Director: Mitchell Leisen
Director Mitchell Leisen first came to Hollywood as an art director and costume designer, a fact that can often be seen in his opulent productions which showcase the glamorous art deco sets and elegant gowns that Paramount became known for. He also had a distinct outsider’s perspective–many of his films involve those on the outside looking in, from Carole Lombard’s aspiring gold-digger in Hands Across the Table to Barbara Stanwyck’s shoplifter with a heart of gold in Remember the Night. Midnight, then, feels like a quintessential Leisen picture, one with both a plain but decidedly chic aesthetic and driven by the relationships between characters from conflicting worlds. One can’t underestimate the screenplay of Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder, which might not be as politically poignant as other comedies of the time but shows a remarkable understanding of how relationships in screwball comedies work. The picture turns into a frantic game of one-upmanship, where the goal of each member of the central couple (Claudette Colbert and Don Ameche) is to dig themselves out of the hole their partner has put them in. This conceit both capitalizes on the romantic sparring that occupies these pictures and suggests how romance is formed and strengthened through the chaos of such comedies.
Filed under: Reviews | Tags: 1938, mitchell leisen, the big broadcast of 1938
Director: Mitchell Leisen
The last in Paramount’s series of Big Broadcast revue films, The Big Broadcast of 1938 marks the passing of a generation as W.C. Fields, in his last film for Paramount, shares the screen with an appealing newcomer named Bob Hope. Although the film boasts the least impressive line-up of entertainers in the series (including forgotten names like Tito Guízar and Shep Fields), both Fields and Hope are utilized to their strengths and deliver strong work. Fields was nearing the end of his career, consumed by alcoholism and reportedly an unpleasant man to work with, but he is used sparingly enough that his scenes generate big laughs without wearing their welcome. An early sequence on a golf course is filled with terrific sight gags, including a moment in which Fields beats his own the ball to the hole on a particularly fast scooter. Hope’s performance is well-remembered for debuting the song that he would become known for: “Thanks for the Memory.” Far from just a trivia fact, the scene in which he sings it with Shirley Ross is genuinely touching–Hope’s remarkable strengths as a sentimentalist are too often overshadowed by his penchant for cornball humor. Finally, this last installment of the series is the most visually appealing, with the cinematography credited to Harry Fischbeck (although one can’t overlook the influence of director Mitchell Leisen). A climactic number about the permanence of the waltz is beautifully handled, filmed with striking, deep compositions.
Filed under: Reviews | Tags: 1936, mitchell leisen, the big broadcast of 1937
Director: Mitchell Leisen
Jack Benny fills the roll of the manager of a troubled radio station in The Big Broadcast of 1937, the third in a series of Big Broadcast films. To appease his advertisers (played by George Burns and Gracie Allen), Benny hires an egomaniac singer (Frank Forest), who demands that Benny employ a small-town radio ingenue (Shirley Ross) in order to keep her from speaking ill of his talents on air. Ross, who ascends from local personality to mainstream celebrity, is the focus of much of the film, with her will-they-won’t-they relationship with Ray Milland creating the bulk of the conflict. For a revue, The Big Broadcast of 1937 often gets bogged down in the half-baked romantic subplot–neither Ross nor Milland are given convincing characters, and as such their love affair is dead in the water. The musical performances aren’t enough to redeem the blandness, lacking the variety of the previous installment in the series. Benny Goodman has an enjoyable number, but Leopold Stokowski conducts Bach’s “Fugue in G minor” with Leisen’s unusual directorial choice of focusing primarily on the composer and treating the musicians like afterthoughts. Benny, Burns, and Allen are all capable of much more then they’re given.
Director: Mitchell Leisen
When Carole Lombard and Fred MacMurray were paired for the first of their four collaborations in Hands Across the Table in 1935, both Lombard and director Mitchell Leisen gave MacMurray a hard time for being a shy, green performer, and the two worked diligently to get a good performance out of him. Only two years later does he seem completely at ease with both collaborators in Swing High, Swing Low, a dual genre picture that begins as a screwball comedy and evolves into a romantic melodrama. His part as a musician was not a stretch being an experienced saxophone player (here he plays a trumpeter), and his fall from grace is handled with great commitment, even if it’s of the familiar, five-o’clock shadow variety. The picture’s greatest achievement is the liveliness of the Panamanian night club–for a romance, there are few moments of actual physical intimacy, rather scenes in which the lovers get lost in each other amidst a large, raucous crowd. Cinematographer Ted Tetzlaff contributes his usual excellent work, including the meet cute in which the players are talking as Lombard’s boat is lowered. Their shifting planes predicts the distance that will grow between them due to MacMurray’s alcoholism. It’s an effective clue to the melodrama to come, even as the tone at the time is decidedly screwball.
Director: Mitchell Leisen
In the opening moments of Hands Across the Table, an exasperated Carole Lombard steps off of a train on a crowded platform. Shortly thereafter, her eye catches a diamond ring in a jewelry store window–an unambiguous desire if there ever was one! Lombard’s star persona brought the cynicism and sexiness that one might expect of a gold digger, but she brings an unexpected insecurity to the part that many actresses of the period wouldn’t be able to convey. In her first meeting with Fred MacMurray (whom she has selected as bait), she awkwardly stabs his cuticles several times during a manicure and can’t seem to spit out a well-thought sentence. She’s nervous because the stakes are clear–he’s her ticket out of a lifestyle that she’s grown tired of. Director Mitchell Leisen and cinematographer Ted Tetzlaff contribute a wonderful tone that balances the playfulness of a screwball comedy with subtler, more melancholic notes. This is a romance between two characters who refer to themselves as heels, and as such neither of them feels as though they really deserve the happy ending. Ralph Bellamy has a small but hugely sympathetic performance. He’s the typical “other man”, but his chemistry is so believable with Lombard that one roots for him almost immediately, even after MacMurray has been introduced.
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