TAKE ONE, TWO, THREE...: Oh, Baby!

Olivia de Havilland eyes the baby she was forced to give up in

To Each His Own.

Back in the days when the "unwed mother' was ostracized for her immoral life choices, her options were few. She could either A) Keep her baby and deal with the hostile prejudices of an unsympathetic society and brave the world alone, B) Find a discreet doctor to help erase her... situation, or C) Leave the little bugger on a doorstep, and hope that the inhabitants would give it at better life. This seems outrageous in these modern times when pregnancy without a wedding ring is more readily accepted and single mothers are favorites of the magazine rack: from the latest mommy to be, Natalie Portman, to all those "Sixteen-and-Pregnant" girls I seem to be hearing about everywhere. Back in the days when there were more concrete rules for acceptable behavior and more vocal contempt against those who dared to stray outside the norm, one's reputation was everything. Thus, one would rather be caught dead than unwed with a bun in the oven. This spawned a plethora of films possessing a very similar plot: "good girl" finds baby and claims it as her own and is thenceforward labeled as a "bad girl." Comedy ensues. This time, I have not three movies to compare for you, but four: Tess of the Storm Country, It, Bachelor Mother, and Bundle of Joy. Let's move forward chronologically.


Tess of the Storm Country:


(I saw the 1922 version of this film, starring the incomparable Mary Pickford, thinking it was the only one. However, upon further investigation, it appears that this film alone has been made and re-made several times, the first of which was in 1914, also starring Ms. Pickford. Future versions were made in 1932 with Janet Gaynor and in 1960 with Diane Baker. As it is based upon a novel by Grace Miller White, I suppose the continued use of the story makes sense. However, I will refer to the 1922 version, as this is the only one I have viewed).

The plot of this movie involves a backwoods girl, Tess, who is squatting with family on the wealthy Elias Graves's land. Needless to say, Elias tries to remove the impoverished nuisances from his property. The usual battle of rich versus poor ensues, and in the meantime, Frederick Graves, son of Elias, becomes fond of Tess and takes her side in the argument. Meanwhile, Fred's sister Teola becomes pregnant out of wedlock by a law student who is quickly murdered, and thus unable to marry her and make the baby legitimate. Humiliated and suicidal, Teola is desperate. Enter Tess, who out of her good heart pretends that the newborn baby is her own to save Teola's face. The only problem is that now Frederick thinks that the girl he was falling for is really a no good scamp. Fred turns his back on Tess, and so Tess is left alone to raise the baby. The truth is eventually discovered when Tess brazenly tries to baptize the child herself after being initially denied the privilege by the church-- it's  a bastard child, after all-- and Teola and Elias witness the event. Teola is so moved that she spills the beans and confesses that the baby is hers. Fred feels like a cad and apologizes to Tess, whom despite her low class has more courage and goodness in her than anyone in his elite circle. After declaring his undying love, the two embrace, the two feuding families call a truce, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Tess and Fred, played by Lloyd Hughes, fall in love.

The plot of the film is quite bold in that it makes the unwed mother a sympathetic character, however it is still the innocent Tess that is lauded as the true hero. Yet, what she symbolizes also speaks volumes: the hypocrisy of prejudice. Tess is labeled as something she is not, and is shunned by the man she loves. The world looks down on her, but considers her behavior typical of a woman of "her kind," meaning poor, uneducated, and uncouth. By the end, we learn the age old lesson, "don't judge a book by its cover." Tess not only possesses more grace than the upper classes that are judging her, but it is also one of their own that is the true culprit of immoral behavior, Teola. The guilt of blaming one woman for another's crimes, and the imminent death of Teola, who dies shortly after her revelation of motherhood, causes people in the community to open their eyes and rethink the harshness of their own criticisms. If you live in a glass house, don't throw stones. So, the movie preaches open-mindedness, while at the same time being church-friendly in suggesting that we all try to be "good"-- it is much better to be a Tess than a Teola. The movie itself is an entertaining silent, and one of The best of Mary Pickford's remaining gems.


"It":

Lord love Clara Bow (right). This 1927 movie will forever be the one most associated with one of the hottest flappers to ever va-va-voom onto the silver screen. Clara wasn't known for her dancing, of course, but for her electric presence, which sizzled in the camera's adoring eye. This film was fashioned for her with the help of Elinor Glyn as a publicity campaign to boost the already rising star. Clara was labeled as the "It" girl: one completely possessing of that mysterious X-factor that separates the superstars from the rest of us civilians. Many are familiar with the concoction of Clara's title as "the It girl," but few are familiar with the film that awarded her this stamp. Upon comparison, it is quite clear that it is, or rather was, a more modernized version of Tess of the Storm Country but in the raw and bustling environment of the roaring twenties.


This time around, Clara stars as Betty Lou, a single working girl trying to get by, who has a job behind the counter of a posh store. Brimming with energy despite her financial woes, Betty is Miss Congeniality as far as her friends are concerned, but her low class keeps her from her recent crush-- the store Manager, Cyrus Waltham, Jr (Antonio Moreno). Cyrus is already involved with another woman, but when he finally notices the lovely Betty Lou, he can't help but be taken in. She takes him out for a night of fun at Coney Island, where for once he gets to let his hair down. However, things turn sour when he leans in for a kiss only to receive a slap-- Betty Lou isn't that kind of girl! Cyrus is a bit shocked, but still intrigued. However, any of Betty Lou's plans are foiled when her roommate gives birth to an illegetimate child, only to have welfare workers threaten to take it away. Betty Lou steps in, claims the child as her own, and insists that she is able enough to take care of it. Now, Betty has to walk around with a scarlet T on her face (T for Tramp), and any chances of love between her and Cyrus are ruined-- the heir to a fortune can't be swindled by some hussy who's clearly only out for a good time, particularly when she teased him with that left hook!

Clara shows her sales skills (to William Austin).

Instead, Cyrus offers a compromise: since she's obviously a loose woman, Betty can settle for being his mistress. She does not take well to this suggestion, believing that his love for her should be enough to see through any alleged past mistakes she's made, and at the very least he should not insult her with such an offer! Cyrus chooses appearances over love and kicks Betty to the curb, but she's not to be outdone. She shows up at a party on his yacht, seducing him with her innocent wiles once again, and she gets her sweet revenge when he finally proposes marriage. She tosses it back in his face with a defiant "Thanks, but no thanks" and  secures her pride once more. Afterward, she and Cyrus are thrown overboard, and they find themselves in each other's arms. Now that Betty Lou has taught Cyrus a lesson, and he knows the truth about the baby, they reconcile and live happily ever after. Again, the same themes of upper class hypocrisy and lower class... class. We see that Betty is more moral than those financially and socially superior to her in that she refuses Cyrus's attempts to make a whore of her, consequently making him the true embarrassment. Compassion for the unwed mother is too explored, but just as Tess, Betty Lou is put on a pedestal for her ability to be both decent and demure. Her raw sexual magnetism too makes a statement that a woman can be sexy without being a mere sex object. In both this and the aforementioned film, the baby and its destiny is less important than how it effects others' lives or at least the images of them. A silent classic, this too is one of the leading lady's best.


Bachelor Mother:

Baby makes three in 1939 with Ginger Rogers, David Niven, and everyone's favorite character actor, Charles Coburn. Hereafter, the plots remain quite similar to It in that the main character is a shopgirl trying to make a living who gets caught up in a case of mistaken motherhood instead. Love, of course, is always found in the process. Thus, Ginger stars as Polly Parrish, working at J.B. Merlin's department store (left). Polly is fired over the Christmas holiday, and soonafter sees a baby that has been left on the stairs of an orphanage. Fearing that it is going to roll right off and be injured, she hurries to pick it up. The baby is mistaken as her own, and she is left to care for it and defend the fact that the little thing isn't even hers. JB (Coburn) gives Polly her job back, feeling guilty about firing an unwed mother, especially during the holiday, and his son, play-boy David (Niven), becomes equally involved in the welfare of the baby and its mother. As a relationship between Polly and David grows, she no longer tries to deny that the baby is hers, if only because it is the one thing that keeps David in her life. He equally falls for her, but is too snobbish to admit that he has fallen for a lowly shop girl, let alone one with an illegetimate kid-- nevermind the fact that the Lothario probably has had his own fun around town. More hurdles are thrown into the mix when a search for the true father is begun, which includes JB's belief that his son is the true father. David is surprised to find this out, but is delighted to discover that his dad is fairly happy at the prospect of having a grandson and eager to have him settle down and make the family legit. David, after initially insulting Polly, finally admits his true feelings to himself and thus to Polly and Baby John. Soon enough, the fictional family becomes a real one. With this description, I can immediately jump to the next film, for it is a direct re-make.


Bundle of Joy:

In 1956, Bachelor Mother was remade as a musical to showcase the talents of married sweethearts Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds, as well as to capitalize on the fact that the two had had their first child (Carrie Fisher). This film, therefore, has the exact same plot as the one mentioned above, but with more musical numbers. This time, Debbie is Polly and Eddie is Dan Merlin. Adolphe Menjou steps in as wealthy store manager, and proud grandpapa, JB Merlin. Both Bachelor and Bundle have their merits, but Bundle is more obviously cheesy. Debbie is her usual sunshine self, and her gift at comedy and charm is the saving grace of the film. Eddie does well enough, but doesn't possess the same charm as David Niven. Ginger, of course, is superb as ever in the earlier film, and it is her performance-- with a keen sense of timing and strong delivery-- that makes Bachelor a more graceful interpretation.

Modern family: David and Ginger play house.

The alterations in the script in these latter films make the male character a bit more likable in that he tries to become a part of the child's life from the beginning, even if just as a make-shift uncle, rather than turning up his nose in disgust and running away. The relationship between the leading actor and actress comes about because of and not in spite of the baby, as opposed to the first two films, and a sense of family is professed over that of romance, (though in Bachelor and Bundle the writers would have us believe that the two go hand in hand). In the enforced production code era, it should come as no surprise that the ideal set-up of husband, wife, and baby be extolled, and in both movies the sad mother who abandoned her child is never even seen by the audience. It is much nicer to just pretend that she doesn't even exist, and that no out-of-wedlock sex was ever engaged in. The child, therefore, just dropped from the sky. Indeed, sex is not an issue, especially in Bundle, where innocent kisses between Eddie and Debbie take the place of the sexual propositions of It. Thus, with the first two films, we are taught more of a lesson about social hypocrisy and moral prejudice and with Bundle we are taught "family first." Bachelor is somewhere in between. Also, the theme of mistaken identity plays a much bigger part to the central plot of the movie in the last two features than in the first two, wherein it was just another log on the fire to much bigger shenanigans.


It is difficult to recommend just one of these films, for they all have good points and are equally entertaining. However, as I am an obvious Clara Bow fan, It remains my favorite. If I were to suggest one of the latter two, I would offer up Bachelor Mother, if only for performance's sake. It is interesting to investigate these films, to watch them chronilogically, and to witness how clearly social attitudes changed with the times. The silent duo are more free and uninhibited, if only because they arrived before 1934's production code and the disarming alterations of the great depression. They too are a bit more ballsy, with Mary being brazen and almost naively heroic, and Clara pushing the envelope further by adding a dash of sex appeal into the mix. Their heroics were done not necessarily for any great moral stance, but simply because it was the right thing to do. The latter two films come after the end of the hooplah twenties, but Bachelor maintains a little more naughtiness than Bundle, which is pretty much family fun from concentrate. In Tess we were taught to stand for something, in It we were taught to stand up for ourselves, in Bachelor Mother we're encouraged to simply try to stand still while the chaos ensues around us, and in Bundle of Joy we're lectured to stand as a family unit. I guess the film you relate to the most, will equally tell you where you stand.

Have a Happy New Year!!!

MENTAL MONTAGE: Sneaky, Saucy Lines

Remember when cinema used to be shocking...? No? Neither do I. The days of pushing the envelope seem to be long gone in the modern times of TMI. (The fact that I am using abbreviations is proof that I am a product of my generation: I am totes on the rizzle). One of the things you are taught as an actor, writer, or any other artist, first and foremost, is "Don't show your hand too much." Our insecurity causes us to over-explain, beat on the head, and inevitably run into the ground the different ideas we are trying to get across. Life would be much simpler if we were to just take a leap of faith that our audience is intelligent enough to "get it." If you're holding aces, you keep them close to your chest and play them only when the time is right: when you know their revelation will evoke a round of astounded Oohs and Aahs.These days it seems like people have forgotten this golden rule. Instead, we get lambasted by noise and overloaded with visuals. It feels as though directors are basically standing over our heads with megaphones screaming: "SEX! VIOLENCE! DRUGS! ROARRRR!" While these themes, of course, quickly get our blood boiling and awaken our more mammalian selves, the back-lash is a feeling of insult. At the movies, we react, but we don't think. Oftentimes, when being bedazzled by lots of colors, explosions, and gratuitous nudity, I find myself suddenly shaking back to life and asking, "Hey... Where'd the story go?"

In the days when the production code was still in full effect (1930s-1960s), writers and filmmakers had to be cunning and stealthy to slip their little innuendos into films. With the censorship board breathing down their necks, getting the word "Damn" into Gone with the Wind was a bigger battle than Waterloo. So, they had to insinuate, not shout. Nothing was literal, everything was suggested. If it ain't said, you can't hear it, but you can wonder... Hence those suspicious needles in the Sherlock Holmes movies. An educated audience would guess that they had a little sum-sum to do with heroin, but this fact was merely implied and thus "safe" for audiences. Basically, the writing in films was better and more clever when the censors ruled with an iron fist and harbored under the misapprehension that all of America was dumb. We weren't; we aren't. Yet, we so rarely get to exercise our hungry brain cells. There are few little naughty jokes, clever puns, or shocking one liners anymore, which is sad, because I'm sure we haven't heard them all. Now that anything goes, everything goes, and no one tries anymore.

Thus, here is a tribute to a few of the great one-liners in cinematic history that upon their present day viewing still made me go, "How the Hell did they get that past the censors?!?!" Oh cleverness, how I miss thee...

One of the most obvious awards goes to Grace Kelly, this month's muse, and it comes as no surprise I'm sure that it took place in her Hitchcock collaboration, To Catch a Thief. When it came to double entendre, Hitch was King, and for a man who was almost painfully preoccupied with sex, it is no wonder that his films were heavily laced with erotic dialogue. However, Hitch and his writers were so darn good that he could get away with throwing in a line or two-- or a dozen-- which on the surface seemed so innocent, but at their core were "Tsk-tsk-tsk". These zingers were so subtly planted that they would come and go before the audience even realized anything naughty had happened. When the censors reviewed Hitch's scripts, they could find nothing off-putting, because on paper everything looked squeaky clean. It was only in the delivery and the execution that the simplest lines became delightfully sinful. Hence, the scene where Grace and Cary Grant sit on the lounge amidst the explosion of fireworks. As fierce light crescendos and pounds in the background, it heightens the heat and desire between the two actors, so when Grace (above) says to Cary, "Look! Hold them," you don't know whether she is talking about her diamonds or... um... other gems.

Grace and Cary in TCAT: Choices, choices...

The most memorable line of course comes when Grace and Cary/Frances and John stop for a little picnic in her car, and she innocently asks, "You want a leg or a breast?" Cary makes the gentlemanly answer, "You make the choice," seeing either option as a positive. Today, that scene would play like, "Screw the chicken. Let's f*ck!" But with the subtle and humorous delivery of Grace and Cary and the smart and playful direction of Hitchcock, the scene plays like a gamy dream.

Another great example comes in Flying Down to Rio, which is today most memorable as the first collaboration of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers (right), who as supporting characters still managed to steal the film. In addition to their mesmerizing dance routines and the witty repartee and chemistry that would make them one of the most legendary screen couples of all time, there was a quick one-liner that I found equally entertaining. The film, as you can already guess, takes place in Rio de Janeiro where Astaire's "Yankee Clippers" band is making a go of it. At one point early in the film, a group of North American tourists sit watching the ensuing music and the bevy of Brazilian beauties decorating the stage and the dance floor. Taking stock of the salivating men, one of the young girls says with a pinch of jealousy, "'What have these South American girls got below the Equator that we haven't?" For a split second, I sat going, "What? Did she just... Was that... Bahahahaha!" How they got away with it, I don't know, but thank God they did! Hilarious. The film is probably the silliest of all the Astaire/Rogers productions, with people dancing on airplanes and whatnot, but the absurdity makes it all the more endearing. When you find yourself watching a movie and smiling from ear to ear, you can write it off as a good film.

 Literally, Flying Down to Rio.

This next moment actually produced a good, ol' fashioned Meredith spit-take, which is something that I am known for among friends. (During humorous occasions, I should not be allowed around liquids). Morocco remains one of Marlene Dietrich's best films. The image of her walking away from a life of grandeur with Adolphe Menjou and into the desolate, forbidding desert with Gary Cooper is one that evokes all of the romance and melodrama of the bygone studio era. This film remains provocative for many reasons, the most obvious of which is Marlene's cross-dressing (left) and overt bisexuality. During her first song in the film, she wanders into the audience and plants a wet one on a female spectator. She also tosses Gary a flower, which he proceeds to tuck behind his ear. The gender roles are all mixed up, and the disregard for good Christian morals is blatantly enjoyed in the seductive terrain of a foreign land. 

 Gary and Marlene in ecstasy in Morocco.

However, before Gary's Legionnaire even meets Marlene's Amy Jolly, he is scouting the local women for a one-night-stand. He finds a plump and inviting native who holds up a few fingers to indicate her room number. Gary throws his own fingers back at her to double check the rendezvous, and his superior officer sees him, asking angrily, "What are you doing with your fingers?" Gary's response: "Nothing. Yet." Pause. Meredith: spit.

 Snug as Bugs: Doris and Rock in Pillow Talk

And finally, a personal favorite. Despite the fact that Doris Day was an innocent Little Miss Sunshine and Rock Hudson was a closeted homosexual, this onscreen duo created some of the most popular and sexually suggestive films of their time, (though perhaps it is because of the aforementioned reasons that the formula worked). In Pillow Talk, they are at the top of their game, with Rock portraying the philandering God of Sex and Doris playing the yearning and innocent pawn in his latest game. The two share a party telephone line, because of which Doris is forced to witness more than one piquant conversation. She continues to rebuke Rock for his explicit and indecent behavior, and so when he discovers her identity he decides to get his revenge on the uptight, ice queen. 

 Rock waits to see the rest of the equipment.

However, the first time Rock lays eyes on her, he is pleasantly surprised to find that she is much more attractive than he imagined, which will make his latest mission more of a pleasure than a burden. As he eyes her caboose, we hear his internal monologue: "So that's the other end of your party line..." Upon hearing this, I burst out laughing. 

The duo created in this film one of the most beautiful performances of give and take and She vs. He in all cinema. They get away with their sexual shenanigans, not only because the production codes were easing up by now, but because Rock as the Lothario scorned is the perfect match for Doris as the good girl tempted. Viewers clearly see that she too is a sexual creature, and we are guaranteed that Brad and Jan will have a hefty, healthy sex-life, but only after he "put's a ring on it." Apparently, you can color with any hue in the spectrum as long as you stay inside the lines.

These little quips and moments are absolutely delicious, and they run rampant in the films of the past. This is one reason to be thankful for the "evil" production code, which at the time was such a pain in the neck to American filmmakers. The end product(s) was worth the headache, for in having to use their heads and find other avenues and side-streets to get down to brass tacks, these filmmakers took us down more visually and mentally stimulating (and gratifying) pathways. The true testament of the intelligence of these films is that even for modern spectators-- who probably forgot how to blush long ago-- these jewels can still make your face flush and your eyes widen as you say, "Oh my..."