for not only Meg but the Morgan household. Like a lord who dominates his estate and sits all-powerful in his castle without question, Pete sees Nath as the great outside threat to his power and hold over Meg. Nath is a young boy becoming a young man, wanting to assert himself. Pete blames Nath for Meg’s change but as Ellen points out to her brother, Meg is growing up and has a right to her own life. She will begin to ask questions which emerge after the first fateful night, and as any teenager on the cusp of adulthood, will seek her own autonomy. This will also push Pete over the edge, as she disobeys his demands that she not ask questions. Nath and Meg will both seek out the red house, seeking answers to deeper questions which for Meg will reveal far deeper truths than she anticipated. In their quest, they will grow even closer together. Pete uses all manner of means to pull Meg closer to him and drive Nath apart from her, from giving gifts to Meg and even threatening her, as well as doing what he can to encourage Nath and Tibby’s romance. Pete will go so far as use Teller (Rory Calhoun), the local no-account school drop-out to inflict violence and keep Nath (and Meg) out of the Ox-Head Woods. It seems that Pete will stop at nothing to hold onto Meg.
Pete’s jealousy will not only border on the incestuous but almost cross it, enough for the kind Ellen Morgan to ask Meg if Pete has ever touched her. Pete’s now tender grip on reality will see him calling Meg another name which Meg seems to recognise but is unsure where to place. In one disturbing and alarming scene, the audience watches Pete standing at the lake’s edge on a small pier watching Meg swimming. As she approaches with an innocent smile to the edge, Pete stands suggestively over her, looking at her strangely and calling her ‘Jeanie’. Meg is obviously scared and disturbed, as she is also vulnerable in her swimsuit. Later, as Meg is in her bed at night, Pete will come into the room and stand at the doorway calling her Jeannie. Again, the dark secret and mystery that underpins Pete’s growing madness is a long-repressed truth which is too big to be hidden for much longer. The red house becomes the powerful focal point for that truth and Nath and Meg’s search for it will enrage Pete.
The terrible secret is not one which only haunts Pete, as Ellen has sacrificed her own happiness to try and protect the people she loves and cares for. The rumours and gossip about the ‘mysterious Morgans’ perhaps also asks the question about the relationship between brother and sister, and if something more is going on. Long-suffering Ellen tries everything to convince Pete that he needs to let Meg live her life and save him from his madness but it is all to no avail, as Pete descends further and deeper into the chasm. The lesson that Ellen tries imparting, that everyone has their Ox-Head Woods, falls on deaf ears. The darker Gothic overtones of seclusion, growing madness and the oppressed sexuality channelled into darker outlets all emerge in The Red House.
The climax is still powerful high drama, even if the audience has put most of the puzzle’s pieces together. The red house itself becomes more than a symbolic focus for Pete’s madness or Meg’s search for truth. In the red house itself, all will finally be revealed as history is repeated in the ruins of the old house and the mystery finally see its denouement.
The cast of The Red House is solid and the younger cast who hold a fair amount of the screen time do a commendable job. Leo McCallister does well as the farm boy and he has some solid mo ments on the screen. Allene Roberts, in her film debut, is particularly interesting as Meg, who is reminiscent of the kind of roles sometimes taken by Cathy O’Donnell or Teresa Wright. Conveying an ‘innocent beauty’, with her slightly breathless voice, Roberts carries the role with an unexpected strength. Julie London, also in her film debut, is incredibly sensual as Nate’s girlfriend and smoulders with her suggestive glances and claims that she is ‘already a woman’ after excitement and adventure beyond the valley. Whilst initially looking down her nose at Teller, she is also excited by him. The earliest screen encounter when Tibby gets off the school bus shows Teller waiting for her, looking like a proto-50s rocker with his tough stance and long rifle pointing at her, with obvious Freudian overtone. Teller smiles lecherously telling Tibby that he’s ‘learned plenty of things they don’t teach in school’ which scares her but also entices her, betrayed by her backward glance at him. Eventually, Teller’s prophecy that when Tibby ‘decide(s) on a man, you come to me’, will prove correct and see Nath rejected by Tibby. Rory Calhoun takes on a minor role as a plot device to drive the story and does enough with it as the bad boy who will lead Tibby into trouble.
Of course, Robinson and Anderson are the veterans who bring their superb skills to the fore. Dame Judith Anderson supports the story with her usual depth and gives room for everyone else to deliver their performance. But for this reviewer, Robinson gives one of his finest performances and is evidence for The Red House as a hidden classic. He never chews the scenery and tempers the character’s descent into madness with well-timed fits and starts that mesh perfectly with the psychological decline of the character as well as the plot. He seems to have a permanent weight on his shoulders befitting Morgan’s tortured soul. He uses not only physical movement beautifully but expresses emotion through facial expression and even voice, lurching between his character’s love for Meg, the desperation to keep his madness in control and the defeat when it overwhelms him completely.
The Red House is wrongly described by some as a ‘haunted house’ story, but it certainly is one of a man who is haunted; by his past crimes, by the pain of unrequited or ‘stolen’ love and the terrifying and twisted love he feels towards the young girl in his care. In essence, it is a pure Gothic tale of secrets which would tear all down around them if revealed, as well as free those bound by them. In the climax of the film, Pete himself asks that he could be free of the screams as his ‘castle’ collapses around him. It will mean final peace for his tortured spirit. But it will also mean that Meg finds her questions answered and she takes a step into a future no longer determined by Pete or the terrible secret which has them all prisoners of the past.
The Red House has suffered from the unavailability of a decent print for years, as well as its presence in the public domain meaning cheap VHS and DVD releases or compilations with B-features. As it is in the public domain, it has also been available online as well. As a result, it is easy to dismiss it as a B-feature and one to be overlooked. Yet it deserves far greater attention. It was a ‘sleeper hit’ upon its release and received solid notice. Dawes’s direction is tight, even if there is a little fat that could use some trimming, and its unique as an American rural Gothic tale. More to the point, The Red House is an American hidden classic which deserves its’ place in the pantheon of films from the classic era.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
Knights, pirates, buccaneers, musketeers, caballeros, gallant gentlemen and damsels in distress – what do they all have in common? They are all the perfect heroic protagonists in the swashbuckler film; a cinematic adventure with lots of exciting action, heroics and daring acts from heroes fighting the good fight.
The 2021 Swashbucklathon will focus on celebrating, examining, critiquing and reviewing those films that focus on and feature swashbucklers at their finest!
Think Robin Hood, D’Artganan, Captain Blood, the Count Of Monte Cristo, Zorro, the Scarlet Pimpernel and the many others who have graced our screens with a devil-may-care attitude as they bring on adventure and fun. Yet underlying this is often a desire to right what is wrong, stand for the oppressed and fight against the oppressor. More than often, the swashbuckler film is pure escapism and entertainment but who cares, they’re fun.
Please have a look at the rules below and I TRULY hope you will take part!
Outline Of Rules
This Swashbucklathon is not just restricted to just reviewing actual swashbuckler films. Participants are encouraged to write on any angle regarding the topic area e.g. comparisons of film versions, actors or actresses known for starring in swashbuckler films, a specific character and how they have been depicted, production aesthetics etc
Duplicates of films will be allowed for review but of course it’s a case of first in, so act fast. Whilst you are welcome to write more than one entry, there will be a limit of three posts per blog.
This Swashbucklathon does focus on the classic era of Hollywood film – from the silent era to the 1960s. But please don’t let that hold you back, as all entries from all periods will be happily accepted.
All contributions must be new material only. Previously published posts will not be accepted.
The Swashbucklathon will take place through June 25th, 26th and 27th, 2021. Please submit your entries on either of these days or earlier if you wish. For those of you posting early, just remember that your entry won’t be linked until the event starts.
To express your interest in participating in the Swashbucklathon, you can so in the following ways:
please leave a comment on my blog along with the name and URL of your blog, and the subject you wish to cover
or you can always register by email at: silverscreenclassics2016@gmail.com. For those of you who wish to register by email, please be sure to include the name and URL of your blog, and the topic you wish to cover.
Once you get confirmation, please spread the word about the Swashbucklathon by advertising the event on your blog and other social media. Please feel free to use one of the ads below to advertise the event.
For the record, I will be looking at The Prisoner Of Zenda (1937).
Looking forward to seeing you in June!
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
Well the 2021 Classic Literature On Film comes to an end but hopefully not an end to people reading the work of contributors. As always, blogathons offer an opportunity to expand our horizons, discover films we have not seen and learn fresh perspectives on those films we have seen. Hopefully, everyone is inspired to watch more classic film as well!
Again, there may be some late contributions and I’m happy to add those in.
Below are each day if you care to re-visit or share with others.
Thank you to all our wonderful contributors and the fantastic support from readers. Remember to please leave comments and support these writers.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
It’s the third and final day (falling on Easter – so Happy Easter to everyone!), so with the busyness of the weekend, there may be a few late arrivals which I am more than happy to add on over the next few days.
From some of the feedback, people have been thrilled with the articles written and my plan tonight is to finally sit down, pour a red wine (or three) and read the remaining works I have not had a chance to read. Again, a huge thank you to all participants!
If you are running late with your entries, please do not be disheartened or believe you’re late. Just let me know and I’ll add you in here when you get them to me.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
Hello classic film fans. Here is Day Two of the Classic Literature On Film Blogathon. Forgive the tardiness but it is the Easter weekend (yes, I probably should have timed it better!) In the meantime, allow me to offer a huge thank you to the contributors and their amazing efforts
Here are some more great entries from our wonderful bloggers. Please don’t forget to like and leave comments on their blogs; it means a great deal to writers to have their work supported and appreciated. Sharing their work on your own social media is also very appreciated!
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
Hello everyone and I’m excited that the 2021 Classic Literature On Film Blogathon has begun. I hope you are also looking forward to reading some fantastic articles as well as be inspired to watch the films we haven’t and or revisit those we have with a new and different perspective.
Here are some of our entries. (I’ve cheated a little and will include my most recent article)
It’s just the start and more articles will be added over the next three days.
Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.
General Abstract: In 1887 London prominent physician Henry Jekyll incurs the ire of his older colleagues because of his experiments and views on the possibility of separating the good and evil aspects of man’s nature. As his experiments with potions continue, Dr. Jekyll faces horrible consequences when, transformed into the animalistic, bestial Mr. Hyde, his dark side runs wild.Literary Origins
Literary Origins
“It was on the moral side, and in my own person, that I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both”.
Originally published in 1886, Robert Louis Stevenson’s Gothic novella The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has served as the underlying literary basis for all cinematic adaptations of the story. Certainly film versions have explored many of the dark themes introduced in the written work, the duality of man, good versus evil, and religion versus science chief among them.
While the Stevenson story was rightfully given on-screen credit as the original source for the 1920, 1931, and 1941 screen presentations, the cinematic editions of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde also owed a debt of gratitude to an 1887 four-act stage adaptation written by Thomas Russell Sullivan in collaboration with the actor Richard Mansfield. Whereas Stevenson presented his tale using multiple narrators and a circular style, which allowed the events of the story to end back at the narrative’s origin, Sullivan composed the play in a straightforward, linear fashion, staging the action in chronological order, thereby conveying a stronger impression of realism for the audience. Sullivan’s work also gave greater visual emphasis on the contrast between Jekyll’s good and Hyde’s evil, of which the latter, in Stevenson’s work, was more left to the imagination of the reader than explicitly expressed; as author James B. Twitchell observed:
“What Peggy Webling did for Frankenstein and John Balderston did for Dracula, Thomas Sullivan did for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The stage play made the story part of popular culture; it straightened out the plot, it provided causality, it made sexual interactions clear, it excised all narrative sophistication, and it profoundly transformed the monster. By the time these adaptations of Victorian horror in prose had made it to film, the stage plays had already made them myths.”
The other significant change brought about in the Sullivan theatrical adaptation was the introduction of a more dominant female personage in the character of Agnes Carew, Jekyll’s fiancée. Stevenson’s original work was noteworthy for its lack of female presence; while not totally void of females, the novella included them as decidedly minor, unsubstantial characters, none of whom had more than a few lines of dialogue. The paucity of any strong women has prompted a number of theories from literary analysts and scholars; some have noted the lack of females as symbolic of the subordinate position in Victorian society, while others have declared it representative of Jekyll’s repressed homosexuality.
An Overall Look at the Film Adaptations
1920 Version.Directed by John S. Robertson. Scenario by Clara S. Beranger. Starring John Barrymore, Brandon Hurst, Martha Mansfield, Charles Lane, Nita Naldi, Louis Wolheim.
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, under the screen title of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which will hereafter be shortened to Jekyll and Hyde, proved very popular material in the early days of cinema; between 1908 and 1912 no less than seven adaptations had been filmed, the majority of which were one-reel, or approximately ten to twelve minutes, in length. The year 1920 boasted three versions of the Stevenson tale. The Barrymore film was the first to be released; with a running time of 79 minutes, it was also the first to present the story in a more substantial manner. Certainly the most famous of the silent presentations, given the prominence of the Barrymore name, it may be said that this version of the Stevenson tale brought the genre of the horror film to a higher level; a solid “A” production, the 1920 Jekyll and Hyde did not climax in a cheat ending, where the events turned out to be a dream or an elaborate hoax. Heralded in the film’s advertisement as “The Greatest Actor of Our Time”, handsome Barrymore, known in his early theatrical days as “The Great Profile”, apparently found a personal level of sympathy in the dual role of kindly Jekyll and evil Hyde further; himself possessed of dark urges, alcohol could literally transform the actor “from a courteous, charming fellow into a foul-mouthed beast.”
Clara Beranger’s screenplay followed the 1887 stage concept of Jekyll’s being engaged, the fiancée rechristened Millicent from the play’s original Agnes, and later renamed Muriel and Beatrix in 1931 and 1941 respectively. As in the stage play, unlike the Stevenson work, the Sir Danvers character, his name altered to Sir George Carewe in the Barrymore version, General Carew in 1931 and Sir Charles Emery a decade later, was presented as Jekyll’s future father-in-law. In the 1931 and 1941 adaptations, Jekyll’s future relation was depicted as a straitlaced, highly proper individual; interestingly, unique to the Barrymore film, Sir George encouraged his future son-in-law to yield to temptation, paving the way to Jekyll’s subsequent probing of good and evil. The eventual murder of the Sir Danvers personage, an occurrence from both the Stevenson novella and the Mansfield drama, was also retained in Beranger’s script, and carried over into the subsequent 1931 and 1941 films.
Quite significantly, the 1920 script introduced a second major female role, injecting an element hitherto excluded in both Stevenson’s original work and the 1887 stage adaptation. The attractive dance-hall girl Gina awakened the prim Jekyll’s baser instincts, and later had a relationship with Hyde; while the Barrymore version did not deeply explore the dalliance, one could easily assume it was at very least an unsavoury one, contrary to the mores of Victorian times. In subsequent screen adaptations, Gina evolved into Ivy, the barmaid, whom Hyde physically torments, psychologically tortures, and eventually destroys.
It is now somewhat difficult, and perhaps even unfair, to assess the artistic quality of a century-old film, unless evaluating it through a historical lens. While no longer in its infancy, the silent cinema of 1920 had yet to develop the fluid camerawork and imagery more evident by the end of the decade in such classics as Sunrise, The Crowd and The Wind; ironically the advent of sound would initially return the early “talkies” to a more stagnant state. In a review in Silent Film Sources film historian David Pierce said of the 1920 feature “The staging is not compelling, the scenario communicates the story largely by titles rather than action, and the motivations of the characters are not well developed.” Like many motion pictures of the era, the 1920 Jekyll and Hyde certainly may appear rather static and stilted to modern audiences, although certain scenes, such Jekyll’s transformation into Hyde, are grandly overacted.
1931 Version . Directed by Rouben Mamoulian. Screenplay by Samuel Hoffenstein and Percy Heath. Starring Fredric March, Miriam Hopkins, Rose Hobart, Holmes Herbert, Halliwell Hobbs.
Florid and cinematically exciting, the 1931 version of Jekyll and Hyde has often been considered the best screen adaptation of the Stevenson work. The temporal setting was perfect for another Gothic horror tale; by the time the filming of Jekyll and Hyde had begin in the summer of 1931, Universal Studios had scored a massive hit with Dracula, and would later enjoy similar success with the November 1931 release of Frankenstein. The first film directed by European-born Rouben Mamoulian, the 1929 Applause, demonstrated the director’s innovative use of sound and camera movement; Jekyll and Hyde, Mamoulian’s third film, again provided the director with ample opportunity to utilize his creative talents. Opening the film with the ominous strains of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, Mamoulian initially employed the subjective camera, so that the audience saw the physical surroundings through Jekyll’s eyes; Jekyll himself was first seen as a reflection in a mirror, a technique later repeated when Hyde made his initial appearance. This premier sound presentation of the Stevenson story also benefited from having been produced in the “pre-code” era, a more liberated time in the history of early cinema.
Mamoulian’s interpretation of the classic story did not involve the more commonly accepted underlying theme of good versus evil, but rather “the primitive, the animalistic versus the spiritual because that’s in all of us, including the saints”, a concept depicted in a combination of horror and Freudian psychology. The director spoke of Hyde as “an animal” that “knows no evil”. As Jekyll gradually became corrupted through the continuation of his experiments, Mr. Hyde likewise became more and more evil, deteriorating with each developmental stage he experienced.
Mamoulian’s version further influenced most future productions of Jekyll and Hyde through the emphasis of the contrasting characters of the two the leading women, Jekyll’s upper-class fiancée, Muriel and Hyde’s promiscuous music hall singer Ivy. While the 1920 film did include both Jekyll’s fiancée and Hyde’s romantic interest, Millicent and Gina respectively, the notion of stressing their differences was never specifically addressed; while Millicent was undoubtedly virtuous, Gina was never particularly portrayed as someone of a baser nature, although the fact that she was a dancer perhaps implied that she was of lower social standing than Millicent; moreover, the Hyde/Gina relationship might be viewed in general as distasteful. In the more liberated era of Hollywood, prior to the 1934 Production Code, director Mamoulian illustrated the barmaid Ivy’s loose morals quite graphically in contrast to the chaste fiancée Muriel; upon her first encounter with Jekyll, after he has rescued her from an attacker on the street and checked her wounds, Ivy performed a playful striptease, ultimately slipping fully nude under the covers of her bed. Actress Miriam Hopkins, who appeared as Ivy, had reportedly actually wanted the part of Jekyll’s fiancée; she found the pivotal character of Ivy too unsympathetic. Ultimately, Mamoulian’s Jekyll and Hyde, with its sexual undercurrent, did not escape the watchful eye of the Production Code; a 1936 reissue saw the film shorn of 15 minutes, reduced from a 97-minute length to an 82-minute running time. The film did not realize a full restoration until the 2004 release on DVD.
Recognized by literary scholars as a motif in Stevenson’s work, the theme of repression featured strongly in the Mamoulian adaptation. With its sober and dignified surface, the repression of the Victorian era, no expressions of emotion orsexual appetites in the public sphere, was woven throughout the 1931 work; the more Jekyll’s forbidden cravings were suppressed, the more he desired the life of Hyde, and the stronger Hyde grows, his evil magnified after months of repression.
Paramount Studios had initially wanted middle-aged character actor Irving Pichel to star in Jekyll and Hyde, a choice to which Mamoulian was opposed. Although agreeing that Pichel would make a wonderful Hyde, the director envisioned a young and handsome Jekyll. Mamoulian pursued a reluctant Fredric March for the eponymous title roles, regarding him a “marvellous actor who also is a very intelligent one” ; to that point in his career, March was considered more a “matinee idol” type, having achieved a huge hit, and eventually an Academy Award nomination, for a wickedly funny parody of John Barrymore in 1930’s The Royal Family of Broadway. The idea of playing a monster, or even an animal in Mamoulian’s term, was not immediately appealing to the star, although the part would ultimately earn March his first Oscar as Best Actor. In a later interview given to Screen Book Magazine, March explained his approach to the dual role:
“I conceived Mr. Hyde as more than just Dr. Jekyll’s inhibited evil nature, I saw the beast as a separate entity – one who could, and almost did, little by little, overpower, and annihilate Dr. Jekyll. And I tried to show the devastating results in Dr. Jekyll as well. To me, those repeated appearances of the beast within him were more than just a mental stain on Jekyll — they crushed him physically as well.”
Rose Hobart and Fredric March (1931) Miriam Hopkins and Fredric March (1931)
1941 Version.Directed by Victor Fleming. Screenplay by John Lee Mahin. Starring Spencer Tracy, Ingrid Bergman, Lana Turner. Donald Crisp, Ian Hunter.
While lacking the more candid sexual imagery or inventive camerawork of its 1931 forerunner, director Victor Fleming’s 1941 adaptation of Jekyll and Hyde, from the perspective of the general story line, was essentially a remake of the Mamoulian version of a decade before, albeit not recreated scene-for-scene. An Academy Award winner for his direction of the 1939 landmark film Gone with the Wind, Fleming informed publicists that his adaptation would be a more naturalistic presentation than Mamoulian’s. Nonetheless, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the producing studio of the Fleming film, was evidently concerned about any possible competition from or unfavourable comparison to its Paramount predecessor; having acquired the rights to the 1931 film, MGM consequently suppressed it, succeeding so effectively that the Mamoulian version remained hidden for over twenty-five years, even believed lost, until an abridged print was discovered in 1967.
While both the Mamoulian original and the Fleming remake concerned a Victorian gentleman whose sexual instincts, warped by the puritanical society in which he lived, ultimately took a monstrous form, Fleming’s Jekyll and Hyde, developed under the constraints of the Production Code and produced by the more conservative studio of MGM, eschewed of necessity the more forthright sexual undertone of the Mamoulian version. The progressiveness of Mamoulian’s adaptation, including the views on sex espoused by Dr. Jekyll and the more frank eroticism, were obliterated in the 1941 remake; the Fleming production expressed a greater emphasis on Victorian repression and psychological interpretation. In an early scene, the father of Jekyll’s fiancée Beatrix disdainfully proclaimed “I do wish Harry wouldn’t make such demonstrations of affection in public.” Ivy’s behaviour towards Jekyll in their first encounter was more flirtatious than provocative; Hyde’s later terrorizing of Ivy, demonstrated through constant threats of violence in the 1931 treatment, became an exercise in psychological cruelty, a more subtle horror, and. in its manner, more malicious and calculating, evolving into a sadistic intensity quite unlike the 1931 forerunner.
The eroticism of the Mamoulian presentation did, however, strikingly manifest itself as violence, notably in several fantasy sequences occurring during Jekyll’s transition into Hyde. Not part of the diegetic action of the film, these segments, more extreme than any depiction seen or suggested in the 1931 version, included the whipping, although the actual whip was never shown by order of the Production Code, of Beatrix and Ivy as “horse-women” and an image of Ivy’s laughing head as a champagne cork; visions which would undoubtedly elicit a sexual interpretation from a Freudian analyst.
Envisioned at one point as a vehicle for Robert Donat, Jekyll and Hyde piqued the interest of Spencer Tracy. As the actor explained,
“I had always been fascinated by the story and saw it as a story of the two sides of a man. I felt Jekyll was a very respectable doctor – a fine member of society. He had proposed to a lovely girl and was about to marry her. But there was another side to the man. Every once in a while, Jekyll would go on a trip. Disappear. And either because of drink or dope or who-knows-what, he would become – or should I say turn into? – Mr. Hyde. Then in a town or neighborhood where he was totally unknown, he would perform incredible acts of cruelty and vulgarity. [. . .] The girl, as his fiancée, is a proper lady. But as his fantasy whore, the girl matched his Mr. Hyde. She would be capable of the lowest behavior. The two girls would be played by the same actress [some sources have indicated Katharine Hepburn, whom Tracy had not yet met, was a consideration]; the two men would be me.”
Apparently originally tested as good-girl Beatrix, Jekyll’s fiancée and the ingenue of the narrative, Ingrid Bergman, “fed up” playing such roles, approached director Fleming and producer Victor Saville with the idea of performing the part of the more promiscuous Ivy. The legend that Bergman and co-star Lana Turner “swapped” roles was exactly that, a piece of Hollywood folklore. The part of Beatrix had been initially announced for Laraine Day, who ultimately bowed out of the project; Turner was cast in the role only one day before shooting of the film began.
Even with the Mamoulian film safely out of the way, the 1941 Jekyll and Hyde did not generally compare favourably with its 1931 counterpart. Mamoulian’s earlier version has been deemed over the years to be a masterpiece; in his contemporary review in The New York Times critic Mordaunt Hall hailed the presentation as “a far more tense and shuddering affair than it was as John Barrymore’s silent picture. [. . .] Fredric March is the stellar performer in this blood-curdling shadow venture.” A decade later the same publication dismissed Fleming’s more cerebral approach to horror as a “preposterous mixture of hokum and high-flown psychological balderdash”. Although praising the Bergman performance, an issue of Hollywood observed “While Spencer Tracy does a grand job in his dual role, his Mr. Hyde is inclined to be more humorous than terrifying.” Modern Screen described Jekyll and Hyde as “funniest when apparently it is trying to be most serious and never so routine as when it is trying hardest to be different.”
In fairness, critical reviews of the 1941 Jekyll and Hyde were not consistently negative. After a preview showing of the film in late July 1941, prior to the August 12, 1941 premiere in New York City, the trades paper Variety, while noting “The promise, however, of something superlative in film making, in the combination of the star, the Robert Louis Stevenson classic and Victor Fleming’s direction, is not completely fulfilled”, did acknowledge “Nevertheless, it has its highly effective moments, and Tracy plays the dual roles with conviction. [. . .] Jekyll may be put down as one of the big ones for fall release.”.
Despite any adverse or lacklustre critical reaction, Fleming’s Jekyll and Hyde appeared to have enjoyed a modest financial success with the movie-going public; domestic and foreign box office returns totalled approximately $1,211,000. Nor was the 1941 production overlooked by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences; while not a recipient of any prize, Academy Award nominations were earned in the categories of Best Black-and-White Cinematography, Best Film Editing, and Best Musical Scoring of a Dramatic Picture.
The Face Of Evil
“He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn’t specify the point. He’s an extraordinary-looking man, and yet I really can name nothing out of the way. No, sir; I can make no hand of it; I can’t describe him. And it’s not want of memory; for I declare I can see him this moment.”
– Stevenson’s description of Edward Hyde, as expressed by the character Richard Enfield
As depicted in the Stevenson novella, the evil of Mr. Hyde was seemingly portrayed only in his sickly smile; while he bore a definite malevolent countenance, Hyde was substantially “human” in appearance. In the 1887 stage production actor Richard Mansfield, co-author of the play, performed Hyde with a change of expression but no make-up. The cinematic Hyde has been presented in a number of ways, all of which emphasize, to a greater or lesser degree, a very visible, physical illustration of horror.
Barrymore’s 1920 personification of Hyde was first produced through facial distortion; make-up was then applied to create the image of an obscene, corrupt monster, his lank locks falling from a peaked head. A masterful characterization of the embodiment of horror, Hyde’s heinous persona was underscored by a slinking, hunching gait; as was later the case with March and Tracy, the physical ugliness of Hyde stood in stark contrast with the naturally handsome visages of the three actors.
In keeping with director Mamoulian’s concept of a more bestial Hyde, actor March’s 1931 physical portrayal of the evil character was the most unrealistic in human terms, and the furthest from the original Stevenson description; Hyde’s simian appearance was more Neanderthal than modern homo sapien in nature. Application of the make-up was an arduous task, a process demanding up to four hours; makeup artist Wally Westmore drew many sketches in consultation with March, ultimately creating a plaster mold of the actor’s face to spare March gruelling hours in a makeup chair. The device needed a sufficient level of comfort to allow March to wear it for prolonged periods of time, without impeding the actor’s ability to speak clearly. Developing the animal-like fangs proved most difficult; March was required to sit for hours as a dentist made necessary adjustments to the dental work. The end result of these laborious efforts were perfect; the final makeup combined both the sub-human and satanic aspects of the character.
Tracy, in his 1941 portrayal, originally had the idea of doing the transformations from Jekyll to Hyde entirely without makeup; as the actor noted “The change was not essentially physical. It went deeper than that. It was his soul that turned black.” In late December 1940 the actor filmed an unsuccessful makeup-free test of the initial transformation scene as scripted by screenwriter John Lee Mahin. Despite ultimately agreeing to use makeup, Tracy’s depiction was closest to Stevenson’s description of the detestable Hyde; although the face bore an unmistakably dark, venomous look, it still retained a human appearance.
Conclusion
The general concept of the Jekyll and Hyde story, the notion of good and evil shared by one physical body, and presented as a mesmerizing horror narrative, has never stopped fascinating the public. Stevenson’s literary work has never gone out-of-print, and has served to date as the underlying source for no less than thirty film adaptations, some comedic or exploitative, thirteen stage presentations, and seventeen television productions. With its many layers, Stevenson’s chef-d’œuvre can be appreciated on numerous levels; exploration of the various themes and motifs invite literary or philosophical analysis, or a reader may simply choose the book as a chilling midnight treat.
LITERARY SOURCES
Curtis, James, Spencer Tracy: A Biography (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2011)
Luhrssen, David, Mamoulian: Life on Stage and Screen, (Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky, 2013)
Osborne, Robert, 50 Golden Years of Oscar: The Official History of The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences (California: ESE California, 1979)
Peters, Margot, The House of Barrymore (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990)
Soister, John T.; Nicollela, Henry, American Silent Horror, Science Fiction and Fantasy Feature Films, 1913-1929 (North Carolina: McFarland & Company Inc., Publishers, 2012),
Sragow, Michael, Victor Fleming: An American Movie Master (Kentucky: The University Press of Kentucky, 2013)
Stevenson, Robert Louis, (1886) The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, (Reprint Scotland: Waverley Books Ltd., 2008)
Tranberg, Charles, Fredric March: A Consummate Actor (Oklahoma: Bear Manor Media, 2013)
Twitchell, James B., Dreadful Pleasures: An Anatomy Of Modern Horror (New York: Oxford University Press, Inc., 1985)
OTHER SOURCES
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1932, 1941). [DVD] Directed by Rouben Mamoulian, Victor Fleming. USA: Warner Bros.
“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920 Paramount film),” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Dr.Jekyll_and_Mr._Hyde(1920_Paramount_film)&oldid=1009017584
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