Rants on A Free Soul

It would be easy to dismiss A Free Soul (Clarence Brown, 1931) as a relic of a bygone era, both morally and cinematically, even though its dismissal would be warranted as the film is a creaky, stodgy early talkie that sets the artform, not to mention women's sexual rights, backwards 20 years. A Free Soul, a standard melodrama of its day, revolves around Stephen Ashe, an alcoholic, upper-class lawyer (Lionel Barrymore) and Jan, his free-spirited, vibrant daughter (Queen of MGM, Norma Shearer). He just successfully gotten cruel, yet completely charming gangster Ace Wilfong (Clark Gable) acquitted of murder. Jan begins a sexual affair with the gangster, much to her father's dismay. Not that she's having sex so much as she's having sex with that lowlife creep so obviously beneath him and his daughter's social class.

The story of A Free Soul is hardly its strong suit, as it was hardly revolutionary even in 1931. What fascinates me 80 years later is the surprisingly strong feminist revelation that the film leads to. The character of Jan is supposed to be this free spirit, a remnant of the flapper era in the sobering days of the Great Depression. She thinks she can do whatever she wants but, really, she's merely a piece of property passed around between various entities over the course of the film. In the first part of the film, Jan is owned by her class and all the protocol that is included. After her affair with Ace has been going on for months, Ace is suddenly angered by the fact that she will only see him late at night at his place, never out in public where others will see them. Jan's class definitely prohibits liaisons such as this, so it is her duty to hide the dirty little secret instead of flaunting for everyone else to see. She is not a rebellious character; she is simply a girl who wants a little action.

After her father learns of her affair, he forbids her from seeing him again or accepting his marriage proposal. Fearing that this news will drive him to go on another, possibly fatal, binge, Jan promises to give up Ace if he will stop drinking. So, the two of them drop everything and head off into the wilderness to deal with their addictions for a few months. Jan may say she's working on getting over Ace, but she's truly spending the bulk of their time away trying to get her father sober. She frets over it constantly, theoretically replacing one addiction with another. Jan has given up everything in order to help a man who, at the first opportunity, buys as much alcohol as he can and goes on a major bender without a care in the world for her.

When she returns home, without a father and shunned from the rest of her family, Jan returns to Ace, hoping he will provide some of the happiness she has lost. He is happy to see her, but after losing her all those months, Ace wants more than just sex from her. He wants to marry her, much to Jan's surprise. She at first accepts but quickly considers her options and realizes that she doesn't have to marry him. She's not in love with him anymore and he has no right to treat her like a possession. This idea is further explored when Ace comes to her apartment later on and says, in effect, "The ring is here, the minister has been called, we're getting married. Come on." Ace believes that just because she is a ruined woman now, she has no choice but to marry him. But Jan knows that being with him for that reason alone will never make her happy. So she makes the difficult choice to choose her own freewill over the happiness of those around her.

As a film about a woman owning her own soul, A Free Soul is surprisingly liberal for 1930s Hollywood, almost becoming a tamer version of Their Eyes Were Watching God. As a film about a woman owning her body and her virtue, A Free Soul looks dated even by 1931's Pre-Code standards. Don't forget that this is from the same studio that, one year later, showed Jean Harlow seduce a married man, marry him herself and then leave him with no punishment for her actions. A Free Soul wants it both ways--we are meant to cheer on Jan's sexual exploits but the film ultimately condemns them--but it simply doesn't work. If it's a feminist tale, then why is Jan's ex-fiancé (Leslie Howard) fighting for her honor when Ace won't leave her alone? Jan has already accepted the consequences of whatever she did and is not ashamed of them anymore, so why is the film? If A Free Soul is a condemnation of lax sexual morality, why do they make it look so fun and openly flaunt the Pre-Code sexuality that they were allowed to get away with, only to come down nearly as harshly as they would have been forced to just years later? The film can't make up its mind what it wants to be so it throws everything up on-screen in the hopes that something will stick. Nothing does, and it only makes an already convoluted film that much more preposterous.

A Free Soul looks like it was edited with a hacksaw and features Lionel Barrymore at his hammiest and Norma Shearer, as fascinating as she is to watch, at her shrieky worst. If you look beyond the surface badness, however, there's an interesting film ready to emerge and ripe for a retelling should a writer be so bold as to tackle this moldy antiquity. C-

"Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely/On the other side from you"

For one reason or another, I haven't been able to escape Wuthering Heights these past couple weeks. I've never read the book (philistine, I know) and my only exposure to it has been through the "classic" 1939 adaptation starring Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon which is on my imaginary list of the most overrated films of all time. For one reason or another, I had remained completely ignorant of the umpteenth film version of the Emily Brontë novel currently in production. As soon as I heard that Andrea Arnold was directing, however, my attitude instantly went from "Ugh, really?" to "Holy shit, gimme!" I've already gone on and on about how spectacular Fish Tank was in my mid-year review, but after watching her 2007 film Red Road recently, I'm fully convinced that she is one of the most interesting up-and-coming directors around. Her preference for socially and emotionally isolated female protagonists is certainly a refreshing perspective given the male-dominated industry. I'm definitely intrigued by what she might come up with in this version. From what I gather about the book, she seems like a perfect fit. And even if it doesn't completely work, it simply has to be better than the '39 version, right?

Possibly even more exciting/intriguing than Andrea Arnold in the director's chair, however, is her choice for Cathy: 18-year-old actress Kaya Scodelario. The actress, best known for playing the omnipresent Effy Stonem on the UK TV series Skins, is perhaps a surprising choice given that Gemma Arterton, who seems on the brink of mega stardom this year, was originally cast before Arnold took over. But if you've seen Scodelario on Skins, particularly in the first or second series, you know that even at her young age, she definitely has the chops to pull it off. I recently re-watched her Skins debut in the series one episode where she, without uttering a single word the entire episode, goes out to party with her loud mouth best friend and ends up getting drugged by someone out for revenge on her brother Tony (Nicholas Hoult). I was impressed the first time, so much so that she instantly jumped to the top tier of my fave Skins characters. On this go-around, I was able to look past the audacity of the show to give this wordless protagonist an entire episode and realized what an incredibly gifted actress she is. Working only with your face is incredibly difficult and something very few actors have the luxury of experimenting with now that the silent era has been over for 80+ years. Scodelario is more than up to the challenge and manages to become this completely watchable and fascinating enigma in the middle of all these scarily intense scenes of Disturbed Teens Gone Wild. Scodelario doesn't simply let the contrivances do all the work for her. She's constantly "in" the moment and makes the most of her presence. As soon as the episode is over, you feel like you need to know more about this character, the biggest question mark being, obviously, "Why doesn't she speak?" Scodelario has the talent to play Cathy, but with Arnold guiding her, I'm positively foaming at the mouth to see what she can do.

I managed to escape Wuthering Heights for a bit until a couple of days ago when I watched this 1946 film called Devotion. The film is a typical love triangle melodrama, very common in those days, with perhaps the only difference being that it involves both Emily and Charlotte Brontë as two points in the triangle. I was interested in the film mainly for Olivia de Havilland as Charlotte, but she proved to be, like the film itself, nothing special. The real story, however, was Ida Lupino as the eternally moody and tragic Emily. I've seen quite a few films about famous authors, particularly from this time period in Hollywood, but none of them are as interesting as Lupino's work in Devotion. She uses Wuthering Heights, Emily's only novel, as a way of character development, embodying the dark, Gothic mood of the novel in ways that the '39 adaptation only dreams of. All her life, Emily has been preoccupied with this dark, mysterious house on the dreary moors she loves so dearly. She decides to write about this house, adding a tragic romanticism to match the darkness that surrounds it, much to Charlotte's confusion. When Charlotte admits that she doesn't really understand Wuthering Heights as Emily begins writing it, in a way it's her way of admitting that she doesn't really understand Emily. Emily realizes this and accepts it, for she knows that her ideas about love and relationships are beyond Charlotte's interests and capabilities. Lupino does some smart, fascinating work in a completely thankless role in Devotion, proving that she, completely understanding the work, would have made a great Cathy in a production of Wuthering Heights. Thanks Merle Oberon for fucking that up.

The Tragedy of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France

The 1938 version of Marie Antoinette, starring the eternal Queen of MGM, Norma Shearer, is far from what you might call "historically accurate." According to the film, Marie and her husband King Louis XVI (Robert Morley) were completely innocent from blame for their part in the French Revolution. It was all some silly misunderstanding involving an expensive necklace that set off the blood thirsty French citizens and (wrongly) sent Marie and company to the guillotine. The film often portrays Marie as this savior of sorts who tries her damnedest to do the right thing but always ends up with the short end of the stick. If anything, this version of Marie Antoinette tries to avoid at all costs associating Shearer with the same woman who famously quipped, "Let them eat cake" when accosted with the rampant starvation in her kingdom. So, as a history lesson, Marie Antoinette fails miserably. But as a tragedy about a helpless woman who sees her beautiful world swiftly crumbling around her, few films then or now can match Marie Antoinette.

One of the most fascinating aspects of Marie Antoinette is how her relationships with her husband and her Swedish lover (Tyrone Power) are developed in a completely atypical manner from both the time it was made and now. When she arrives in Paris after the arrangements for her to marry Louis, Dauphin of France at this point, are made, she is excited about the prospect of marriage. However, she soon discovers that her husband-to-be is a social retard more interested in tinkering with locks than being king. Norma's Marie is disappointed, but she heeds her mother's advice and does her best to find common ground and encourage him like a good wife should. On their second wedding anniversary, he makes Marie a spinning wheel by hand. She marvels at it and acts as if it is the greatest gift she has ever received. When Louis' cousin laughs at the gift and she sees Louis' crushed face, she too is wounded by the insult. There is a bond between these two misfits of the court that continuously grows through the years. They become intimate in a way that is much different than the passionate intimacy that erupts between Marie and the Tyrone Power character. This is intimacy that comes from raising kids and making important decisions that effect a great number of people together. Tyrone Power may be, as the film tries to make him, the one true love of her life, but Louis was the one she could always depend on. It is probably not until their final scene together when Louis has announced his beheading the next morning that Marie finally realizes just how much he has meant to her over the years. "We've been together quite a few years, haven't we?" he asks while trying to comfort her, "You've been very good to me." "It's easy to be good to those we love," she responds back, sobbing into his hand. In a movie which appears to be stuffed to the brim full of artificiality, it is moments like these that prove Marie Antoinette has a heart beating loud and clear underneath all the bustle of giant sets, even larger dresses and a larger than life actress in Norma Shearer.

But even Norma Shearer, an actress I love for always going for broke whenever she's onscreen yet who remains fascinating in both her good and bad performances, knows when to dial it down in Marie Antoinette. Sure, she occasionally lapses into one of her usual "Shearerisms," as when she runs down a flight of stairs with her outstretched arms to meet her lover, but these blips rarely distract from the magic she creates onscreen. This is especially true in the second half when the film gives her some true meat to sink into. There are moments such as the scene where Louis becomes king and Marie, having just returned from leaving her lover, is unresponsive to the news when Shearer is--and I never thought I'd say this about one of her performances--completely natural and without pretense. Her morose mask of a face betrays every feeling she is going through. It's a quietly devastating moment and something unlike I've ever seen Shearer do before. Of course, however, there are scenes when Norma is at her go-for-broke best, highlighting her character's tense state of mind while locked in the Bastille. Not once does she give into her in-bred artificiality. I don't know if becoming a mother had anything to do with this, but any of the later scenes involving her children are excruciating to watch in their vividness. At one point, right after Louis is guillotined, the guards come for Marie's son. She completely loses it and snaps, protecting her child with all her every bone and limb in her . When she is finally convinced to release him, it's like they have pulled the child right from her womb. The moment is difficult to watch but only adds to the richness of Shearer's performance. And instead of becoming a hindrance to the film's emotional core, she becomes the film's heart and soul. Not bad for an actress who supposedly fucked her way to the top. B+

8 Things I Love About Susan Hayward in I'll Cry Tomorrow

A couple of weeks ago, I re-screened I'll Cry Tomorrow, Susan Hayward's 1955 Academy Award-nominated vehicle. My first viewing of this film a couple of years ago was a bit wonky (the tape stopped recording 40 minutes in and I missed probably 15 minutes in the middle) and I've grown to appreciate Susan Hayward so much more in that time so I decided this film was in need of another look. And boy am I ever glad I did that. On the surface, I'll Cry Tomorrow may not seem like anything more than your typical Oscar-bait biopic, but it's actually one of the few films about alcoholism that shows the dark, gritty and positively disgusting underbelly of the disease. Sure, the film does this in the most glamorous way possible, but it's positively riveting to watch.

The film is a solid A, but the woman who gets the most credit for that is Susan Hayward. Her performance and acting style is not for every one, but if you're lucky enough to love it, I'll Cry Tomorrow is a sight to behold. Because it left such an impression on me and I want as many people as possible to seek out this movie, here are eight reasons why Susan Hayward is utterly fantastic in I'll Cry Tomorrow.


Susan Hayward-isms If you've seen a Susan Hayward musical number before, then you know that she has certain, um, characteristics that pop up over and over again in them. Mainly, she uses her arms and makes the same five poses, or a variation of them, throughout the entire number. I know the word "genius" is thrown around a lot (especially by me) and it's meaning has been diluted a bit, but that is the only word in the English language that is applicable to Susan Hayward's ability to turn these ridiculously hammy hand gestures into something that works even half as well as it does in her first musical number, "Sing You Sinners." And that's not even talking about the way she occasionally tosses her head back with that big ole cheesy grin plastered on her face. If you're unprepared, these signature bits may throw you off and automatically write off Susan Hayward's acting ability, but once it clicks, you won't be able to get them out of your head. Genius, indeed.

Subtle Comic Timing I was HOWLING at the 20 second mark of this clip.


Knows the Importance of Being Fabulous At All Times I'm not going to reveal what event is the trigger of Hayward's character's alcoholism, but I think it's important to note that even after this traumatic event, Hayward still finds it's necessary to lie around in her bed with her hair all done and makeup applied perfectly. She's Susan Hayward, damnit; there's no way she's looking like a commoner!

"When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob Bobbin' Along" Another example of why Susan Hayward's musical numbers at the shit, yo. She is completely rocking those twirls at the end.


Monologue at 1:16 “He’s alright…he’s fine. He’s a real doll. Our maid left this morning because I’m such a drunk. Everybody feels sorry for him. Nobody feels sorry for me. Yup, there’s drunks and there’s drunks. You see, I’m what you call an ‘adorable drunk.’ He…he’s mean! Maybe you can tell me, mister. Why is it when some men get drunk, they get mean, real mean? And then, and then, they next day, they’re sorry. So sorry. He’s great, he’s, he’s my husband….he’s a doll. Got the scars to prove it. Oh well! That’s okay with me. I’m no good. I’m no good. That’s the way it’s gotta be. I’m just nothin’ but a hopeless drunk. Getting just what I deserve. Oh well. That’s life.”

Camp When describing a performance, the word "camp" often gets a bad connotation. But, when it's done right and the film's structure is loose enough to allow it, the results can be astounding. Just think of Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? or Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest and you'll see that camp does not always equal bad. This same principle can applied to Hayward's performance in I'll Cry Tomorrow. She's loud and larger than life, but she can get away with it since director Daniel Mann makes sure to scale back the entire film at certain points so she can just let loose with reckless abandon. It could have been a complete disaster, but Hayward knows how to camp it up like a true pro.


Voice over at 0:40 “Every night after that, I drank myself to sleep. I felt I no longer needed Katie’s reassurance- I was getting it out of the bottle! For the first time, I was completely secure on the stage. I was sure at last that they liked me and I deserved it. I was something! I was GLAMOROUS! I was the BEST singer IN THE WORLD!”

An Acting Style That is Both Misunderstood and Forgotten Today Going through Susan Hayward's Oscar-nominated work, it quickly becomes apparent that her acting style will be divisive, especially to modern-day viewers not familiar with the pre-Method Era style of acting she embodies. I know that when I first saw her films, I found it odd that this ham of an actress was a widely respected thespian. Over time, I've come to respect her audacity and sheer balls to be so batshit crazy over-the-top with any of her performances. With her big booming theatrical voice, sweeping gestures and go-for-broke desperation, Susan Hayward's performance in I'll Cry Tomorrow pierces through the doldrums of mid-50's American cinema like the a loud, menacing rocket launched into the atmosphere. When she's drunk, she's drunk, slurring her words and stumbling out of nightclubs with all the subtlety of a foghorn. And when she's desperately searching for a drink, not knowing where the hell she is, Hayward is fighting and scratching her way through dirt and grime and the most awful places imaginable to get some booze. It's not pretty and it's certainly not the most comfortable thing to sit through, but that's precisely why it works so well. With a method actress like Julie Harris in the role, I don't think the performance or I'll Cry Tomorrow as a whole would have worked so well. No doubt Harris would have been great, but I think there would have been too much internalization on her part, and the film completely relies on the showy, "surface" effects of alcoholism. With Harris (or any other Method actress), the film's depiction of alcoholism wouldn't have been as dirty or gruesome. Thank goodness Hayward was there with her unusual acting style to lead the way.

Rants on The Razor's Edge (1946)

As the credits for The Razor's Edge (Edmund Goulding, 1946) came flashing up on the screen, I sat on my futon for a minute trying to decide what this film was actually about. It's not that the film was confusing in the traditional sense; on the contrary, the narrative was as straight-forward as you could possibly get. What I had trouble understanding, rather, was what Goulding and company were trying to do with this adaptation of Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge. I thought for awhile it was about Larry Darrell's (played here by Tyrone Power, definitive proof that you could be the biggest star in Hollywood and never have an ounce of acting talent) journey toward self-discovery and enlightenment in a post-WWI world, but that plot line is resolved tidily half-way through the film and never really mentioned again. Then the film switched gears and started focusing on the relationship between Larry and Isabel (the beautiful, yet blank, Gene Tierney) and I thought, "Okay, now this is going into a tragic melodrama about forbidden love or something" but that, as well, never really came to be. Their relationship ended 30 minutes in and neither of them seemed that devastated, even when they ran into each other numerous times over the next decade or so. It wasn't until Isabel discovers that Larry wants to help their old friend Sophie (Anne Baxter), a hopeless alcoholic after the death of her husband and child, by marrying her and aiding in her recovery that we even realize she still has romantic feelings for him. Not only does she still love him, her character arc takes a complete 180 into Alex Forrest territory and plots the demise of Sophie. And while this is going on, Larry doesn't seem to be in love with Isabel at all. So, if The Razor's Edge isn't about either of these things, what the hell is it really about? Beats me. The film is a mess, but manufactured so it looks like everyone involved knew what the hell they were doing.

The cast is uniformly bland and uninspiring. Tyrone Power was nothing more than eye candy in the 30's (especially in Marie Antoinette, yum) and he never really matured as an actor, so it should come as no surprise how dull he is here. Gene Tierney casts some sort of charm over a lot of classic film watchers, but her appeal has always been lost on me. She's nothing more than a blank canvas who carefully reads her lines and that's about it. Anne Baxter won a Best Supporting Actress Academy Award for her performance here and it's rather easy to see why they fell for it- a drunk scene was the surest way to Oscar attention in those days. She's not bad, but nothing about her performance really stood out to me. She was so much better four years later as the manipulative Eve in All About Eve. Clifton Webb was nominated for Best Supporting Actor for reprising his tired, old queen act that he did much better in Laura two years previous. His Uncle Elliott gets the best lines but it's nothing we haven't seen from Webb before.

All in all, The Razor's Edge is typical of the prestige pictures of the 30's and 40's (hell, even many modern day prestige pictures fall into this category) in that the makers felt that THE MESSAGE alone makes the picture great and the acting, writing, directing and technical work were all secondary to THE MESSAGE. If only someone had realized that THE MESSAGE alone couldn't save a film as dire as this one. D