Showing posts with label Louise Brooks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Louise Brooks. Show all posts

11.27.2015

Die schleiertänzerin.






I had hoped to have a post ready for Edith Meinhard's birthday last Sunday, but family and work obligations put things on hold. New information is as scarce as ever, but I do have scans from a recently-acquired film program for Die Schleiertänzerin. The film was released in 1929, shortly after Tagebuch einer Verlorenen (Diary of a Lost Girl), and sadly is presumed lost.



The program is quite weathered and worse for wear, but it's another way to highlight the importance of preserving films and film ephemera regardless of condition. If there's sufficient interest I can and will continue to upload scans of film programs and other memorabilia. Why keep it to myself? It belongs to anyone and everyone. I'm thankful for film databases and social media groups that unite fans (and even industry professionals) and promote a continued interest in film history and the people who built it.

Also of interest, there is a new cut of Diary available from Kino. The print is crisp, clear, and luminous; Louise Brooks and Edith are both at their best. Thomas Gladysz of the Louise Brooks Society provides commentary on this edition, which includes the bonus short Windy Riley Goes Hollywood (Brooks speaks!).

More to come...

10.25.2014

Some Saturday Follies.

Having taken an extra long weekend to burn up a glut of vacation days from work, I've finally had a chance to scan some of my vintage ephemera. I wanted to share a collection of photos of Anastasia Reilly, dancer with the Ziegfeld Follies and pal of Louise Brooks, who spoke glowingly of Reilly; leaving show business behind, she married Theodore Buhl (nephew of Flo Ziegfeld) in 1927 and moved to Grosse Pointe, Michigan where she was an editor of the local paper. She sadly succumbed to cancer in 1961 but left behind tales of a colorful life.

"Stasia", as she was affectionately known, age 16.

In Brooklyn, her stomping grounds.

With mother Hattie in Atlantic City.





With Paulette Goddard in the Follies era. According to handwritten notes on the reverse, "Stasia always said she (Paulette) had lousy legs!"


In riding gear. Stasia was incredibly fond of animals and had a cattery on her own property.
 

I've saved the best for last...you'll recognize who's writing the ticket:

Follies wheeling around in 1925. Stasia's own notes are on the back: "Gag shot taken at Ethel Shutta's house- where we spent a weekend. The "cop" next to the car is Louise Brooks- my pal- who married Eddie Sutherland."


3.20.2012

Warner Brothers' "Gift" to the masses?

At 6:15 yesterday morning, TCM aired the rarely-shown God's Gift to Women, a 1931 Frank Fay vehicle meant to showcase his appeal as a ladies' man. Whether this was done in seriousness or as a farce is difficult to discern, though I'd bet on the latter. Despite Warner Brothers' efforts to prime Fay as one of the biggest stars of the early '30s, Gift would signal the beginning of a downward slide. More on that in a bit...

Fade in to Paris, home to the Arc de Triomphe, the swanky Club Perroquet, and our leading man, an alleged descendant of Don Juan whose name is...Toto. [Cue the groans.] Numerous tables are passed along and set up in preparation for his arrival, anticipating accompaniment by several glamorous women. Most notable in the fracas is a bangless Louise Brooks, delightful as ever in spite of a thankless tenth billing. She enters the film with a sly turn over her shoulder, but is nearly smothered out of the frame by the arrival of Toto (Fay), Fifi (Joan Blondell), and the Sisters G. Perturbed by all of the ruckus is John Churchill (Charles Winninger), the standard curmudgeon, a disapproving father who "would rather have an alley in Rochester than all of the streets in Paris". [Whether he is referring to my home city or a different Rochester is up in the air.] In stark contrast, his daughter Diane (Laura La Plante) adores the Parisian nightlife. She spots Toto across the room, working his legendary charm all around the table, and she affirms that she's aware of his ways; she says that they're what "makes him interesting". Eventually, she catches his eye in return. He is dazzled, she is skeptical, but has a glimmer in her eye suggesting that she's ready and willing to challenge whatever doe-eyed hooey he sets forth. A game she is intent upon winning.

The music swells, and Diane, after some hesitation, takes to the dance floor, and Toto takes notice. He's "lost his heart again", according to Fifi. He sends a friend to make her acquaintance and dance with her, but when she refuses to meet him, he has one of the waiters turn off the lights briefly, with just enough time for Toto to switch places with his friend. Diane is by turns shocked, then pleased, but feigns disgust as a ruse. Toto takes the bait. He pursues her on the street the next day (presumably), and ends up bringing her to his home, albeit after getting his hand caught in her car door. He hints at marriage as she nurses him back to health, but she plays it coy. She softens to his advances during a charming tea-reading scene, but always keeps her wits about her. [Laura La Plante is a surprise saving grace in this film, her Midwestern roots shining through with every warm smile. I'm curious to see more of her work.]

Toto has a change of heart about his old ways, but his old ways won't leave him behind. He continues to be swarmed by women, if always by surprise. Diane, not entirely convinced of this turnaround, keeps herself out of the picture for the time being. Meanwhile, a preeminent doctor pays Toto a visit, but leaves him with a grim diagnosis. He is to experience no excitement of any kind; no parties, no women, zilch. One kiss could be fatal. The women learn the news, but are ignorant of the doctor's warning. One by one, they decide to sneak into his home and "nurse" him in their own special ways. Brooks, as Florine, gets the most screen time here, and with actual lines to boot. Ultimately, Fifi and Florine run into each other, and once Dagmar (Yola d'Avril) discovers them, a catfight breaks out. Seeing Toto in agony, trying to keep his heart rate down, the women remember their mission and turn to console him. An angry husband storms in and scares the women away. The doctor, in disbelief, offers to give Toto a second chance, but maintains his warning. Deciding that he wants to spend one last evening with Diane, he even goes so far as to pick out his own coffin, sure that he will indeed expire after they kiss. As luck would have it, he survives. Though it isn't so much due to luck after all...the doctor's "diagnosis" was another careful ruse on Diane's part, a test of Toto's faithfulness. The "funeral" is swiftly transformed into a wedding, and we get our happy ending.

Having read some IMDB reviews long before viewing the film, I was prepared to hate it. It wasn't terribly successful at the time of its release, even after a considerable makeover. The film was originally slated to be a musical, with songs performed by Frank Fay and the Sisters G. Fearing backlash against yet another musical film, the scenes were cut; the full film remained intact when screened in other countries, but it is currently unknown if any copies survive. While it's far from a classic, it isn't too bad. The writing is uneven but manages to get in a few zingers amidst some eye-rollers. Fay is tolerable, though I can understand why this was his final Warner Brothers picture. He was falling out of favor in Hollywood, just as his wife was on the rise: the beloved Barbara Stanwyck. Coupled with personal problems, his star would never burn brightly again. La Plante was perfectly natural and charming, a real pleasure to watch. Brooks, sadly, was largely background fodder. During the nightclub scene, she was seated in close proximity to one of the Sisters G, who sported the infamous glossy "black helmet" of Brooks' heyday. Another connection was with costar Margaret Livingston, who was Brooks' dubbed voice and body double in The Canary Murder Case after Brooks quit Paramount and defected to Europe. Her voice, rumored to not record well, sounds perfectly smooth and musical. Had Hollywood given her better opportunities, and had she not despised the cutthroat studio system (though I'm thankful that she did, honestly), she could have excelled in comedy roles. She was a fine actor opposite W.C. Fields in It's the Old Army Game, so it certainly could have been done. Despite not being given much to do, she is surely one of the few reasons anyone chooses to see this film. There are worse ways to spend an hour plus, but there are better films to see, particularly if you seek an effervescent Brook(s).

9.01.2010

Playing with words.

"Imitation is the highest form of flattery."

I'm inclined to believe that Louise Brooks wouldn't necessarily agree, particularly where the work of Lee Israel is concerned. Israel has become the focus of my attention due to a recent eBay listing, featuring a letter that is purported to be of Brooks' authorship; having skimmed the text and compared the signature to other samples of Louise's handwriting, the letter sadly does not ring true to me. Whether or not it is in fact a true Brooks letter, I cannot say for certain (I would still believe that it is not); however, this issue brought Lee Israel back to my attention. Israel, a one-time biographer who, having fallen upon hard times, took to writing forged letters from the likes of Noel Coward, Lillian Hellman, and Dorothy Parker, made Brooks one of her earliest targets. She often sourced biographical material for her forgeries (including personal letters), though it seems that the Brooks letters were mostly comprised of Louise's own words, which Israel shuffled around and embellished ever so slightly. As she became more self-assured in her work, she took greater creative liberties, which ultimately caused her undoing. Israel decided to come clean with a memoir, Can You Ever Forgive Me?, which was published in 2008. I have yet to read the book myself, but I'll make it a point to do so, as I'd like to wrap my head around this woman and her work; though her intentions were dubious, there is little doubt that she is quite skilled with the English language. One last item of note: as the letters she authored were "from the realm of the dead", the deceased were thereby incapable of defending themselves or setting things right. The notion of "cheating the dead" would make me feel glum, but I take comfort as I imagine that somewhere, anywhere and everywhere, "St. Louise is listening."

6.11.2010

An evening at the Dryden Theatre with Ira Resnick...and Brooksie.

What a whirlwind of a Friday, particularly in the realm of all things Louise Brooks. I went out to Holy Sepulchre this morning to pay my respects (though it always takes me a while to actually find her grave...the written directions are no good when you've gotten yourself spun around so that you can't tell left from right), as I like to do from time to time. Bright sunshine and a gentle breeze made for ideal conditions, and her gravestone was flanked with lovely pink flowers, including snapdragons, a personal favorite of mine. It may seem strange to some, but I truly enjoy going to visit her. It gives me a feeling of ease and comfort beyond compare, and I could only hope that it would do the same for her. I'd like to believe that her spirit is still in Rochester, silly as that may be, but it's a thought that keeps me light.

On to the evening: there was a steady crowd in wait at the Dryden Theatre, anticipating the screening of The Canary Murder Case; the film was preceded by a discussion with Ira Resnick, author of Starstruck: Vintage Movie Posters from Classic Hollywood. Resnick, who has been collecting memorabilia since the late '60s, has invested a great deal of time and money into his collection, though a few of his pieces were acquired for as low as $35 each. As he showcased some of his personal favorites, I reflected on an interview he gave the day before on WXXI radio, and I came to realize that movie poster design is truly a lost art. Resnick voiced his disappointment (on both occasions) with MGM's promotion, citing that they placed the stars and names above all else, including the film's content. Many modern films do much the same; they seek to sell names and pretty faces, when technology and special effects are absent, and that is precisely where promotion ends. The variety of designs, techniques, and styles employed throughout Resnick's collection is astonishing, and it certainly tugs at the heartstrings. Where has the artistry gone, in the movies themselves and in their advertising? I have only owned the book for a few hours, so I have yet to fully explore and digest its contents, but I am greatly looking forward to the opportunity. (On a side note, as I was exploring the museum shop before the showing, I noticed that they are now reprinting T-shirts with Louise's iconic pearl necklace image from the Richee photo session...which I had spent years wishing for and had only come across on eBay several months before. Tempted to buy a second shirt, but only because I am certifiably nuts when it comes to such matters.)

As for the film itself, it was an enjoyable, somewhat lighthearted and campy mystery. Knowing beforehand that Louise's voice was going to be dubbed over, I had set myself up for some disappointment, and to be honest, the film took its time in building steam. It seems that the first portion of the film consisted largely of salvaged material from having been shot as a silent feature, evident in the uncomfortably long pauses between (sometimes poorly) dubbed dialogue. The editing also showcased some weaknesses in the decision to create a "part-talker", particularly with Louise's scenes. Margaret Livingston (wife of famed bandleader Paul Whiteman) not only dubbed Louise's voice, but acted as a stand-in when necessary, and this was very apparent in scenes shot from the rear or side views. The hairline was distinctly different, as was her movement...however, there was one scene where the "Canary" approached her apartment door, shot from the rear, and I could tell that it was in fact Louise. Her movement is so graceful and distinctive that it cannot be missed, and G.W. Pabst was (in my humble opinion) the only director to fully appreciate and utilize her dancing background. While I am quite familiar with Louise at this point, I wanted to get to know William Powell, whose Philo Vance largely kept this film afloat with his unique suaveness, sleek intelligence, and hushed charm; Powell is an actor I'd definitely like to see more often, and if it were possible, I'd wish to chat over a drink. The supporting cast's performances were often comical, whether intentional or not, but that made the experience, with crowd and all, that much more fun.


I know now that I want to attend screenings at the Dryden on a fairly regular basis, taking in a wide variety of films, though silents will continue to be a soft spot. Just as I was a late bloomer to music, so it is with the movies. Signed book in hand, looking up at the clear night sky, I couldn't have felt more alive and full of joy, having realized just what my new mission in life must be. Call me starstruck.