Self-Isolation. I hope.

Today, my lovelies, is move-in day at my college.

Thankfully, I've been here for a week to help with International Orientation, so I'm free to sit in my room all day and watch as my fellow students cart their luggage to their respective rooms. The suckers. ;)

I'm off today, and have planned a delightful Netflix marathon for myself, consisting of--

• Cool Hand Luke ('cause I missed it yesterday)*

• After the Thin Man, which happens to be the only one I've not yet seen, and made twice as nice by the fact that it doesn't have the woefully obtrusive Nick, Jr., who always reminded me --and not in a good way-- of the kid from The Dick Van Dyke Show.

• Elevator to the Gallows, my first venture into Jeanne Moreau land.

Might watch another, if time allows. I'm thinking Klute, Father Goose, Sleuth, or whatever else catches my eye. There are just too many options on Netflix, and in some ways, availability breeds disinterest. For me, at least. I know it's there, so there's no real rush or urgency to see it. Does that make sense? No, probably not. I'm just being lazy.

Also, was looking for some recommendations-- I know a lot about melodramas, but haven't actually seen too many. I'm talking the Douglas Sirk variety, or for later years Tennessee Williams adaptations. I always convince myself they're not my cup of tea, but when I do watch them, I enjoy them 'same as anyone else. So let's hear 'em-- what are your favorites?

*doubly unfortunate, as it was presented on TCM by my manlove, Alec Baldwin

Monday Murder Series

I've been in a mystery type mood lately-- blame it on Dame Agatha. Anyway, I thought I'd give a new series a go. The Monday Murder Series. Nothing criminal, mind you, just good old fashioned murder... mysteries. ;)

If nothing else, this'll be an excuse for me to watch some of my favorite movies (and, of course, prattle on about them here). Good, huh?

To start off the series, I chose one of my favorite Ginger Rogers films-- Star of Midnight. Judging by the number of Ginger devotees out there, this one is by no means obscure or unpopular. (Can I get a "wise choice, Juliette"? ;)


Ginger and William Powell with their Star of Midnight director.

Directed by Stephen Roberts, it stars Ginger acting alongside my love William Powell. Most people tend to criticize this one as being a Thin Man rip-off (and I s'pose it is), but I adore it. Possibly more than The Thin Man.*

Because the only thing more tedious than reading a dry plot synopsis is writing a dry plot synopsis, I'll skip it-- for my sake as much as yours. The plot's rather silly anyway, but thatd doesn't make it any less enjoyable.

Some girl performer (the, uh, star of "Midnight") has disappeared and one lad's convinced she was his lover Alice, and another guy gets shot in William Powell's apartment and Eric Blore says "yessir" a lot and Ginger wears a ton of gowns. Yeah, that's it. Ish. There's a complicated climax followed by what the filmmakers would have you believe to be a laughably simple resolution.

However, in the midst of all this silliness and complexity, there is room for great performances and great banter. Makes me wish Ginger and Bill had partnered up quite a bit more, but I suppose that would be too much goodness for the universe to allow.

Anyway, if you've not already done so-- check out Star of Midnight. You'll like it, I promise. :)



*The juries still out on that one.

Gregory La Cava, Director and Producer.

Guess who's currently in Colorado? I am, I am!

Anyway, this was supposed to be a scheduled blog, so hopefully that's worked out. If not...well, I suppose it doesn't matter if not, as you won't be reading this. Anyway...

He's the guy W. C. Fields said had the "best mind for comedy in Hollywood."
Ginger Rogers called him "masterful" and Pandro Bergman said he "amazed me."


La Cava with Irene Dunne.

Despite having over 150 directing credits (and a series of hits including My Man Godfrey, 5th Avenue Girl, The Half Naked Truth, Primrose Path, and Unfinished Business), La Cava's name is not as instantly recognizable as one might think.

On the set of Stage Door, with Adolphe Menjou, Ginger, and Kate.

In the 1950s, with the release of Sarris' American Cinema rankings, movies focusing on male-centered worlds (westerns, film noir, and action pictures of Hawks and Ford in particular) gained popularity, with many film critics and theorists revisiting and reanalyzing them. Perhaps one reason La Cava has mainly been ignored by those film historians is the fact that he was primarily a "woman's director," and the majority of his later films portray women as the heart of the film, with men acting more or less as accessories.

Carole Lombard and William Powell in La Cava's My Man Godfrey.

I'd never really heard of him until two or three years ago, when I watched Stage Door. However, I'm finding out he was a lot more influential than his fame (or lack of it, rather) would have one believe.

Beginning in 1916 with animated shorts, La Cava moved on to live action in the early twenties. During the silent era, La Cava worked beside stars such as Bebe Daniels, W.C. Fields, Richard Dix, and Esther Ralston.

Irene Dunne and her director, on the set of Unfinished Business.

In his most productive decade, the thirties, La Cava was employed at some time by nearly all the major studios, directing the likes of Claudette Colbert, Irene Dunne, Joel McCrea, William Powell, and Ginger Rogers (three times, isn't it marvelous?).

Gregory La Cava directing Walter Huston, Franchot Tone, and Karen Morley in Gabriel Over the White House.

Even David O. Selznick, Hollywood's resident humbug, said of La Cava: "Ninety-nine directors out of a hundred are worthless as producers. However, there are exceptions... I believe that La Cava might be an exception."

Obsession is not too strong a word...

I've been trying (oh, alright, I've just started trying) to think up the people I'm more or less (more! more!) obsessed with. Ouch, prepositions can hurt, huh? I'll try again.

I've recently attempted to create a list of people whom...with...oh dear. You get the picture, I think. People with whom I'm obsessed. Yeah?

Anyway, Judy Garland was first, natch. Then Ginger, William Powell, Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis, and Sally Field (just humor me for a second, 'kay? ;) )

And then, of course, there are the people who have very little (or nothing) to do with movies. Edith Beale the younger, Dorothy Parker, Patty Hearst, and Tiny Tim. That made ten... a nice, round number.

So darn it all, Linda Darnell...you just had to make it eleven, didn't you?

I'm afraid it took me 19 long years to see A Letter to Three Wives, though I shouldn't count the first ten or so...I wasn't really conscious until age nine or ten, I think.

Anyway, I saw it last week. And again he next day. And then I watched that nice, if extraordinarily depressing A&E bio of Linda Darnell. And I was hooked (Ask Amazon-- they know). Oh well, I guess I could always clear more shelf room.

(Psst..does anyone know the deal between Linda and Otto Preminger?)

EDIT: Evidently Preminger gave Darnell a hard time on Forever Amber...but that's still too vague for me. :)

EDIT 2 (A P.P.S., if you will)

Musings, vol. II

You know, I think in the long run, writers are the only ones with any job security. Really...seems robots could do anything else. I mean, hopefully it never gets to that point, but still. Which stinks, because I could never write good fiction. It always feels as if I'm giving someone's secrets away. It seems the only true point of view is limited. But I mean limited. Knowing no one's thoughts at all. Because that's how it is in life, right? I don't know his thoughts-- or hers, or his. It would be my thoughts alone...one endless journal entry. And that's no fun for anyone.

Judy with a very large postcard. Yeah, that's my caption.

Yesterday I watched Ladies of Leisure for the first time. I liked it all, but the beginning was especially marvelous, like when Barbara Stanwyck pulls a fish face. I'm constantly making fish faces. Hopefully everyone knows what that means, because I'm nearly positive I couldn't do it justice by describing it here.

Stany in a dress. Oh boy, I really need to get more info on these pictures, huh?

I can hear William outside, probably getting ready to pounce on one of my cats. That's my neighbor's 7-year-old. Also the name of a kid I went to grade school with. Also my kindergarten teacher. Technically, that was her last name. I didn't much like her-- she took her hair off once on April Fool's Day. Also she was mean. Mainly to this kid named Brittany. I walked with Brittany at my kindergarten graduation. I tripped. The the end. I remember having to draw self-portraits with my class then, and mine being the only one with skin-colored skin. All the others' were green or blue or something. I thought that showed a terrible lack of realism in them...probably just meant I had no taste for the abstract at age six.

Jeanette MacDonald, Sally Blane and Joyce Compton in Annabel's Affairs. Can you say "pre-Code"? ;)

...But I must have liked it, for I drew a yellow train, which --according to Hattie the gal who sat next to me-- don't exist. Must be something in the name Hattie, for she was quite like Mrs. Dorsett, I suppose..."Chickens...aren't...purple...stupid." Of course, Mrs. Dorsett was right, albeit a tad cruel in her way of showing it. A purple chicken is perfectly absurd, but then again the kid was like four...

Doris Day rehearsing a number in I'll See You in My Dreams. The blackface was part of the number, not a personal preference. Pretty sure.

PS. I'm pretty sure the makers of The Simpsons based Nelson's laugh on Ginger Rogers'. You know..."HAa-ha." Who's with me? ;)

Good thing they don't still print neat pictures like this on cigarettes, or I'd be an addict.

Mishmash

So last night I had sort of a screwball comedy marathon. On the menu were Bachelor Mother, The Ex-Mrs. Bradford, The Awful Truth, and My Man Godfrey.

Well, I'd seen Bachelor Mother already, of course, and The Ex-Mrs. Bradford (aka the movie that made me wild for Jean Arthur). The Awful Truth was new though. I'd wanted to see it ever since that Cary Grant biography I watched a few weeks ago. It finally arrived in the mail Tuesday and last night was the first chance I had to watch it. It was great-- sign me up as an Irene Dunne Fan.

My Man Godfrey I watched because I'd never really given it a chance (aside from the "Godfrey loves me, Godfrey loves me!" scene, which is marvelous). I adore both Carole Lombard and William Powell, so I'm not really sure what it is.

I'm pretty sure I woulda liked it minus Carole's bangs. Hopefully that doesn't make me sound too, oh I don't know...but really. They were terribly distracting, like Rachel Weisz's in The Mummy. Heck, even Judy's were a wee bit distracting in MMISL. Anyway, I'm still in a sort of Carole mood, so tonight it's Nothing Sacred with the equally amazing Frederic March.

In other news, I had a dream about La Rochefoucauld (who could survive with such a name?). I wish I'd remember more of it. I know I was wearing a wig a la Jayne Mansfield, but can't recall anything else. Whenever I write little bits down like this, I seem to remember more and more as time goes by. Excercising my dimethyltryptamine receptors, I guess.

Earlier I was reading Sylvia Plath's journals...(hm, that sounds like I'm being nosey, huh? Note: they're published. ;) ) Anyway, I came across a great quote.

"I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost...but won't. It is sad to be ably only to mouth other poets. I wan't someone to mouth me."

Pretty wonderful, huh? It made me smile. Un-split infinitives always have that effect on me.

But really, doesn't everyone feel that way? I know I do, from time to time. So here, I'm giving you a chance to mouth me (hm, maybe that'll catch on as a new phrase or something...)

Really the only poem of mine I like. Here goes. :)

To the Editor

I try my best to write deep verse
But that is infinitely worse
Than nonchalance, which is not quite
As desperate or sad a sight.
Believe me dearie, if I were
To try a line you’d much prefer
The simpler stuff which freely flows
To higher-minded purple prose
Oh, words and I, we get along
And sentiment is sometimes strong
But pretty soon, all reason’s drowned
By concepts, words, and thoughts profound.
Still, in and out of dreams I creep
Determining which thoughts run deep
But as my lowly lines foretell,
My mind remains a shallow well.
Eventually I drop my pen
And face the fact I’ll never win
It’s off to be where I sleep soundly
--I could never write profoundly.

PS. I found several (okay two) pictures of some of my favorite actresses (okay two) holding cats and thought I'd share. And it kinda sorta fits, as I've mentioned both Joots and Carole, the first being from 1940 (with Clark Gable) and the second being from the set of Strike Up the Band (with Mickey). Enjoy.