Reviews

The film "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" is one of the finest pictures to come out of the late World War II period. There was a gnawing need for nostalgia at that time. "The boys" were overseas, the war had been dragging on for over four years, and people needed to see strong characters and have a warm-hearted family drama pick up their spirits. The message was "you can make it through this---this too shall pass." At glossy MGM they created a Technicolor "Meet Me In St. Louis." But at Fox they gave newcomer Elia Kazan his chance to make it big with what had been a popular bestseller several years running. Set in 1912, the story portrays the immigrant experience, of which Kazan was personally familiar. The performances are dynamite. Dorothy McGuire is so young but she nails Katie Nolan in what I think is McGuire's best performance. And who else but Peggy Ann Garner could play Francie? Though many are critical that the book gets short-changed, I find it amazing that Kazan was able to slip so much detail into his film. It's brimming with period charm and the glow of actual old memories. Yes, they were deeply, relentlessly poor. But you see how families struggled together---like when the grandma and aunt come to deliver the baby. They couldn't afford a midwife. Joan Blondell is great, too. But why does Sissy in the film call all her men "Bill"? In the book it's John, I think. Is it too close to a whore's "john" or too close to Johnny, Francie's dad?

"Cabin in the Sky" is always a delight to watch. The loving performances are still so fresh. And as Minnelli's debut "project" it's fascinating to notice how he cut corners yet achieved a respectable though low budget MGM musical. (Minnelli even recycled the twister footage from "Wizard of Oz," complete with corn cribs and Kansas prairie in the background, during the film's climactic nightclub episode.) By 1943, most MGM musicals were in Technicolor, not black and white.

It's obvious the film script and lyrics were upgraded and rewritten from their Broadway roots so there were less stereotypic images and songs (the original lyrics to the title song include the "darkie dream" of "eating fried chicken every day.") The "cabin" is not a hovel but rather charming in that typical MGM glossy way. Yet much does remain that is somewhat problematic. The number "Shine," sung by "Domino Johnson" in the nightclub, for instance, is a derogatory "coon song" of 1910. (A "shine" was a racist term for an African American.) Yes, Ethel Waters and the other women who are not good-looking babes are laundresses but they're not portrayed as the typical movie mammies or Aunt Jemimah types. They wear '40s length dresses and kerchiefs, not mammy bandanas. The pretty women are all vamps and tramps, hanging out in Jim Henry's nightclub, jitterbugging their asses off. The males are shown as gamblers, cheats, and philanderers. Only the angels speak standard English. Illiterate "Little Joe" cannot even sign his name for the telegram delivery guy.

Yet as a variation on the FAUST legend, this well-developed story is fascinating. I first used the film in a Mass Media class about 40 years ago when I was a beginning teacher to illustrate "screen racism" to my classes at an African American Chicago high school. The power of the performances was so captivating, once the word got out I had other kids coming by my room during my lunch to watch the musical, too. Where else, in the late '60s, could anyone see a film that featured so many all-time great black performers like Duke Ellington, Butterfly McQueen, Mantan Moreland, Willie Best, and all the others. At that time, during the beginnings of the Afrocentric cultural awareness movement, older images of blacks like the "Amos 'N' Andy" TV program and some of the all-black musicals, were banned from television. Thank God for film!

The movie may illustrate some of the problems connected with portraying racial themes in old Hollywood of the studio period, but to this day each time I watch it I appreciate the performances more and notice new details that captivate and inspire me. Watch for Ernestine Wade (who played Kingfish's wife Saffire on TV's early '50s "Amos 'N' Andy") in the opening church service scene sitting in the front row wearing a Tyrolean style hat. Dorothy Dandridge's challenging mother Ruby is a couple rows behind her with a silly hat and some little boys sleeping under her arm.

I have been somewhat haunted by this bizarre show for a half century. In the '50s there was no other kids' program like it, to be sure. I think lots of us were drawn to its rather twisted, surreal aspects. The little mouse (Squeaky) and the black cat that always meowed "Nice" were odd enough, but Froggy the Gremlin lived in the clock and always mocked whatever guest showed up. We '50s kids just loved the little fellow. He was so nasty and such a smart-ass. I had a bright green rubber Froggy from Woolworth's and was so fond of him. I wish I still had it. The transition after Smiling Ed died of a heart attack was rough and odd for us. Of course, we children were not told he had passed away. Just suddenly gravel-voiced character actor Andy Devine was in his place. But we knew and liked Andy as "Jingles" on the WILD BILL HICKOK show--with Tony the Tiger selling cereal. Shows usually had one key commercial that was hyped at several points, whether it was cereal or shoes--Buster Brown's. I would love to see some of the old serials of the Indian boy Rama (or was it Gunga?) who had a way with elephants. There were always savage tigers threatening the village and hordes of native "beaters" would go out into the bush making noise to drive him out. I remember once there was an evil maharajah and Rama helped two beautiful young women run away from him. It was quite the thrilling episode. The show had such a surreal quality that it still seems fresh to me. I would love to see a videotape, if one exists. The same few seconds of a wildly enthusiastic audience of kids leaping up and down and screaming with joy and approval was cut in between every major moment. Even as a kid fifty years ago I knew that was too weird.

Everyone knows the line "Play it again, Sam," never really occurs in the picture. Bogart doesn't say those actual words to Dooley Wilson.

"Casablanca" is widely recognized as a nearly perfect example of a film produced during the peak of the Hollywood "Studio Years." It's a cultural treasure and justifiably beloved. But there is no getting around the fact that the role of Sam, the jazz pianist, is patronizingly written and the character is an unfortunate example of the Uncle Tom type of "good black" that so often crept into movies of that era.

The character of the pianist/singer in Rick's Cafe Americain was initially conceived of as a part for a female jazz artist like Hazel Scott, Ella Fitzgerald, or Lena Horne. Perhaps the subliminal sexuality of having a young African American woman so close to Rick (Bogart) made the Warner Bros. execs nervous. MGM, where Lena Horne was under contract, never quite knew how to deal with her beauty or sexuality. She was seldom part of a storyline but rather often featured as a performer in a nightclub sequence that could be snipped out in prints of the film being exhibited in the Deep South, thus not offending racists but not messing with the continuity of the plot. The role of the pianist was switched to a male character possibly to sidestep all the issues of miscegenation between the singer and "Mr. Rick." Racial mixing was one of the last taboos to go during the 30 year reign and enforcement of the Production Code.

Though the Bogart character is respectful of Sam and looks out for his best interests, making sure Sam is paid the same once he leaves Morocco, their relationship is not truly one of equals. Sam always refers to him as "Mr. Rick" and Bergman as "Miss Ilsa." Sam takes care of Rick and worries over his happiness and well-being. We know nothing of Sam's life or needs. All we know for sure is that Sam will do anything he can to keep these white folks happy.

When Bergman first spots Sam in the nightclub she inquires, "Who is that boy playing the piano?" BOY? Born in 1886, Dooley Wilson was 56 years old. Use of the term "boy" to refer to the musician is an unfortunate indication of the prevailing practice of denigrating black men's sexuality and maturity. One was a "boy" until one was 70.

Yet Warner Bros., more-so perhaps than the other big studios, was more liberated in terms of race and its depiction. The mere presence of Sam as a character indicated progress to many. But the role is definitely narrow and restrained, within the typical submissive image often delineated for blacks. At one point, and mercifully it's mostly cut, early in the film Sam begins to sing an old song called "Shine." (Shine was a racist term for an African American, like Coon or Jigaboo.) The number was a very racist tune of the early 20th Century---"Just because my hair is curly/ Just because my teeth are pearly..." We are not subjected to the full song which is a catalog of stereotypic images---and then the song ends with the line "That's why they call me Shine." The full number is sung by dancer John Bubbles in MGM's "Cabin in the Sky" filmed that same year.

Dooley Wilson, by the way, was paid $350 per week to appear in "Casablanca." Sidney Greenstreet was paid $3,750 per week.

Dooley Wilson was one of the best jazz drummers of the era. It's ironic that he will always be remembered "playing piano" (and not a very good faking, at that) in "Casablanca." He did also sing well, and his performance is part of the stuff dreams were made of at Warner Bros.---preserved for posterity in this wonderful though clearly not perfect film.

This film moves swiftly in that wonderfully fast-paced,1930s no-holds- barred Warner Bros. manner. The storyline is based on the Lucky Luciano vice lord expose of the previous season, which would have been familiar to most film-goers. Warner Bros.melodramas thrived on the kind of gritty, working class stories that were "ripped from the headlines" during the Depression years. Until the Production Code clamp-down of 1934, the girls in the film would have been shown as more clearly identifiable prostitutes. Here it's all thinly veiled. Just what IS a "clip-joint hostess," one wonders. They obviously perform other business in the upstairs rooms. But the movie never goes there. The women are shown to be strong, independent, yet exploited. Though they are bordello babes, the audience sympathy is for them. The film was made the same year as "Stage Door," and it's got some similarities. These young ladies of the evening seem like they're staying in a sorority house for hookers.

For Bogart fans, this is a rather stilted, seemingly out-of-character performance for him. It's like watching Bogie's clone--the role doesn't quite seem to fit him.

This film also shows wonderful examples of the Art Deco style in the Club Intime nightclub sequences. The design is lustrous. Hollywood Deco always signified glamor, modernity, and sexual liberation.

Bette Davis insisted her make-up following the beating and slashing look horrific. If Joan Crawford had played this role, she might have sported a slight bruise. Here Davis is heavily bandaged--realistic and frightening.

This is an overblown melodrama but it shows Warner Bros. and Bette Davis doing what they did best--telling a fast-paced story with lots of scintillating, snappy dialogue. Jack Warner may not have been much different than Lucky Luciano in many ways, but his studio sure could churn out some gripping tales.

The film is delicious in that brassy, over-blown 20th Century Fox way. Among the absurdities is Alice Faye singing "In Old Chicago" in a town that was 35 years old. Yet it's amazing that so much of the actual fire's history is accurately portrayed, such as Mrs. O'Leary's "peg-leg" neighbor who sounded the alarm for the immediate DeKoven St. neighbors. Some of the bigger shots are copied right from lithographs of the period. But then most of the politics is totally fraudulent.

Women extras were not allowed to appear in dangerous situations in '30s Hollywood so watch closely during the street scenes where there are runaway horses and racing fire engines. The "ladies" scrambling around are clearly tall men in Victorian drag. It's a hoot.

Those viewers of a certain age may remember a Sunday evening TV program in the '50s with Walter Kronkite called "You Are There" which put you into historical events. The episode featuring the Chicago Fire cannibalized this Fox film and lifted much of the disaster footage.

There are so many parallels to the previous year's big MGM success "San Francisco" (1936) with Clark Gable and Jeanette McDonald. Here we have Alice Faye also singing in a saloon, a disaster during the night, "dirty politics" with an attempt to clean out the slum zone, little kids in danger during the fire, buildings being dynamited to contain the blaze, the hero searching for days for his lost love among the victims, and so forth.

This is the most perfect example of "history on the silver screen" that I can think of. When Ginger Rogers says, "It's the Depression, dearie" at the beginning to explain the chorus girls' bad luck, it's the key to the whole film. While the "Shadow Waltz" number was being filmed during an actual 1933 earthquake in L.A. a number of the girls toppled off the Art Deco "overpass" where they were swaying with their filmy hoop skirts and their neon violins short-circuited. The electrical hook-ups were also rather dangerous, especially if the neon bows came in contact with the girls' metallic wigs in that number. The culminating production number, "Remember My Forgotten Man," is the most significant historically and illustrates Warner Bros.' "New Deal" sensibilities. Warner Bros. was the only studio that "bought" the whole Roosevelt approach to economic recovery. The year before, under Hoover, WWI vets were not only neglected in terms of benefits but were run out of their shanty town near the Capitol building. Starving guys were camping on the edges of most communities who'd served in the Great War fifteen years before. Of course, why or how this number fits into such a '30s girlie-type musical revue is anyone's guess. Berkeley never looked for reality, just eye-popping surrealistic effects.

About ten years ago I found myself sitting next to Etta Moten Barnett at a Chicago NAACP banquet. I was flabbergasted. She was in her 90s yet still looked lovely. She's the singer who sang "Forgotten Man" in the window. She also sang "The Carioca" in Astaire and Rogers' first pairing, "Flying Down to Rio." She was quite gracious, though she did not have wonderful things to say about Hollywood of that era. The African Americans in both pictures were fed in a tent away from the general commissary area.

Ruby Keeler has a certain odd-ball appeal, like a homely puppy. She can't sing, she watches her leaden feet while she dances, and almost all her lines are read badly. Yes, she was married to Al Jolson, but that may have HURT her career more than anything. He was not exactly always likable. He was much older than Ruby and so full of himself.

This film is also a classic example of the PRE-CODE stuff that was slipping by---the leering "midget baby" (Billy Barty), the naked girls in silhouette changing into their "armor," the non-stop flashing of underwear or lack of underwear, Ginger Rogers having her large coin torn off by the sheriff's office mug so she's essentially standing there in panties, and so forth.

A good comparison of before and after the code would be to examine this picture and "Gold Diggers of 1935." The latter is so much more chaste, discreet, and less fascinating except for the numbers. There's not the lurid, horny aura of the Pre-Code pictures. And it's not quite as much naughty fun, either.

"Footlight Parade" is fascinating on so many levels. There is no way the supposedly staged "theater prologues" could have been produced in any theater on earth, of course. Think of the huge pools and three-story tall fountains for "By A Waterfall," for instance. (Berkeley directed John Garfield in "They Made Me a Criminal" six years later and had the Dead End Kids singing "By a Waterfall" as they took their showers.)

"Shanghai Lil" is the best production number in the picture. It's a catalog of '30s Warner Bros. sensibilities. Note the African guys mixed into the scene with white and Asian prostitutes. You would never see blacks integrated into a social scene in other films of the period unless they were porters on a train or maids in a big house. Here the black guys are sitting at the bar and singing with the others. I also get a thrill when the military dancers do a "card section" presentation of Roosevelt's image. There's also the NRA eagle--the logo of the controversial National Recovery Administration of the New Deal. FDR was the new president and hopes were so high that he'd pull the nation out of the Depression. You'd never see something so working class oriented coming out of MGM, of course. Warner Bros. wholeheartedly supported the uplift dictated by the F.D.R. administration.

Dear little Miss Ruby Keeler was never better than she is playing the Chinese hooker, "Lil." She hardly even watches her feet as she dances, which was one of her signature flaws.

The Pre-Code stuff is fun. The "By a Waterfall" number is wonderful in that regard. The girls change into their bathing suits on the crowded bus speeding through Times Square with all its lights on. The spread-eagle girls swimming over the camera provide the kind of crotch shots that would not be seen for 35 years. In a few months the Production Code would eliminate such naughty pleasures.

I have long been a fan of "film noir" but never managed to see this picture. I just viewed it on the Turner Channel and now want to purchase the DVD. It's so powerful. Gloria Grahame is always terrific, though the cheesy make-up showing her "disfigurement" looks like candle wax dripped on her face. The Columbia production values are never high. Jeanette Nolan's home looks like they borrowed it from June and Ward Cleaver. But the level of violence and pessimism is incredibly steep for the early '50s. It still holds up well. I wish someone would do a serious retrospective on director Fritz Lang which addressed the ways his escape from the Nazis in early '30s Germany influenced and shaped his Hollywood "noir" stuff.