A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Tuesday, December 10, 2024

Ladies of Leisure (Frank Capra, 1930)

Ralph Graves and Barbara Stanwyck in Ladies of Leisure
Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Ralph Graves, Lowell Sherman, Marie Prevost, Nance O'Neil, John Fawcett, Juliette Compton, Johnnie Walker. Screenplay: Jo Swerling, based on a play by Milton Herbert Gropper. Cinematography: Joseph Walker. Art direction: Harrison Wiley. Film editing: Maurice Wright. Music: C. Bakaleinikoff. 

Barbara Stanwyck's mastery of timing and inflection and her sheer camera presence made her a star, and Frank Capra's Ladies of Leisure was one of the first films to showcase what she could do. It's an engaging film at the start, with Stanwyck as Kay Arnold, tossing off snappy banter with Dot Lamar (Marie Prevost), her roommate and fellow "party girl." Soon there's a meet-cute with Jerry Strong (Ralph Graves), a rich guy who wants to be an artist. He asks Kay to model for him, and even though he's sort of engaged to a woman of his society set and his family disapproves of her indiscreet past, they fall in love. That's when the movie bogs down into sentimentality, Capra's fatal flaw. The only thing that holds it together is Stanwyck's obvious total commitment to making the character work. It's too bad that her leading man isn't capable of making a similar commitment -- Graves just looks a little flummoxed at what happens. Still, there's some breathless and implausible eleventh-hour suspense to liven things up at the end. 
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