Director: Lew Landers
RKO’s programmer take on the runaway heiress meets newspaperman plot is They Wanted to Marry, a nicely innocent but altogether forgettable screwball comedy. The lovers are played by Gordon Jones and Betty Furness, the former of whom is actually not a writer, but a photographer—a trade which comes to cause problems for Furness and her family. Typically in a romantic comedy from the era, the woman must give up her ambition and make sacrifices in order to please the man, but in this case the roles are reversed. Furness, good as the “other woman” in similar genre picture like Swing Time, doesn’t quite have the edge to pull off the part, and unfortunately the dialogue she’s given doesn’t do much to help her cause (including such gems as,“I know a good seven-letter word for goodbye: GOODBYE!”). The misunderstanding that pulls them apart momentarily is not particularly convincing, nor are many of the overwritten turns—in one case, Jones goes to hand in his notice at work only to receive a raise, and despite the hiccup the script has him quit only two minutes later. Regardless, the stakes are low but the romance is a pleasant slice of escapism, moving at an amiable clip and photographed in terrific art deco sets borrowed from bigger budgeted pictures.
Director: Lew Landers
Early on in Condemned Women, it is suggested that conditions for women’s penitentiaries need to change. That is, what might have been suitable for a woman one hundred years ago is no longer suitable now. It’s a thoughtful, progressive line about evolving gender expectations in a film that is otherwise without much of interest to say. Much of what follows is familiar of a standard prison drama of the early thirties, seeking to shed light on down-on-their-luck prisoners who have roles yet to play in society. The attempt to make the audience empathize with the prisoners is no better displayed than with the casting of Anne Shirley (who excelled at playing naive, waifish roles) as a young woman who has taken the rap for her boyfriend. Star Sally Eilers takes a different approach as a rather cold, distant presence–one wonders what Barbara Stanwyck, who was originally pegged for the film, could have brought to the role. As dull as the first couple of acts are, the late prison riot is visually sumptuous, with the great cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca utilizing heavy shadows and billowing smoke to create a chaotic, disorienting mood. There’s a brilliant shot in which one of the heroines lies dead and the bird’s eye camera tilts from one body to another to find her from above. It’s an artfully choreographed moment, involved in the sort of visually sophistication that Musuraca brought to his collaborations with producer Val Lewton.
Director: Lew Landers
The circus setting in many classic Hollywood films is presented nostalgically, an earnest tribute to a waning lifestyle. The acrobats, barkers, freaks, and everything in-between are a loyal bunch who wholly dedicate themselves to the show… but, naturally, the law butts its ugly head into the picture and threatens to close everything down. Lee Tracy is well cast as the fixer of one of these circuses–he’s the one in charge of public relations, a needed task when you’re running a fairly shifty operation. His stardom had fallen considerably by the late 1930s and his wisecracks didn’t come quite as fast as they used to, but Peggy Shannon is a good compliment to his familiar performance as the smart-ass. The plot involves the orphaned daughter (Virginia Weidler) of a deceased trapeze artist (a terrifically morose Rita La Roy) who is looked after by Tracy and Shannon. As with many films concerning orphans, the child is taken from the loving makeshift foster parents who spend the rest of the picture seeking to prove their worth as caretakers. Endearing as the behind-the-scenes look at the circus is (director Lew Landers capably presents a dynamic portrait of circus life), the oft-treaded melodramatic ground grows tiresome by the end.
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