Not comfortable in their own skin
I watched a lot of movies in January to make up for the dearth the previous semester. The first three, unintentionally, had a theme of people not comfortable in their own skin. There's the transgender person in the first film, Marlene Dietrich as a feisty Spaniard in the second, and a cheerleader not comfortable with her sexuality in the third.
Boy! What a Girl! [1947]. Two musical directors try to get financial backing for their cabaret show. The two managers, Jim and Harry (Elwood Smith and Duke Williams), are trying to woo a wealthy widower, Mr. Cummings (Alan Jackson), into giving them money. Their earnestness is helped along by the convenient fact that Mr. Cummings has two beautiful and single daughters that these two fellows have their eyes on.
Jim and Harry already have some talented bands lined up and run a secret dance club in a back room, but apparently they can't get enough money out of their guests to rent a proper theater or, for that matter, pay their rent, which leads to the dimwitted landlord chasing them around and hollerin'. Jim and Harry already have a promise of partial support from the mysterious Madame Deborah. She was supposed to help convince Mr. Cummings, but her train is delayed and instead Jim and Harry have one of the musicians impersonate her. And since this is a madcap comedy, of course Mr. Cummings falls in love with "Madame Deborah".
The performer, Bumpsie (Tim Evans), who impersonates Madame Deborah is a starkly curious entry in an otherwise bland cast. He's a bald, cigar-smoking guy with a weather-worn face, so that even when he dons the wig, it's farfetched that anyone would be convinced he was a woman, let alone beautiful. Yet even before the Madame Deborah plot is hatched, we see Bumpsie walking around in an ill-fitting dress with fake breasts. No remarks are made about his attire -- it just *is*. Could this be one of the earliest depictions of a transgender character in American cinema? It sure seems like it, even though Bumpsie's embrace of womanhood lacks any of the gentleness and delicacy of the other women in the movie.
The movie is set in a African-American part of a city and features an all-black cast. The musical interludes and dancing were the most entertaining parts of the film: so much talent, so much life, yet it was all parcelled away out of sight of white people (except for a cameo by jazz musician Gene Krupa). The society on display mirrors the white one in so many ways, from the wealthy people to the working class, yet it feels like a parallel universe. Unfortunately, due to the limited cinematic opportunities for African-Americans, the cast is a mix of convincing talent (the real Madame Deborah), half-funny comics (the landlord and the "Frenchman"), and lifeless actors (the two leads, Jim and Harry). The film has many things going for it, but inexperience causes it to never find its rhythm. A curiosity, but not very entertaining. Available on archive.org. 5/10.
The Devil is a Woman [1935]. A man sees a glamorous woman during the Carnival in Spain and later finds out that his older friend Pasquale has a long, tragic history with her. Antonio (a dashing Cesar Romero) has chased this woman through the streets and secured a late-night meeting with her. He waits until that time at a cafe, where he meets his wizened friend, Pasquale (Lionel Atwill), a former general. Pasquale reacts with horror when he finds out that Antonio has his sights on Concha Perez (Marlene Dietrich). As caution, he recounts his story of Concha, from her arrival in the town as a poor woman with only a goose to her name, to her current success. Concha, according to Pasquale, is a ruthless social climber. She loves a man as long as he has money, but even that "love" must be shared with all the other men she's milking. She's unpleasantly selfish and rather transparent in her motives, yet throughout their shared history, Pasquale kept opening his wallet and his heart to her. Will Antonio heed his friend's warnings?
This was the final von Sternberg - Dietrich collaboration. You can see their typical style come out in the initial scenes at the Carnival, where lush light envelops the scene and glistens off all the streamers flying through the air. It becomes a land of fantasy and soon even the people melt away, so that all that remains is Dietrich playfully running away from the tall, dark man romantically pursuing her. They run down a dramatic set of white stairs, bathed in light and adorned with the streamers. It's utterly, utterly beautiful to behold. Several other scenes evoke this dreamlike fantasy, such as when Dietrich's carriage rolls into the park with the scrub brush. The scrub brush creates a figurative jail through its dark, dried branches, yet Concha's carriage seems to glow with its own luminescence. These scenes made me yearn that the movie would dive into a fuller fantasy, yet other scenes lack that dreamlike intensity.
Von Sternberg still illuminates Dietrich's face with beautiful close-ups, yet these coy looks lack the enchanting beauty of previous films. Perhaps that's due to Dietrich's character in the film, who uses her beauty to manipulate men; all her enchantments are disingenuous traps. The disingenuousness extends beyond the character to Dietrich herself. What was she thinking, playing a Spanish beauty? She tries to be hot-blooded, fickle, and tempermental, yet that conflicts in every scene with her cool German demeanor and slow seduction. Her Spanish accent also gets peppered with Germanisms, like "muzzer" for "mother". It's almost comic, at times, watching her schizophrenically struggle between her usual allure and the scripted allure of the Mediterranean temptress she portrays. In one scene, the sap Pasquale breaks into her room and finds her with her young, bullfighter lover. She puts her hands on her hips, flicks her head about from side to side, and testily demands "What were you thinking... causing this ridiculous scene?!" She's so unnatural uttering that fatuous accusation that the line attains a meta meanin: his sudden entry causes Marlene to act out in such a ridiculous manner. With such a mismatch of material to the actress, what were Dietrich and von Sternberg thinking in taking up this script?
The film is surprisingly sexual, even though the Hays Code had already come into effect. Apparently some of the overtly sexual innuendo had been trimmed, but it's amazing what still made it through. It's almost explicit that Concha sleeps with certain men under her spell and not others. The other suitors just stand around sexually frustrated by her teasing. I particularly liked a late scene where, just after the police chief warns that he can't do what she wishes because "this affair has kicked up too much excitement!", she gives a little tug to the folded-up umbrella he was holding. It's so deliciously naughty.
The plot's not that interesting, concentrating on the unbelievable instant love the two men have for Concha. You don't care for her, since you know she views them as temporary platforms on which to rest in her social climb, but you care for them even less, since they continually fall for her mild ploys. If the script was supposed to be a tale of duplicity and seduction, it fails to engross. The story plods along, made more enjoyable only by the beautiful cinematography and set design and the occasional sparkle of Dietrich's allure beneath her ridiculous persona. It hurts me to give this rating for a Dietrich-von Sternberg collaboration, but... 6/10.
But I'm a Cheerleader [1999]. A high-school girl suspected of being a lesbian by her family and friends, gets sent to a quasi-religious reprogramming camp. Megan (Natasha Lyonne) doesn't think she's a lesbian and earnestly tries to live a straight life, but then is confused by some of her feelings. At the camp, she starts developing a crush on the rebellious Graham (Clea DuVall). Meanwhile, the strict headmistress Mary Brown (Cathy Moriarty) tries to squeeze the gay elements out of all her camp's boys and girls. She's convinced they all had some personal trauma that causes the gay feelings; address it and the gay feelings will disappear. Nevermind that her rate of success is minimal.
The movie takes an innocent track to the attempts to turn someone straight, as indicated by the title's weak objection to accusations of being gay. This means the film treads in stereotypes. Some are tired, like Mary's hot, repressed, secretly gay son (a hot, but unfortunately not gay Eddie Cibrian), or the overswishiness and effeminacy of the male homosexuals (Dolph, the wrestler, is an exception). Other stereotypes in the film are still relevant and thus funnily satirized. When I liked a joke, I really liked it, so even though the movie had a few stray marks for humor, it generally kept up a good-natured tone.
The innocent vibe to the humor is reflected in the sets and editing. The reprogramming house and uniforms look like artificial candy, while the intertitle music was appropriately corny. Yet the movie moves out of this innocence as the romance develops between Megan and Graham, getting quite serious at one point. This shifts the tone dramatically, but wonderfully, so it's a shock when the chipper, corny intertitles return. The movie had lost its innocence, so it should have lost the shtick at that point. The relationship between the two leads was well-acted and believable, at least into the final conflict. Clea DuVall plays a bitter cynic well, while Natasha Lyonne is even better as a sensitive naif. In the end, the movie ends up being a bit shallow (especially with its super corny ending), but it's enjoyable for its length, and you can forgive it for treading lightly on the cruel concept of reprogramming camps. This was my second time seeing this movie and I had forgotten who was in supporting roles; I had remembered RuPaul, but forgotten about Martin Mull, Michelle Williams, and Julie Delpy. A breezy confection. 7/10.
Boy! What a Girl! [1947]. Two musical directors try to get financial backing for their cabaret show. The two managers, Jim and Harry (Elwood Smith and Duke Williams), are trying to woo a wealthy widower, Mr. Cummings (Alan Jackson), into giving them money. Their earnestness is helped along by the convenient fact that Mr. Cummings has two beautiful and single daughters that these two fellows have their eyes on.
Jim and Harry already have some talented bands lined up and run a secret dance club in a back room, but apparently they can't get enough money out of their guests to rent a proper theater or, for that matter, pay their rent, which leads to the dimwitted landlord chasing them around and hollerin'. Jim and Harry already have a promise of partial support from the mysterious Madame Deborah. She was supposed to help convince Mr. Cummings, but her train is delayed and instead Jim and Harry have one of the musicians impersonate her. And since this is a madcap comedy, of course Mr. Cummings falls in love with "Madame Deborah".
The performer, Bumpsie (Tim Evans), who impersonates Madame Deborah is a starkly curious entry in an otherwise bland cast. He's a bald, cigar-smoking guy with a weather-worn face, so that even when he dons the wig, it's farfetched that anyone would be convinced he was a woman, let alone beautiful. Yet even before the Madame Deborah plot is hatched, we see Bumpsie walking around in an ill-fitting dress with fake breasts. No remarks are made about his attire -- it just *is*. Could this be one of the earliest depictions of a transgender character in American cinema? It sure seems like it, even though Bumpsie's embrace of womanhood lacks any of the gentleness and delicacy of the other women in the movie.
The movie is set in a African-American part of a city and features an all-black cast. The musical interludes and dancing were the most entertaining parts of the film: so much talent, so much life, yet it was all parcelled away out of sight of white people (except for a cameo by jazz musician Gene Krupa). The society on display mirrors the white one in so many ways, from the wealthy people to the working class, yet it feels like a parallel universe. Unfortunately, due to the limited cinematic opportunities for African-Americans, the cast is a mix of convincing talent (the real Madame Deborah), half-funny comics (the landlord and the "Frenchman"), and lifeless actors (the two leads, Jim and Harry). The film has many things going for it, but inexperience causes it to never find its rhythm. A curiosity, but not very entertaining. Available on archive.org. 5/10.
The Devil is a Woman [1935]. A man sees a glamorous woman during the Carnival in Spain and later finds out that his older friend Pasquale has a long, tragic history with her. Antonio (a dashing Cesar Romero) has chased this woman through the streets and secured a late-night meeting with her. He waits until that time at a cafe, where he meets his wizened friend, Pasquale (Lionel Atwill), a former general. Pasquale reacts with horror when he finds out that Antonio has his sights on Concha Perez (Marlene Dietrich). As caution, he recounts his story of Concha, from her arrival in the town as a poor woman with only a goose to her name, to her current success. Concha, according to Pasquale, is a ruthless social climber. She loves a man as long as he has money, but even that "love" must be shared with all the other men she's milking. She's unpleasantly selfish and rather transparent in her motives, yet throughout their shared history, Pasquale kept opening his wallet and his heart to her. Will Antonio heed his friend's warnings?
This was the final von Sternberg - Dietrich collaboration. You can see their typical style come out in the initial scenes at the Carnival, where lush light envelops the scene and glistens off all the streamers flying through the air. It becomes a land of fantasy and soon even the people melt away, so that all that remains is Dietrich playfully running away from the tall, dark man romantically pursuing her. They run down a dramatic set of white stairs, bathed in light and adorned with the streamers. It's utterly, utterly beautiful to behold. Several other scenes evoke this dreamlike fantasy, such as when Dietrich's carriage rolls into the park with the scrub brush. The scrub brush creates a figurative jail through its dark, dried branches, yet Concha's carriage seems to glow with its own luminescence. These scenes made me yearn that the movie would dive into a fuller fantasy, yet other scenes lack that dreamlike intensity.
Von Sternberg still illuminates Dietrich's face with beautiful close-ups, yet these coy looks lack the enchanting beauty of previous films. Perhaps that's due to Dietrich's character in the film, who uses her beauty to manipulate men; all her enchantments are disingenuous traps. The disingenuousness extends beyond the character to Dietrich herself. What was she thinking, playing a Spanish beauty? She tries to be hot-blooded, fickle, and tempermental, yet that conflicts in every scene with her cool German demeanor and slow seduction. Her Spanish accent also gets peppered with Germanisms, like "muzzer" for "mother". It's almost comic, at times, watching her schizophrenically struggle between her usual allure and the scripted allure of the Mediterranean temptress she portrays. In one scene, the sap Pasquale breaks into her room and finds her with her young, bullfighter lover. She puts her hands on her hips, flicks her head about from side to side, and testily demands "What were you thinking... causing this ridiculous scene?!" She's so unnatural uttering that fatuous accusation that the line attains a meta meanin: his sudden entry causes Marlene to act out in such a ridiculous manner. With such a mismatch of material to the actress, what were Dietrich and von Sternberg thinking in taking up this script?
The film is surprisingly sexual, even though the Hays Code had already come into effect. Apparently some of the overtly sexual innuendo had been trimmed, but it's amazing what still made it through. It's almost explicit that Concha sleeps with certain men under her spell and not others. The other suitors just stand around sexually frustrated by her teasing. I particularly liked a late scene where, just after the police chief warns that he can't do what she wishes because "this affair has kicked up too much excitement!", she gives a little tug to the folded-up umbrella he was holding. It's so deliciously naughty.
The plot's not that interesting, concentrating on the unbelievable instant love the two men have for Concha. You don't care for her, since you know she views them as temporary platforms on which to rest in her social climb, but you care for them even less, since they continually fall for her mild ploys. If the script was supposed to be a tale of duplicity and seduction, it fails to engross. The story plods along, made more enjoyable only by the beautiful cinematography and set design and the occasional sparkle of Dietrich's allure beneath her ridiculous persona. It hurts me to give this rating for a Dietrich-von Sternberg collaboration, but... 6/10.
But I'm a Cheerleader [1999]. A high-school girl suspected of being a lesbian by her family and friends, gets sent to a quasi-religious reprogramming camp. Megan (Natasha Lyonne) doesn't think she's a lesbian and earnestly tries to live a straight life, but then is confused by some of her feelings. At the camp, she starts developing a crush on the rebellious Graham (Clea DuVall). Meanwhile, the strict headmistress Mary Brown (Cathy Moriarty) tries to squeeze the gay elements out of all her camp's boys and girls. She's convinced they all had some personal trauma that causes the gay feelings; address it and the gay feelings will disappear. Nevermind that her rate of success is minimal.
The movie takes an innocent track to the attempts to turn someone straight, as indicated by the title's weak objection to accusations of being gay. This means the film treads in stereotypes. Some are tired, like Mary's hot, repressed, secretly gay son (a hot, but unfortunately not gay Eddie Cibrian), or the overswishiness and effeminacy of the male homosexuals (Dolph, the wrestler, is an exception). Other stereotypes in the film are still relevant and thus funnily satirized. When I liked a joke, I really liked it, so even though the movie had a few stray marks for humor, it generally kept up a good-natured tone.
The innocent vibe to the humor is reflected in the sets and editing. The reprogramming house and uniforms look like artificial candy, while the intertitle music was appropriately corny. Yet the movie moves out of this innocence as the romance develops between Megan and Graham, getting quite serious at one point. This shifts the tone dramatically, but wonderfully, so it's a shock when the chipper, corny intertitles return. The movie had lost its innocence, so it should have lost the shtick at that point. The relationship between the two leads was well-acted and believable, at least into the final conflict. Clea DuVall plays a bitter cynic well, while Natasha Lyonne is even better as a sensitive naif. In the end, the movie ends up being a bit shallow (especially with its super corny ending), but it's enjoyable for its length, and you can forgive it for treading lightly on the cruel concept of reprogramming camps. This was my second time seeing this movie and I had forgotten who was in supporting roles; I had remembered RuPaul, but forgotten about Martin Mull, Michelle Williams, and Julie Delpy. A breezy confection. 7/10.