Director: Lowell Sherman
An unusual influence in Hollywood during the early 1930s as the rare actor/director, Lowell Sherman is a curiosity who plays a bit like a thrift store Lubitsch. In Bachelor Apartment, he plays a playboy who, as playboys are wont to do, finds himself seduced by a woman who begins to make him consider settling down for the first time. Miscast as Sherman is, the film nonetheless has the good fortune of co-starring Irene Dunne in one of her earliest films. She’s believably cast as the no-nonsense stenographer who isn’t exactly willing to compromise despite her growing interest in Sherman. There are some enticing pre-Code plays with sexuality throughout and Sherman nicely handles a handful of comic scenes. Most interesting is a frequent play of characters in their own spaces–Sherman flirts with a woman from one car window to another, a neighbor woman frequently leans out of her window to check the weather. There’s a sense that people are confined to their own comfortable surroundings throughout, meaning that Sherman’s transition from playboy to romantic has the antithetical feel of being liberating.
Director: Lowell Sherman
It was some miracle that She Done Him Wrong came to be. Mae West, the famous (or infamous) star of Broadway, did not seem like she’d make an easy transition to Hollywood, which even in the relatively liberal pre-Code era was often producing puritanical entertainments. But famously West was able to rework her controversial hit Diamond Lil into She Done Him Wrong for Paramount Pictures, shifting fortunes and upping the morale of a studio verging on bankruptcy. It’s easy to see the appeal of the film–it revels in the dinginess of the after-hours, involving a grocery list of sins and the shockingly blunt West forgoing subtlety altogether for a celebration of sexuality. Despite its historical importance, however, reading a few of West’s choice quips is about as memorable as the picture. It’s a mess of cobbled together ideas, loosely tied together in a half-baked, confusing plot. Charles Lang’s visuals offer the expected pleasures–the way he photographs beer is just as pornographic as any of West’s innuendos–but ultimately West’s schtick doesn’t permeate beyond the surface pleasures without a satisfying context.
Director: Lowell Sherman
In 1931, two plays by Robert E. Sherwood would be adapted for Hollywood screens: The Queen’s Husband (retitled The Royal Bed for the filmed adaptation) and Waterloo Bridge. While the latter is a masterpiece of the era, with haunting, sophisticated visuals and an unforgettable performance by Mae Clarke, the former is largely a dud, save for the costuming and the presence of scene-stealing Mary Astor. Director Lowell Sherman plays King Eric VIII, a carefree monarch who would rather play board games than deal with politics–a problem if there ever was one in a time when his court is threatened by revolutionaries and an ambitious general (Robert Warwick) seeks to overthrow his rule. His interest is much more focused on the romantic tribulations of his beloved daughter (Astor), who wishes to marry a man of low class (Anthony Bushell) while her mother (Nance O’Neill) insists on a political union to a dull prince (Hugh Trevor). Sherman has his moments here and there as a performer–the role is an affable one, with King Eric being quite the pacifist and, if anything, too gentle to be in a position of power. As a director, however, he is largely a dud. Most everything is shot in long-takes and very rarely does the scale move beyond a medium or long shot, attributing to a dreary sense of staginess. The only thing of visual interest are the costumes, particularly those given to Astor–one very masculine riding outfit is a spectacular fit, predicting the androgynous beauty of Dietrich’s iconic suit in Blonde Venus.
Director: Lowell Sherman
Although she was only 21-years-old when she made Born to Be Bad in 1934, Loretta Young had already appeared in a total of 48 pictures. Her career began at the age of 4 when she starred in the uncredited role of a fairy in The Primrose Ring, and she would work regularly until the 1960s, during which time she worked with virtually every important leading man of Hollywood’s golden age. In this pre-Code melodrama, she was cast against type as an immoral woman who is as deceitful as she is seductive. Her one weakness is her love for her son – a rambunctious boy who, despite the genuine affection given to him by his mother, is clearly lacking guidance in his life. The man who crosses her path and falls for her is played by a very young, heavily made-up Cary Grant. Having only two years in the business at this point, he doesn’t quite seem comfortable with himself – considering the career to come, it is a surprise to discover just how unsexy and charmless he was in his earliest roles. Young doesn’t have the sass or resolve as someone like Joan Blondell in similar parts, but she certainly looks gorgeous and is well-dressed by costume designer Gwen Wakeling. The picture was released just six weeks before the pre-Code era would come to an end, but despite being made in a comparatively liberated time in Hollywood history, Darryl Zanuck was forced to reshoot and make cuts, most notably having to exclude several scenes of Young in her underwear.
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