Movie Ages: Grace Kelly

I'm fascinated by the universal practice in moviedom of pairing older actors with much younger actresses. Sometimes, this age gap is referenced in the movie itself, or made into the central conflict, but most of the time it's ignored within the cinematic universe. 

If I had to pick one performer that most epitomized this practice, Grace Kelly would be the ideal mascot. In her brief, yet memorable 5 year career, she made 11 movies, before retiring at 26 to take up Princess duties in Monaco. Of those, only two (Dial M for Murder and The Swan) feature love interests who are less that 10 years older than her. Three if we count Mogambo, where Kelly (age 23 at the time) cheats on husband Donald Sinden (age 29) with Clark Gable (age 52). 

As for the rest, she's paired with old hands. And while issues like class, economics, and legalities might be brought up by her partner as potential relationship roadbumps, I don't think age is ever mentioned in her movies. Not much of a biggie when her co-star is the 11-year-older William Holden, but slightly more perturbing when it's 50-somethings like Gary Cooper, Bing Crosby and Gable.

Othello (1965)

This movie made me doubt Laurence Olivier's acting cred. I had to go to youtube and watch clips from Wuthering Heights (1939) to remind myself that yes, Olvier could act. Everyone else was fine, I have nothing praise for the rest of the cast, which included Maggie Smith and Derek Jacobi. But Olivier, oh dear, Olivier...

He was bad. Well, bad doesn't properly convey what's on screen. Grotesque would be the better word for it. And I'm not just referring to the blackface, which in and of itself is gross. I mean, look at it: 

But it's somehow made worse by Olivier's decision to consistently ham his role up. If he was a understated Othello, then the shoe polish makeup, "exotic" clothing, and bare feet would only be in terrible taste. However, by shouting, swooning, and raising his hands as if he were launching into the repetoire of Al Jolson:

his performance goes beyond a fatal case of values dissonance, and into a sickening minstrel show. There is no sign of the subtly and dignity he afforded Henry V, Hamlet and Richard III.This is the ultimate white representation of the Black Man as Savage Inhuman Brute, in all its disgusting inherent racism.

But all this didn't stop Olivier from getting his last Oscar nomination for this....thing. Go fucking figure. 

Deathdream (1972)

Deathdream is an effective little metaphor about the Vietnam war, and the trauma it bought to families and veterans, wrapped in a gory reworking of "The Monkey's Paw" with a body count.

Even without the addition of the Tom Savini's creeptastic makeup, lead actor Richard Backus, playing the solider who returns home quite changed, is quite off-putting. He has this uncanny valley face, the type that reminds one of a Ken doll brought to life. In that respect, he reminds a lot of Keir Dullea, whose strangely molded features and slightly off-putting demeanor were put such good use in Bunny Lake is Missing (1965), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), and Deathdream director Bob Clark's following feature, the unnerving prototypical slasher Black Christmas (1974). Funnily enough, according to Backus' wikipedia page, he was Dullea's understudy during the original Broadway run of Butterflies are Free. Having difficulty imagining either man playing genuinely nice, non-threatening individuals, but I guess that's acting for ya.

ANYWHO, interesting movie, recommend you check it out if you want a unique and surprisingly moving zombie movie.

Alexander the Great (1956)

In the otherwise sloggy and unmemorable biopic Alexander the Great, which I saw about a year ago, and staring everyone's favorite glowering Welshman Richard Burton (who, according to Look Back in Anger (1959), "knows what it's like to be angry. ANGRY!"), two moments remain stuck in my mind:

1. The scene where a very bearded Fredric March, playing Alexander's dad Philip, does a drunken dance on a hill overlooking the camp.

2. The part where Buuuurton gets into a brief kurfuffle with fellow Welsh actor Stanley Baker. Later, the two would be kinda sorta reunited in the top-notch Zulu (1964), with Baker staring and Burton providing narration.

Other than that, the rest of the movie completely escapes my memory. Except Burton's blonde wig; that thing was the one truly golden object in a nearly 2 1/2 hour checklist of Important Moments in Alexander's Life. Almost makes me want to check out Oliver Stone's lambasted attempt to frame this grandiose historical figure, for comparison's sake. Almost.

My Favorite Wife (1940)

I'm not the biggest Irene Dunne fan. You might say, "I'm done with Dunne." (Tee hee, puns.) In this movie, she plays Cary Grant’s presumed-dead wife, missing ever since she was swept overboard during an Anthropological expedition seven years before. But on the same day Grant declares her dead and gets married to Gail Patrick, guess who shows up at his honeymoon hotel? 

            An enjoyable movie with a clever set-up, not as funny as I though it would be, but still amusing. Grant's more refrained in his double-taking comic business than usual, with some golden expressions of exasperation. Dunne's OK; as I stated before, she's far from one of my favorite actresses, but I have liked some of the movies she's been in (like The Silver Chord). Here she's smart and sassy, like Joan Blondell with the edges sanded off and waxed. 

            I had no difficulty suspending my disbelief for the sake of Dunne and fellow island playmate Randolph Scott somehow managing to survive on a desert island for seven years. But it was a little more difficult to see how such an amazing tale of survival could escape notice of the press. Nevertheless, one must remember that logic is second fiddle in comedy. There are complications, mistaken identities, deceit, and coincidences all for the sake of conflict, rounded out by a punchline, and caped off by a happy ending, of course. After all, this is Hollywood.

            I guess you have a few hours to kill, you can’t lose with this fine comedy about the marriage, in and out of the courtroom and the bedroom. There's nothing extraordinary about it, but there are a few surprises and funny moments.

The Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933) (full)

This is yet another film that has been eclipsed by its remake, in this case the enjoyable 1953 3D House of Wax from 1953, staring Vincent Price. Which is unfortunate, because on its own, The Mystery of the Wax Museum a really fun horror /mystery / comedy/ raunchy Pre-Coder. 

A brief intro: a very talented wax sculptor (Lionel Atwill) loses his is prized London-based wax museum in a blaze set by his money grubbing partner. Twelve years later, in New York City, bodies are mysteriously being stolen from the morgue, and the models in a new wax museum look just like them…

You probably know where this is going, but at a brisk 77 minutes, it's a journey to get to inevitable gory conclusion. Well, not visually gory since this is 1933 after all, but we do get some nasty make-up.

Also worth noting that this is one of the last two-strip Technicolor movies, a process which emphasized red and green; great for flesh tones, not so much at providing a variety of colors, though we do get some gorgeous shadow work, jaw-dropping sets, and eye-popping dresses worn by heroines Fay Wray and Glenda Farrell, as compensation.

 

 

Lionel Atwill is a slyly sinister Mr. Igor, and Ms. Wray once again gets to show off her impressive screaming skills as another damsel in distress. Ms. Farrell was the acting highlight for me, however, as a snappy and tough talking reporter. She also gets to roll off some gem Pre-Code wisecracks, greating a cop reading a dirty mag with a chipper “how’s your sex life?” and responding to Wray’s plans for marriage and children with her own plans: “you raise the kids, I’ll raise the roof.” 

Overall, it's a very fun horror film that doesn't take itself too seriously, but still manages to provide the type of gorgeously-shot chills that early 30s horror epitomized. 

Here Comes the Groom (1951)

They don’t make 'em like they used to. This zany Frank Capra-directed comedy offers, among laughs, wisecracks, a wrestling catfight, and a few tunes. It all ends in a climax at the most lavish outdoor wedding imaginable, with the type of inevitable ending you see a mile away, but is winning enough that you don't care.

Bing Crosby stars as a Pete, a reporter writing about war orphans in France.  When he has to return to the States, he decides to adopt two of them, but discovers that he can only keep the children if he gets married within five days. Pete's not worried, however, because has a girl in mind: long-time fiancée Emmadel (Jane Wyman), whom he decides to surprise by arriving on her doorstep with the tots without notification. She has a surprise for him in turn: tired of waiting for her long absent beau, she has become engaged to her wealthy boss Wilbur (Franchot Tone). The wedding date: in five days.
        

How can I describe this film properly? It feels familiar, kind of a Philadelphia Story rehash, complete with the unfortunate implication that the heroine needs an ex to tell her that she doesn't love the man she's going to marry WITHIN A WEEK! Despite the typical old movie symptom of values dissonance, I found it enjoyable. None of the songs are classics, with the exception of an aria from Verdi’s Riggoletto, sung by a blind orphan girl, and the only example of pure Capracorn in the movie. Only one, “In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening,”  is a real earworm, the kind that never ever will leave your head ever. 

Crobsy did his typical laid-back-wisecracker shtcik, and does it well, and Tone was amicable and charming as the doomed fiancee who tempts fate by inviting Crosby to stay at his immense estate. 

But the leading ladies blew them both out the water. Jane Wyman was amazing,the usually prim and somber actress lending herself swimmingly to comedy; she rages, wrestles, trips, make a fool of herself, and sings a little, too, all the while holding on to her dignity, smarts, and stubbornness. Alexis Smith, as the maid of honor and the smitten "kissing cousin" of Wilbur, is also a hoot, guided by Crosby into a Pygmalion-like transformation from dry, insecure blue-blood to a confident whistle-worthy head-locker. What could have come off as condescending portraits of women whose end goals are nabbing men, become amusing characters through the spunk, charisma, and energy of the two ladies.

Not as well known as it should be, I thought the movie was very good and well worth watching. It's nice to see a little fluff once in a while, and this one was a fine, frivolous, funny, and fun puff of fluff.