Classic Films in Focus: LADIES IN RETIREMENT (1941)

If Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) were a tragic drama instead of a screwball comedy, it might play out something like Ladies in Retirement (1941), in which a desperate young woman goes to extreme measures to protect her psychologically complicated sisters. We talk about insanity and mental health very differently today, as well we should, but the trope of the mad woman (or women) has a long history in literature and film, and in Ladies in Retirement we get a profoundly moving depiction of the type from both Elsa Lanchester and Edith Barrett, who play the two older sisters of Ida Lupino's grimly determined anti-heroine. Director Charles Vidor keeps the suspense brewing even though there's very little mystery about the story's central murder, while sharply defined performances from the stars and supporting cast members Louis Hayward, Evelyn Keyes, and Isobel Elsom draw us into multiple tangled webs of desire and deception.

Lupino leads the cast as paid companion Ellen Creed, who struggles to keep her difficult sisters out of an asylum or worse. Gentle Louisa (Edith Barrett) is a harmless chatterbox, but Emily (Elsa Lanchester) is prone to outbursts and mischief, and soon enough Ellen gets an eviction letter from the landlady in London where the two sisters have been living. Ellen deceives her wealthy employer, Leonora Fiske (Isobel Elsom), into letting the sisters stay with them in the country, but Leonora soon tires of the troublesome guests and insists that they depart. After Leonora mysteriously disappears for a sudden trip abroad, the sisters seem to be settling into the house for good, but the arrival of a charming, amoral cousin named Albert Feather (Louis Hayward) puts Ellen's schemes in danger.

Ladies in Retirement offers a feast of fascinating characters, with actors who know how to hold their own against scene stealers like Lanchester and Barrett. Both of those gifted character actors play their roles with sensitivity that tempers the more outlandish quirks of the sisters, and we sympathize with Ellen's desire to protect them. The aunts of Arsenic and Old Lace are comical figures, but Louisa and Emily grieve us because they cannot comprehend the tragedy of their situation or the despair to which they drive their devoted younger sister. Louis Hayward, who was married to Lupino when they made this picture, brings both menace and charisma to the cad Albert, although it's ironic that his romantic overtures in this story are directed at the gullible maid, Lucy (Evelyn Keyes), and never at Lupino's more skeptical protagonist. Isobel Elsom's temperamental Leonora is more like the sisters than she'd care to admit; it's easy to see why Ellen is so good at dealing with her but also pushed to the limit by having three difficult older women all making demands of her in one small house.

With its Victorian setting and Gothic mystery atmosphere, Ladies in Retirement might seem like a classic tale of suspense, and a very good one at that, but it's also a serious engagement of the limited options available to unmarried women and caregivers struggling with their dependents' mental instability. The Creed sisters have no brothers or husbands to support them in a deeply patriarchal society that also makes no provisions for the humane care of mentally ill people. Ellen is a woman with no good choices in front of her, and the film dares us to judge her harshly for the course of action she takes. Some of Ellen's problems are specific to the time and place of the story, but even today older, unmarried or widowed women are more likely to suffer poverty and become homeless or dependent on overstretched family members (also more likely to be women). As I watched the film, I couldn't help but think about this NPR piece from 2016 about older women who had lost their homes and were reduced to living in their cars. What would happen to Louisa and Emily today? What would Ellen be forced to do in order to care for them? These questions give Ladies in Retirement currency and encourage us to think very carefully about the bonds and boundaries of familial devotion. 

The inspiration for the original stage version of Ladies in Retirement was apparently the 19th century French murderer Euphrasie Mercier, whose brief history makes a great read for true crime fans. A 1969 remake called The Mad Room stars Stella Stevens and Shelley Winters, but it's a more typical horror film that adds extra murders and gore. For other intense performances from Ida Lupino, see They Drive by Night (1940), The Hard Way (1943), and Devotion (1946). Ladies in Retirement would be the last screen appearance of Louise Hayward before several years of service in the US Marine Corps during World War II. His marriage to Ida Lupino ended in 1945, the same year he returned to films with his role in And Then There Were None.

Classic Films in Focus: COVER GIRL (1944)

Rita Hayworth gets top billing in director Charles Vidor’s musical romance, Cover Girl (1944), but most modern viewers will be drawn to the picture as an early Gene Kelly vehicle, and it’s true that the movie would be a lot less memorable without him. Although it’s not the most iconic picture made by either performer, Cover Girl offers a worthwhile look at Hayworth’s star power and Kelly’s rise to fame during the 1940s. Moreover, it's a fun musical outing that pairs two talented dancers with tremendous screen presence, and fans of Hayworth's earlier work with Fred Astaire will appreciate an opportunity to contrast her pairing with Kelly.

Hayworth plays Rusty Parker, a dancer who goes against the wishes of her sweetheart and boss, Danny McGuire (Kelly), by trying out for a magazine’s cover girl contest. She wins the competition and attracts the notice of the magazine’s publisher, John Coudair (Otto Kruger), who long ago fell in love with Rusty’s grandmother, Maribelle (also played by Hayworth). Coudair encourages Rusty to abandon Danny’s small-time Brooklyn show for the glamour of Broadway, especially when a wealthy show producer wants to make her his leading lady on stage and at the altar.

Although her singing is dubbed, Hayworth proves herself as a dancer in the numerous musical scenes. Her signature red tresses are also on full display, and she does look stunning, particularly in the turn-of-the-century costumes worn by Maribelle. By the time Cover Girl was made, Hayworth already had years of screen experience and had become an established leading lady; just before Cover Girl she had co-starred with Fred Astaire in You’ll Never Get Rich (1941) and You Were Never Lovelier (1942). Kelly, in contrast, was only two years into his Hollywood career, having started out on Broadway and then gotten his big break in For Me and My Gal (1942) opposite Judy Garland. Still, the highlights of the picture belong to Kelly, especially the delightfully surreal mirror dance sequence, in which Kelly dances with his own reflection after it escapes from a shop window. Choreographed by Kelly and Stanley Donen, the number would launch the collaborative screen efforts of the pair and lay the foundation for future efforts like On the Town (1949) and the glorious Singin’ in the Rain (1952).

Hayworth and Kelly make the movie worth watching, especially for the Hollywood musical devotee, but the dual plot involving Rusty’s grandmother is pretty thin, really just an excuse to give Hayworth more screen time in various costumes and hairstyles. Phil Silvers, who is much funnier with Kelly and Judy Garland in Summer Stock (1950), adds little to the story and distracts from the romance with his ill-timed gags, while the wonderful Eve Arden deserves more attention and development as Coudair’s wise-cracking, hard-working assistant, “Stonewall” Jackson. Modern viewers probably won’t appreciate the parade of real-life cover girls as much as the original audience, but they will find a lot to enjoy in Leslie Brooks’ performance as the bitchy, ambitious dancer Maurine, who constantly tries to upstage and sabotage Rusty’s career.

Cover Girl was nominated for five Oscars and won for Best Musical Score. Charles Vidor would go on to direct Hayworth in her signature role in Gilda (1946). For more of Rita Hayworth, see Blood and Sand (1941), The Lady from Shanghai (1947), and Pal Joey (1957). You’ll find Gene Kelly in The Three Musketeers (1948), An American in Paris (1951), and Brigadoon (1954). Catch Eve Arden in Mildred Pierce (1945) and Anatomy of a Murder (1959), and give Phil Silvers another look in It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963) and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (1966).

An earlier version of this review originally appeared on Examiner.com. The author owns all rights to this content.

Classic Films in Focus: GILDA (1946)

Gilda (1946) would prove both the high point of Rita Hayworth's career and the bane of her personal life, since it created an enduring image of the actress as sex symbol, temptress, and femme fatale. Hayworth would later lament, "Every man I knew went to bed with Gilda... and woke up with me." Even in her own lifetime, the fictional character outshone the person, who had started out as a dancer named Margarita Cansino. Hayworth certainly provides the fuel that sets Charles Vidor's noir film on fire; she's impossibly alluring from the first moment we see her, flipping that fabulous hair to reveal a perfect face and eyes lit up with mischief. Gilda's dazzling sexuality helps to make up for a frankly bewildering plot, but it also acts as cover for the movie's more daring depiction of the passionate attraction between its two male protagonists, played with smoldering intensity by Glenn Ford and George Macready.

Ford turns up first as Johnny Farrell, a drifter who blows into Buenos Aires and strikes up a strangely intense friendship with urbane casino owner Ballin Mundson (George Macready). They make a happy pair until Mundson brings Gilda (Hayworth) home as his wife. Johnny and Gilda have a past together, but Johnny dedicates himself to watching Gilda for Mundson's benefit, even though she seems determined to throw herself at every man in town. When Mundson's illicit business affairs end in his apparent death, Johnny takes his loyalty to extremes by marrying Gilda as a way to ensure her fidelity to the dead man.

The business end of the plot, which involves Germans, the tungsten market, and a mysterious pile of patents, merely muddies the narrative and gives Mundson a reason to act shifty and then disappear. Gilda never pays any attention to it, Johnny never understands it, and the viewer might as well ignore it, too. Mostly it makes Mundson a more sinister figure by giving him Nazi associations, but he already looks the part with his blond hair, refined features, and long facial scar. All of the really interesting scenes focus on the bizarre love triangle between the three leads; Johnny's eyes burn with a kind of crazed devotion to Mundson even as they ignite with equal hatred for the faithless Gilda. "Hate can be a very exciting emotion," Mundson observes, and that confusion of love and hate drives the picture. Johnny loves Mundson and hates Gilda, especially when Mundson gives Gilda the place that Johnny wishes to occupy himself, even though neither man would ever admit to the true nature of their mutual attraction. Gilda hates Johnny and punishes him through her marriage to Mundson; she hurts him more by pretending to cuckold the man Johnny loves. Mundson might not really love anyone except himself, but he certainly has strong feelings of some kind about both Johnny and Gilda, especially when he returns to find them married to each other and living off of his money.

Through it all, Hayworth is resplendent, a gorgeous bundle of utterly irrational femininity. Gilda's actions never make much sense except in her own mind, but the film doesn't present her as an intellect, merely an id. Mundson accurately describes her as "a beautiful, greedy child," although he doesn't add that she is the kind of child who would gleefully pull the wings off of flies. It's a sexist characterization, to be sure, but the film works because the camera loves Hayworth just as devotedly as Johnny loves Mundson. She blazes like a fiery idol; even her dubbed song numbers have a jaw-dropping effect, especially the famous "Put the Blame on Mame" segment, which ends with her threatening to strip in front of an eagerly leering audience. Her shocking behavior is all part of her scheme to hurt Johnny, but she really drives each nail in, delivering an endless stream of barbed lines. "If I'd been a ranch," she says, "they would have named me the bar nothing." The worse Gilda behaves, the more we adore her; even Johnny can't resist her electric appeal, though he might be the last person to figure that out. It's little wonder that the role became the signature moment of Hayworth's career; after all these years it's still so easy to fall under Gilda's provocative spell.

Be sure to appreciate Joseph Calleia and Steven Geray in supporting roles as Detective Obregon and Uncle Pio. For more of Rita Hayworth, see Cover Girl (1944), The Lady from Shanghai (1947), and Pal Joey (1957). Glenn Ford also stars in The Big Heat (1953), Blackboard Jungle (1955), and 3:10 to Yuma (1957). You'll find George Macready in The Big Clock (1948), Detective Story (1951), and Paths of Glory (1957). Charles Vidor directed Hayworth in both Cover Girl and The Loves of Carmen (1948); his other films include Hans Christian Andersen (1952), Love Me or Leave Me (1955), and the 1957 adaptation of A Farewell to Arms.