The Colors of Contagion in JEZEBEL (1938)

Bette Davis won her second Academy Award for Best Actress for the Civil War melodrama, Jezebel (1938), which took advantage of the cultural mania over Gone with the Wind by using many of the same plot elements and beating the 1939 blockbuster to theaters. Like Gone with the Wind, Jezebel tells the story of a spoiled, headstrong Southern belle who pines for the love of a married man, and the two pictures also share problematic visions of the antebellum South and slavery that perpetuate fantasies about happy plantations with graceful ladies in hoop skirts. The films even share the same composer, the great Max Steiner. Gone with the Wind, however, boasts one very important advantage over Jezebel because it had the time and budget to be a lavish Technicolor spectacle, while Jezebel unfolds in cheaper, faster black and white. The lack of color onscreen is particularly ironic for Jezebel as it's very much a story about color, specifically the sexually charged red of the scandalous dress Davis' heroine wears but also the deadly yellow of the fever outbreak that dominates the film's second half. In both cases, Jezebel connects color with contagion, something that spreads and infects the simple black and white world around it and thus should be avoided at all costs.

Davis plays Julie Marsden, a wealthy and temperamental young woman living in New Orleans before the start of the Civil War. Julie loves her prim suitor, Preston (Henry Fonda), but she also loves getting her own way, and she retaliates when Pres chooses business over pleasure by making a spectacle of herself at the Olympus Ball, which causes Pres to break off their engagement. One year later, Pres returns with his Northern bride, Amy (Margaret Lindsay), and Julie is once again torn between her love for Pres and her desire to stir up trouble for the sake of revenge. Julie is finally forced to reckon with her transgressions when Pres becomes one of the thousands suffering from yellow fever and in danger of being quarantined to a desolate leper colony.

The first, and most memorable, contagious color is red, the shade of the inappropriate dress Julie wears to the Olympus Ball, where all unmarried young ladies are expected to wear white. In the movie we can't actually see a red dress, only a dark one, but the characters discuss its vulgarity and shocking color at length. The dressmaker tells Julie and her Aunt Belle (Fay Bainter) that the gown was made for a local woman of ill repute, but this information only strengthens Julie's perverse desire to wear it to a ball intended to celebrate the virginal purity of young ladies of her station. Julie's plan to punish Pres backfires when he grimly insists on parading her around the ball, where everyone recoils from her in horror. The camera looks down from above to show us Pres and Julie dancing while girls in white dresses fly away from them, fearful of being associated with such disregard for convention and the sexual knowledge that the red dress strongly suggests. In this scene, it is Julie herself who is contagious, contaminating the reputation of everyone close to her. She has very literally made herself a scarlet woman, although she is thoughtless and perhaps naive enough not to realize the implications of her appearance. Pres, who understands the extent of her transgression, dares anyone to insult her because he still feels obligated by their social code to duel to the death in her defense, but after the ball he breaks with her and leaves town. Julie is so struck by his rejection and her own humiliation that she becomes something of a hermit for the next year, waiting at home with her white dress ready for the day Pres returns, but Julie doesn't realize how permanently she has contaminated their relationship. 

In the second half of the story, yellow replaces red as the contagious color, this time a color of fever and death. New Orleans and its surrounding areas succumb to a yellow fever outbreak, which people in the 19th century believed to be spread from person to person (as opposed to being spread by infected mosquitos). The film shows the audience that Pres is, indeed, bitten by an infected mosquito in a small but crucial moment at Julie's plantation outside the city, but the other characters only know that yellow fever is highly contagious and terrifying. Their fear is compounded by the city's decree that every known sufferer be exiled to an island normally used as a leper colony, where the chance of survival is almost nonexistent. Julie rushes to New Orleans to tend Pres, even though she might be shot for sneaking across the quarantine lines, but her desire to shake off her moral contamination is stronger than her fear of viral contagion. Julie argues with Amy for the right to accompany Pres to the fatal island; although Amy is Pres' wife, Julie needs the redemption her sacrifice can offer. She begs Amy, "Help me make myself clean again as you are clean. Let me prove myself worthy of the love I bear him." Ironically, one form of contagion counteracts the other; her willingness to embrace death by yellow fever serves to atone for Julie's moral contamination as embodied by the red dress. Julie wins the argument and is last seen in a wagon rolling away toward exile, suffering, and almost certain doom, very like Sidney Carton at the end of A Tale of Two Cities. In many ways it's a conventional ending for a woman who crosses the moral and sexual boundaries of her culture, whether she exists in the 19th century or under the tight control of the Hays Code. Julie, however, makes a triumph of her martyrdom because she believes that dying with Pres is better than living without him, and her sacrifice means that she will be remembered for her heroic final act rather than her many sins. 

While neither color actually appears on the screen, red and yellow dominate the imagination of the viewer as Jezebel unfolds, and both signal danger and contagion to the inhabitants of the film's world. Director William Wyler and cinematographer Ernest Haller skillfully evoke the effects of the red dress and yellow fever, but it would have been fascinating to see how those two fatal hues could have been used in a color production. One need only think of the iconic use of red in Black Narcissus (1947) and The Red Shoes (1948) or the way that color enhances every shot in Gone with the Wind. For more of Bette in black and white, watch Dark Victory (1939), The Letter (1940), and Now, Voyager (1942). If you're interested in seeing period melodramas in lavish color, check out Blanche Fury (1948) or Raintree County (1955). According to an interview with Robert Osborne, Bette Davis herself preferred black and white to Technicolor, but you can see her in color in movies like The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939), The Virgin Queen (1955), and The Whales of August (1987).

 

* If you like my posts here, you can read more in my Silver Screen Standards column for Classic Movie Hub!

Classic Films in Focus: THE MAD MISS MANTON (1938)

Although it's not on the same level as their later collaboration, The Lady Eve (1941), The Mad Miss Manton is still an amusing outing for stars Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda. It's a goofy mix of romantic comedy and murder mystery, with Stanwyck leading a pack of socialite sleuths and Fonda falling head over heels as a reporter who gets entangled in the titular Miss Manton's adventures. You won't find a lot of household names here beyond the two leads, but Leigh Jason directs a fairly large cast that includes Sam Levene, Stanley Ridges, Penny Singleton, and the always memorable Hattie McDaniel. Fans of Fonda's funny side will especially appreciate his silly antics in this picture, but Stanwyck's all-girl Scooby gang also proves delightful, even if they're a little too prone to fainting when they find a corpse.

Stanwyck stars as wealthy socialite Melsa Manton, who discovers a murdered man while walking her dogs late one night after her return from a costume party. Her reputation and costume make the cops doubt her report, especially when the corpse in question has disappeared, but Melsa enlists the help of her society girlfriends to search for clues. At the same time, Melsa enters a war with newspaper reporter Peter Ames (Henry Fonda) because of his printed tirades against her and her group, but Peter's ire turns to adoration once he meets Melsa in person, even as he continues to frustrate her schemes. With the suspects and corpses piling up, Melsa and Peter must help the beleaguered Lieutenant Brent (Sam Levene) catch the murderer before Melsa becomes the next victim.

The Mad Miss Manton is not a comic masterpiece, but it moves along briskly and lands enough laughs to be entertaining throughout. It can be hard to differentiate Melsa's gang of friends, who might have more individual development if there were just three or four of them instead of a crowded half dozen. On the plus side, the picture passes the Bechdel-Wallace Test with flying colors as the women scramble to find clues and track suspects. Hattie McDaniel has a much larger role than any of the other supporting women, and she makes the most of it even though she's playing another of her inevitable maid characters. The film does, at least, depict McDaniel's Hilda as a sensible, capable person in contrast to the giddy socialites around her. 

Although Stanwyck's Miss Manton is much saner than the title of the movie implies, she doesn't let anything stop her from pursuing the case, even the death threats the murderer makes to scare her off. She has a general's command over her group of friends, who complain about their lost meals and dates but always follow her orders. Fonda's newspaper reporter is by far the giddier of the pair; he is absolutely smitten from the moment he meets Melsa, which leads him into some truly silly situations. One highlight is the scene in which Peter fakes being on his deathbed in order to trick Melsa into revealing information she has uncovered about the murders. The chemistry Fonda and Stanwyck share here paves the way for the sparks that fly between them in The Lady Eve, and if you enjoy them together in that classic then The Mad Miss Manton is well worth your time.

Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda made one additional movie together, the 1941 romantic comedy You Belong to Me. For more of Stanwyck's comedy roles, see Ball of Fire (1941) and Christmas in Connecticut (1945). You'll find her solving another comic mystery in Lady of Burlesque (1943). For Fonda's lighter side try The Male Animal (1942), Rings on Her Fingers (1942), and The Magnificent Dope (1942), as well as later career roles in Yours, Mine and Ours (1968) and The Cheyenne Social Club (1970).

Classic Films in Focus: THE CHEYENNE SOCIAL CLUB (1970)

The names attached to The Cheyenne Social Club (1970) might reasonably give a viewer certain expectations of greatness, but director Gene Kelly's easy-going Western is content to let its stars, Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda, amble companionably through its mildly interesting plot, which takes the pair off the Texas range and into the well-appointed - if morally suspect - rooms of the title location. What we get as a result is a cowboy buddy movie compounded with a fish-out-of-water plot, nothing revolutionary or particularly ambitious, but amusing enough thanks to the two stars' natural camaraderie and the bustling good humor of the supporting actresses who play the social club's attractive commodities. This is by no means the best Western ever made by either actor, but those who appreciate the oaters Stewart and Fonda made earlier in their careers will probably enjoy this one, too, and those who know something about the stars' real-life friendship will like it even more.

Stewart plays John O'Hanlan, an aging Texas cowboy who unexpectedly inherits his dead brother's business in Cheyenne. Little suspecting the nature of his brother's establishment, John and his talkative sidekick, Harley Sullivan (Fonda), ride to Cheyenne to claim the inheritance. John is dismayed when The Cheyenne Social Club turns out to be a brothel, stocked with a bevy of attractive young women and headed up by Jenny (Shirley Jones) in the absence of the actual owner. Unfortunately, John finds it difficult to shut the place down, and he becomes embroiled in a series of deadly encounters when a local tough (Robert J. Wilke) beats Jenny.

O'Hanlan provides the fish-out-of-water theme, constantly stymied by the women, the townspeople, and the very idea of the brothel. His laconic, conservative nature contrasts with that of garrulous, free-wheeling Harley, who samples the ladies' wares with enthusiasm but balks at being drawn into O'Hanlan's fights. Stewart and Fonda invest these characters with completely credible cowhand personalities; both had made many Westerns in the earlier decades of their careers, and they know exactly the right way to ride a horse, handle a rifle, and chew or spit a line like a plug of tobacco. Their banter draws attention to the actors' long-standing friendship and the differences between them, especially in the realm of politics, but it does so without undermining the characters they're playing. Like Stewart and Fonda, John and Harley have a relationship that transcends their disagreements, even if they themselves don't always understand why.

The movie is technically a comedy, but it's not an uproarious one. The humor relies mostly on John's initial discomfort about the brothel and then his paternal attitude toward its denizens, with Harley's randy adventures with the girls providing some sense of a romp. Like other Westerns of its era, The Cheyenne Social Club reflects a genre in flux, trying to be several things at once in the wake of the traditional Western's slow demise. It falls back on a lot of classic Western motifs, but the brothel plot winks at the rise of the sex comedy and tries to make the picture hip for a younger and more sexually liberated audience. It doesn't necessarily succeed, but it has enough good nature to make up for many of its faults.

Gene Kelly is best remembered today as a song-and-dance actor, but in addition to The Cheyenne Social Club he also directed The Tunnel of Love (1958), A Guide for the Married Man (1967), and Hello, Dolly! (1969). His most successful films, however, were those he co-directed with Stanley Donen, including Singin' in the Rain (1952). Jimmy Stewart's first Western was Destry Rides Again (1939), but you'll also find him starring in a series of excellent oaters from Anthony Mann, particularly Winchester '73 (1950) and The Man from Laramie (1955). See The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) and The Shootist (1976) for Stewart's late-career performances with cowboy icon John Wayne. Henry Fonda's early Westerns include Jesse James (1939), The Ox-Bow Incident (1943), and My Darling Clementine (1946), but he also makes an unusual foray into villainy in Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West (1968). For more of Shirley Jones, see Oklahoma! (1955), Carousel (1956), and The Music Man (1962), as well as the television series, The Partridge Family. You can also see her with Jimmy Stewart in another Western, Two Rode Together (1961).

The Cheyenne Social Club is currently available on Warner Archive Instant and for $2.99 on Amazon Instant Video.

Classic Films in Focus: FORT APACHE (1948)

The classic Western has many moods, but the tone of John Ford's Fort Apache (1948) is decidedly dark. Its clouds gather slowly, relieved sometimes by deceptive moments of gaiety and light, but still the storm comes on. Loosely based on the events of Custer's Last Stand, Fort Apache is technically a John Wayne picture, although Wayne takes a secondary role, while the full weight of hubris and its subsequent punishment fall on the shoulders of Henry Fonda as the doomed colonel who stubbornly leads his men to death.

Fonda plays Lieutenant Colonel Owen Thursday, who arrives with his sprightly daughter, Philadelphia (Shirley Temple), at Fort Apache only to upset the balance of the residents' lives. Determined to win glory and prove himself to the world, Thursday ignores the experience and advice of those around him, including the seasoned Captain York (Wayne), and pushes toward a disastrous encounter with the Apache chief, Cochise, and his warriors.

Ford balances comedy and tragedy in his scenes and his actors, reflecting the ebb and flow of ordinary life, even in times of crisis. Without Thursday, the denizens of the fort have formed a benevolent community of friendship and mutual respect, but their new leader soon undermines their peace with his arrogance and contempt. He even forbids his daughter to keep company with the fort's favorite son, although the young lovers persist in their romance in spite of his authority. As Thursday, Fonda gives a brilliantly layered performance; he knows to soften just enough every now and then to keep us hoping that he'll live to see the error of his ways, even though his doom is clearly written on his brow. Temple is pertly pretty as Philadelphia, an energetic rather than an elegant girl, but filled with a pioneer spirit that promises much for her survival in this untamed frontier. Wayne watches the events unfold with a grim recognition of the coming end, but his presence is a comfort to the viewer because we know that he can be trusted when everything else falls apart.

Other supporting players also contribute to the film's powerful effect. Ward Bond is jovial and kind as the O'Rourke family patriarch, and George O'Brien has a particularly moving role as Captain Collingwood. Anna Lee and Irene Rich make the fort's women solid and sympathetic, and Guy Kibbee is very good as the sociable doctor. Ford favorites like Victor McLaglen and Pedro Armendariz also put in reliable character performances. The role of young Michael O'Rourke was the first screen appearance of John Agar, who happened to be married to Shirley Temple at the time. The couple would divorce in 1949, but Agar's acting career continued, and he went on to appear in a number of noteworthy Westerns, including Ford's She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) and Big Jake (1971), as well as many cult sci-fi films.

For more of John Ford's Westerns with John Wayne, see Stagecoach (1939), The Searchers (1956), and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962). Fonda made a number of memorable Westerns, including The Ox-Bow Incident (1943) and My Darling Clementine (1946), but you could also explore other sides of the actor in Jezebel (1938), The Lady Eve (1941), and 12 Angry Men (1957). See more of teenage Shirley Temple in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer (1947), or for contrast catch her earlier work with John Ford in Wee Willie Winkie (1937). With well over 200 screen appearances, the marvelous character actor Ward Bond can be found almost everywhere, from The Maltese Falcon (1941) to It's a Wonderful Life (1946) and Rio Bravo (1959), but he was a particular favorite with John Ford, who gave him memorable roles in many of his films.

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

Classic Films in Focus: JESSE JAMES (1939)

Even in their own lifetimes, Frank and Jesse James became the stuff of legend rather than historical fact, so it's no surprise that the 1939 film, Jesse James, is more romantic fiction than biographical account. This is the mythology of the outlaw recast for the big screen, full of handsome faces and daring deeds, and it makes for a mighty fine tale, too, thanks in part to Nunnally Johnson's screenplay and Henry King's rousing direction. The cast includes the rather irresistible duo of Tyrone Power as Jesse and Henry Fonda as his brother, Frank, along with a host of other favorite classic stars like Randolph Scott, John Carradine, and even Slim Summerville bringing grit and gumption to the inhabitants of the outlaws' world.

Power takes top billing as Jesse James, who turns to crime only because unscrupulous railroad men try to swindle and then bully his family out of their home and end up killing the boys' mother (Jane Darwell) in the process. Jesse's lifetime commitment to retribution begins with the man who killed his mother (Brian Donlevy), which puts him on the top of the railroad's most wanted list, but he's just getting warmed up. Along with Frank and a small gang, Jesse robs and raids the railroad at every opportunity, becoming a folk hero to the farmers who hate the big money and corrupt practices of the railroad bosses. His outlaw lifestyle proves a strain on his romance with Zee (Nancy Kelly), but even lawman Will Wright (Randolph Scott) has to admire his daring feats, especially when the real villains are spineless crooks like Mr. McCoy (Donald Meek), the railroad head determined to see Jesse hang.

Power turns in a very charismatic performance as Jesse, which makes his relationship with Zee more tender and credible than it might otherwise be, given that he misses major events like the birth of their child and drives Zee to distraction with his dangerous career. Fonda, sadly, is rather underused; Frank pops in and out of the story without much explanation, although when he does show up Fonda gives him plenty of presence and a taciturn, frontier sense of humor that makes us miss him even more when he vanishes again. Randolph Scott's huge physical presence and good-guy jaw make him a fascinating third in a love triangle with Jesse and Zee, but his lawman is too much the gentleman to do more than wait for Zee to come to her senses or for Jesse to reach the obvious end of the life he leads.

Other veteran character players contribute to the atmosphere; Brian Donlevy is truly reprehensible as the railroad bully, but Donald Meek delivers an even more despicable character as his superior, McCoy. In Westerns in a Changing America: 1955-2000, R. Philip Loy describes Meek as "badly miscast" in the role (198), but I think Meek's interpretation of the character as a duplicitous and essentially cowardly little weasel works very well, especially in contrast to Power's romantic outlaw. Jane Darwell's brief appearance as the James matriarch is worth mentioning, as well; she would have an even better turn as Henry Fonda's mother in The Grapes of Wrath (1940) the following year, and she went on to co-star with him in The Ox-Bow Incident (1943) and My Darling Clementine (1946). John Carradine turns up near the end as the infamous Robert Ford, while Henry Hull provides some comic relief as the blustering but kindly Major Rufus Cobb. Blink and you'll miss Lon Chaney Jr. in a very small role as a nameless member of the James gang.

The action in the picture is both exciting and disturbing, especially the infamous cliff jumping scene that ended in the death of a horse and eventually led to the American Humane Association's oversight of the treatment of animals in future films. Another scene has Frank and Jesse jump their horses through a store window and into the midst of a crowded shop; in 1957, The True Story of Jesse James reused both scenes for its own take on the James Gang story, even featuring them in its trailer.

I can't recommend watching Jesse James as an accurate piece of history, but as a Western it works very well, and fans of the genre's best character actors will find a lot to appreciate. It's interesting to note that the very first screen version of Jesse James was played by none other than Jesse James, Jr. in 1921. Other films about the James Gang include Days of Jesse James (1939) and Jesse James at Bay (1941), both starring Roy Rogers, as well as Jesse James Rides Again (1947), The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid (1972), The Long Riders (1980), and The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007). For more of Tyrone Power, see The Mark of Zorro (1940), The Black Swan (1942), and Witness for the Prosecution (1957).

Cemetery Scenes: The Presence of the Dead in John Ford’s Westerns

The great Westerns strike a balance between the opposing experiences that define life on the frontier; they understand that the thrill of adventure comes hand in hand with the very real threat of death. Cowboys and cavalry fire their guns and gallop across the open land like eternal mythic heroes, but all around them we see evidence of mortality and feel the burden shouldered by survivors. Nowhere is this memento mori sensibility more present than in the Westerns of John Ford, where dead characters frequently function as mute participants in the lives of the protagonists, watching and listening from the grave while those still living struggle to make sense of the events that unfold. In three of Ford’s best known films, My Darling Clementine (1946), She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949), and The Searchers (1956), cemetery scenes highlight the relationships between the living and the dead and remind us of the human cost of settling the Western frontier.

In My Darling Clementine, Henry Fonda’s Wyatt Earp is a quiet, reflective character, and his visits to the lonely grave of his youngest brother, James, remind us that Wyatt has already paid dearly for his life on the range. Only briefly alive in the film, James is the sacrificial lamb whose murder roots his brothers in Tombstone and spurs them to action against the corrupt Clanton family. Ironically, Wyatt seems to talk more to his dead brother than he does to the two who are still alive, perhaps because James is no longer bound by the masculine code of behavior that normally governs men’s relationships. The graveside chats with James allow Wyatt to reveal a more sensitive, communicative side of himself, one that must be carefully guarded in the world of living men, where stoicism and action are highly prized. James’ persistent presence, symbolized by his grave, also reminds the audience why Wyatt and his remaining brothers are in this fight, not because they enjoy killing but because justice demands it. 

The humanizing element of the cemetery scene is particularly important in She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, in which John Wayne’s aging Captain Nathan Brittles frequently visits the graves of his wife and daughters. We never learn the exact cause of their deaths, although the graves indicate that all three died more or less at the same time, suggesting either an Indian attack or some terrible accident. While the younger men vie for the attentions of Olivia Dandridge (Joanne Dru), Brittles clearly considers himself still married to his dead wife, making reports to her about events at the fort and his own reflections on them. Other reminders of the dead family appear throughout the film. Photographs of Mrs. Brittles and the two daughters repeatedly turn up in important shots, and the frame that holds them is decorated with a yellow ribbon that connects them to Olivia and the other women of the fort. It’s clear from the way that the film treats the Brittles family relationship that Olivia functions as a surrogate daughter to Nathan; she is about the same age that his daughters would be had they lived. Bittersweet and tender, these moments in the film soften Wayne’s character and suggest the importance of love and family even to career soldiers on the rugged frontier.

In The Searchers, the film’s critical cemetery scene takes place very early, when young Debbie Edwards (Lana Wood) is kidnapped by the Indian raiding party led by Scar (Henry Brandon). The grave in question belongs to Debbie’s grandmother, the mother of Wayne’s troubled protagonist, Ethan Edwards. The grave suggests the way in which the Edwards’ tragic frontier story repeats itself, with the elder Mrs. Edwards also a victim of Indian attack. Just before her entire family is murdered by the Comanche raiders, Debbie is sent to the grave to hide, but this time the dead can provide no consolation to the living. Mrs. Edwards serves only as a silent witness to her granddaughter’s fate. Driven almost to madness by these repeated losses at the hands of the Comanche, Ethan launches an obsessive search for his niece (who might actually be his daughter, but that’s a different thread of the film’s twisted plot). His goal is to kill Debbie and thus return her to the family circle symbolized by the Edwards cemetery plot, which will complete the connection between Debbie and her grandmother, even though Debbie actually survives the original attack. Although it offers no protection to the little girl, the grave does offer the audience a better understanding of the Edwards story and a glimpse into the true origin of Ethan’s hatred.

In each of these films, the cemetery represents the presence of the past in the lives of the protagonists. For Wyatt Earp, Nathan Brittles, and the Edwards clan, the cemetery holds family members who remain crucial to the stories of the surviving characters, reaching out beyond the grave to motivate, comfort, or bear witness. In their own ways, they are as important as any of the living characters in the films, reminding us that the dead are always with us. 

This post was originally published at the now defunct classic movie blog, The Cinementals.