1939: La Règle du jeu (Jean Renoir)

Released: July 8, 1939

a.k.a.: The Rules of the Game

Director: Jean Renoir; Screenplay: Jean Renoir and Carl Koch; Cinematography: Jean-Paul Alphen and Jean Bachelet; Studio: Nouvelle edition française; Producer: Claude Renoir

Cast: Roland Toutain (André Jurieu), Marcel Dalio (Robert de la Chesnaye), Nora Gregor (Christine de la Chesnaye), Mila Parèly (Genevieve de Marrast), Jean Renoir (Octave), Julien Carette (Marceau), Gaston Modot (Schumacher), Paulette Dubost (Lisette)

I can’t help but chuckle at the fact that in what is widely considered to be the greatest year in the history of Hollywood cinema, the two films that I could not choose between in making my selection for the best of 1939 are both French! While I have expanded my horizons over recent years, I am still admittedly pretty Hollywood-centric in a lot of my viewing, and I even warned in my opening statement to this countdown that it’s possible that American films could dominate for stretches. There are certainly many, many worthy candidates to choose from in the batch of films released in the United States this year – movies that would top the lists of many other years in the countdown. There were legitimately 8-10 movies that I considered choosing this year and think that any of that group would have been reasonable selections. But in revisiting some of these classics and trying to make sense of how to rank them, two French gems began to emerge as leaders.

The first is among the “usual suspects” of any list of the greatest films of 1939. The Rules of the Game is sometimes even referred to as the greatest film ever made. I personally don’t go quite that far, but it’s an outstanding film. The other is the less well-known, but equally superb Le jour se lève (or Daybreak, its English title). Being familiar with the work of director Marcel Carné only from his renowned 1945 effort Children of Paradise, this is a film that I saw for the first time only recently. It exceeded any expectations I had going in, quite easily eclipsing the experience I previously had with Children of Paradise. It stars Jean Gabin as a blue-collar factory worker who has just killed a man. After seeing the slaying committed in the opening moments, the story unfolds through a number of flashbacks as the killer holes up in his apartment and recounts what has led him to murder. It truly is a great film, one that appears to be somewhat underappreciated, and for a while I thought that it would by me choice as the top film of 1939.

Then I watched The Rules of the Game again. While I have had friends and acquaintances refer to it as the “chic choice” among cineastes, the excellence of the film is undeniable. Reputation and historical impact aside, this film is simply a pleasure to watch. After seeing it again, I realized that as much as I love Daybreak (and Gone With the Wind, and Ninotchka, and The Roaring Twenties, and… you get the picture!), I simply could not pick against this Jean Renoir masterpiece.

In approaching a review of The Rules of the Game, I’ve wondered what I could possibly add to the volumes that have already addressed its greatness. I have no illusions of producing a groundbreaking assessment – my writing and understanding of film in general does not even approach the level of being able to do so. Still, I think the perspective that I can give to a film like this can be interesting, as I’m not so much interested in technical innovations or influence on future films and directors. It has been so praised and lauded over the last seventy years, it’s easy to sometimes view it the way one would an exhibit in a museum. But watching it proves that it is still so much more than that. I’m looking at it strictly as a film, one that I want to entertain and excite me. It not only succeeds in this regard, but does so amazingly.


At its core, the film is a satirical look at French high society and the absurd customs and rules followed by everyone in hopes of fitting in. Famed aviator André Jurieux (Roland Toutain) is an outsider in this environment, venturing on the weekend retreat because he wishes to win the heart of Christine (Nora Gregor). Complicating this affair is the fact that the owner of the La Colinière estate is Robert de la Cheyniest (Marcel Dalio), Christine’s husband. They are joined by a cast of other aristocratic characters – Octave (Jean Renoir), André’s friend who also happens to be in love with Christine. Also there for the weekend is Geneviève de Marras, the married mistress of Robert. Robert is trying desperately to break things off with Geneviève, realizing that failure to do so could push Christine right into André’s arms.

Equally interesting is the parallel storyline of the intrigues surrounding the lives of the servants and household help. Christine’s personal servant Lisette (Paulette Dubost) is married to the groundskeeper of the estate, Schumacher (Gaston Modot). The two spend much time apart as Lisette attends to Christine and Schumacher remains on the country estate. The relationship is further complicated when local vagabond Marceau (Julien Carette) is hired as a servant and begins to pursue a surreptitious romance with Lisette.

If you think all of the love triangles and deceptions sound like the makings of a soap opera, you’re right. Renoir uses these situations to make a mockery of the lives of the characters. One need only witness the famed hunting scene, in which the guests go on a group hunt of birds and rabbits, to see the disdain felt toward such a setting. The aristocrats are depicted as being just short of bloodthirsty, callously shooting at anything that the servants manage to steer into the line of fire. At the same time, it is interesting to note how he highlights the different reactions between the “upper” and “lower” societies is dealing with the romantic squabbles. Upon discovering his wife getting cozy with another man, the servant Schumacher understandably flies off the handle and sets about ending it. The aristocrats like Robert and Christine, meanwhile, seem to want to ignore the issue and pretend as if it isn’t happening. It is an interesting juxtaposition.

The thing that amazed me the first time I watched this film is how funny it could be. For whatever reason, foreign-language comedies have always been hard for me to get into. I can’t pinpoint exactly why this was the case – I suppose some of the humor can be lost in the translation? – but this film shattered that myth in my movie-watching. The conclusions to the various strands of the plot actually turn quite tragic, but the movie manages to retain certain lightheartedness throughout. It is definitely not a comedy the entire way through, but there are scenes that are simply hilarious. The dinner scene at the end of the film never ceases to make me smile. It is complete chaos, both among the guests and the servants, and it’s impossible not to laugh as the various squabbles descend into still further pandemonium.


There are outstanding individual performances in this film – I think that Renoir is excellent as the affable Octave and that Julian Carette is terrific as the scheming Marceau – but it is the collaborative effort that propels this film. The entire group that goes on the weekend retreat is interesting and entertaining, with not a bum performance among the entire cast. Renoir’s direction is impressive without being ostentatious. The camera movements throughout the estate are smooth, allowing the viewer to simply take in the commotion throughout the property. His use of deep focus has been widely celebrated and although I’m not a technical guru or one that is qualified to pass judgment on more technical aspects of film, it is certainly used effectively.

The reaction at the premiere of this film was apparently one of indignation, as the upper class that Renoir so splendidly lampooned did not take the joke very well. In hindsight, I would think that such a reaction would be understandable, but it is a shame that it resulted in the film being banned in France. It has obviously come to be appreciated as the masterwork that it is. Films that have built reputations as lofty as this can sometimes disappoint when finally viewed, but The Rules of the Game does not. It is just an enjoyable experience all the way around.

Rating: 9/10 (This rating is based purely on personal taste/enjoyment – I can’t give everything a 10/10! Or at least I try not to… If it were a rating of “greatness” it would definitely get a perfect score.)

Other Contenders for 1939: Wow, so many films that one could say are the best of 1939 and I wouldn’t argue. As I said at the beginning of this review, Carné’s Le jour se lève came very close to being my selection. Gabin is great as usual and Carné brilliantly crafts a dark tale. Then there is the roll call of great Hollywood films of this year, which is deep. Victor Fleming’s adaptation of Gone With the Wind can be a very polarizing film. I know many cineastes whose opinions I respect that cannot stand the film. I know others who adore it. I’m more in the adoration camp. I think it excels when it embraces the reputation of the sweeping epic it is billed as, as opposed to attempts at more intimate scenes. I would also guess that Fleming’s other blockbuster of this year, The Wizard of Oz, would be a favorite of a lot of people. Even as a child, however, I never cared for it. In fact, I’ve been told many times that I was the only kid anyone had ever met who did not like The Wizard of Oz! My feelings now are similar to when I was young.

I think that Ernst Lubitsch’s Ninotchka is hilarious, with the caricature portrayals of Soviets only adding to the humor in the film. I’ve found that watching any Lubitsch film leaves a smile on my face the whole way through. I’ve already made my feelings of Raoul Walsh’s The Roaring Twenties known and I still think it’s among the best of the classic Hollywood gangster films. Stagecoach is the first film in John Ford’s catalog that I would dare label as great. He also released Young Mr. Lincoln this year, and while I’m not nearly as big a fan of it as Stagecoach, it is one that should be seen. Only Angels Have Wings is Howard Hawks in top form and contains possibly my favorite Cary Grant performance. There are many great Hawks films in the decades that would follow, but many still cite this film as their favorite in the director’s filmography. Wuthering Heights is another film that I actually had not seen until recently, but it too is excellent. William Wyler is a director that I find myself liking more with each film I see and Wuthering Heights continues this trend.

This is really only the tip of the iceberg. There are still more films to cherish from this year – Destry Rides Again is always fun, as is Zoltan Korda’s The Four Feathers and George Stevens’ Gunga Din. I also recently watched Kenji Mizoguchi’s The Story of the Late Chrysanthemums for the first time, but am still somewhat undecided on how I feel about it. It’s feels like one that needs to be watched again to fully take in.

Update on 1939 (and possibly future tough years!)

Just posting to give a little update on the fact that there might be a little bit longer delay than usual with the 1939 selection. There are just so many films to choose from, I'm going back and re-watching those that I haven't watched recently and even those that I am familiar with for comparison purposes. So many great films that I've narrowed down to a few select titles, but I am still not locked in on a definitive choice. I'm not complaining... this is why the countdown is a such a great time for me! I get to go back and re-watch some of my all-time favorites and also take in some classics for the very first time. I'm loving it! 1939 will easily be up by this weekend.

I can foresee a similar circumstance arising with 1941 as well, just as a heads-up on that year as well. These won't be overly long delays and I assume no one will mind. The every-other-day posting schedule will try to be maintained but for some of these tough years, the decision might take just a bit longer.

1938: Angels With Dirty Faces (Michael Curtiz)

Released: November 24, 1938

Director: Michael Curtiz; Screenplay: Rowland Brown, John Wexley, Warren Duff, Ben Hecht (uncredited), Charles MacArthur (uncredited); Cinematography: Sol Polito; Studio: Warner Bros.; Producer: Samuel Bischoff

Cast: James Cagney (Rocky Sullivan), Pat O’Brien (Jerry Connolly), Humphrey Bogart (James Frazier), Ann Sheridan (Laury Ferguson), George Bancroft (Mac Keefer), Dead End Kids


- "Let’s go and say a prayer for a boy who couldn’t run as fast as I could."

[NOTE: This review was posted a few weeks ago, but since it is definitely my favorite film of 1938 I figured why reinvent the wheel? I like what I wrote for this film and thus am reposting it as my selection for 1938, but attaching a section at the end to deal with other films that were at least contenders for the year. Even if you already commented on the review for this film during the Cagney series, please add on comments here for the best films of 1938.]

As two boys busting into a freight car are spotted and surrounded by police officers, they decide to a make a run for it. Jumping out, they take off running, diving under nearby other railcars and avoiding oncoming trains. Nearing a fence, they are but a leap away from escape… but only one of them makes it over. Jerry, the quicker of the two, manages to avoid capture and is never tied to the attempted robbery. He goes on to become a priest and leader in his Lower East Side community. Meanwhile, his best friend Rocky is tight-lipped and takes the rap for both of them. He is shipped off to a boys’ reformatory, where instead of being rehabilitated he becomes schooled in the finer points of the underworld. Rocky goes on to pursue a career in crime, working his way up to being a leading racketeer in the city and building up bootlegging and gambling rackets in between several stints in prison.

And so begins this dramatic tale demonstrating the very fine line between sinner and saint. It’s a gangster film that examines why such characters exist. Are these criminals born or are they created? If the results had been reversed, would Rocky Sullivan have become a priest while Father Connolly shuffled in and out of jail? Not only is that question posed to the audience, but it also seems to weigh heavily on the consciences of the characters.


The story begins in earnest after Rocky emerges from a three-year bid for a crime committed with his lawyer James Frazier (Humphrey Bogart). Rocky agrees to keep his mouth shut and do his time, but extracts an assurance from Frazier that the $100,000 he earned shortly before his arrest will be waiting for him when he gets out. Once out of jail, Rocky returns to his old neighborhood and begins reestablishing connections with former pals. He stops at the church to see Jerry (Pat O’Brien) and reminisce about their days as young punks on the street. After taking a room at a local boardinghouse, Rocky runs into a neighborhood girl that he has used to pick on when they were kids. Laury Ferguson (Ann Sheridan) is leery at first, but slowly begins to warm up to him.


Along the way Rocky becomes the key influence over a gang of young hoodlums played by the Dead End Kids. This group of incorrigible teenagers is much like Rocky and Jerry were in their youth, terrorizing the neighborhood and committing petty crimes. Father Connolly tries desperately to reach out to them, creating a recreation center to keep them off the streets. But he is no match for the charm of his old friend. Rocky Sullivan is a legend in their neighborhood and the kids idolize him. Rocky is accommodating to Jerry, encouraging the kids to participate in things like the Father’s afternoon basketball games.

In spite of this loyalty he displays toward Father Jerry, Rocky clearly revels in the adoration of the boys. He regales the gang with stories of his own childhood and uses them as couriers in situations when he has too much heat on himself. The influence of Rocky, including the instances in which he pays the gang handsomely for their help, is more than Jerry can combat. No matter how much gunplay and underworld action takes place, the true battle of the film is waged between the two friends over influencing the boys. Realizing this, Jerry makes it his mission to lead a public relations campaign to expose the corruption and crime throughout the city, even if that means taking Rocky down in the process. Rocky patronizingly gives him the green light to attempt the cleanup, telling Jerry that “You got about as much chance of getting an indictment as I’ve got of getting into bible society.”

No matter how involved Rocky becomes in his neighborhood, he never loses sight of his business interests. While he was away, Frazier rose to a powerful position in the underworld, teaming with Mac Keefer (George Bancroft) to seize control of the rackets. Rocky believes that he will now be collecting his $100,000 Frazier was holding and assume a powerful position in the organization. Frazier and Keefer have no intention of relinquishing such power to Sullivan. Frazier instead stalls Rocky, while secretly plotting to rub him out. When an attempted hit goes awry and Rocky kills his would-be assassins, the organization is thrown into turmoil. Rocky snatches Frazier, forces him to pay the debt, and muscles his way into the organization. Frazier and Keefer are no match for the hardened Sullivan, and they realize it as he outmaneuvers them at every turn. But they quickly recognize the one weak spot in Rocky’s gruff exterior – Father Connolly. When they move to eliminate Jerry, Rocky quickly comes to the defense of his friend.


Angels With Dirty Faces came seven years after James Cagney’s role as Tom Powers in The Public Enemy and a strong case can be made that he eclipsed even that iconic performance. The criticism most often used against Cagney is the claim that he simply played the same character over and over again. It’s similar to the bunk used to try and diminish the acting of John Wayne as well. In both cases, the detractors are horribly misguided. Yes, there are similarities between the gangsters that Cagney portrayed throughout his career. But in each role, Cagney was able to add nuances that distinguished each individual character from any others. Rocky Sullivan is _not_ Tom Powers. And neither of them are Cody Jarrett or Eddie Bartlett (more on these two characters in the near future). For Rocky, it’s the trademark “Whadda ya hear? Whadda ya say?” phrase. It’s the quick shrug of the shoulders as he turns to exit a room. It’s the presence of some humanity that is lacking in other gangsters. Where Powers and Jarrett were sociopaths who seemed hell-bent on violence, Rocky Sullivan is constantly shown to possess redeemable qualities. His loyalty to his lifelong friend is unwavering, even when that friend is trying to dismantle his criminal empire.


As electric as Cagney is, this film is far from being solely his own. It would not have been the same without the direction of Michael Curtiz. While far from forgotten, Curtiz is underappreciated. The shadow cast by his most renowned film, Casablanca, seems too large for many of his other films to emerge from. He is often labeled a pawn of the Hollywood studio system, but that is an overly cynical analysis. While he was a principal of that system, one need only view a film like Angels With Dirty Faces to witness how successful he could be in manipulating that system to his own designs. Just witness the way that he uses smooth, simple, yet highly effective camera movement and brings the Lower East Side neighborhood to life (see above screen shot for an example). The viewer immediately gets the overcrowded feeling of tenement life and the swarming conditions in which Rocky and Jerry come of age. The bustling neighborhood takes on the status of a character itself. Above all, Curtiz was a master storyteller, a quality that is sometimes overlooked as people get swept up in technical achievements and innovation. He had a knack for extracting superlative performances from his leading actors.

Perhaps the best display of Curtiz’s significant contribution to the film is seen in his framing of the tour de force of an ending.

WARNING: As much as I hate to tell somebody to stop reading, if you haven’t seen the end of Angels With Dirty Faces, I beg you to stop now and see it ASAP before reading any kind of analysis on it. It is, in my opinion, among a handful of the best endings to ever come out of Hollywood and I don’t want to rob anyone of the joy that is watching it for the first time… after seeing it, though, make sure you come back and let me know what you think! For now, you can just skip down in the article to the “(/SPOILERS)” tag and continue.

Nowhere are Curtiz’s chops as a director on greater display. Jerry comes to Rocky in his final moments before going to his execution in order to ask a final favor of his pal. He wants Rocky to do the unthinkable – to “die yellow,” as an example to the Dead End Kids that he is not the hero they built him up to be. Rocky bristles at the idea, arguing that his reputation is the only thing he has left and he has no intention of ruining it with his final living action. The march to the death chamber, with Rocky and Jerry walking side by side is nothing short of beautiful. The hallway is ominously dark, with the silhouettes of the police officers trailing behind. The jail cells cast shadows onto the wall, creating the picturesque shot of Rocky walking through the bars and on toward his execution.




The moving conclusion can be read two different ways and apparently is still open to some debate. When Rocky inexplicably begins struggling and begging for his life just before being placed in the electric chair, is he going yellow or is he doing one final favor for Father Jerry? Cagney himself, when questioned about which theory was true, said that he meant for it to be ambiguous and left to the imagination of each viewer. I have no definitive answer as to which is true, but my high assessment of this film is built on the belief that Rocky was following through on what Jerry asked of him. Maybe it’s because I was completely drawn into the Rocky character and simply want to believe that is the case, but I think that the film works better when the ending is interpreted this way.

The ironic thing is that this is the only instance I can think of where having to conform to the Hays Code actually served to enhance an ending. In many crime dramas of the era, there is often the feeling of the story coming to a screeching halt in order to ensure there is time for the criminal to pay for his crimes. In this case, it never had the feel of a cop out, where the gangster has some magical “awakening” and then sees the error of his ways. It allows the Rocky character that was so charming throughout the entire film to retain his “self-respect,” at least between himself and Jerry, while at the same time delivering some form of redemption.

(/SPOILERS)

While O’Brien and Cagney are obviously the focus of the film, the supporting cast is still very good. Knowing the persona that he would go on to craft in the next decade, it’s always interesting to see Bogart playing one of his less savory roles. Although his on-screen time is limited, he brings just the right amount of sleaziness to the Frazier character. According to commentary on the excellent DVD release, the Ann Sheridan Laury character was originally slated to have a larger role in the story. While Sheridan does fine, it was a wise decision to pull the character back. The relationship between Rocky and Jerry deserved the bulk of the attention. The fact that Cagney and O'Brien were such good friends off-screen adds a touching element to the friendship that they are able to exhibit through Rocky and Jerry.

The only bum note for me is the Dead End Kids. I understand why they’re included, as they were wildly popular at the time. But there performance is the one aspect of the film that seems dated to me, coming across as very campy. This might simply be a sign of times having changed, but I think a more hard-edged group of teens would have been more effective than the slapstick routine of the Dead End Kids.

I can understand how some people might find it to be overly moralistic, but for me it works masterfully. There is a message being delivered, but the ingenuity of the finish is that it doesn’t force-feed that message to the viewer. It allows the social commentary to be delivered clearly, but it doesn’t completely discard the Rocky Sullivan character that had been cultivated so brilliantly over the course of the film. But it's not just the conclusion that is so captivating. It's beyond just that momentous scene -- it's also little things like the scene where Rocky tells Frazier that he'll take the three years in prison, but leaves an ominous warning to his lawyer: "Look, I know you're a smart lawyer... very smart. But don't get smart with me." It's only a minor couple of seconds in the film, and a lot of people probably never give it a second thought, but something about Cagney's delivery just gives me goosebumps every time I watch it. There are actually quite a few of these seemingly insignificant scenes throughout the film that are just magical.

Rating: 10/10

Other Contenders for 1938: This was a huge year for Michael Curtiz. In addition to this masterpiece, the always fun The Adventures of Robin Hood was directed by Curtiz (having taken over for William Keighley). I wouldn’t hesitate in declaring this the best of the many Robin Hood films that have been made. A personal favorite of mine is Hitchcock’s fun mystery The Lady Vanishes. I enjoy early Hitchcock, but this is probably the first of his films that I truly love. I’m sure that a popular pick by many readers will be Bringing Up Baby. As much as I love Howard Hawks (he might be my favorite director), I’ve never really been a fan of this film. Screwball comedies in general are not my cup of tea, but besides that I just don’t think it’s as good as other Hawks comedies. And I think that the Cary Grant-Katharine Hepburn pairing was better in this year’s George Cukor film Holiday. For films outside of Hollywood, Jean Renoir’s La bete humaine is outstanding. I’m sure I’m in the minority, but I prefer this Renoir-Gabin pairing to the more acclaimed Grand Illusion.

1937: A Star Is Born (William A. Wellman)

Released: April 20, 1937 (U.S.)

Director: William A. Wellman; Screenplay: William A. Wellman, Robert Carson, Dorothy Parker, Alan Campbell; Cinematography: W. Howard Greene; Studio: Selznick International Pictures, United Artists; Producer: David O. Selznick

Cast: Janet Gaynor (Esther Blodgett/Vicki Lester), Fredric March (Norman Maine), Adolphe Menjou (Oliver Niles), May Robinson (Grandmother Lettie), Andy Devine (Danny McGuire), Lionel Stander (Matt Libby)

Wait a minute… is this turning into the Fredric March Countdown? It’s ironic that the man who I will eternally picture as mustached Al Stephenson makes his second appearance in films where he stars as someone other than the banker turned veteran. And while this film may not be as acclaimed as The Best Years of Our Lives, his role here as the self-destructive Norman Maine is every bit as memorable as that of Al Stephenson. The ease with which he is able to portray the fading movie star makes the fall from grace all the more unsettling.

I have always been intrigued by Hollywood films that are about Tinseltown and the movie industry. Particularly those that are critical of the “dream factory” image that is commonly associated with the Golden Age of Hollywood. I know that this is far from the only film to do this, but I find this one interesting because of when it was made. Coming in 1937, as the motion picture industry was approaching its boom years of the 1940s, it would seem like it would have been in their interest to cultivate idyllic images of their stars. A Star Is Born is not so much critical of the industry as it is a warning that the adulation and idolization of stars can result in dire consequences for those being worshiped. Even still, it highlights the “what have you done for me lately” mentality that has come to be expected in the movie business and the fact that yesterday’s stars are perceived to be worth very little when they are no longer an attraction.

William Wellman not only directs this Oscar-nominated film, but also co-wrote the script which won him an Academy Award for Best Screenplay. The story begins with young Esther Blodgett (Janet Gaynor) fantasizing about leaving the Midwest and making it big in Hollywood. Ridiculed by relatives over such a pipedream, Esther nevertheless takes the plunge at the urging of her grandmother and sets off for California. The film depicts how unlikely it is for such a dream to come true, as Esther has no luck landing even the most insignificant roles. When she attempts to register as an extra, she is told that there are already so many extras on call that they haven’t accepted a newcomer in years.


Even so, she manages to get her big break into the movies after meeting actor Norman Maine (Fredric March). Maine, a matinee idol with a chip on his shoulder and a scotch and soda always in hand, meets Esther at a party she is waitressing. After a night on the town together, Norman becomes convinced that Esther is a future star. He manages to persuade studio head and friend Oliver Niles (Adolphe Menjou) that she has such potential. This is a part in the film that I could envision being make-or-break for a lot of viewers. It’s a leap of faith to go along with such a shot to superstardom, particularly because the Esther Blodgett character never really displays the dynamism one would expect for someone managing such a rapid rise. It doesn’t particularly bother me, as I see it as just another variation on the common rags-to-riches theme, but I could see how it might detract for others.

Esther is rechristened Vicki Lester and after co-starring opposite Norman in a film, erupts into the hottest young star in Hollywood. But as her star begins to shine, Norman’s is slowly fading away. Despite their diverging movie careers, the two fall in love and get married. At first Norman is able to understand the change in his popularity, but after being referred to as “Mr. Lester,” it seems to send him into a tailspin. His drinking increases to even higher levels as he begins to think that Vicki is achieving stardom at the expense of his own fame. Norman’s lowest point is reached when he crashes an awards ceremony that is honoring Vicki, creating a scene with a drunken diatribe. The result is that Vicki not only begins to question her relationship with Norman, but her commitment to her career.


Many times I have used the phrase that a film “works as both a comedy and a tragedy” and the cliché certainly applies to A Star Is Born. It’s by no means laugh out loud funny, but it is humorous. The saying applies differently in this movie, however, because when the events do turn tragic, you almost feel guilty for having laughed at the antics of the drunken Norman Maine. March’s performance is so engaging and he plays the kindhearted boozer to perfection. He is suave and smooth, carrying an air of not having a care in the world. So when he does something like getting arrested for high-speed antics or his standoffs with photographers, they seem like harmless troublemaking. Once you understand what his drinking is costing him, then you realize that the antics never were harmless. March was nominated for an Oscar for Best Actor and rightfully so. This countdown has only increased my appreciation for him.

I have no intention of revealing the emotional climax, but I will say that it is one that sticks in my mind, particularly in the way that Wellman films it (I can’t really go into more detail without completely giving it away). I have one particular shot in mind and maybe I’ll bring it up in the comments section here if no one objects, but I hate have certain things ruined for me and I wouldn’t want to take that away from anyone seeing the movie for the first time.

It's also interesting to see a movie being made in Technicolor at this early stage. This is one of the earlier major movies to be released in color, and while the colors do not appear spectacular today, at the time they were very well received. The cinematography was awarded a special Academy Award because of it.

There have been two remakes of this film – a 1954 version directed by George Cukor starring Judy Garland and James Mason and a 1976 version with Barbara Streisand and Kris Kristofferson. Opinion seems to be split as to whether the 1954 of this version is the best of the trio. Personally, I don’t think that the 1954 musical compares. With the great performance by March, in my mind this is the definitive version.

Rating: 9/10

Other Contenders for 1937: The obvious choice here, and the film that I’m guessing would win a poll for best of 1937, is Jean Renoir’s Grand Illusion. I have to be completely honest and admit that as much as I love Jean Gabin, this has always been just an OK movie for me. Leo McCarey did quite well in making the comedy The Awful Truth, with Irene Dunne actually stealing the show from Cary Grant. I also have a soft spot for William Wyler’s Dead End, with Bogart and the Dead End Kids. The Dead End Kids were actually better in this outing than in the superior Angels With Dirty Faces. And while I am admittedly not a huge Capra fan, Lost Horizon is definitely one to see.

1936: Modern Times (Charles Chaplin)

Released: February 5, 1936

Director: Charles Chaplin; Screenplay: Charles Chaplin; Cinematography: Ira H. Morgan, Roland Totheroh; Studio: United Artists; Producer: Charles Chaplin

Cast: Charles Chaplin (A Factory Worker/ The Tramp), Paulette Goddard (A Gamine), Henry Bergman (Café Proprietor), Stanley Sandford (Big Bill), Chester Conklin (Mechanic), Hank Mann (Burglar), Stanley Blystone (Gamine’s Father), Allan Garcia (President of the Electro Steel Corp.)

As difficult as it has been picking a favorite or best film for each year, I think I might have found something even tougher: how about trying to pick the funniest scene from this Charlie Chaplin masterpiece. Is it the opening factory sequence, in which The Tramp is trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to keep pace with the quickening assembly line? Or how about the legendary feeding machine scene which has The Tramp being used as the guinea pig to test a new invention that would do away with the lunch break and allow workers to stay on the line while having their meal? Could it be The Tramp innocently picking up a red flag that falls off the back of a truck and then being mistaken for the leader of a communist rally? Or maybe when The Tramp is eating lunch in jail, salts his food, inadvertently gets hopped up on cocaine, and foils an attempted jail break? It’s a staggering prospect trying to pick from such classic moments in film history – and those listed above are all scenes that take place within the first thirty minutes of the film! There are many other unforgettable sequences throughout. There is not a dull moment in Modern Times and I never hesitate in declaring it to be my favorite of Chaplin’s career.


There are other Chaplin films that I adore – City Lights being chief among them – but it is Modern Times that continually reminds me how brilliant the man was as a writer and director, let alone as a performer. The scenes that I described above, and the others that follow throughout the course of the film, are so well-developed and entertaining that they could honestly work as stand-alone shorts. They are hilarious by themselves, needing no introduction or development from other sections of the movie. Yet, Chaplin is skillful enough as a director to piece these skits together into a full-length feature that flows seamlessly.

The plot is simple, consisting of a number of settings that serve to put The Little Tramp into situations that allow Chaplin to work his magic. The Tramp is a worker on an assembly line, doing nothing but tightening bolts at an ever-increasing pace. While there, he is used as the subject in testing the newly invented feeding machine, with hilarious and disastrous results. After wreaking havoc in the factory and being sent to a mental institution, he is fired and then becomes swept up in events that he continually wanders into. These include things like a communist march, jail breaks, burglaries, and trying to come to terms with the squalid conditions that a majority of people are living in during the 1930s. Along the way The Tramp befriends a young orphan girl, the Gamin (Paulette Goddard), and becomes determined to find a job in order to provide a decent home for the two of them.


The tales concerning how the film was originally conceived and how production ultimately proceeded are interesting and quite relevant to understanding the film. Legend has it that Chaplin originally intended for this to be his introduction to the talkies, a trend that he had resisted since their introduction. He then supposedly came to the conclusion that The Tramp character would lose much of its appeal if he were to begin speaking in the films, and so the idea was abandoned. Chaplin instead decided to proceed in creating a silent film, but adding sound effects and a few quick lines of dialogue from minor characters. And even this dialogue sounds very mechanical or filtered – such as coming from a record player or from the steel tycoon’s video screen. I don’t know that I would go so far as to say that The Tramp would have lost effectiveness with dialogue, but I do know that dialogue is completely unnecessary in this movie. Chaplin made the right decision in sticking to what he believed in and doing what he did better than anyone else.

I also cannot comment on the veracity of Chaplin having originally conceived of the film as a talkie, but it makes sense when considering the themes of the film. The Tramp is a man being forced into an increasingly modernizing society which he is clearly uneasy in. It mirrors the relationship between Chaplin and the advances being made in the motion picture industry. Chaplin did not feel comfortable moving his popular on-screen persona into the sound era, just as The Tramp himself was uncomfortable in a factory setting or dealing with technological advances. So these tales make perfect sense when you consider that the struggle of The Tramp to survive in “modern times” does mirror the effort by Chaplin to maintain his artistic visions in the face of a changing industry. The social commentary is laid on thick, but never reaches the point of being overbearing. Everything is tongue in cheek, as if Chaplin himself recognizes that progress itself is not inherently bad, but that there are downsides to everything.


Rather than drag things on to an unnecessary length, I’m going to acknowledge the fact that just as words would have been superfluous in the film, so too are they in commenting on it. No writing (particularly mine) can do it justice or properly describe how delightful a film it is. No matter how much I expound on the hilarity of when The Tramp salts his food with cocaine, it won’t fully sink in until you see him smiling with white powder stuck in his mustache. The description of the feeding machine might sound downright silly, but once you see Chaplin’s moves and facial expressions it’s impossible not to laugh. These moments just have to be experienced. I’m guessing that the folks that take the time to read this blog and comment have far more familiarity with Chaplin and this film than I do, but anyone who reads this and hasn’t seen Modern Times is in for an amazing event. And even for those that have seen it, it never hurts to go back and be reminded of what a truly great film is.

Modern Times may not be my favorite film that I’ve reviewed over the short life of this Year’s Best series (I love Trouble in Paradise too much to make that assertion), but I don’t think I’m exaggerating in declaring it to be the most essential. Not only is it a cornerstone in the history of cinema, but Chaplin transcends just film. He is a cultural icon and this movie has it all -- entertainment, a message, and historical value. It is a significant document of an era.

Rating: 10/10

Other Contenders for 1936: Really no competition as far as picking the best of 1936, but there are a few others from this year that I enjoy. Humphrey Bogart is great as fugitive gangster Duke Mantee in The Petrified Forest. After the Thin Man is not on the same level as the first installment of the series, but it’s still entertaining. A lot of the comedies of this year are a little to “screwy” for my tastes, but Powell and Loy are also very good in Libeled Lady.

1935: Les misérables (Richard Boleslawski)

Released: April 20, 1935

Director: Richard Boleslawski; Screenplay: W.P. Lipscomb, based on the novel by Victor Hugo; Cinematography: Gregg Toland; Studio: 20th Century Pictures; Producer: Darryl F. Zanuck

Cast: Fredric March (Jean Valjean/Champmathieu), Charles Laughton (Inspector Javert), Cedric Hardwicke (Bishop Myriel), Rochelle Hudson (Cosette), Marilyn Knowlden (Cosette as a child), John Beal (Marius), Frances Drake (Éponine)

- "God is just, but men sometimes are unjust."

In beginning this Year’s Best Countdown, I began the process essentially by making a yearly outline of films that I thought were worthy of consideration for the top film of each individual year. For many years, this meant that there were a number of films that were at least in contention, and in most instances this meant wading through a number of great films to finally decide upon one. 1935 was a bit different – whether due to oversights in my own viewing or just an unfortunate coincidence, I realized that I haven’t seen nearly as many movies released in 1935 as other years of the decade. Due primarily to this lack of familiarity with a variety of films of this year, I looked toward 1935 as something of a down year in terms of depth of great films. But this choice is an example of how this countdown is serving as a great education for me, as I had never seen Richard Boleslawski’s version of Les misérables until I began sifting through the most highly regarded films of 1935.

Now in the interest of full disclosure, and at the risk of revealing myself to be an uncultured fool, I have to admit to having absolutely no experience in regard to Les misérables and its various incarnations. I have never read Victor Hugo’s novel. I have never seen it performed on the stage. And, even more significantly for this countdown, I have not seen the more acclaimed 1934 adaptation directed by Raymond Bernard. From what I can gather just based upon reading about this version, fans of the novel favor Bernard’s film and consider it to be the most faithful rendering of the story ever adapted for the screen. I’ve also taken note of the fact that Bernard’s version placed at #13 on the Wonders in the Dark Best Films of the 1930s Poll, while this version released a year later did not make the cut. While lists are not the final word on a film’s greatness, the WitD polls have been very accurate reflections of how well thought of a film is among enthusiasts.

With all that being said, I still really liked this version. I think the fact that I enjoyed it so much says a lot about both Hugo’s original story and Boleslawksi’s rendering of it. That the same story can be adapted in different fashion by different directors – not to mention in distinct art forms between film and theatre – and be appreciated in each version is testament to what a timeless tale Hugo crafted. It is also notable that Boleslawski’s adaptation is able to stand completely on its own and be so impressive to a viewer like myself. Having no preconceived ideas based upon the novel or play, the film had to make it for me solely on its own strengths. And it does.


With all of these admissions I just made, my opinion concerning the movie’s strengths may not be as enlightened as that of a more experienced viewer, but it seems obvious to me that the success of an adaptation of Hugo’s tale is in large part dependent upon the power of the two lead performances. Little more could be asked from Fredric March and Charles Laughton in filling these roles. Overcoming my handicap of picturing The Best Years of Our Lives’ Al Stephenson whenever I think of Fredric March, I have come to realize how truly talented an actor he was. In this film he makes Jean Valjean a multi-layered character in being able to make both sides of his personality equally believable. Valjean is justifiably bitter when he emerges from his ten year prison sentence, having been hardened to the point of seeing no good in other people. In these instances, the haggard and bearded March provides the right amount of nastiness to Valjean, resulting in a man that is at the same time pitiful and frightening. When Valjean later manages to create a new life for himself as a successful businessman, March looks and acts in a completely different manner. The clean-cut Madeleine (Valjean’s new identity) is sophisticated, charming, and genuinely caring. Neither side of the personality seems at all forced, highlighting the transformation that Valjean makes from jaded ex-con to leading citizen.

Charles Laughton’s performance is, in my opinion, the lesser of the two leads and is far from being his personal greatest role. But he does create an interesting foil to Valjean. As Inspector Javert, he produces a unique form of coldness, as Javert almost seems to be unaware of how callous he truly is. Until the thrilling conclusion, he is following a rigid belief in the rule of law and can be undeterred from seeing that the law is upheld.

There is also more to admire than just the lead performances. The cinematography is handled by Gregg Toland, of Citizen Kane fame, and looks outstanding. Until doing a little research for this review, I didn’t realize the list of classic films in which Toland was the cinematographer. Wuthering Heights, The Grapes of Wrath, The Westerner, Citizen Kane, The Best Years of Our Lives – these are just a few of his achievements. In this film, he is able to create varying atmospheres based upon the situation Jean finds himself in. When he emerges from prison and is wandering the streets, Toland uses very dark lighting and has shadows leaping across the screen. In many instances, such as Jean’s entering into the parish of Bishop Myriel (Cedric Hardwicke), the photography is downright eerie and could rival anything in a horror movie of the era. The same can be said for the cruel tone set in the prison scenes, which are quite brutal. But in happier situations, such as when Valjean is with his adopted daughter Cosette (Rochelle Hudson), the lighting is much less foreboding.

The other striking feature, and I am not sure what exactly to make of it, is how often Boleslawski framed shots that juxtaposed Jean with images and statues of the crucifixion. In fact, if one wanted to take religious undertones to an even greater length, one can simply look at the appearance of Jean when he leaves prison. It very much resembles the traditional image of the bearded, long-haired Christ.

Having been so thoroughly drawn into this story, I have now become anxious to see Raymond Bernard’s adaptation. From what I can gather from online sources, it appears that the increased length of that version allows Bernard to more fully develop characters and certain subplots of Hugo’s original story. I’m incredibly intrigued by that prospect and if it exceeds my enjoyment of this 1935 version then it truly must be a great film. In closing, I'm not even sure that this is the film that I would give the highest rating to for 1935, but ultimately that's unimportant. What I do know that it is my personal favorite.

Rating: 8/10 (a strong 8, to clarify!)

Other Contenders for 1935: As I said, I’m not sure that I have seen nearly the number of films for 1935 that I need to in order to pick a best of the year. With that being said, I worked with what I had and feel confident that I have highlighted a commendable film. The main competition for me in this year came from James Whale’s Bride of Frankenstein. I felt that Whale’s first installment in the Frankenstein series was good, but that the sequel exceeded it. I also have always liked Hitchcock’s British thriller The 39 Steps, but not quite as much as many others. I think it’s entertaining, but really not up to the standard of his later classics. A film that I have always had a personal affection for – and which I do not know if others consider it to be a “great” or even “very good” film – is Michael Curtiz’s Captain Blood. It’s just such fun and a great adventure film. The more Curtiz films I watch, the more my appreciation of him increases.

1934: The Thin Man (W.S. Van Dyke)

Released: May 23, 1934

Director: W.S. Van Dyke; Screenplay: Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich, based on the novel by Dashiell Hammett; Cinematography: James Wong Howe; Studio: MGM; Producer: Hunt Stromberg

Cast: William Powell (Nick Charles), Myrna Loy (Nora Charles), Maureen O’Sullivan (Dorothy Wynant), Edward Ellis (Clyde Wynant), Nat Pendleton (Lt. John Guild), Minna Gombell (Mimi Wynant Jorgenson), Porter Hall (Herbert MacCauley), William Henry (Gilbert Wynant), Cesar Romero (Chris Jorgenson), Natalie Morehead (Julia Wolf), Edward Brophy (Joe Morelli)

There have been numerous legendary onscreen couples throughout the history of Hollywood. A reasonable case could be made for Tracy and Hepburn, Bogey and Bacall, or Astaire and Rogers as the greatest leading couple ever to collaborate. Being able to definitively make such a bold assertion obviously would be impossible and as much as I love to declare things the “best” or “greatest” I’m not even about to try and choose a winner in that race. What I will say, however, is that as fantastic as the previously mentioned duos are to watch, none of them ever exceeded the chemistry displayed between William Powell and Myrna Loy. Anyone unconvinced (do such people really exist?) need look no further than the famed Thin Man cycle. Powell and Loy starred together in 13 films, but they were never funnier or more entertaining than in this first film in the series.


To go into a detailed review of the storyline would be unnecessary, as the caper at the center of the plot is secondary. But, for the sake of maintaining a complete review, I can at least sketch out the general details. Nick Charles (William Powell) is a retired detective who now survives on the large inheritance of his recent bride Nora (Myrna Loy). The two spend their days lounging, shopping, and drinking unimaginable quantities of alcohol. While impressing fellow patrons in a Manhattan bar, Nick becomes reacquainted with the daughter of a former client. The daughter, Dorothy Wynant (Maureen O’Sullivan), is concerned about the fact that her father has gone missing. Her father, Clyde Wynant (Edward Ellis), is a wealthy and eccentric inventor. The disappearance becomes front page headlines after Wynant is implicated in the murder of his former girlfriend. Everyone pleads with Nick to take the case and find Wynant, but the ex-private eye is clearly more interested in martinis than investigations. Only after Nora coaxes him into trying to solve the mystery does he become actively involved.

The amazing thing about The Thin Man is that what happened to Clyde Wynant or who killed girlfriend Julia Wolf almost becomes unimportant. The murder mystery is convoluted, some would even argue confusing, and as great as the final dinner scene is to see, the conclusion seems far-fetched and somewhat contrived. And yet it doesn’t at all matter. As absorbing as the mystery can be, the focus of the film is on the interaction between Nick and Nora. The two are so charming that their actions overshadow any intrigue created by the whodunit. Although it is based on a story by Dashiell Hammett, this is not The Maltese Falcon. The film is a true comedy that is only masquerading as a crime thriller. Powell plays Nick as a lovable lush, always with a sly grin on his face and a drink nearby. The amount of booze consumed by Nick is staggering and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s possible to get a buzz just watching it. Nora is his enabler, always nearby to supply a refill or, even more importantly, to lightheartedly antagonize him. The two are constantly teasing each other, joking back and forth about every episode in their lives.


What ultimately propels The Thin Man to being a truly great comedy is the fact that it is funny in a number of different ways. The dialogue is superb and at times quite dry, which is perfect for someone like me. There are no gut-busting punch lines, but rather cynical and witty comebacks and responses. Writers Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich were deservedly nominated for their adaptation of Hammett’s story (losing the award to Robert Riskin’s adapted screenplay for It Happened One Night). At the risk of sounding incredibly elitist, I think that the dialogue is far more intelligent than people ever discuss. Witness some of these hilarious exchanges:

Lt. John Guild: You got a pistol permit?
Nick: No.
Lt. John Guild: Ever heard of the Sullivan Act?
Nora: Oh, that's all right, we're married.

---------------------

Nick: I'm a hero. I was shot twice in the Tribune.
Nora: I read where you were shot 5 times in the tabloids.
Nick: It's not true. He didn't come anywhere near my tabloids.

---------------------

Nora: All right, go ahead! Go on! See if I care! But I think it's a dirty trick to bring me all the way to New York just to make a widow of me.
Nick: You wouldn't be a widow long.
Nora: You bet I wouldn't!
Nick: Not with all your money...

These lines are delivered very matter-of-factly and in many instances if an unsuspecting viewer were unaware of the context, they might not find them at all funny. It is for this reason that I think the banter between the characters, particularly Nick and Nora, plays as fresh today as it would have in 1934. I start laughing to myself just remembering that first example about the Sullivan Act. It is just incredibly clever interplay and is funny without being overstated.

At the same time, there are is also plenty of great physical comedy, primarily coming from Powell. With Nick always slightly inebriated (yet never appearing to truly be drunk or terribly affected by the alcohol), he seems to slide across the screen on unsteady legs. His body language is a performance in itself, with his glazed-eyed looks at Nora and nonchalance toward all other people. The episode that sticks out in my mind comes when Nick and Nora are sitting on their beds as local detectives search through their room for evidence. As an officer opens a dresser drawer, Nora calls out: “What’s that man doing in my drawers?” Shocked at the thought, Nick involuntarily spits up the drink that he poured for himself after getting out of bed. Looking back at what I just wrote, it reads nowhere near as funny as it is. Watching the scene, it is hilarious.

It is amazing to realize that The Thin Man actually was not originally envisioned to be a large-scale hit. Director W.S. Van Dyke had a reputation for working fast – it wasn’t for nothing that he was known as “One Shot Woody” – and it is said that the film was completed in just twelve days. This frenetic pace apparently set the perfect tone, as the film itself also moves at a delightfully quick tempo. If it feels as if I have short-changed director Van Dyke and the supporting characters, it is completely unintentional. It's just that I was so entranced by Powell and Loy that it was easy to overlook the other efforts. This is where I thank God for DVDs and the ability to re-watch great films like this. It is not necessarily a bad thing when a director recognizes that a film would be better served if he were to simply take a step back and allow the actors to shine. This is what Van Dyke does, and the Academy apparently recognized this in nominating him for Best Director. And while I may have overlooked them on first viewing, there are also excellent supporting performances. Maureen O’Sullivan is very good as Dorothy and Minna Gombell is always entertaining as her conniving mother and ex-wife of the missing Wynant.

The great thing about this Year’s Best countdown is that it’s causing me to reevaluate a lot of films and the way that I approach them. As I said in reviewing Trouble in Paradise, I’ve always operated under the assumption that I don’t care much for comedies of the 1930s. In going back through these greatest films of the decade, I’m realizing that I like them a lot more than I ever realized. The Thin Man is a timeless comedy and is funny when compared to films of _any_ era. It's another instance of a film just being irresistibly fun.

Rating: 9/10

Other Contenders for 1934: This was another year that was basically a no-brainer for me. I just love The Thin Man so much that there really wasn’t another film close to supplanting it. Still, there are plenty of great movies from 1934. The only other film that really entered into consideration was Jean Vigo’s L’Atalante. It's a beautiful film in every way and it is amazing to think of how visually stunning it is for its time. I would imagine that It Happened One Night would be another popular choice for this year, but as I said in the article for 1933, I’m only crazy about a select few Capra films. Another one that I would expect to be picked by a number of people would be Josef von Sternberg’s The Scarlet Empress, but I have to admit to not caring for it at all. Consensus opinion seems to be that it is likely von Sternberg’s best, but it has never worked for me.

1933: The Bitter Tea of General Yen (Frank Capra)

Released: January 3, 1933

Director: Frank Capra; Screenplay: Edward E. Paramore, Jr., based on the story by Grace Zaring Stone; Cinematography: Joseph Walker; Studio: Columbia Pictures; Producer: Walter Wanger

Cast: Barbara Stanwyck (Megan Davis), Nils Asther (General Yen), Toshia More (Mah-Li), Walter Connolly (Jones), Gavin Gordon (Dr. Robert Strife)

I have a confession to make, and it is one that goes against my usual classic Hollywood-centric perspective – I’ve never been a big Frank Capra fan. It isn’t that I necessarily dislike any of his work that I’ve seen, but outside of the most famous of all of his films (It’s a Wonderful Life) I have been rather indifferent toward him. My apathy hasn’t been the result of the usual complaint made against Capra – the “Capra-corn” label that derides his films for being overly sentimental or moralistic. I’ve actually been struck by how stretched such a claim can be, as there are times in Capra films where characters and situations are very realistic and relevant. But outside of It’s a Wonderful Life I found myself reacting to subsequent Capra films with lukewarm reactions.

Then, instead of plowing straight ahead in the Capra filmography, as I was doing after having started with It Happened One Night, I decided to take a step backward. I tried the less-renowned The Bitter Tea of General Yen and felt like I had discovered some kind of hidden gem. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that I discovered nothing, and that plenty of folks are familiar with it, but I’m amazed that this film is not more celebrated. In what I am guessing will differ from most others, I pick this one as tops for 1933.

The film opens to gorgeously chaotic scenes of 1920s Shanghai, showing the frantic pace of China at this time. With the country in turmoil, as various warlords and government factions begin to battle at the start of the Chinese Civil War, the city is nonstop commotion. Refugees are scattering, buildings are burning, and the opening shots reinforce this sense of confusion. These scenes are very darkly shot and edited at such a quick pace to perfectly convey the sense of chaos of the people. The other thing that struck me from these scenes is how overcrowded everything looks, as it feels like there are so many people jammed into shots that these cities are going to burst. The city genuinely feels miserable and absolutely frenzied.

It is into this environment that American Megan Davis (Barbara Stanwyck) arrives with plans to marry missionary Dr. Robert Strife (Gavin Gordon). However, on the night of the wedding, Strife announces that he must postpone the nuptials in order to rescue a group of orphans in a nearby town. Rather than wait for him in the homes of fellow missionaries, Megan declares that she has come to China in order to assist her future husband. She sets out with Dr. Strife to participate in the rescue, which they believe to be a safe trip after supposedly obtaining travel permits from the powerful General Yen (Nils Asther). But while trying to make their way through the chaos of the city streets, the group becomes separated and Megan is knocked unconscious. When Megan comes to her senses, she is in the railcar of General Yen who explains that he rescued her from harm in the streets and is now transporting her to safety. Megan seems completely unaware of the fact that Yen has likely kidnapped her.


Megan is taken to General Yen’s summer retreat where he holds her as a captive. It is not as a lock and key prisoner, but it is captivity none the less. While under General Yen’s control, Megan becomes acquainted with the various underlings that work with the General. These include a fellow American, Jones (Walter Connolly), who is the chief strategist and financial adviser to Yen. She also becomes friendly with a servant/concubine Mah-Li (Toshia Mori) who begins to complicate Megan’s stay at the compound. It soon emerges that Mah-Li is a spy, conveying highly sensitive information concerning General Yen and his operations to rival factions in the civil war. After Jones alerts him to this fact, Yen sentences Mah-Li to death. She is saved only after Megan personally pleads for her life. Yen acquiesces, having become infatuated with the American woman, but asks that Megan offer her own life as a pledge to Mah-Li’s future good behavior. When Mah-Li continues her scheming, the tenuous relationship that has developed between General Yen and Megan is truly put to the test.

Stanwyck is excellent as usual, but the true star of the film is Nils Asther as the enigmatic General Yen. There is great irony in the Danish-born Asther, a star of the theatre in Sweden of all places, portraying a Chinese warlord. But he is outstanding in the role. The tension that is built in the relationship between the general and the naïve American is due to Asther’s ability to create a character that is mysterious. The reputation that is given to General Yen by the missionaries is one of an absolute monster, as someone who kills and pillages at will. Yet in his conduct toward others, Yen is surprisingly reserved. He is deliberate in both action and speech and seems calm in every situation. It is quite a contrast and leaves the viewer wondering what the true nature of General Yen is. In interaction with Megan he seems the perfect gentleman, being exceedingly courteous. And yet as casually polite as he is to Megan, he can just as coolly order the execution of Mah-Li. Asther is able to exploit this paradox in crafting a very measured character. This detached nature that he establishes for General Yen is believable and never reaches the caricature-level where the general comes across as a psychopath.

The other striking feature of the film is how uncompromising and brutal it is at times. Made in 1933, before strict Hays Code enforcement, Capra is able to get away with a bit more than would have been allowed in the near future. This means he is able to do things like showing prisoners being executed by firing squad at General Yen’s compound. In most films of this era you would hear the shots and maybe see the aftermath of the gunmen. Not here. Capra shows the entire sequence – taking aim, firing, bodies dropping. It is nothing overly graphic, but it is shocking (at least for someone like me who is not well-versed in Pre-Code cinema) to think of this coming from a film of the 1930s. While I don’t feel the need to go into great detail concerning the issue, the interracial relationship between General Yen and Megan is also remarkable. It is amazing that it made it through censors.

There are obvious drawbacks to the film. It would not be a stretch to claim that the portrayal of the Chinese people is patronizing. One need look no further than the opening minutes of the film, when a longtime missionary recounts the tale of a group of Mongolian people who were enthralled by his tale of the crucifixion. He later learned why they were so interested – soon after, they attacked a caravan and crucified the captives. “That, my friends, is China,” the missionary declares. In most instances, the Chinese people are similarly portrayed as exceedingly brutal. But I felt like the depth given to the General Yen character helped to soften some of this prejudice. He was ultimately shown to have a heart and be just as capable of acting out of something other than self-interest.

I’ll be interested to see just how big of an “upset” this is as a pick for the best of 1933. I have to admit that overall this is not a great year for me, at least in comparison to some of the years around it. But The Bitter Tea of General Yen is a film that would at least compete against competition of any year. It is intriguing for me to see another side of Frank Capra as a filmmaker and the photography of Joseph Walker is a great compliment to this darker style. At times, the film looks like a noir set in Shanghai, and instantly reminded me of a William Wyler film of seven years later, The Letter. Combine these strengths with the performance of Nils Asther and it is an outstanding film.

Rating: 8/10

Other Contenders for 1933: As I said, not a banner year for me, but there are a few other films that I considered. Fritz Lang’s The Testament of Dr. Mabuse is intriguing but I don’t rank it with some of my other favorite Lang films. Barbara Stanwyck was in another legendary pre-code film this year, Baby Face, and her individual performance is better there than in The Bitter Tea. If you thought she was conniving as Phyllis Dietrichson, check her out as Lily Powers in Baby Face. My guess would be that the Marx Brothers classic Duck Soup will be the most popular choice, but not being the biggest fan of the Marx Brothers fan it’s not my selection. It certainly is funny, but not one I would list as an all-time favorite. King Kong is another film that I can appreciate for its historical value, but not a personal favorite.

1932: Trouble in Paradise (Ernst Lubitsch)

Released: October 21, 1932

Director: Ernst Lubitsch; Screenplay: Samson Raphaelson, Grover Jones, based on the play “The Honest Finder” by Aladar Laszio; Cinematography: Victor Milner; Studio: Paramount Pictures; Producer: Ernst Lubitsch

Cast: Miriam Hopkins (Lily), Kay Francis (Mariette Colet), Herbert Marshall (Gaston Monescu), Charles Ruggles (The Major), Edward Everett Horton (François Filiba), C. Aubrey Smith (Adolph J. Giron)

- “Well, we'll have to take what's here. A bird in hand is worth two in jail.”

Many times I’ve wondered what it must have been like to have spent an afternoon at the cinema during the Depression. To have been alive during a time period where so many great movies were being released and when films were able to play such integral parts in people’s lives. In these Purple Rose of Cairo-like romanticized daydreams, I’m always watching the same kind of film. It is one that is endlessly entertaining. It is humorous without being senseless. It’s stylish without being pretentious.

In a nutshell, I’ve always been dreaming about a movie like Trouble in Paradise. It perfectly fits each of the above descriptions. When I fantasize about what it must have been like to while away an afternoon at the theater in the 1930s, I am imagining a limitless stream of charming films like this. It defines for me what that entire experience must have been like. More than that, this film is a testament to the greatness of a director that is all but forgotten by the average movie fan. I am fairly certain that the fine folks that read this blog are at least somewhat familiar with the work of Ernst Lubitsch, but it never hurts to be given a reminder. Not only does Trouble in Paradise top my list of films for 1932, it makes an incredibly strong case of topping any list concerning the entire decade.

The amazing thing about my love for this film is that I traditionally have problems connecting with the early talking comedies of this era. It’s not that I dislike them; it’s more a case of me tending to appreciate them, but at arm’s length. I like them, but until recently I would rarely fall in love with them. The rapid-fire dialogue that developed in the early/mid-30s and that would later become a hallmark of the screwball comedy is oftentimes overwhelming for me. I appreciate the witty dialog and biting one-liners, but sometimes I wish that I had the time to fully appreciate them rather than quickly preparing myself for the next one to come right on top of it. Trouble in Paradise precedes these types of films and this is precisely why it works so magnificently for me – the dialogue, really the entire film, moves with the same elegance as the aristocratic characters in the film. The quips and banter just feel so smooth.


Herbert Marshall is at his best as Gaston Monescu, a role requiring equal parts chic and sleaze. Gaston is an internationally-known thief, a man who has robbed banks in Constantinople and tourists throughout Europe. While in Venice posing as a noble baron, Gaston meets a kindred spirit and fellow crook in blond beauty Lily (Miriam Hopkins). Both are pretending to be refined upper-class travelers, but neither is fooling the other. When they meet for dinner, they slowly begin to reveal their true characters to each other through a series of sly thefts – Lily steals Gaston’s wallet, Gaston removes Lily’s pin without her noticing, Lily lifts his watch. It is an incredibly charming scene and establishes the fact that they may be master thieves, but they are also endearing.

Soon after meeting, the duo manages to lift a jewel-encrusted purse from perfume heiress Mariette Colet (Kay Francis). When the heiress responds by placing an ad and offering a large reward for the return of the purse, Gaston decides they would be better off returning it. He realizes they are likely to make more on the reward than by fencing it. In the process of returning the purse, Gaston sees the opportunity for an even bigger score. Utilizing all of his charm, Gaston is able to manipulate Mariette around her gorgeous mansion. He compliments her various artwork and décor, casing the house as he is being led on a grand tour. Mariette falls for both the compliments and Gaston. She immediately hires him as her secretary and Gaston quickly begins to assume control over her affairs and the affairs of the Colet family business. Gaston brings Lily ostensibly to work for Mariette, but in truth to help him scheme for a bigger payoff. The two plan to get as close to Mariette as possible, rip her off for $850,000, and then make a quick exit. But things become extremely complicated as Gaston himself begins to fall for Mariette. The burgeoning romance looks as if it might spoil the heist and Lily realizes she might lose her boyfriend in the process.


This is nothing more than a broad overview of the story, but there is really no need to reveal anymore. Not only is the story one that viewers are familiar with, but the storyline itself is secondary. What carries the film is both the witty dialog and the magnetic interaction between the characters. As I said earlier, the role of Gaston seems tailor-made for Herbert Marshall. In nearly any review that you read about Trouble in Paradise, you will see Marshall referred to as “charming.” Who am I to go against tradition? It’s an accurate description. There are no great histrionics from Marshall, but there is a certain cynicism in his delivery to really put the comedy over. The clean-cut, handsome Marshall makes Gaston into a believable aristocrat, while at the same time infusing enough sarcasm in his speech and actions to remind everyone that at root he is still scheming.

It is also interesting to watch the two women whose characters are competing for the heart of Gaston and who as actors are competing with each other to steal the show. For me, it’s futile to try and determine who is better, and why should I even attempt to analyze such a thing? They are two distinct characters, but appealing in separate ways. Miriam Hopkins’ Lily is forceful, never losing sight of what she is and why she and Gaston are in the Colet home. She tosses off memorable lines and hilarious threats with ease. Some of my personal favorites, that I can’t resist highlighting are:

-“ Darling, remember, you are Gaston Monescu. You are a crook. I want you as a crook. I love you as a crook. I worship you as a crook. Steal, swindle, rob. Oh, but don't become one of those useless, good-for-nothing gigolos.”
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-“Well, I'll leave you alone with that lady. But if you behave like a gentleman, I'll break your neck.”

Mariette is equally as ambitious, but Kay Francis manages to give her a more carefree air. She clearly wants to make Gaston her own, even to the point of continually overlooking whatever warnings friends give her. She is downright seductive, constantly putting Gaston in situations where he cannot resist her advances. Whereas Lily is assertive toward Gaston, with the exception of the opening dinner table scene, the repartee between Gaston and Mariette is much more playful and give and take. Francis’ career began to tail off later in the 1930s, but in this film she registers at least one truly great performance.


Even with this trio of great performances, the bulk of the praise has to go to Lubitsch. Also, it's necessary to acknowledge screenwriter Samson Raphaelson, who apparently worked closely with Lubitsch in all stages of the film, wrote the witty lines that were so brilliantly delivered. The famed “Lubitsch touch” is something that I have never been able to find a definitive definition for. But, if I were to try and pinpoint what makes Lubitsch so spectacular, it would be in his ability to craft an atmosphere of seduction. Sex appeal emanates from every close encounter in the love triangle. He does it in such innovative ways, that it is infinitely more fascinating than if he had been graphic. It is seemingly simple methods like instead of showing Gaston and Mariette hugging, to show the embracing couple casting shadows onto the nearby bed. Or his filming of a clock, measuring how the couple takes a simple dinner and manage to stretch the night even further – the hands on the clock continue to advance, as the couple giggle and flirt well into the next morning. Or the previously mentioned dinner table scene between Gaston and Lily, where they are clearly getting increasingly turned on with each successive theft.

Really, even after my gushing over this film, I have to admit that it’s difficult to put the greatness into words. I don’t know if I am anywhere near doing justice to the sensual atmosphere that Lubitsch was able to create. This is a film that has to be seen and fully experienced. Only after witnessing the culmination of each brilliant element of the film – writing, directing, and acting – coming together so splendidly can you truly appreciate how great it is.

Having only recently watched it for the first time, Trouble in Paradise is the best “discovery” that I’ve made in quite some time. And it has profoundly impacted my movie-watching ever since. It reminded what was originally so appealing about movies – entertainment. Sometimes I (and I assume many other cineastes as well) get so swept up in analyzing and interpreting films that I lose sight of the fact that there is nothing wrong with a movie just being downright fun. Trouble in Paradise proves this and it is the most fun I’ve had with a film in a long time. Dare I say the best comedy ever made?

Rating: 10/10

Other Contenders for 1932: This was an outstanding year, and while none of the other films approach Trouble in Paradise for me, there are still a number of movies that I can understand someone else picking as their favorite. While I don’t rate quite as high as others, Howard Hawks’ Scarface: The Shame of a Nation is very good and many consider it the best of the classic gangster films. Paul Muni is great as Tony Camonte and equally as good as the wrongfully-convicted James Allen in I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang. I’ve always had a soft spot for Irving Pichel’s short thriller The Most Dangerous Game. Laurel and Hardy are entertaining in The Music Box. Dietrich and von Sternberg have another successful collaboration in Shanghai Express. A lot of wonderful films to cover in 1932, but I still maintain they are towered over by Trouble in Paradise.