Classic Films in Focus: RED DUST (1932)

Steamy Pre-Code sensuality drives the plot of Victor Fleming’s Red Dust (1932), in which Clark Gable and Jean Harlow prove the powder keg appeal of their onscreen chemistry. The story unfolds against the equally heated backdrop of an exotic tropical location, where tigers and torrential rains mirror the violent natural forces at work in human hearts. Like many classic films with Eastern settings, Red Dust suffers from an Orientalist attitude toward the native workers and a horribly stereotypical Chinese domestic, but Gable and Harlow are so good that the movie works in spite of it, and Mary Astor gives an excellent performance as the married rival who loses her moral high ground by falling for Harlow’s man.

Gable stars as Dennis Carson, the head of a remote rubber plantation in Indochina. When his masculine world is invaded by streetwise Vantine (Jean Harlow), Carson complains loudly but soon takes advantage of the situation and Vantine’s considerable charms. Vantine hopes for a real relationship, but Carson throws her over when the well-heeled Barbara (Mary Astor) arrives with her naive husband, Gary (Gene Raymond). After Carson nurses Gary through a dangerous fever, he earns the younger man’s fervent admiration, which makes Carson feel guilty for his affair with Barbara. Jealousy erupts into violence as the monsoon season bears down and Gary finally begins to suspect Carson’s designs on his wife.

Red Dust was the second film in which both Gable and Harlow appeared but the first to capitalize on their sex appeal as leads; they work together so well because both have screen personalities that radiate toughness and animal lust. Gable looks like a guy whose idea of romance is a rough and tumble roll in the hay, and Harlow is just the kind of girl to like it that way. The surprise for us - and for Carson and Vantine - is that their attraction to each other becomes something more lasting and substantial. Carson chases Barbara because she appears as a rarity in his world, but it’s clear that she can never belong to it, and Gary’s boyish innocence is too pathetic and pure even for the worldly Carson to destroy. Vantine might be a woman of easy virtue, but she ultimately has more integrity than Barbara; she isn’t the one committing adultery on the heels of her honeymoon, and her lies protect both Gary and Barbara from their own foolishness. Their spontaneous acts of altruism and generosity assure us that Carson and Vantine deserve each other; whatever their faults, they’re better people than even they realize until the moment of truth arrives.

The setting for the story provides arresting images, from the tiger prowling the forest to Harlow naked in a rain barrel, but it also falls back on the usual clichés of lazy coolies and simple-minded house servants. The rubber plantation workers are represented as so much human cattle, with some pointed remarks about their eagerness to rape white women thrown in, but the most grating element for modern viewers is Willie Fung’s idiotic Hoy, who unfortunately gets the movie’s last line. Fung made a career of these kinds of roles, and it’s not his fault that parts for Asian actors were so limited in classic Hollywood, but his Chinese version of Stepin Fetchit is almost impossible to watch. Donald Crisp’s Guidon is an obnoxious drunk, but even he fares better than Hoy, who serves as the butt of a running gag that isn’t funny in the first place.

For more of Clark Gable and Jean Harlow, see Hold Your Man (1933), China Seas (1935), and Harlow’s final film, Saratoga (1937). Victor Fleming, who was uncredited as the director of Red Dust, is best remembered for his work on The Wizard of Oz (1939) and Gone with the Wind (1939), but he also worked with Harlow on Bombshell (1933). Look for Mary Astor in The Maltese Falcon (1941), The Palm Beach Story (1942), and Meet Me in St. Louis (1944). John Ford remade Red Dust as Mogambo in 1953, with Clark Gable starring once more; Ava Gardner and Grace Kelly both earned Oscar nominations for their performances as the female rivals for his love.

Classic Films in Focus: THE OKLAHOMA KID (1939)

Given its focus on the settling of Oklahoma and the founding of Tulsa, The Oklahoma Kid (1939) almost certainly has its fans in the Sooner State, but for the most part this Warner Bros. Western is a fairly routine oater, with plenty of stock characters and plot elements to amuse the matinee crowd. It does, however, boast a very unusual pair of lead actors in James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart, who don cowboy hats and spurs to fight it out as the free-spirited Oklahoma Kid and his scheming nemesis, Whip McCord. Classic movie fans will find that combination hard to resist, if only because of curiosity, and the picture also offers solid supporting performances from favorites like Donald Crisp and Ward Bond. It’s by no means one of the great Westerns, but The Oklahoma Kid has enough going for it to make it worth seeing, even if it simultaneously proves that neither of its iconic stars is really cut out for the genre.

Cagney plays the footloose Oklahoma Kid, who finds his territory changing as Western expansion brings white settlers to the fertile Cherokee Strip. The Kid makes an enemy of Whip McCord (Bogart) and his gang by appropriating their stolen cash for himself, but things get personal when McCord frames an upstanding citizen, John Kincaid (Hugh Sothern), for murder, not knowing that Kincaid is the Kid’s estranged father. While the Kid’s brother, Ned (Harvey Stephens), and Judge Hardwick (Donald Crisp) try to use the law to free Kincaid, the Kid looks for a different kind of justice to bring McCord and his henchmen to account for their crimes.

Both Cagney and Bogart are great actors, but neither of them really looks at home on the range. They are much more credible as urban gangsters in their other movies together, like Angels with Dirty Faces (1938) and The Roaring Twenties (1939), and in their films alone. It’s easy enough to imagine more familiar Western stars replacing them in The Oklahoma Kid and bringing more authenticity to their roles, but both performers give it their best effort. Bogart, an excellent heavy in The Petrified Forest (1936), knows how to seethe and look dangerous, even if his black outfit and oddly Victorian head of hair don’t quite suit him. Cagney plays the Kid as a typical Cagney character from this era, a mixture of menace and good humor, always occupying the vast gray area of moral territory. When he isn’t stealing things or getting into gunfights, he flirts with Ned’s girlfriend, Jane (Rosemary Lane), and sings Spanish lullabies to Mexican babies. We can believe in both the amiable Cagney and the dangerous one, even if we never quite buy the idea that he’s an actual cowboy.

The supporting players in The Oklahoma Kid prove more credible as denizens of the Western frontier, especially genre stalwart Ward Bond as a member of McCord’s outlaw gang. Donald Crisp, always reliable as a paternal authority figure, brings his usual gravitas to the role of Judge Hardwick, who likes the Kid even though they have very different views on civilization and the law. Rosemary Lane makes a pretty love interest for Cagney, although the idea of the Kid’s rivalry for her with his brother, Ned, goes mostly undeveloped, and Harvey Stephens has very little to do as Ned until the final scenes of the picture. Other familiar faces in the background include Charles Middleton, Arthur Aylesworth, and Trevor Bardette as residents of frontier Tulsa, along with the chronically uncredited Stuart Holmes in a brief appearance as President Grover Cleveland.

Lloyd Bacon, who directed The Oklahoma Kid, made a steady stream of pictures for Warner, including 42nd Street (1933), Marked Woman (1937), and Knute Rockne All American (1940). Bogart made another attempt at the Western with Virginia City (1940), while Cagney returned to the genre for Tribute to a Bad Man (1956), but it’s better to see them in their natural habitats first. You’ll find Rosemary Lane in Hollywood Hotel (1937), The Return of Doctor X (1939), and Trocadero (1944). Don’t miss the venerable Donald Crisp in the excellent Anthony Mann Western, The Man from Laramie (1955), although he is best remembered today for his fatherly roles in How Green Was My Valley (1941), Lassie Come Home (1943), and National Velvet (1944).

The Oklahoma Kid is now available on DVD from Warner Archive. Warner provided the reviewer with a free copy of the film, with no promise or expectation of a positive review.

Classic Films in Focus: THE UNINVITED (1944)

The Uninvited (1944) is an old-fashioned ghost story with deep roots in the Gothic tradition. Adapted from a 1941 novel by Dorothy Macardle, the story borrows major themes and motifs from Rebecca (1940), just as Daphne du Maurier’s novel had borrowed from Jane Eyre. In all three tales, romance mingles with mystery and horror generated by dark family secrets, but in The Uninvited the idea of the heroine being haunted by other women becomes quite literal. With its seance scenes, ghostly moans, and strange apparitions, The Uninvited offers abundant otherworldly thrills for Gothic romance fans, who will find plenty to love in this atmospheric tale of love and hatred from beyond the grave.

Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey star as siblings Roderick and Pamela Fitzgerald, who buy an old estate on the rural English coast only to discover that its cheap price stems from its reputation as a haunted house. The previous owner, Commander Beech (Donald Crisp), seems glad to be rid of the place but stubbornly refuses to see the new residents as friends, while his granddaughter, Stella (Gail Russell), welcomes the society of the Fitzgeralds, despite her grandfather’s orders to avoid them. As Roderick and Pamela confront the restless dead that roam their home, they begin to uncover the mystery of Stella’s past, but it turns out that the ghosts are not the only ones who wish deadly harm to the innocent girl.

The Fitzgerald siblings function as detectives and drive the narrative forward with their supernatural sleuthing, but Gail Russell’s Stella is the central heroine, the lynchpin on whom all these manifestations and secrets depend. The young actress’ fragile, melancholy beauty perfectly suits the ambience of the story and her character’s situation. Only twenty years old and accustomed to being controlled by her grandfather’s relentless will, Stella blooms when Roderick takes a romantic interest in her. The leap into sexual maturation inspires her to disobey the Commander, a dangerous but necessary step because it brings her into contact with the ghosts of Windward House, who must be laid to rest before Stella and Roderick can be united. Sexual subtext dominates much of the narrative, especially when another character reveals a passionate obsession with one of the dead women from Stella’s past.

Most of the scenes unfold with an emphasis on mystery rather than horror, with Roderick and Pamela interviewing everyone who might be able to shed some light on the shadowy past of Windward. The ghostly moments are reserved, like a rich treat, for periodic enjoyment; we get one thrilling scene of disembodied weeping or terrified pets and then have to wait a while before the next one presents itself. Each new manifestation increases the Fitzgeralds’ sense of urgency and also reveals the danger that the house presents to Stella. The film wisely limits its use of the floating apparition, relying instead on more subtle effects or the characters’ descriptions of their experiences within the house. Rooms turn cold, perfume fills the air, and an unseen hand flips the pages of an open book. These moments inspire the audience with delicious, spine-tingling chills, especially when ghostly moaning fills the house and a seance calls forth the spirits of the dead.

Take a moment to appreciate the supporting performances of Alan Napier as Dr. Scott and Cornelia Otis Skinner as Miss Holloway. Lewis Allen, who directed The Uninvited, also directed The Unseen (1945), Appointment with Danger (1951), and A Bullet for Joey (1955). See more of Ray Milland in The Lost Weekend (1945) and Dial M for Murder (1954). Ruth Hussey is best remembered for her supporting role in The Philadelphia Story (1940), while Donald Crisp plays more paternal types in How Green Was My Valley (1941), Lassie Come Home (1943), and National Velvet (1944). Sad-eyed Gail Russell also stars in Angel and the Badman (1947), Wake of the Red Witch (1948), and Seven Men from Now (1956). If ghostly Gothic romance thrills your heart, try Dragonwyck (1946) as a double feature with The Uninvited.

The Criterion Collection released newly restored Blu-Ray and DVD versions of The Uninvited on October 22, 2013. Special features include a visual essay, a trailer, two radio adaptations, and a booklet with an essay from classic movie blogger, Farran Smith Nehme.

Read more about Gothic romance:
THE HOUSEKEEPER IN THE GOTHIC FILM TRADITION
REBECCA (1940) 
DRAGONWYCK (1946)
THE INNOCENTS (1961)

Classic Films in Focus: THE PRIVATE LIVES OF ELIZABETH AND ESSEX (1939)

Directed by Michael Curtiz, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939) offers as much Technicolor pomp and spectacle as one could hope for in a lavish Warner Brothers costume drama, as well as the stars to match. Bette Davis rules the screen as Elizabeth I, but her court boasts luminaries as diverse as Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland, Vincent Price, Donald Crisp, Henry Daniell, and Nanette Fabray. The story plays fast and loose with historical accuracy and reveals a very irksome sense of sexual politics, but Elizabeth and Essex offers viewers a terrific cast and particularly fascinating performance from an almost unrecognizable Davis, here transforming herself into a mythic monarch twice her actual age.

As the aging queen, Davis presides over a royal court that bristles with rival factions, sycophants, and spies. Despite her passionate love for the much younger Earl of Essex (Errol Flynn), Elizabeth distrusts his ambition and his ulterior motives, while his enemies do everything in their power to discredit him. One of Elizabeth's attendants, Lady Penelope Gray (Olivia de Havilland), would steal the Earl's affection for herself if she could, while Sir Walter Raleigh (Vincent Price) hopes to supplant Essex as the queen's new favorite. Even Francis Bacon (Donald Crisp), supposedly a friend to both Essex and the queen, looks to his own interests first. When the manipulative courtiers arrange for Essex to lead a losing war against the Earl of Tyrone (Alan Hale) in Ireland, their subsequent treachery brings the lovers to a tragic confrontation.

The movie, adapted from the play by Maxwell Anderson, concerns itself much more with romance than history, although Elizabeth's real relationship with Essex certainly inspires some raised eyebrows. The events that unfold in the film do, at least, offer a sense of the dangerous nature of Elizabethan court life, and Essex really did suffer the fate shown in the conclusion, as would his rival, Sir Walter Raleigh, some years later. Elizabeth was more than thirty years older than Essex, which we see in Davis' remarkable appearance, but Essex also had a wife and several children, and they are conveniently absent here.

The romantic angle depends upon a certain reading of Elizabeth's nature that one might uncharitably describe as that of a love-starved cougar. Davis excelled at playing difficult women who yearn for unconditional love, making this a perfect role for her, but it does a disservice to the historical queen's abilities as a ruler. Davis' version seems overburdened by the weight of the crown on her poor female head and wishes to be only a woman instead, while Flynn's sexist Essex would be perfectly happy to grant that wish provided that his masculine ego is gratified by his own ascension to the throne. Played merely as fictional romance, the set-up is dated though not particularly surprising, but as historical biography it's a suspicious undermining of the reputation of one of the greatest female leaders in the course of Western history.

Despite these issues, which might well trouble a feminist scholar a lot more than they will bother the average viewer, the movie has plenty of unqualified delights, from Davis' incredible physical appearance to the gorgeous costumes and Erich Wolfgang Korngold's terrific score. The sight of Vincent Price in tights, preening as the ambitious and devious Raleigh, is by itself enough to make the whole picture worth watching. Errol Flynn and Donald Crisp both offer memorable performances, and Alan Hale has a small but important role that puts him on the opposite side of the battle from his Robin Hood costar. It would be nice for Olivia de Havilland to have more to do as Lady Penelope, especially in the wake of her Robin Hood and Gone with the Wind performances, but Nanette Fabray has some very good scenes as the young Mistress Margaret, whose romantic problems inspire pity and sympathy in Elizabeth.

Nominated for five Oscars, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex suffered from the plethora of masterpieces made in 1939 and the competing performances of its own stars. Like Davis' other 1939 film, Dark Victory, Elizabeth and Essex went home empty-handed. Davis, interestingly enough, played Elizabeth again in 1955 in The Virgin Queen. For more big budget costume dramas, try The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Gone with the Wind (1939), The Three Musketeers (1948), and Ivanhoe (1952). For more of Michael Curtiz, Errol Flynn, and Olivia de Havilland, see Captain Blood (1935), Dodge City (1939), and Santa Fe Trail (1940).

Classic Films in Focus: DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE (1941)

Like Dracula and Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde serves as a touchstone for literary and cinematic horror. Directed by Victor Fleming, the 1941 film is one of many screen adaptations of Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic tale of the id unleashed, and like most movies it takes certain liberties with its source material. Although it is not generally regarded as the best film version to tackle the text, the 1941 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde remains worth watching today primarily for its impressive A-list cast, which includes not only Spencer Tracy in the dual title role but Ingrid Bergman and Lana Turner as two love interests who attract both the monster and the man.

Tracy leads as Dr. Henry Jekyll, whose engagement to the angelic Beatrix (Lana Turner) is jeopardized by his obsessive efforts to separate the good and evil sides of human nature. Determined to pursue his research, Jekyll becomes his own test subject and thereby sets loose his darker half, Hyde, on the city of London. Sadistically cruel and unfettered by Jekyll’s better nature, Hyde ensnares a barmaid named Ivy (Ingrid Bergman) as his unwilling mistress and soon threatens everyone whom his alter ego holds dear.

Tracy’s performance as both Jekyll and Hyde is interesting if not great. The Oscar-winning actor certainly had better roles over the course of his career, but his intense, burning eyes and hard-edged mouth suggest the powerful beast within even when he’s playing the more humane doctor. Film buffs more frequently note the performances of his lovely costars, largely because the two actresses swapped roles before filming began. Bergman was originally chosen to play the saintly Bea, while Turner was to have the bad girl role. Having claimed the the more compelling part, Bergman’s performance is perhaps the most nuanced and moving of the entire film, although you won’t buy her attempt at an English accent for a second.

The sexual themes of the film don’t lurk beneath the surface; they burst out at the seams, charging every interaction between the central characters. Jekyll’s relationship with Beatrix mixes barely repressed desire with utter disregard for her feelings and expectations; he already loves his research more than he loves her as the story begins, and his transformation into the more openly selfish and destructive Hyde is anything but a surprise after that. In one particularly memorable scene, a hallucinating Hyde lashes a pair of horses, one light and the other dark, while the horses transform into the tormented figures of Ivy and Bea.

It’s a tribute to Stevenson’s creative influence that so many other film treatments of this tale have been done over the decades. See the 1931 version with Fredric March to compare the two casts and their approaches to the major characters; the consensus is that March gives the superior performance in the dual title roles. John Barrymore also offers an interpretation of the man and monster in the silent 1920 adaptation. For a different take on the story, try Mary Reilly (1996) or even The Nutty Professor (1963). The duality of the Jekyll/Hyde character continues to fascinate audiences and filmmakers; we see new versions of the story every few years, but the Tracy and March adaptations do much to help shape these later productions.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde earned three Oscar nominations but went home empty-handed from the 1942 awards. See Captains Courageous (1937) and Boys Town (1938) for Spencer Tracy’s Oscar-winning roles; he was nominated a total of nine times for Best Actor. Ingrid Bergman earned seven nominations with three wins, although she was not nominated for her most famous role as Humphrey Bogart’s lost love in Casablanca (1942). Lana Turner earned her only Oscar nomination for Peyton Place (1957), but she is best remembered today for her femme fatale role in The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946). Don’t miss veteran actor Donald Crisp as Bea’s worried father; a silent film star who played Ulysses S. Grant in D.W. Griffith’s landmark film, The Birth of a Nation (1915), Crisp weathered the transition to talkies and won his own Best Supporting Actor award for How Green Was My Valley (1941).

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

Classic Films in Focus: THE OLD MAID (1939)

In 1938 Bette Davis had starred in Jezebel as a Southern belle whose unconventional behavior brought her misery and loneliness. In 1939, Davis and a number of her Jezebel cohorts returned for another Civil War love story in The Old Maid, in which Davis plays a Northern debutante whose unconventional behavior brings her misery and loneliness. Oddly enough, Charlotte Lovell in The Old Maid actually trespasses more seriously against convention than Jezebel Julie Marsden, even though Charlotte is presented as the more sympathetic and tragic of the pair. Directed by Edmund Goulding, The Old Maid is an emotional, star-studded melodrama, one that showcases Davis' talents for transformation and for making brittle, damaged heroines wring the hearts of their audiences.

The picture begins with Davis' Charlotte playing second fiddle to her cousin, Delia (Miriam Hopkins), who is about to be married to a wealthy young man who has everything Delia could want, except her heart. Delia's jilted lover, Clem Spender (George Brent), turns up just in time for the wedding, but Delia marries the other fellow anyway, leaving Charlotte to comfort Clem. Apparently, she comforts him all too effectively, since she later "goes out West" for a while and comes back with a baby whom she claims is a foundling. Clem never finds out because he dies on the battlefield, but Delia discovers the truth and prevents Charlotte from marrying into her husband's socially prominent family. Eventually, Delia incorporates Charlotte's daughter, Tina, into her own family, and the child does not know that bitter, strict "Aunt" Charlotte, the unloved old maid, is really her own mother.

Several of the Jezebel crew reunite for this outing. In addition to Davis, we have George Brent as the rakish lover, dying again, but this time in a Union uniform. Donald Crisp, who had played the kindly paternal doctor in the first film, appears as the kindly paternal doctor in this one, as well. Max Steiner, who was a very busy man throughout the classic era, returns as the composer. The parallels make The Old Maid almost a mirror image of Jezebel, with Rebels turned Yankee and the accents changed. Both films give Davis plenty of dramatic fuel, although she has more fun with her appearance in the later production, as Charlotte ages over the years and becomes somewhat like Davis' heroine in Now, Voyager (1942), only in reverse. 

Like Jezebel, The Old Maid is very much a movie about clothing, with the wedding dresses of the two cousins and their daughters forming important focal pieces at different critical moments. We also see the changing fashions of the times as the years pass, encouraging us to contrast the freedoms of the younger generation, Tina (Jane Bryan) and Dee (Janet Shaw), with their mothers' more repressed youth. Charlotte, however, seems even more confined and restricted in her later wardrobe, sartorial evidence of her trapped life and the secret she keeps locked away.

Certainly the most interesting aspect of the film is the relationship between the two cousins. Do they really mean to hurt and torment one another so relentlessly? They take turns being antagonist and victim, driving sharp daggers into one another's backs and then wishing they could pull them out again. They really take the idea of the "frenemy" to a whole different level. Part of the chemistry between them stems from the fact that Davis and Hopkins hated each other. It explains why the cousins' cruelties seem so much more believable than their kindnesses. Davis was very good at this kind of toxic feminine codependence; it would serve her well in later movies like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) and Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964), where the relationships bubble over into Gothic horrors.

Sounds cheerful, right? It's worth knowing that the film was adapted from a play based on an Edith Wharton novel, The Mother's Recompense (1925). Given that origin, you can probably view the ending of The Old Maid as the happiest outcome possible. You’ll find more of Bette Davis and George Brent in Dark Victory (1939), The Great Lie (1941), and In This Our Life (1942). Miriam Hopkins earned an Oscar nomination for Best Actress in Becky Sharp (1935), but she also starred in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931), Trouble in Paradise (1932), and Virginia City (1940). For more maternal melodrama, try Stella Dallas (1937), Kitty Foyle (1940), and Mildred Pierce (1945).

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