mmp: 1931

Showing posts with label 1931. Show all posts

Friday, 5 July 2013

The Skin Game (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

Starring C.V. France, Helen Haye, Jill Esmond

Produced by British International Pictures

The Jackmans have just gotten bad news. Their current landlord Mr. Hornblower is evicting them from their home.

Despondent, they appeal to the prior land owner Mr. Hillcrest for assistance. Hillcrest is angered by their displacement as he had specifically required they be allowed to remain in the house as part of the sale.

This sets the two families on a warpath, waging their battles through land auctions and family secrets. Who will emerge victorious? And will either family ever be the same again?

The Skin Game has to be amongst the most boring films I have ever seen during this marathon. There are maybe 30 minutes of material here stretched to almost 80 minutes. And you never have the sense that anything is at stake.

If the film succeeds at all, it is because of Hitchcock's direction. It's as though he realized how shoddy the material was and just decided he'd play with the camera a bit.

The best scene in the movie involves an auction. Once the land goes up for sale, Hitchcock's camera gives us the perspective of the auctioneer, his eyes darting around the crowd for the next bidder. The approach adds tension to a scene that would otherwise be as exciting as watching paint dry.

The flip side of the director's approach however is it becomes too busy, as though we can feel Hitchcock trying really hard to make it work. But all the excessive camera movement and editing does is highlight how little was there to start with.

I'm sure there are some messages and themes in here about the plight of British aristocracy in the 1920s. I'm positive The Skin Game has a lot to say about the divide between new and old money and the peasants who are stuck in the middle. But the film has to keep its audience awake long enough to ask those questions.

As an experimental film and a step along the way to Hitchcock becoming the master of suspense, there's something here. I just don't think it is worth anyone's time.

*1/2 out of *****

Posted in 1931, alfred hitchcock, skin game | No comments

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

Little Caesar (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy

Starring Edward G. Robinson, Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Glenda Farrell

Produced by First National Pictures

Rico is a small time hood in a tiny little 'burb. With his pal Joe in tow, he steals and extorts from gas stations and diners, never getting the payout he wants.

Never, that is, until he moves to the big city and joins Sam Vettori's's crew. Suddenly he's hanging out at swanky clubs and getting big scores. But he still wants more. He doesn't want to be a soldier. He wants to be the boss.

Meanwhile, Joe is trying to leave a life of crime behind. He wants to be a dancer and has found the perfect two-stepping partner in Olga. But we all know what happens when you try to get out.

Soon, the bodies start piling up. Can Rico claw his way to the top? And will he allow Joe to escape the life?

Little Caesar is the type of film that rises or falls based on its lead performance. Either the actor makes it work and gets you invested, or the film is a failure.

Fortunately, Little Caesar features Edward G. Robinson in the starring role and he delivers a character that is one of the iconic gangster characters of all time.

It's a harder feat to pull off than you might think because Rico is irredeemably loathsome. From the first frame, he's a bad guy driven by greed and ambition. His first instinct is to pull a gun and start shooting. When he meets his mob bosses, there's no respect. He simply eyes their jewelry with all the charm of a vulture waiting for its prey to die.

Robinson throws himself into the role and has charisma to spare. You don't want to see him succeed necessarily, but you can't look away. He turns the journey into a NASCAR car crash where you feel every flip and tumble.

The secondary story about Joe who is trying to crawl out of the shadows of his former life gets little attention here. Joe is played by Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. (yes, the son of that Douglas Fairbanks). Its resolution is literally plastered on a billboard. In another film, that might be a problem. Here, it is really only used to highlight Rico's one good quality: his loyalty to his best friend. Under the mob's code of conduct, Rico should have killed Joe a half dozen times, but he doesn't and that's worth something.

Little Caesar is a fun and prototypical take on the Depression-era gangster, establishing the "myeah see" line delivery that marked the Warner Bros. cartoons of my childhood. It's more than worth a watch.

**** out of *****

Posted in 1931, edward g robinson, little caesar, mervyn leroy | No comments

Friday, 10 May 2013

Svengali (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Archie Mayo

Starring John Barrymore, Marian Marsh and Donald Crisp

Produced by Warner Bros.

This usually where I would do the plot summary, so here it goes:

A guy who is teaching music actually has mind control powers and takes control of a beautiful woman making her fall in love with him. It ends badly for them. The end.

There's obviously a lot more to Svengali, but that's the gist.

I hated this film. It's sloppily constructed, overacted and dull.

How so? The film wants to set up Svengali as this mythical, evil yet tragic monster of a man, someone who would take control of a woman's mind and make her commit suicide. Or who would control the woman he lusts for and force her to love him.

And how do you build such a beast? By making him the center of a comedic, almost slapstick opening, of course. Have this evil, tragic figure give music lessons to a terrible singer, rolling his eyes and cringing the whole time. If he's silly, we will take him even more seriously at the end, right?

I don't know if the thought was to combine the pathos and comedy of a Charlie Chaplin film with the horror and tragedy of Lon Chaney, but that appears to be the goal. And it's about as effective as mixing oil and water and throwing in some pickles for good measure. It's a recipe that just never comes together.

You could make the argument that the true purpose of Svengali is to give John Barrymore a reason to put on a lot of make up and mug for the camera. There it succeeds in spades. Barrymore seems unaware that the over-emotive acting necessary for silent films is not necessary in a talkie. Your movements can be more subtle.

Any of the above could be slightly forgivable if Svengali was entertaining on some level. It's not. It's repetitive and dull. In its comedic moments, it approaches its punchlines with all the grace of my three year old pretending to be a ninja. It grabs its jokes and pummels them into submission.

When it is time for drama, we get the same moments over and over again, with the added problem of Barrymore delivering his lines with the speed of a cartoon turtle. It's excruciating to endure.

What's good about Svengali? The lighting effect that happens with Barrymore's face when he is hypnotizing someone is kind of neat. Other than that....

* out of *****

Posted in 1931, archie mayo, john barrymore, svengali | No comments

Wednesday, 8 May 2013

The Maltese Falcon (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Roy Del Ruth
Starring Bebe Daniels, Ricardo Cortez, Dudley Digges
Produced by Warner Bros.

Detective Sam Spade (NOT played by Humphrey Bogart) takes on the case of a woman with a mysterious request. After Sam's partner is killed trailing a man who himself turns up dead.

Spade finds himself trapped between a woman who may be the only one he can ever truly love and a mysterious man who will stop at nothing to acquire a certain avian-themed trophy.

Can Sam find the bird, end up with the girl and escape the police?

The second you say the words "The Maltese Falcon," certain images and words come to mind.

Bogey. Peter Lorre. "The stuff that dreams are made of."

None of that is here. Instead, we get Ricardo Cortez and Otto Matieson. And the final lines of The Maltese Falcon in 1931 come nowhere near Spade's iconic final words a decade later.

Rather than fight the comparison, let's embrace it. The biggest difference between this version and its more famous remake is its tone. The Sam Spade of 1931 as played with Cortez is playful and cheery, even when the chips seem to be down. Gone is Bogart's world-weary approach. This Spade is more Bugs Bunny, a character who will come out on top because... well, he will.

That creates a big problem in the 1931 version as Cortez' acting combined with the script strip any tension away from the movie. It's hard to worry about your hero when he spends half of the film practically winking at the camera.

The other big difference here is the pre-Code aspect of the film. We get shots of femme fatale Ruth Wonderly in a bathtub, her body just inches away from revealing too much. The homosexual undertones of Gutman's relationship with his henchman are explicit here.

I do like a lot of the acting here. Cortez is having a ball, Bebe Daniels' Ruth is pitch perfect in every scene and Mathieson's portrayal of Cairo is suitably creepy.

However, all of the movie's problems can be summed up in the film's final moments. Spade shares a moment with the woman he was doomed to love, but has to turn it into a joke and a guffaw. There's no sense of lingering pain as the credits roll. Just the inconsistency that was there throughout the movie.

There is a masterpiece version of The Maltese Falcon. This isn't it. This is merely a good version that suffers from inconsistencies in acting styles and tone, deficiencies made all the more apparent when this tale is spun ten years later.

*** out of *****

Posted in 1931, maltese falcon, roy del ruth | No comments

Monday, 6 May 2013

The Guilty Generation (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Rowland V. Lee
Starring Leo Carrillo, Constance Cummings, Robert Young
Produced by Columbia Pictures Corporation

John Smith is an up and coming architect. He has great friends. He's just been hired to build a hotel in Florida. He only has one small problem...

His name isn't John Smith. It's Marco Ricca. And Marco is the son of Tony Ricca, a prominent mob boss engaged in a war with Mike Palmiero and his clan.

Shortly after arriving in Florida, Smith ends up at a Palmiero party and meets the fetching Maria, Mike's daughter. Being the children of rival gangsters, the two immediately fall in love.

Mike is a protective father who begins sniffing out Maria's new beau. Can the couple end their families' hatred? Or will they become victims of the violence?

The Guilty Generation is not at all what I was expecting.

On its face, the movie is a Romeo and Juliet tale set against the backdrop of the Italian mafia with a supporting turn from Boris Karloff as the head of the Ricca clan.

However, about 20 minutes in, a strange thing happens. Leo Carrillo appears on the screen as Mike Palmiero and, scene by scene, he takes the film over. We spend more time with him worrying over his daughter and this stranger that's come into her life than we do with couple. And when the lovers do get together, their single-minded focus becomes how Mike will respond when they elope.

It's always odd to watch the film recalibrate itself from a film about star-crossed lovers to a film about an enraged father. That said, I think it works. Carrillo is so good here as the bad guy that we want to spend time with him. He claims to want to end his gang war, but it is clear he wants to do it on his terms. Only if Ricca loses more than him is he willing to call a truce. In the end, we want to see which code of honor means more to him: that of a father or that of a kingpin.

Which is ultimately where the movie falters. The tension in the film is all about when Smith will be discovered as a Ricca and how Mike will react. You'd think it could go one of two ways (he either kills Marco or lets his daughter be happy). Instead, the film ties everything up through a third option which manages to be both random and unearned.

Despite a clunky love story and a shoddy climax, Carrillo gives me enough to recommend The Guilty Generation. But just barely.

*** out of *****

Posted in 1931, boris karloff, guilty generation, rowland v lee | No comments

Monday, 22 April 2013

Lonely Wives (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Russell Mack

Starring Edward Everett Horton, Esther Ralston, Laura La Plante

Produced by Pathé Exchange

Renowned lawyer Richard "Dickie" Smith is all over the papers for a recent high-profile acquittal he successfully tried, but back home he has nothing but problems.

His wife Madeleine and her mother believe (and rightfully so) that he is a philanderer. He is all business during the day, but once eight o'clock hits, his personality switches and he chases every skirt in sight.

This proves particularly problematic on the day he is trying out a new secretary, the beautiful Kitty "Minty" Minter. He's unimpressed with her typing and dictation skills, but once the clock chimes he's only too pleased to watch her "wiggle."

Complicating matters further, Minty's friend Diane O'Dare is looking for a divorce from her vaudevillian performer husband The Great Zero and wants to take advantage of Smith's sexual proclivities to get him to take the case.

Smith sets up a late night rendezvous with both Minty and Diane, but Dickie's mother-in-law won't let him leave the house. Fortunately, The Great Zero shows up to ask Smith's permission to impersonate the lawyer in his act. Once the actor dons some make up, his resemblance to Smith is uncanny. The doppelgänger gives the lothario the perfect means to sneak out.

Now Smith and The Great Zero have switched places, but can they carry out the ruse? And what will the impersonator do when, surprise!, Madeleine returns home early from her trip?

Lets be clear up front: Lonely Wives is not a good movie. No way, no how.

The direction takes its cue from silent films ten years older. It's a series of medium shots, filming the action from the same angles repeatedly. It's so stagey, you expect if the camera ever did pull back, you'd see footlights.

The actors don't do anything to assuage these concerns. They talk and behave as if in a theater with an audience. There are even bizarre pauses after the laugh lines. Every line sounds like it belongs in a play, not a movie.

This movie does have a little to recommend though. For one thing, this is about as pre-Code as a film can get. For those unaware, the "Code" in question is the Hays Code, adopted in 1930 but not enforced until 1934, which regulated the content of films based on moral concerns. Every other line of dialogue in Lonely Wives is a double entendre that would have definitely not made it past the censors.

Some examples (courtesy of IMDB):

Smith: [Attempting to ask her out] What have you got on tonight?
Minter: Nothing I can't get out of. Why?

Smith: Oh, you have a pretty mouth!
Minter: Aw, I like your moustache.
Smith: Really? Well, shall we introduce them?

So if you've heard the term pre-Code and wondered what that was about, Lonely Wives is a good primer.

The other noteworthy element if the film is technical. In several scenes, Horton plays both Dickie and The Great Zero and, through the magic of double exposure, the two appear on screen together.

The effect is seamless, so much so that I wondered at first if it was a different actor. There are movies made today using green screens that don't carry off the effect convincingly.

Unfortunately for Lonely Wives, if I'm reaching for specific snippets of dialogue and a special effect as the primary selling points of a movie, it cannot be all that great. I'm sure this would have been wonderful on a stage 80 years ago. Sadly, on the big screen, Lonely Wives is only...

*1/2 out of *****

Posted in 1931, lonely wives, russell mack | No comments

Friday, 19 April 2013

Monkey Business (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Norman Z. McLeod
Starring The Marx Brothers
Produced by Paramount Pictures

The Marx Brothers stow away on an ocean liner.

Hilarity ensues.

Do you really need more plot?

Okay, now I get The Marx Brothers. Sort of.

For most of its runtime, Monkey Business has no real plot except for allowing the comedy troupe to run amok on a cruise ship. The sheer anarchy they represent within the ordered world of this boat is loaded with potential humor and the characters mine every bit of it.

For half the movie, we basically get a series of skits involving the characters trying to outwit the crew and passengers of the ship. Groucho fast talks his way into the captain's quarters with Chico and manages to get dinner before being chased out. Harpo hides within a puppet show and almost fools the captain into believing he's a wooden doll. Zeppo of course takes the opportunity to hit on the ladies on each deck when he's not outrunning security. It's each of the brothers being put to their best use without ever overstaying their welcome.

There's an energy to the action that keeps the film moving. Unlike the static shots that marked the previous Marx films, the camera here is every bit as fidgety as the brothers. The director doesn't simply shoot the action; he maximizes the humor of each scene.

Where the movie fumbles is when the script decides it should focus on a plot. Once we introduce a mob boss plot, you can almost here the film let out an exasperated sigh and mutter "Fun's over, guys. The studio execs just showed up."

That's not to say there's no fun to be had during Monkey Business' second half. It's just that the breakneck pace slows to a crawl and the jokes are fewer and less funny.

All in all, this is the best realization of the potential demonstrated by the hijinks of the Marx Brothers. I really wish the story would stop getting in their way.

***1/2 out of *****

Posted in 1931, marx brothers, monkey business, Norman Z McLeod | No comments

Wednesday, 17 April 2013

Platinum Blonde (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Frank Capra
Loretta Young, Robert Williams, and Jean Harlow
Produced by Columbia Pictures

Stew Smith is the ace reporter for The Post and regularly gets the big assignments. When he's not chasing down leads, he's killing time with his best friend in the newsroom, the lovely Gallagher.

Smith gets assigned to track down claims that the wealthy Schuyler family paid off a chorus girl to drop a civil suit against the family's womanizing son Michael.

Smith and a rival reporter from the Tribune are allowed to interview the family. The other reporter leaves with a bribe to drop the issue, but Smith is made of sterner stuff. First, he tricks the Schuyler matriarch into admitting the payoff, but seems swayed by the advances of her daughter Anne. However, in the end Smith calls his editor with the scoop, enraging the family.

The next day Smith returns with letters he had found from Michael to the chorus girl, providing salacious details about the affair. Anne offers a sizable bribe to Smith, but the reporter refuses the money and returns the letters, simply stating the previous story was news, but the letters would not.

Anne is intrigued by Smith and the two spend the afternoon together. She begins seeing him and the couple spontaneously elope, much to the dismay of both Mrs. Schuyler and Gallagher (who has been pining for Smith).

But marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be. Anne is trying to mold Stew into a proper gentleman, but the very independent reporter has his own ideas. Can the two making it work? And just how will Smith find his muse to finish a play he's been writing on the side?

Platinum Blonde has a very basic setup. It's a guy falling for the wrong girl while the perfect girl is under his nose all along. We have all seen it before.

So why is this film so engaging?

There are plenty of reasons. Williams as Stew Smith for starters. He plays the character just right. Instead of the pronounced gesticulations of the silent era, Williams gives a smooth, natural performance. There are any number of moments he could come off as obnoxious or whiny or petulant, but he strikes just the right balance to keep Smith charming and likable. The audience wants to see him win here and that is not the easiest trick to pull off when your character is constantly making bad decisions.

The second standout here though is Frank Capra. He keeps the action moving by striking a middle ground between the stagy presentations by most directors and the wild zooms and angles of Murnau.

The film features some nice tracking shots (as when the camera follows Smith and Anne through the Schuyler estate during one of their initial meetings). There is a beautiful moment with the couple where we see their first romantic moment shot through stained glass as rain drips down the window.

The final star of this film is the script. It's an early prototype for all the screwball comedies to come. There's a rat-a-tat-tat to a lot of Williams delivery. When the dialogue picks up, Capra just settles down with camera and let's the actors and the words carry the action.

I have not mentioned the two stars most would be familiar with. Loretta Young has almost nothing to do here. Her job is basically to hang in the background and wait to see if the man she loves will come to his senses. Young's fine, but never really gets a moment to shine.

Jean Harlow may have the toughest job in the film and I think if the script fails anyone, it's her. She at first seems to genuinely fall in love with Stew, but later she treats him like a reclamation project. It's possible both motivations are there together, but neither the writer nor Harlow really work to clarify things.

Because of where the film wants to go, the third act goes off the rails. Stew inadvertently throws a party at the Schuyler's mansion and things get out of hand. However, they never really establish that Stew's friends all have mentality of frat boys. With how tight s lot of the early plot feels, having things just loosen up completely feels wrong.

There are so many weird decisions at the end of the film, even Stew seems surprised when he finally chooses between Anne and Gallagher. There's no build up; it just...happens.

The film has a broad thematic concern with class, but I don't really think it has a ton to say on the subject. It's all surface level and even when it does something subtle (like naming our working class hero "Smith" and the Schuyler's butler "Smythe"), they have to call it out with a "Did you see what we did there?" nudge.

There's quite a bit I like here and more I merely admire. Platinum Blonde isn't perfect. It isn't laugh out loud funny. It is a helluva fun time though.

***1/2 out of *****

NOTE: Never heard of Williams? There's a reason. Four days after the film's release, the actor had an acute appendicitis and died. It's a tragedy we didn't get to see what might have been.

NOTE: Just because, here's one of my favorite little exchanges in the movie. It's Stew talking with the Schuyler's butler Smythe about puttering:

Posted in 1931, frank capra, jean harlow, loretta young, platinum blonde | No comments

Wednesday, 10 April 2013

The Champ (1931)

Posted on 03:58 by Unknown

Directed by King Vidor

Starring Wallace Beery, Jackie Cooper and Irene Rich

Produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer

Former heavyweight "Champ" Purcell is a mess. He drinks too much. He gambles away any meager earnings he has. When he gets a chance to return to the ring, he shows up in front of the promoter drunk and out of shape.

His vices force his young son Dink to be the man of the house. Champ loves his son, but cannot overcome his vices. When the father does finally see a gambling winning streak, he takes the money and buys Dink a horse.

Dink's pet is brought to the track as a race horse, where the boy and his father encounter Linda and Tony. Linda is actually Champ's former wife and Dink's mom. The fighter agrees to let Dink spend some time with Linda.

However, Dink does not care at all for his mother's well-to-do lifestyle. She responds by attempting to take the boy from his father. And when an all night drinking-and-gambling binge results in Champ losing Dink's horse, the man reluctantly agrees.

Now Dink is heading off on a train with his mother to a new life and family while Champ wastes away alone. Will Dink stay with his mother? And will the Champ jump at one last chance to climb into the ring?

The Champ is a great film and, while Wallace Beery may have won the awards, the film's success rests primarily on the shoulders of Jackie Cooper.

In The Champ, Cooper plays Dink, who (thanks to his father's alcohol and gambling issues), is forced to be the adult in his apartment. He dresses his father and works to get the ex-boxer to his appointments.

The real trick in Cooper's performance is not simply in playing the character as more mature. He still remains a kid, just with an additional burden. We see in Cooper's eyes some resentment of his father's behavior, but also acceptance and unconditional love.

That becomes critical later when Dink has an opportunity to escape his father for a better life and refuses. The turn of events could feel like an overwritten plot machination, but Cooper gives us such a fully realized character, it makes total sense why he'd race back to his no-good dad.

Speaking of dad, Beery is brilliantly understated in the title role. Again, it's a character that could go off the rails, but even when Andy loses Dink's beloved horse to cover gambling debts, you believe he wants to do right by his son. It's a revelatory turn from an actor who is primarily known for playing the heavy.

As for King Vidor's direction, it elevates the film above its relatively simple premise. Each shot is carefully framed and whenever we are with Dink, we are seeing the world from the level of a child, barely seeing anything above the torsos of the adults that surround him.

The Champ is wonderful filmmaking, centered around two fantastic lead performances by Cooper and Beery. It's filled with sports film cliches, but it serves as both a prototype of those tropes and an exercise in elevating them above even most movies today.

***** out of *****

NOTE: Beery received the Best Actor Oscar for his performance in The Champ.

NOTE: Original version of this article referred to Jackie Cooper as starring in The Kid because I am an idiot. This is the corrected version. Thanks to reader policomic for the correction.

Posted in 1931, jackie cooper, king vidor, the champ, wallace beery | No comments

Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Rewatching Frankenstein (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by James Whale

Starring Colin Clive, Mae Clarke, Boris Karloff

Produced by Universal Pictures

A brilliant scientist allows his intelligence and ego to drive him to the brink of sanity as he plays god and creates a new living being from stitched together dead bodies. His creation at first seems innocent and childlike, but lashes out when threatened by fire. Can the scientist bring himself to destroy his creation?

I honestly hesitated to bother with even a capsule recap of this one. The story of the monster and his creator is such a cultural touchstone that most people do not even realize the significant deviations this takes from the book. When you say "Frankenstein," nine out of ten people are going to picture this depiction.

Frankenstein as directed by James Whale is all about its visuals. Boris Karloff's look for the creature has been copied many times in many films, but revisiting the original, you realize what a poor facsimile these other versions really are. Sure, there are the flat head and the neck bolts, but Karloff's eyes are the key to the character here. Those droopy eyelids seem unthinking and dull, but then the windows open and the sunlight fills his face and those eyes glimmer with just a small amount of life. He brings a restrained humanity to the creature, which makes what happens to him all the more tragic.

No sooner do we see the monster's ecstasy from simply being bathed in sunlight, then we see his absolute terror when confronted with the flame of a torch. The doctor mistakes his creation's fear as an attack and confines him in a basement dungeon. Frankenstein's assistant Fritz further antagonizes the monster with his torch and eventually is killed by the enraged creature.

As much as I love the tragedy of these early scenes, I feel like the movie sprints a little too much after this point. It has some memorable moments, but they feel disjointed. Frankenstein just leaves the creature so he can go off and get married. The monster kills again and escapes. It encounters a little girl, plays by the side of a river with her and then playfully tosses her in, not understanding she'll drown. Then the monster is in Frankenstein's bride's bedroom.

Geography and pace are sacrificed as the film sets up the pieces for the endgame. Fortunately, Whale's distinctive visual style remains and Karloff embody the character in ways that never stoop to the cliche the creature has become in pop culture.

I want Frankenstein to be better. There are script problems. There are acting problems. However, Karloff and the direction remain enough to consider this a classic. A flawed classic, but a classic nonetheless.

**** out of *****

NOTE: This is the second version of the Frankenstein tale I've reviewed. Check out my thoughts on the 1910 version (which was also my first ever review on the site).

Posted in 1931, boris karloff, frankenstein, james whale | No comments

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Cimarron (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Wesley Ruggles (uncredited)
Starring Richard Dix, Irene Dunne and Estelle Taylor
Produced by RKO Radio Pictures

It's the Old West, a time of Western expansion, and the great Oklahoma land rush is moments from beginning. Wagons and horses are lined up at the border, just waiting for the starter's gun to send them hurtling into the virgin territory to stake their claim.

Among the hopeful horseman is Yancey Cravat. He has scoped out the perfect plot of land upon which to raise a family with his wife Sabra. He just has to get there before anyone else.

Unfortunately, A woman named Dixie Lee takes advantage of Yancey's honor and tricks him into giving up the plot. Undeterred, Yancey returns to Wichita, scoops up Sabra and heads to Osage to start up a newspaper.

In the ensuing years, Osage and the Cravat clan grow up together. The newspaper takes off, Yancey's a respected voice in the town and he and Sabra are blessed with some children. Yancey remains a pioneer by nature however and soon becomes restless in the expanding borough.

Can Yancey quiet his nomadic nature? And how will Sabra deal with Yancey if he threatens to leave?

Cimarron is a movie divided against itself.

On the one hand, it wants to be about a strong, pioneering woman who struggles to establish a newspaper business on the Western frontier. Sabra has to raise a family, keep the home together and increase the paper's circulation while her nomadic husband is constantly away on one of his impulsive adventures. Her strength is finally rewarded when she is elected to Congress despite her husband's absence.

However, the filmmakers are so in live with the husband Yancey and his exploits, they cannot stand taking the camera off of him long enough to give Sabra's story time to breathe.

Emblematic of this problem is the way Yancey's decision to go and get a piece of the Cherokee Strip land rush plays out. After fighting to get his foothold in the Oklahoma Rush, he's leaving his wife and kids for no better reason than wanderlust.

And during the five years he is gone, Sabra presumably does pretty well for herself. I say "presumably" because Cimarron has no interest in showing us how Sabra adapts to having an absentee husband and father. Instead, we fast forward five years to see Yancey's triumphant return to town.

This would be fine if we were meant to get a better understanding of Sabra through Yancey's eyes, but that is not what is going on here. This is 100 percent Yancey's story until the last 15 minutes when the film suddenly decides it is really about Sabra. It's a whiplashing plot mechanism that cannot hope to work.

In the course of carrying out this flawed structure, Cimarron does boast some impressive set-pieces. The opening Oklahoma land rush captures a moment in history I was largely unfamiliar with and carries it out to spectacular effect. There are thousands waiting for that starters gun so they can drive, ride or even run into the territory to make their claim. And once the gun sounds? Bedlam. Chaos. Wagons and riders race across the prairie. Wagon wheels fly. Horses break loose. It feels insane and dangerous.

I also appreciated the shootout that marks the mid-point of the film. The Kid, an old associate of Yancey's, rides into town with his gang, guns blazing. Yancey takes it upon himself to save the town and takes out each of the outlaws one by one.

The action is shot with a great sense of space and geography. We know where everyone is throughout the scene which only ups the tension as it reaches its endgame.

No discussion of Cimarron would be complete without some discussion of its portrayal of race, especially as embodied by the black serving boy Isaiah and the stereotypically Jewish Sol.

Yes, these portrayals are offensive by today's standards. However, Cimarron is not making an argument for the superiority of a race (as The Birth of a Nation despicably tried to). Instead, it thinks it is being progressive (which it may have been in its own time).

That leads to some bizarre juxtapositions as we lurch from a scene of Yancey arguing for citizenship for Indians to a moment with an actress playing an Indian looking and speaking like the most stereotypical version of such a character you can imagine. Or giving Isaiah a key, prominent role in Yancey's life, but having the boy exclaim how excited he is that their town sells watermelons. It's uncomfortable and ugly.

Richard Dix plays Yancey and there is no secret as to why he is cast; the man has one of the richest baritone voices you are likely to hear, which would be attractive to studios still figuring out the talkies. His acting? Well, he has a wonderful voice, right?

Irene Dunne's role is pretty thankless for the first three quarters of the film, but she shines during the final stanza. The character actors are hit or miss.

Cimarron has some basic flaws in its structure that lead to mixed themes and messages, but it gets points for some ambitious moments. I just wish the film's self-congratulatory supposed advancement of minorities in film didn't end up so stereotypical and racist.

**1/2 out of *****

NOTE: Cimarron won the 1931 Best Picture Oscar.

Posted in 1931, cimarron, oscar winner | No comments

Sunday, 10 March 2013

City Lights (1931)

Posted on 08:16 by Unknown

Directed by Charlie Chaplin

Starring Charles Chaplin, Virginia Cherrill and Florence Lee

Produced by Charles Chaplin Productions

It's a big day in the city. The mayor is unveiling a new statue titled "Peace and Prosperity" and a crowd has gathered for the event. After some speeches by local dignitaries the tarp is raised to reveal...

...the Tramp fast asleep in the lap of one of the statues. After a series of failed attempts to descend from the statue before the jeering crowd, our hero finally escapes.

He encounters a blind girl selling flowers. She is beautiful and he is smitten. He uses his last coin to buy a single flower from him and refuses the change.

Later that night, as the Tramp sits on a dock admiring his flower, a millionaire arrives intent on drowning himself. The tramp intervenes, saving the man's life and becoming his friend. The only problem is the rich man only recognizes the poor man as his friend if he's been drinking.

The Tramp sets out to raise enough money to buy the girl an eye surgery to restore her sight. Of course, a man in his lowly position runs into obstacles at every turn. Can he earn the money or will he have to steal it? And what will be the consequences of his actions?

Over the last decade, my experience with Chaplin has been rough. Since 1921's The Kid, I've liked, but not loved, anything he's done.

That stops now.

City Lights is endlessly funny and hopelessly romantic. Every element of Chaplin's talents as an actor, writer and director shine through.

The film tells a relatively straightforward story about a man who will do anything for the girl he loves. The central conflict behind the scenes at all times is that to help her means to restore her sight which will shatter the illusion she has of who her benefactor is.

However, that basic structure is deconstructed into a series of smaller scenes, each of which can stand on its own. The film's comic genius really shines here. The moments of Chaplin saving the millionaire during his suicide attempt on the dock feature brilliant comic timing combined with character development. His first scene with the blind girl has a humor that makes you smile and a sweetness that drives the story later. And the boxing scene...

Chaplin's scenes preparing for and ultimately boxing a larger man are some of the funniest physical comedy I've ever seen. It's not a boxing match, it's a dance, with each step finely choreographed and never a moment wasted. The way Chaplin positions himself behind the ref. The rope to ringing the bell wrapping around his neck to save and doom the Tramp moment by moment. It's an astonishing sequence in its ingenuity and humor.

Of course, after disassembling a basic plot into these chapters, it is all reassembled to say more than most films. The basic story has two people not merely saved, but given new lives by the poorest man you can imagine. Both are blind to who he really is for a time, but when the rich man sees the tramp, he detests the filthy beggar. When the flower girl who raised herself up to own her own shop sees him, it's love. Powerful stuff in the midst of the Great Depression.

Chaplin is also obviously making one last case for silent film. He openly mocks the talkies in the opening scene by replacing the words of the politicians with kazoos, but the rest of the film proves a moving argument for the power of the image over the word to make us feel.

In case it's not obvious, I love City Lights. Chaplin uses his most character to say more through silence than any of his contemporary talkies.

***** out of *****

Posted in 1931, charlie chaplin, city lights | No comments

Friday, 8 March 2013

Disney Animated Shorts (1931)

Posted on 15:19 by Unknown

In Traffic Trouble, Mickey Mouse is a cab driver fighting puddles, potholes and other cars for space on the road. He loses one passenger, but picks up Minnie. Can she get her to her destination on time?

In The Castaway, Mickey washes ashore on a deserted island with a piano. His music starts attracting the animals of the island, but what will Mickey do when gorillas, lions and crocodiles take an interest?

In Fishin' Around, Mickey and Pluto ignore the "No Fishing" signs and try their luck at catching something. But the duo have their hands full when the fish prove to be smarter than they thought. What will Mickey do when the police arrive?

Much better.

My reviews since Steamboat Willie have not been kind to the rodent. Each of the Mickey Mouse animated shorts has seemed to focus on nothing more than watching our title character make random noises to music (often while abusing other animals).

Here we get some specific if slight stories. There are actual conflicts. None of it is Citizen Kane, but having some plot to propel you through seven minutes is essential.

The best of the three was Fishin' Around. Besides the giddy thrill of seeing Pluto on-screen, there's a real tale here. It's basic (Mickey and Pluto trying to outsmart a school of fish), but it works. There's a nice book ending within it as Mickey sinks a No Fishing sign, only to end up on the run from the police when he's caught.

Traffic Trouble has the most fun visuals. Mickey's cab is constantly stretching, contorting and losing pieces as it tries to reach its destination. It made me smile, but contains some of that animal abuse I've come to dread in these as Mickey turns a pig into an air pump.

The Castaway is utterly forgettable. It's closer to the previous efforts I've come to hate. Mickey is shipwrecked on an island, but that's really just a set up for him to play some music.

On the whole, these were much more enjoyable than what I've been getting from Disney. I hope it continues in 1932.

Traffic Trouble - **1/2 out of *****

The Castaway - ** out of *****

Fishin' Around - *** out of *****

Posted in 1931, mickey mouse, walt disney | No comments

Monday, 25 February 2013

The Struggle (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by D.W. Griffith
Starring Hal Skelly, Zita Johann, Charlotte Wynters
Produced by D.W. Griffith Productions

It's the early 1920s and Jimmie is in love with Florrie. There's only one problem: Jimmie enjoys drinking. Florrie does not approve so right then and there, Jimmie resolves to never drink again.

Flash forward a few years. Jimmie and Florrie are married and have a child. He has apparently managed to remain sober. One day, Jimmy's coworker is laid off and the husband decides to have a drink with him. And another. And another.

Jimmy's alcoholism is back now stronger than ever and threatens to destroy his entire family. Can Jimmie pull out of the tailspin his life has become? Or will he continue to live as the most stereotypical drunk that has ever graced the silver screen?

I hated this movie. There is literally almost nothing this film does well.

First, it starts with this pointless jumping through time. Seemingly the only point of these scenes is to make jokes about stuff from history that the audience knows the result of. So we get one scene with people expounding upon how Woodrow Wilson would be a terrible President because he's a college professor, immediately followed by someone commenting in the early 1920s that they should keep all of their money in stocks because by 1930 they'll be rich. Get it? Wilson was actually a good President! And the stock market crash happened in 1929 so that woman would have no money! Isn't that great stuff?

We then get into the main story which revolves around Jimmy's alcoholism. This basically means it's an hour of Hal Skelly as Jimmie, stumbling around and slurring his words. There is no moderation in his performance. He's either sober or completely hammered.

Fortunately, he has Florrie to support him. And by "support him," I mean she alternates between blank stares and repeating "Jimmie! Oh, Jimmie! Jimmie!" ad nauseum.

The film is shot by Griffith as though he recording a play. He's making a talkie, but it still looks and feels like a silent from 12 years earlier. Hell, his own Broken Blossoms was more compelling than this.

Griffith used to have an ear and an eye for melodrama, but he also used to have actors like Richard Barthelmess and Lillian Gish helping him out. No one is going to confuse anyone involved with this for actors of that character.

Griffith's work has always had a bit of self-importance, but it seems like his career has been a decade-long slow decline to this absolute nadir. The only thing that may help this film is adding a laugh track and trying to make it a comedy.

Which is a damn shame. This was Griffith's last feature. I wanted to see him go out on top.

* out of *****

Posted in 1931, d.w. griffith, the struggle | No comments

Sunday, 24 February 2013

Tabu: A Story of the South Seas (1931)

Posted on 02:00 by Unknown

Directed by F.W. Murnau

Starring Anne Chevalier, Matahi and Hitu

On a small South Pacific island, the tribal men hunt fish using spears and the women... well, they frolic in pools of water and slide down waterfalls as though they are at a water park. It's paradise.

The best of of the spear fishers is Matahi, making him quite the catch for the ladies. Matahi however only has eyes for Reri, the beautiful daughter of the chieftain.

Fate soon introduces an obstacle to their burgeoning romance. The king of the islands decrees that Reri must remain a virgin to satisfy their gods. She is tabu, and for a man to even look at her with lust in his eyes means death.

Matahi is exactly the kind of restless youth who refuses to take "no" for an answer. He sneaks Reri away and together they row to a distant island, half-dead but together.

Matahi recovers his strength and soon becomes renowned as the best pearl diver in his new home. Unfortunately, he has little concept of money and willingly signs the receipts to keep the booze flowing at a huge party.

This debt becomes a major problem when the king's emissary tracks the couple down. The penniless Matahi sneaks off to dive in an area labeled with a "Tabu" sign post. It seems a maneating shark has killed all the divers who have attempted to swim there. The boy hopes to find a big enough pearl to charter an escape voyage.

For her part, Reri fears for the life of her lover and agrees to return to be "tabu."

Will Matahi best the shark and find treasure? And can the two lovers remain together?

I should love Tabu.

It's the final movie of F. W. Murnau before he tragically died in a car crash. Murnau has easily been my favorite director of the 1920s.

Also, at the risk of psychoanalyzing Murnau, it feels like an attempt to extend his middle finger in Hollywood's direction. After poor box office receipts for his first U.S. films, he retreats to a Pacific island to shoot a film entirely populated by natives. At a time when talkies were taking hold, he shoots a silent film with almost no intertitles. That kind of anti-establishment sentiment feels like a perfect set-up for me to fall head-over-heels for a movie.

So why does the film leave me cold despite its tropical setting?

As with most things, it comes down to the script. We get one scene between our star-crossed lovers before she is declared "tabu" and ripped from Matahi. We never get a sense of who they are and why they are fated to be together in the first place.

It's an odd omission and not one from which the film can ever recover. The audience has to feel the stakes in a love story like this and that all flows from us being invested in these two people getting together. That never happens.

Instead, we get prolonged sequences showing tribal dancing and other rituals the islanders engage in. These are fascinating to watch, but their length does little to advance the story.

When they finally reach the island that they hope will be there escape, we start to get a sense of who Matahi is, but we only see him through the eyes of a French officer. And this foreigner sees Matahi as a gifted diver who is naive in the ways of the world. We aren't meeting our characters; we are getting other people's impression of them.

The film's structure seems to constantly function to keep the audience at arms length from its characters. It should be cajoling us to embrace them.

As Tabu moves toward its climax the only two things we have learned about Matahi are that he is reckless and he loves Reri. We also find that despite being told he is naive about money, he knows how to bribe an officer and charter a boat. That's it.

Reri fares better. She agrees to go back to her home because she knows the alternative is death for the man she loves. There is a reasonableness and maturity to her approach to their dilemma.

The two neophyte actors who anchor the film do their best to make Matahi and Reri more fully formed characters. Anne Chevalier is particularly good as Reri. You can see her concern and thoughts in every frame.

Because it's Murnau, the visuals are gorgeous. After a career of shooting cityscapes and buildings as one of the masters of German expressionism, he shows a surprisingly light touch in filming the sumptuous climes of Bora Bora.

Still, Tabu is at best a good film. It's a beautiful structure, but its foundation is a script that is as shifty and porous as the sands on the film's many beaches.

**1/2 out of *****

Posted in 1931, f.w. murnau, tabu | No comments

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

M (1931)

Posted on 09:37 by Unknown

Directed by Fritz Lang
Starring Peter Lorre, Ellen Widmann, Inge Landgut
Produced by Nero-Film AG

As a parent, there is no end of stuff that freaks me out. Every day is a constant stream of thoughts like: "Did I forget to sign him up for basketball?" and "What are they serving at snack time to my son with the peanut allergy?"

Of course, the biggest constant fear is that something horrible will happen to them. Something so horrible, parents usually won't describe it. Because to say it out loud, is to acknowledge that there are people in this world who will engage in the cruelest behavior possible: snuffing out the life of a young innocent.

M is about such a person. When we meet Hans Beckert for the first time, we only see his silhouette cast upon the poster announcing the reward for the capture of a serial killer of children. He entreats young Elsie Beckmann with a balloon and the two are soon walking hand-in-hand.

We also see Elsie's mother's growing concern as she stares at the clock, busies herself around the house to try to take her mind off her tardy daughter, until she cannot take it anymore, and must open the window and scream for her daughter.

The moment closes with amongst the most haunting images I have ever seen placed into film. A close-up of Elsie's ball rolling to a stop in a vacant field, followed by the image of the balloon Elsie had just been given tangled briefly in some power lines before blowing away.

Fritz Lang knows parents. He knows what frightens us. He doesn't have to show us Elsie's fate. Our imaginations will create a worse hell than any Lang could devise.

What's fascinating to me is that Lang takes that moment and turns it into a mirror against which society in Berlin is to be judged. M is never actually about this serial killer; it's about what he does to this city.

Without ever showing us what his Berlin is like before the murderer's atrocities, Lang tells us everything we need to know. It's structured. The police investigate crimes using tried and trued methodologies. The children travel to and from school without care. And the criminals have their own hierarchy with divisions and structure to carry out their illicit, but lucrative actions in the most efficient way possible.

Berlin is all about its structures. There is a comfort to how even the criminals are organized. Lang shows us these structures everywhere. There is a geometry of squares and circles in almost every shot of the film. And the film ultimately introduces Beckert not simply as a random murderer, but as a monkeywrench thrown into the machinery of the city's very functioning.

The police at first are clueless how to respond. They put up posters and round up the usual suspects (to borrow a phrase from another classic). When they finally turn to profiling and more "modern" crime detection techniques, it's foreign to these law enforcers. After all, the killer must be one of the known criminal underground, right?

For its part, the well-organized bad guys are seeing the increased activity by the police as a significant disruption to their operations. How can they gamble and steal if their places are constantly being raided? The criminals themselves come up with their own plan: to protect the children and catch the murderer themselves.

What follows is dueling investigative procedurals. In one camp, you have the police profiling recent parolees and visiting their homes to search for clues that may lead to the killer by using a letter he sent to the police and the newspapers. In the other, the criminals use beggars to track the city's children and report suspicious activities.

Both efforts ultimately prove successful, so it becomes a race to see who will get Beckert first. The criminals ultimately win out. They see him take another little girl and one of the beggars places a chalk "M" on the back of Beckert's jacket, leading to the film's signature chase through the streets of Berlin. They track him to an office building and wait until the end of the workday when everyone leaves.

When the criminals are sure he has not left, they break into the building to search for and find the murderer. Just as they discover Beckert's hiding place, one of the building's watchman triggers an alarm, alerting the police. The posse hightails it out, but one of their number is captured by the police.

Beckert is taken to an old distillery where an impromptu kangaroo court is set up to try the killer. He even gets his own defense "counsel," but clearly the criminals want to see Hans executed.

I have not really described Beckert much to this point and that's because to this point he's been an object. All we know is he has committed unspeakable acts and is being hunted. At the court, we finally get to meet him. And he's pathetic. He has urges he tries to fight but cannot. He blacks out when killing the children. He begs for his life. He's not the monster you'd envision.

He and his counsel even turn the tables back on the criminals, pointing out that his unspeakable crimes are the result of an uncontrolled sickness, while his judges kill, steal and grift as their living. The appeal doesn't matter. A blind balloon salesman identifies the killer by the tune he whistles and the assembled jury prepares to carry out sentencing. Then suddenly, they freeze, drop their weapons and slowly raise their hands.

The police have gotten the location of the distillery from the man they captured at the office building and arrive to make the save. It's the conclusion of the tale and really messes with the audience's head. On the one hand, you want Beckert dead. He deserves to die and his sickness just means he will likely kill again.

On the other hand of course is the question of what justice means. Should Beckert be gunned down by other criminals in a distillery? Or should he get his day in court?

Noticeably absent throughout much of the film are the women. Elsie's mom is there in the beginning and there are a couple of women at the kangaroo court. But Elsie's mom receives the final word of the film. She points out that nothing will bring her daughter back. She reminds us that a fundamental purpose of society should be to protect the children and that no one is excused from that responsibility.

I'm a parent. M makes me want to hold my children a little tighter. It also makes me hope that as my children gain independence and venture out into the world, that it's a world that is up to the admonition of Elsie's mother.

***** out of *****

Posted in 1931, fritz lang, M, peter lorre | No comments

Friday, 15 February 2013

The Public Enemy (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by William A. Wellman

Starring James Cagney, Jean Harlow and Edward Woods

Produced by Warner Bros. Pictures

It's the turn of the century and for Tommy and Matt, a couple of kids in the city, there's no end to the opportunities available, so long as you don't mind breaking a law or two. As they grow up, the scores become bigger and they start getting jobs from their fence, Putty Nose. Unfortunately, a job goes south and their boss skips town.

Never ones for sitting idly by, the boys join up with Paddy Ryan's gang just as Prohibition opens the floodgates for gang activity. Soon, Tommy and Matt are stealing booze and "persuading" local speakeasies to stock their product. Everyone's happy except Tommy's straight-laced brother Mike who has just returned from World War I.

Tommy is enjoying a life of women and booze, while Matt looks to settle down. However, when a gang war breaks out, Tommy and Matt are caught in the crossfire. Can either of them escape the life they have fallen into? And why is Jean Harlow the second name in these credits?

In watching The Public Enemy, you can't help but see the prototype for most mob films of the last century. The appeal of the stories are pretty simple and straightforward:

Escalation and stakes.

We always seem to start with the small time hood, begging the bosses for a modest payout. You show some guts and initiative, you move up. But the tasks become worse. The question of every gangster film is fundamentally do the ends justify the means? Can you have it all and not lose your soul?

For Tommy Powers (James Cagney), living the gangster life is worth anything. It gives him power and money, but it also provides a second family.

Tommy has two brothers in the movie. His real brother Mike holds an honest job, goes to night school and cares for their mother. His mob brother Matt is willing to go along with whatever the latest score is. We all know which brother Tommy is going to choose. Mike is a chump and Matt is the guy you go to war with.

Tommy doesn't just have a brother though. He has a father or two. First, small time boss "Putty Nose" teaches him the value of loyalty and honor by betraying him. Tommy learns his lesson and, when he joins Paddy Ryan's gang, he is cautious at first. Once he decides Paddy is trustworthy? Tommy is 100 percent his man.

It's impossible to overstate how good James Cagney is here. On paper, you should absolutely hate Tommy. Cagney infuses the character with a combination of mischievousness and charm that is absolutely compelling on the screen. True stars have a natural charisma and Cagney is blessed with that in spades.

Jean Harlow gets second billing here based on name recognition, but she is barely in this film. Tommy is not looking for a commitment and Harlow's Gwen fits the bill perfectly as a woman attracted to bad boys.

As the movie raced towards its conclusion, there was a moment I thought it would flinch and not follow Tommy's tale through to its logical end. Fortunately, the film zigs and zags in its final frames and gives us the perfect final image.

The Public Enemy is not a great film for its time; it's a great film, period. Highly recommend for the prototypical mob story as brought to you by a true movie star.

***** out of *****

NOTE: There's a scene where Cagney is being shot at and he ducks behind a wall as chunks of the brick are struck by bullets. How'd they pull off the effect? By actually firing bullets at the wall inches from Cagney's face.

Posted in 1931, james cagney, jean harlow, public enemy, william a. wellman | No comments

Saturday, 9 February 2013

Rewatching Dracula (1931)

Posted on 03:00 by Unknown

Directed by Tod Browning

Starring Bela Lugosi, Helen Chandler and David Manners

Produced by Universal Pictures

Dracula is a bit of a puzzle.

It's a film everyone thinks they have seen, but have you really?

For me, it had been well over ten years since I last watched it, so I was anxious to revisit it when 1931 rolled around.

What struck me most is just how hazy my memory was of the film. Bela Lugosi's Dracula has been reduced over the last 70 years to a guy in a cape who can't pronounce the letter 'w.'

But Lugosi has a lot more than that going on. He never really goes big or chews the scenery. He's not some over-powered supernatural being. He must rely on cunning and stealth to achieve his bloody goals.

Lugosi is perfect in switching between the traveling aristocrat and the mind-controlling vampire. You realize watching it today that his accent is functional; its a disarming shield that intrigues his potential victims.

The other element that struck me this time was the production design. I had remembered moments, but scene by scene, shot by shot, this film is beautiful to watch. The count's Transylvanian castle. Mina's bedroom. Dracula crypt. And of course, that vast, neverending stone stair where Renfield meets his demise.

As with any film, there are problems as well, especially with the pacing. We often smash cut from one scene to another and have little idea where we are or with whom. The movie eventually catches you up, but its disorienting (and not in a positive way).

And Dracula just ends. Abruptly. You're waiting for the next line or scene and instead you fade to the ending credit.

Besides Lugosi, the rest of the actors are blank slates, which works for purposes of the movie. After all, if everyone is merely food to you, how many distinct character traits would you notice?

The only regrettably notable exception to this is Dwight Frye as Renfield. I dislike the tendency to go ridiculously over the top with the character, which is a tradition that finds its start right here. Tom Waits remains my favorite on screen iteration of the character.

Dracula holds a well-earned spot in the pantheon of monster movies. Anchored by Lugosi's pitch perfect performance and Browning's arresting visuals, it remains a timeless classic. Definite must see.

****1/2 out of *****

Posted in 1931, bela lugosi, dracula, tod browning | No comments

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