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I've been having fun lately finding props and outfits that were used in more than one movie. Today milesadrift has a great example on her tumblr blog:
Above, Lucy, Desi, and a teeny tiny James Mason in "Forever, Darling" (1956). Apparently, Lucy got to keep some of her wardrobe from the film:
It's the same dress, only instead of the Auntie Mame-style coat dress worn over slacks, it's been shortened and the skirt sewn together. Neat.
Early in the movie "A Mighty Wind", there is a montage of archival folk musician footage combined with fake archival footage of the fake folk bands in the film. One of the real snippets of footage, just after 1 minute into the film, shows a couple of young guys playing banjos. It appears to be the late 1950s or early 1960s:
Is it me, or does the guy in the middle look like Steve Martin? It's so hard to tell from a screencap, it looks even more like him in the actual footage. It's the right time frame for it to be Martin, too. I can't upload the film online, but if you have "A Mighty Wind" on DVD you might want to check it out.
I don't know what to make of it. It's as weird as Albert Finney in drag for a brief moment in "Miller's Crossing", something that as far as I know was never explained.
Okay, it's not that weird. But I would swear that's a young Steve Martin.
Just moments ago I finished watching "JCVD". I'm still stunned. It was so amazing, and of course I haven't the words to describe it, because I never do. You know I love films, you know I watch and enjoy a ton of movies, but only rarely do I watch a film that affects me as much as "JCVD" did. It's one of those films where, after watching it, I can't imagine living my life without the memory of this movie affecting my entire worldview. "JCVD" is part of my memory, my consciousness, and everything is the better for it. How do I explain this feeling to those who don't react to films in the same way I do? I can't explain it fully. But I don't need to.
That damnable film genre -- 1920s stage plays made into early 1930s movies -- is stalking me again, this time in the form of a film THAT NEVER WAS A PLAY. Well, not until Grahame Greene's 1970s version. But I still recognize the genre when I see it, even if it's in disguise. You bet I do.
"Raffles", the 1930 movie starring Ronald Colman and Kay Francis, isn't all that bad. It's pretty predictable though and some of the supporting cast -- including David Torrence, older brother of Ernest Torrence -- is really awful. I can't believe David Torrence's Scots accent was genuine, it was so completely awful. And both of the Torrence brothers freak me the fuck out. I hate seeing them, they scare me. It's not rational, but there you have it.
The best part of "Raffles" are the few really good sets, designed by my boyfriend William Cameron Menzies and filmed by my other boyfriend, Greg Toland. Just look at this set. Look at that font in the sign at top. Look at those curtains. That floor! It was hard to see in this screencap (my caps aren't very sharp nowadays, since I don't have Beloved Lappy right now) but that door is a lovely art deco iron-and-glass design.
Colman and Francis were, of course, ridiculously glamorous and lovely and fun to watch. Alison Skipworth, as the large and elderly Lady Kitty, was in the tightest gown I've ever seen. If she'd just had a bra it would have been better, but as Pauline Weston Thomas notes:
Big busted girls turned to bandaging their breasts flat, but many adopted the Symington Side Lacer, a bra that could be laced at both sides and pulled and pulled in to flatten the chest.
None of the bras gave much shape, but few ladies were seeking anything more than stopping the bust from wobbling...
Which is clearly what was going on here. Very disconcerting. I don't know why I think about these things when I watch movies, but I do.
I've been on a movie kick lately, because my beloved laptop has gone tits up and there's nothing else to do in the living room except watch movies. And when I say "movie kick", I mean more than the normal 20-odd movies I watch per month. The problem, though, is that I've recorded a bunch of movies that suck on toast. 
Well, let me back up: I haven't watched the entire movie in most cases, so the film may actually not suck on toast. It may be brilliant. Perhaps these films include giant mechanical spiders, which automatically elevate any boring old movie to genius level. That was Orson Welles' big secret, you know. Giant mechanical spiders. They always stole the scene from Joseph Cotten, which is why he eventually went mad and invented Cherry Garcia ice cream. But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.These are the films I've recently been unable to finish, some because they might, perhaps, just maybe, suck out loud:
1. Danger Lights (1930) - I should have known that this was going to blow when I saw in the opening credits that Hugh "Captain Mumblypants" Herbert was the fucking dialogue director for this film. Come on, people. Hugh Herbert? The mumblemumbleWOOWOO guy? I actually wrote down a couple of things Alan Roscoe said in this film, which I think you'll enjoy: "Whine on you mumpus menargh!" and "What is the shoe doo, bupuko bakah?" Great job directing the dialogue, Hugh! Alan Roscoe doesn't sound like he's speaking in tongues at all.
Of course, I turned up the volume, as people are wont to do when they can't hear shit. Too bad that every spare moment between lines of dialogue was packed to the gills with train sounds. Loud, stroke-inducing, teeth-grinding, pillow-punching train sounds. I gave up after 25 minutes. Maybe you will, too: the movie is here on archive.org.
2. Within Our Gates (1920) - I only stopped watching because my ding dang DVD got full and didn't record the last half. Very disappointing.
3. Love In the Rough (1930) - I recorded an epic buttload of Robert Montgomery movies a few months ago, and found nearly all intolerable. Of the three films I tried to watch, this was the worst. "Their Own Desire" (1929) was decent enough, despite the fact that the film is not 100% Norma Shearer free, and I made it through that one in its entirety. The next film was "The Easiest Way" (1931), which I'd seen a long time ago and liked quite a bit. The 3rd film, though, was "Love in the Rough", one of those snooze-inducing late-20s stage plays with a ridiculous premise and a sidekick that's supposed to be funny but is really annoying. Like, pluck your eyes out and stuff them in your ears kinds of annoying.
4. Guilty Hands (1931) - I finished this one by judicious use of the fast forward button, stopping only for the luscious Kay Francis. I won't tell you what the super secret trick ending was, but for whatever reason, I saw it coming a mile away. Even though it was stupid. So stupid I yelled at Lionel Barrymore, "Why you so stupid, Stupid?" But he flipped me off and made "The Devil-Doll" just to make me cry. Bastard.
5. Menace (1934) - Okay, this is kind of funny. A friend of mine let me "borrow" some movies, one of which was supposed to be "The Menace" (1932). Instead he sent me "Menace" (1934), which is another one of those early stage-to-film murder mysteries, a genre I had just sworn off of for a little while. I'm being stalked by an entire film genre! It's not a bad movie, really, but I've seen so many that I always know what's going to happen, even when the movie allegedly has a ton of twists and turns. It's my keen mind. No, for serious, I should have been all like a detective and shit.
"Menace" starred Gertrude Michael, pictured here in lovely art deco glory.
Note that neither "Within Our Gates" nor Gertrude Michael were given toasts. There is a reason for this, but it's very cryptic and complicated and, quite frankly, you'd never understand it.
I discovered today that my kitteh Petey's favorite movie is "The Lady in the Lake" (1946). He usually never pays attention to the TV, but he couldn't stop staring at the movie today, especially when Audrey Totter was on screen. He even ran up to the TV to try to catch her when her bracelet shone particularly brightly.
Audrey Totter is friend to kittehs everywhere!
I officially give up on 1960s sex comedies. Enough is enough.
"Boeing Boeing" (1965), also known as "Boeing (707) Boeing (707)", is a sex comedy starring Tony Curtis and Jerry Lewis.
Curtis plays Bernard, a reporter in Paris who has an apartment he shares with 3 female flight attendants. None of these women know anything about each other; they're all lead to believe this is their permanent home and that Bernard is their fiance. He makes sure they're all away at the appropriate times by keeping strict control of their schedules and noting the times when they're away on their respective flight schedules.
This is skeevy enough, but his maid Bertha (Thelma Ritter doing the same damn role she did in every movie she made) helps him in his scheme. She changes out the ladies' underwear so the German woman doesn't accidentally find the French woman's bras, changes the photo in the living room to the appropriate girlfriend, stuff like that. Even takes the blame when something suspicious happens so that the girlfriends hate her and think she's the cause of all the weird goings-on. Bertha's ire is almost always directed at the women, too, while she's just moderately frustrated with Bernard.
Not skeevy enough? Good, there's more! Bernard's acquaintance Robert (Jerry Lewis) arrives and decides he likes the set-up so much he's going to steal it from him. Not just the apartment, but the three girlfriends and even Bertha, who he lies to in an extended scene where he tries to woo her away from Bernard.
When I said aloud that this was incredibly skeevy, my husband noted that this wasn't just skeeve, it was a case of "skeeve vs counterskeeve".
Basically, it's yet another 60s sex comedy where women are things. They are rarely referred to by their names, instead referred to by the airline they work for; the German woman is called "Lufthansa", the English woman "British United", etc. They're credited this way on the IMDb.
In the opening credits the actresses' measurements (i.e. 36-24-36) are listed under their real names, with no mention of the characters. So it's not just that the characters are objectified, the actresses themselves are turned into nothing more than objects valued based on the size of their breasts and buttocks.
The best part was when Bertha, told to keep girlfriend Lise away from the other two girlfriends, drugged her with so much sleeping potion she really thought she'd killed her. Ha ha! The fun we have!
The film isn't even funny, so you can't make the argument that objectification is all in fun. There aren't many jokes, it's all Scooby Doo-like hijinks with the running around airports and the hiding women in rooms and the hey. Curtis has all the charisma of soggy cardboard and the comedic talent of dry oats. Thelma Ritter... god, don't talk to me about Thelma Ritter. The most annoying actress on the planet. All she does is play the goofy maid, or sometimes a mom who pretends to be a maid. That she was nominated for an Oscar 6 damn times for playing the same role says as much about the Oscars as it does about her.
Jerry Lewis is wonderful and is sadly, sorely, terribly wasted in this film. The female leads are played as stereotypes, given bad wigs and stilted dialogue, and are all as wasted in their roles as Lewis was. Susanna Leigh's role in "The Deadly Bees" was a lot better than her role here, as was her performance. Go watch "The Deadly Bees" and leave "Boeing Boeing" alone.
As to this genre of movie? Enough. There are so many good movies to watch and, as the cliche says, so little time. I've given the 1960s sex comedy enough of a chance that I'm confident that it will not be a mistake if I avoid it for the rest of my life.
Jacques Rivette is quoted about "Titanic" and Kate Winslet:the actress is awful, unwatchable, the most slovenly girl to appear on the screen in a long, long time. That's why it's been such a success with young girls, especially inhibited, slightly plump American girls who see the film over and over as if they were on a pilgrimage: they recognize themselves in her, and dream of falling into the arms of the gorgeous Leonardo.
Yes, this man:
said this actress:
was "slovenly".
I don't even like "Titanic", but come on, Jacques.
The rest of the interview is here, and there are some real gems in there. As Madeline Kahn would say, "What a nice guy."
Well, let me back up: I haven't watched the entire movie in most cases, so the film may actually not suck on toast. It may be brilliant. Perhaps these films include giant mechanical spiders, which automatically elevate any boring old movie to genius level. That was Orson Welles' big secret, you know. Giant mechanical spiders. They always stole the scene from Joseph Cotten, which is why he eventually went mad and invented Cherry Garcia ice cream. But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.
1. Danger Lights (1930) - I should have known that this was going to blow when I saw in the opening credits that Hugh "Captain Mumblypants" Herbert was the fucking dialogue director for this film. Come on, people. Hugh Herbert? The mumblemumbleWOOWOO guy? I actually wrote down a couple of things Alan Roscoe said in this film, which I think you'll enjoy: "Whine on you mumpus menargh!" and "What is the shoe doo, bupuko bakah?" Great job directing the dialogue, Hugh! Alan Roscoe doesn't sound like he's speaking in tongues at all.
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