She Likes Trees, Big Trees

Several unscrupulous men vie for the affections of a free-spirited young woman in 1932's Wild Girl. I was expecting a diverting, salacious pre-code film but was pleasantly surprised to discover it's one of the best Western melodramas ever made by the great director Raoul Walsh.

The film was the third adaptation of the 1889 story Salomy Jane and, as you might imagine, it also plays off of the biblical story of Salome. Accordingly, the coveted damsel does remove her seven veils at one point and does demand the death of a certain man. Though in this case, she doesn't mark out any John the Baptist but a slimy politician with a history of sexual assault. He's maintained his good reputation with bribery and murder but that won't stop a mysterious stranger (Charles Farell) from exacting revenge for what the politician did to his sister.

22 year old Joan Bennett plays Salomy as a barefoot girl in a gingham blouse, her daily life consisting of giddy romps through the sequoias with the neighbourhood children. It was a stroke of genius to shoot the picture among the redwoods for absolutely no reason. Why not? They make every shot fantastic.

There are four men after Salomy. The politician (Morgan Wallace), a cowardly businessman (Irving Pichel), a card sharp (Ralph Bellamy), and the stranger himself, whom Salomy affectionately calls, "Man."

The politician and the businessman are both slimeballs, though the businessman's cowardice shows itself a little more slowly. He's the one Salomy asks to kill the politician after he's watched her bathing and manhandled her. It introduces the difficult question--is the businessman a coward for not killing the politician, or is it really better that he doesn't? It's a troublesome question and I'm delighted the movie leaves it in the audience's mind.

The stranger is a likable lug but I found myself partial to Ralph Belamy's top hatted card sharp. He's portrayed as having a sense of honour on top of his unrequited yearnings and, even better, he exhibits self-control. There's a lad I'd approve of my daughter bringing home. Though I'd ask him to stop cheating at cards.

The twists and turns in the melodramatic plot are always satisfying and credible enough. Eugene Pallette is very good in a supporting role.

Wild Girl is available on The Criterion Channel until the end of the month.

Energetically Violent Hijinks

Cary Grant and Joan Bennett team up for thwarting jewel thieves and snappy dialogue in 1936's Big Brown Eyes. Directed and co-written by Raoul Walsh, it's surprisingly violent for its screwball comedy tone. And it's never so silly that it undermines its violence.

Danny Barr (Grant) is a cop and his girlfriend, Eve Fallon (Bennett), is a manicurist. She quickly gets a job on a newspaper during the film, though, and she wastes little time abusing her position to print bogus headlines.

Walter Pidgeon is also in the film as a rich and crooked private detective. He tries to seduce Eve in one scene by buying a whole counter of candy and perfume for her. Through all the machinations and killings, though, he always sounds cool and calm.

One of his henchmen accidentally shoots a baby dead in the park. Yeah, really. That's part of this romp, I'm not kidding.

This puts the spurs on the police department to finally nab these gangsters once and for all. Eve manages to put together more of the clues and lay more effective traps than Danny, even stealing his gun to shoot it in the street in order to scare a gangster.

It's interesting where the movie goes with the gangster who shot the baby. He feels no remorse but later he's presented as almost sympathetic when he prattles on about flowers while two of his buddies get ready to double-cross him.

Bennett is adorable and Grant is in excellent form. He has a really nice bit of action when he's held hostage by one of the robbers. He pulls a trick and then moves really fast to disarm the man. Cary Grant had some great reflexes, I must say.

Big Brown Eyes is available on The Criterion Channel as part of a collection of Joan Bennett movies this month.

Twitter Sonnet #1662

The ghost of bread reminds the bell to ring.
A forest sound succumbed beneath the can.
Replacement phones were like a hornet's sting.
The chopper blades forbade the girl to tan.
A choc'late circle ends with something dead.
An acid time corrodes the space for breath.
Diminished bears were songs they mangled red.
Regressing beasts could scarce remember death.
Clandestine fish negate the cordless phone.
The skinny found itself but chewing fat.
The other skin was closer yet to bone.
The song was seen beside the earless hat.
A taller dream bemoaned the temple name.
Across a toilet night, the day was blamed.

Another Fateful Climb

The Criterion Channel is doing a spotlight on Ida Lupino this month so last night I watched 1941's High Sierra, which I don't think I'd seen in 19 years or so. Lupino actually gets top billing which I think is more of a reflection of Bogart not being an A-lister yet than her own clout in Hollywood. Still, it's pretty impressive for a 23 year old actress from England. But she truly was showing herself to be a big talent.

Like a lot of films noir, there are two women, the Good Girl and the Bad Girl, Lupino playing Marie, the latter. But the Good Girl, Velma (Joan Leslie), starts to show a few shades of corruption while Marie is by no means as cutthroat as Kathie Moffat or Phyllis Dietrichson.

I wonder if the name of Humphrey Bogart's character, Roy Earle, is supposed to sound like "Royal". I suppose you could look at the movie as a Royalist allegory. Maybe Roy is Bonnie Prince Charlie. He is in command of the robbers and, in addition to that, he becomes a kind of king to Velma and her family. He's moved by pity before he starts to become attracted to Velma and even after she's rejected his marriage proposal he won't accept repayment for the surgery he'd paid for to fix her club foot. It's notable that Roy doesn't really make any big mistakes or unwise decisions throughout the movie, he just has colossally bad luck.

I think everything might have worked out if he hadn't lost control of his car after he robs the drugstore late in the film. The filmmakers could've done a better job making that more plausible. He just does a sharp turn into some shrubbery, thereby attracting everyone's attention. But the absurdity may have been part of the point, a subtle way of showing up the Hays Code.

It's hard to see how anyone could leave the theatre on the cops' side, though. Especially with the strikingly cowardly shot taken at Roy at the end.