Rewatching: Freaks (1932)

Directed by Tod Browning
Starring Wallace Ford, Leila Hyams and Olga Baclanova
Produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

Director Tod Browning made 62 movies in 24 years.  Sadly, of all those films, he's only really remembered for two.  The first, Dracula, we covered in our 1931 retrospective.

Freaks is the other and it is not just one of my favorite films of the period.  It's one of my favorite films. Period.

The plot revolves around a circus side show.  The "freaks" include Hans and Frieda, two midgets that are dating; Daisy and Violet, conjoined twins with one married to a circus clown; and The Human Torso, a limbless man who can light a cigarette without help. There are others, but you get the picture.


The main plot kicks into gear when Cleopatra, a human trapeze artist, learns that Hans is heir to a great fortune.  From there, she plots with the show's strongman Hercules to woo and marry Hans, kill him and make off with the fortune.

There is so much to love about Freaks. There's always a risk of Browning exploiting the sideshow characters who were actual performers with a variety of maladies and abnormalities.  The film never goes there.  It treats the actors with respect.

The script smartly sets the action right in the middle of the world of the circus.  There's no new performer who has to have everything explained.  We are simply dropped into the lives of performers and expected to keep up.

A lot of the performers get subplots or moments.  We get a terrific sense of what life is like in a world where performers have no legs, women have beards and two bickering sisters literally cannot get away from each other. 

The film has long had a reputation as a "horror" film which a sentiment any fair reading would immediately dismiss.  It's a melodrama set in a unique world.  The horror elements, to the extent there here at all, exist solely in the last ten minutes of the film.  And even then, I don't think it ever becomes terrifying or grotesque.  Suspenseful?  Definitely.

 Freaks is about the easiest recommend in the world to me.  I've loved this movie since I saw it years ago.  Sadly, it was despised in its time and ultimately ended Browning's career.  It's a real shame because all Freaks shows is just how ahead of his time he was.

***** out of ***** 

NOTE: The turning point in the film is a wedding feast with Cleopatra becoming inducted into the world of the side show performers. The "freaks" pass around a cup that they each drink from and chant "Gobble gobble - one of us - we accept her." If you've ever wondered where the Simpsons' writers got "one of us" from, look no further.
 

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Polly of the Circus (1932)

Directed by Alfred Santell
Starring Marion Davies, Clark Gable and C. Aubrey Smith
Produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM)

The circus comes to a conservative town and the show's star, Polly the trapeze artist, is not pleased.  All of her promotional posters have been...altered.  Some of the locals find the woman's bare legs indecent so her image gets dressed up in a variety of ways.

An outraged Polly tries to confront an elderly priest over his apparent censorship.  Only problem is the old man is just a visiting bishop and the actual pastor in the town is really Clark Gable. I mean, the young John Hartley.

Anyway, John explains he had nothing to do with defacing the posters.  In fact, he is looking forward to catching her show that night.  Polly leaves in a huff and we as an audience hate her because of her complete lack of being Clark Gable.

So what can bring these two together? A horrific accident.


At the circus that night, an angered Polly attempts to perform her act.  And she succeeds until a yelling heckler asks where her pants are.  The momentary distraction is all it takes.  Polly reaches for a trapeze that isn't there and falls forward off the narrow platform.

The moment is critical for making us believe everything that happens for the rest of the film.  The director could have approached it a number of ways.  He could have just cut to the audience reaction.  He could have done a long shot of the fall from across the tent.  He could have simply cut from her misstep to Polly in a hospital bed.

But no. director Alfred Santell places the camera above and gives us the fall from the perspective of the platform. We see he plummet.  And we feel her hit the ground.  And our collective stomach turns.

When Hartley rushes to her aid, volunteering his home across the street as a place to get her help, there is no inkling of romance.  It's an emergency.  Polly is critically injured and needs immediate attention.  We believe this because we saw it in all its brutality.

Making this the starting point for what ultimately turns into a romance makes the path less obvious.  It's not a meet-cute.  It's a meet-ewww.  It makes the rest of the film feel less inevitable than this type of movie typically plays.

Of course, this is Hollywood and it's Clark Gable and a gorgeous Marion Davies.  So she convalesces at his home because she cannot be moved.  And she acts like she hasn't recovered because she wants to stay with John. And they have to fall in love.

Once we get there, the predictability sets in.  Obstacles to their romance appear and you never believe they won't be overcome. The conservative town turns against Hartley and we are supposed to believe that Hartley will care what the town thinks.  But we don't because Hartley is Clark Gable and the town isn't so that is not a fair fight at all.

There's an ending that feels overwrought featuring an implied potential suicide attempt.  And the film features what is fast becoming my least favorite staple of 1930s cinema: the perpetually drunk supporting character.

Polly of the Circus is ultimately an okay movie elevated by terrific lead performances and a cracker of a first act.

*** out of *****

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After Tomorrow (1932)

Directed by Frank Borzage
Starring Charles Farrell, Marian Nixon and Minna Gombell
Produced by Fox Film Corporation 

After Tomorrow is a strange little romantic comedy.  Most rom-coms focus on the couple's courtship: the meet-cute, the courtship, the misunderstanding that almost breaks them up, the last minute reconciliation...

After Tomorrow has none of these things.  When we meet our couple, Pete and Sidney, they are already an item.  They've been together for years and want to get married.  Only trouble is, they cannot afford to live together. This is the Great Depression, Pete has a poor job and their respective mothers are too self-absorbed to be helpful.  Pete's mom is codependent and clingy, sabotaging her son's chance at love at every turn; Sidney's mom wants a better life, even if that means buying a beautiful new negligee and forcing her daughter to pick up the bills.

The couple dream of their life "after tomorrow," a lyric from their favorite song that provides the film's title.  The lovebirds begin to suspect however that after tomorrow will never come.  Every day they wake up and it remains sadly "today."


The film, based on a play, gives the couple a prerequisite roller coaster ride of emotions.  Pete gets a new job that pays enough to get them to the altar, but on the eve of the wedding, Sidney's mom leaves with another man and her father has a heart attack (requiring expensive medical treatment that once again drains the marriage fund).

While there is a kernel of drama and comedy here and there, After Tomorrow succeeds as neither a tear-jerking romance nor a laugh-a-minute romp.  The obstacles it sets up are paper-thin and over-written.  It never feels like things happen to people in the story.  It's more like some screenwriter decided we hadn't hit the runtime yet so let's erect another obstacle in the path of the inevitable wedding.

Compounding the issues with the story is the universally unsympathetic cast of characters.  Both of the mothers are conniving, but in the most transparent of ways.  Pete's mom plots to prevent her son from leaving while Sidney's mom wants to live high on the hog.  But neither of them carry out their plans in secret.  Pete's mom in particular basically comes out and says what her goals are several times.  Of course, they're the villains so we're supposed to root against them.

Sidney's father loves his wife, but he also sees her for what she is.  And when he continues to pine for her after she's taken up with another man, it's hard to see him as anything but pathetic.

Because their mom's motives are so obvious, Pete and Sidney come off as foolish saps for following along with their shenanigans.  Pete seems so willing to make his mom happy, you begin to wonder if his heart is really in this marriage thing at all.  He supposedly wants to spend the evening with the love of his life, but a simple guilt trip from mom sends him running home. 

For her part, Sidney is a better character, but not by much.  She momentarily stands up for herself when her mom has failed to clean the kitchen, but all it takes is a feigned headache for the cheerily dutiful daughter to agree to complete the chore herself.  She seems constantly suspicious of her mom, but never acts on it.

Take the couple together and all we really know is they want to get married. And that they have cute pet names for one another.  In one of those touches you only get in a pre-Code film, their thoughts seem dominated in subtle and later unsubtle ways by the sex they are not having, but you never really understand why they are together at all.  And that makes it harder to invest in the race to the altar.

Frank Borzage does phenomenal camerawork here, following characters along streets and using some deep focus techniques, but it is all an exercise in futility.  There is no story here. It's a premise with a foregone conclusion, only postponed by obstacles that annoy.  No need to rush out and watch this one.  Better to schedule it for sometime after tomorrow.

** out of *****

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Podcast Update (In Which I Start to Ramble)

Time for a podcasting update....

First, you all may have noticed the lack of Film Pasture podcasts.  I sadly had to give it up.  There was just too much going on between kids and work to keep up with all that went into that one.  I loved each and everyone of the episodes I did, and will miss chatting up other bloggers, but I know the show is in great hands going forward with the inimitable Lindsay from French Toast Sunday taking over the 'cast.

But I love hearing the sound of my own voice too much to hang up my headset.  And so... new podcast! Actually, we are a little over a month old now, but The Rambling Ramblers is the place to hear film news and discussion with myself and Justin from Man, I Love Films.  I feel like we are starting to hit our stride with the last couple of episodes focused on film nostalgia and trilogies. 

As you would suspect, you can find us over in iTunes as well as Podomatic.  So give a listen, follow us on Twitter, leave a review and give us any constructive criticism you may have.

Thanks!

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I Was Born, But... (1932)

Directed by Yasujirô Ozu
Starring Tatsuo Saitô, Tomio Aoki and Mitsuko Yoshikawa 
Produced by Shôchiku Eiga 

As a child, I remember being awestruck by my father.  He was a policeman.  His "partner" was a huge German shepherd named Jude.  He carried a gun and caught the bad guys.  He was a hero, larger than life.  My dad could definitely beat up your dad.

But then I got older. And I learned things about the world.  There were other police officers who did work similar to my dad. Other kids' parents made more. Or maybe they had a bigger TV. Or maybe they met Bobby Clarke.  My father was still a hero, someone who understood the world in ways I could barely comprehend. He just no longer resided on Mount Olympus.

Growing up is filled with these moments.  Your world expands, sometimes in small increments or sometimes in miles.  But as you learn, the mythic becomes mundane.

Yasujirô Ozu's I Was Born, But... perfectly captures that moment in growing up when you childhood innocence and naivete take one of their first hits.


Keiji and Ryoichi have just moved to a new suburban neighborhood with their parents.  Their father Kennosuke hopes that living closer to his boss will be the ticket to a promotion and a better life.

The boys start skipping school to avoid a bully named Taro and his gang, but Kennosuke puts an end to that.  So Keiji and Ryoichi go to Plan B: bribing an older boy to intimidate Taro.  The plan works perfectly, not only putting an end to the newcomers' daily torment, but getting them invited into the gang.

The boys soon get into that most timeless of childhood arguments: whose father is the most important?The brothers learn that Taro is the son of Iwasaki, who is Kennosuke's boss. Their faith in their father's immense stature is momentarily shaken, but they rationalize Kennosuke's position in a way only children could.

That night, Keiji and Ryoichi go to Taro's house to watch some home movies.  Kennosuke is there and becomes anxious when his sons arrive.  The reason for his trepidation is soon clear.  The films show Kennosuke as the office clown, making faces and serving as the butt of Iwasaki's jokes.

The boys are devastated. How could this very important man allow himself to be humiliated? Maybe dear old dad isn't all that they thought he was? Maybe, he is merely a man.

Every moment of I Was Born, But... feels completely authentic, as though Ozu is merely documenting a week in the life of this family.  The children fight and play and argue as children seemingly have for all time.  The conversations between parents and their kids are timeless, repeating words that will be familiar to the eye of families even today.

"The eye"? Yes, this film is a throwback if only by a couple of years.  It's a silent film surrounded by talkies.  Somehow, the approach only adds to the storybook-like element of the movie.  Indeed, it's full title translates as An Adult's Picture Book View — I Was Born, But..., which feels exactly right.

I Was Born, But... sets forth an epic drama by placing us back into the mind of the children we once were.  When every decision was the most important choice ever, and every slight was a crushing blow.  The ending is on the one hand somewhat obvious, but it's also lyrical and perfect.  Ozu may have set his "picture book" in Japan, but it's true power rests in its ability to transport the audience home. Wherever that may be.

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

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Trouble in Paradise (1932)

Directed by Ernst Lubitsch
Starring Miriam Hopkins, Kay Francis and Herbert Marshall
Produced by Paramount Pictures

One of the many charms of watching certain films is their ability to make you root for the bad guy.  The multiplexes are littered with drug lords, mob bosses, morally dubious cops and sadistic hitmen that we want to see "get away with it."

Trouble in Paradise is one of those films.  We follow the exploits of Gaston Monescu, a notorious thief who meets his equal in Lily.  The beautiful con artist manages to momentarily relieve Monescu of his latest haul, arousing his curiosity.  The two become romantically involved and conspire to rob Madame Mariette Cole, a rich perfume company mogul.


Monescu ingratiates himself with Colet, becoming the socialite's secretary.  He manages her finances and affairs, all with an eye toward emptying her safe when the time is right.

Complicating the heist is Monescu's growing affection for Colet.  Lily begins to doubt her partner and insists on pushing up the schedule.  Colet's longtime money manager also begins to doubt Monescu's intentions.  And a former mark of Monescu's arrives in Paris and vaguely recognizes the thief.

The real achievement of Trouble in Paradise is the way it keeps the audience guessing.  Though we are always virtually with Monescu, we never really know what he is thinking.  Does he love Colet? Is it all part of a con? Just when you think you have it figured out another fly lands in the ointment.

Not knowing what Monescu wants does not keep us from rooting for him.  A lot of the credit goes to Herbert Marshall.  His Monescu is suave and debonair, a perfect gentleman devoted to a life of crime.  Monescu wields words as though they were a sword, slicing his way through every obstacle the script throws his way.

Kay Francis' Colet is a worthy object of desire for the thief.  She is beautiful and business savvy, navigating Parisian social circles with the grace of a dancer.  Her only foible is a naivete brought on by her way of life.  She cannot even fathom that she's invited a wolf into the hen house.

Miriam Hopkins's Lily is sadly the weak link in the trio.  Hopkins is not given much to work with and turns in a shrill performance that cannot help but make you root against her.

The story simply would not work without the right tone and Lubitsch manages the temperature here perfectly.  Trouble in Paradise has enough weight to give the plot real stakes, but it always keeps the action light and comedic.  The wrong approach would make the audience not care about Monescu or worse, hate him.  Happily, we are cheering on the criminal throughout.

Trouble in Paradise will not change the way you look at the world.  It's very simply a fun story well told by a master director.  To see this one is to watch a film of breezy perfection.

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

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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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