Grand Hotel (1932)

Directed by Edmund Goulding
Starring Greta Garbo, John Barrymore and Joan Crawford
Produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

Ensemble films are notoriously difficult affairs. Multiple characters in overlapping storylines can leave audiences unsatisfied.  The director has to be a tightrope walker: balancing plot elements and making sure everyone gets their screen time only to find in the end that viewers liked that character but hated that story.

If it's a small miracle that these types of movies succeed, then Grand Hotel turns water into wine.  The film follows a destitute Baron (John Barrymore) who is both a jewel thief and in love with the famous dancer Grusinskaya (Greta Garbo).  The Baron befriends Kringelein (Lionel Barrymore), a lifetime employee of General Director Preysing's (Wallace Beery).  Kringelein is dying and looking to use his remaining money to live life to the fullest.  For his part, Preysing is teetering on the edge of financial ruin and hires the beautiful stenographer Flaemmchen (Joan Crawford) to help him with his affairs.  Preysing likes the woman, but Flaemmchen is smitten with the Baron.

Did you get all of that?

The connective tissue between the players and stories is the location: The Grand Hotel in Berlin.  The hotel is effectively another character in the film.  We can feel the pulse of the movie in its lobby.  Rooms seem to morph from places of romance to ones of foreboding.  And we can never leave the hotel.  When characters head out its front doors, we cannot follow.  The tone constantly shifts and director Edmund Goulding takes full advantage of his locale.

If there is a surprise here, it is just how subversive Grand Hotel is in its themes. For a big Hollywood spectacle packed with stars, the movie is dark almost to the point of being nihilistic.  Of our main characters, one leaves the hotel in a body bag, another in handcuffs, and a third for a train station to meet a lover we all know is not showing up, a fact the hotel itself seems to conspire to conceal.

One of the few hopeful notes seems to be struck by Kringelein, who leaves the hotel with Flaemmchen for Paris to find a doctor who can heal him. But Kringelein's hopes strike me as false.  They are no more than a way to placate Flaemmchen's desperation. The Paris trip is more a way to pass the time with a girl who is his only true remaining friend.  It's a way to give her purpose for a little while.

The only other true hopeful moment comes from a minor character, a porter. As the film ends, he receives a call from the hospital.  His wife is having a baby.  Perhaps we can look forward to the future.

Or perhaps not.  Dr. Otternschlag, a permanent resident of the Grand Hotel, seems to act as the voice of the place. And he closes the film repeating a line he said at the beginning:

"Grand Hotel. People come and go. Nothing ever happens."

Indeed. Robberies and murder. Love and hatred. Death and birth.  All are consequential to the players. But the hotel just goes on.  Whether you leave the hotel for a train station or the morgue, there is always another guest waiting to check in.

Grand Hotel is about as perfect as an ensemble film gets.  It balances all of its elements and has something to say.  It's a masterpiece of the pre-Code era.

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

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Cimarron (1931)

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.

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The Last Command (1928)

Directed by Josef von Sternberg
Starring Emil Jannings, William Powell and Evelyn Brent
Produced by Paramount Pictures

In an anonymous Hollywood office in 1928, a director prepping his next production pours over head shots in order to cast extras in his next movie. He's making a Russian war epic and bemoaning the fact that the current crop of Tinseltown actors look so inauthentic.

Then his eyes fall onto a picture of an old man. There's a glimmer of anticipation and even familiarity. He tells his staff to cast the man as the general in the film.

The old man receives the call and heads to the studio and waits with hundreds of others outside the gates.   As the lot opens, the potential extras push and yell at each other, trying to ensure their acting spot. The "general" navigates through this with a grace and dignity that none of the others can match.

When he finally dons the uniform, the general reaches into his case and produces his own medal to complete the outfit. The actor next to him asks where the man got the medal and the response is from the czar himself.

We flash back to 1917 and see the man without the world-weariness as General Dolgorucki of his cousin's army. He is trying to win the war, but he also has to make political maneuvers. When the czar visits the encampment, he pulls a division from the front lines to parade in front of the ruler. Never mind the fact that the men are desperately needed at the front, he has a czar to appease.



The general also must deal with a couple of actors who are really spies for the enemy. One of the spies, Leo, is the director from the opening scenes.  Dolgorucki whips him and locks him away. As for Leo's partner Natalie?  Well, the General takes a liking to the beautiful yet fiery woman and keeps her around as his consort.

Natalie still harbors a hatred for the government, but her time with the general leads her to respect the man's love for Russia. When her chance comes to kill her former enemy, Natalie cannot bring herself to do it.   The seeds of a romance are sown.

Unfortunately, the relationship never gets time to bloom. The train carrying the general and his men is hijacked by rebels and Natalie gleefully joins her former allies. The army officers are executed on the spot, but the general is spared so he can be hanged publicly. They send their captive to shovel coal into the train's furnace.

However, Natalie's alliance with the revolutionaries was only a ruse. She frees the general and he jumps from the train.  He can only watch in horror as the locomotive careens off of a bridge, killing the woman he loved.

Which brings us back to the present and the general's nascent acting career.  Will Leo exact his revenge?  And can the general lead his army of actors to one last victory?


Casual movie fans have doubtless heard of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton before. More serious cinephiles will recognize Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks and Lon Chaney.

How on earth Emil Jannings does not merit similar consideration is beyond me.

I had never heard of him before this marathon and shame on me.  If there is an Emil Jannings Fan Club, sign me up. I will gladly pay those dues.

In The Last Command, Jannings is required to pay two roles: a proud and physically imposing general and a frail, put-upon, would-be actor. He is fantastic in both roles and almost unrecognizable when you compare the two. He's impressive throughout, but when the finale requires him to transform from the destitute old man to the fierce battlefield commander, he pulls it off without the benefit of a special effect.

The rest of the actors here are good. I'd note William Powell's performance as Leo in particular. He's fine, but there's is little that hints at the leading man status he'd achieve in the next decade.

Beyond the acting, the script here is the real strength. The film sets up the central mystery of what happened to this once proud man and pays it off in spectacular fashion. It's a captivating story that gives all of the players a lot to work with.

The Last Command is about as great a drama as you'll see in the silent era. Jannings took home the first Best Actor Oscar and it could not have been more well-deserved.

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

Photo from mubi.com

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In Old Arizona (1928)

Directed by Irving Cummings
Starring Warner Baxter, Edmund Lowe and Dorothy Burgess
Produced by Fox Film Corporation

In an old western town, a mismatched group of people await passage on a stagecoach to take them across the desert. As the passengers board and set out, there are jokes and jibes. All of that frivolity is forgotten however when the stage is set upon by the notorious Cisco Kid.

The bandit disarms the drivers and demands they throw the strongbox down. The robber is not without honor and refuses to steal from the individual passengers. Even when a piece of jewelry worn by one of the travelers catches his eye, he doesn't just take it; he pays her in cash for the trinket.

We soon learn why he needs so much cash and jewelry. The Kid is in love with Tonia, a local girl who likes nothing more than to be treated like a queen. She oohs and aahs over everything her beau brings her. He thinks it's true love, and she is more than happy to let him think that. Of course, as soon as the Kid leaves, Tonia is entertaining a new gentleman caller.

In order to deal with the Cisco Kid once and for all, the army dispatches Sergeant Mickey Dunn to bring him in dead or alive. Dunn catches the eye of the lawman and, at first, protects her paramour. Of course, once she hears the Cisco Kid is worth $5000, her allegiance shifts quickly.

A scheme is hatched and a trap is set. Will Dunn and Tonia bring down the legendary outlaw? Or will the Cisco Kid turn the tables on his foes?




If I give my child a new toy car, he's going to be so excited, he won't know what to do. He'll race that car down a track. Across the floor. Up a wall. Around his brother's head. As a parent, you can correct him, but you also know the shine will wear off that car and your child will move on to the next thing.

I've reached the point with sound where I am waiting for Hollywood to lose interest.

In Old Arizona is rightfully recognized as an historic achievement. It's the first film to feature sound recorded outdoors. Actors are no longer limited to performing on soundstages indoors. Directors can capture their movements and their voices anywhere. When you consider that two years earlier, sound films were almost nonexistent, this a big step forward.

Of course, you hand that kind of new toy over to the wrong guy and...

This film is a full-on sonic onslaught.

The director is so fascinated with sound, he forgets how to be quiet. Every scene has some constant source of noise in the background. The guitars of a mariachi band. The singing of a barbershop quartet. The rhythmic tapping from a telegraph. If there are only two people in a room, turn on the phonograph. One person trying to sleep?  Queue the wailing infant.

What could be impressive with a modicum of restraint becomes mind-numbing. Once the sound hits during the overture, it almost never stops.

There are some more forgivable and unintentionally amusing aspects of this first foray into sound. A gunshot in a canyon produces a muffled thump. Wagons sound pretty much the same whether they are five feet or five hundred feet away. And horse hooves make the same clopping sound on hard scrabble ground and a stream.

Warner Baxter is fun as the Cisco Kid. He has a swagger and charm that immediately has the audience rooting for him, despite being an outlaw.

On the flip side, Edmund Lowe's portrayal of Dunn constantly brings the film to a screeching halt. Part of it is in Lowe's blustering performance, but a lot of the problem comes down to the script. We know Dunn is a gambler and a womanizer because we spend a lot of time watching him do those things in a boring, obvious way. We don't know why he'd be a danger to our hero. We are told by others that he's the Army's best shot, but we never see any evidence of it.

As for Dorothy Burgess' Tonia, I hated the performance. It was by turns over the top and wooden. One moment she's a flurry of activity and the next a statue with her emotion chiseled onto her face.

On the whole, In Old Arizona remains an important step in the development of filmmaking technology. That and an engaging lead performance from Baxter are all this has going for it.

** out of *****

Note: Baxter won the Best Actor Oscar for his performance. As much as I like his work here, I have no idea why he won an Oscar.

Photo from Alt Film Guide

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