wallace beery – Sat In Your Lap

Treasure Island (1934)

Me Timbers Remain Shivered

I’ve never read the book Treasure Island so I can’t compare this 1934 adaptation to the source material but rather give a point of view as someone who watched the film out of admiration for the stars involved. Treasure Island doesn’t have the unmanufactured feel or the neo-realism of the previous pairing of Wallace Beery and Jackie Cooper of The Champ (then again few films do) but I was satisfied to get my fill of another Beery-Cooper pairing. The chemistry they share, what a pure and natural delight.

For me Cooper’s performance in Treasure Island is priceless; a little kid trying to act tough. I can’t help but let out an “awwwww!!” at any moment when he’s in over his head. I can see how his performance would rub others the wrong way but I can’t get enough of it. Cooper’s relationship to Beery, in reality, was nothing like it was in fiction but watching him on screen you would never think otherwise. You can see the admiration Jim Hawkins has for Long John Silver on his face and likewise, when he discovers the truth about Long John, just look at the pure horror that bestows his face. Wallace Beery on other hand looks just like a true, rugged seafarer and a beast of a pirate. Being an actor of the silent era he has a beat-up face which says so much. Beery simply had the look this role required.

Treasure Island saw the return of the swashbuckler to Hollywood, popular during the 1920’s but almost nonexistent during the pre-code era. Coming from MGM, the production values are second to none, even throwing some exotic animals into the mix and a taster of what was to come in MGM’s Mutiny on the Bounty.

Before Beery appears on screen Lionel Barrymore as Billy Bones steals any scene he occupies and when I say steals, I mean steals. I can’t determine whether or not his performance is supposed to be funny or not but his scenery-chewing grounceness, rambling and his constant desire for rum cracks me up (“Bottle of rum ya old hag!!”).

The ending is an emotional punch to the gut albeit one of mixed emotions. It’s not clear during the film whether or not Long John has any affection for Jim or is just manipulating him and taking advantage of his naivety. Regardless of watching Jackie Cooper crying his little heart out as Beery embarks of the ship, you would need to have a heart of stone not to be moved.

Three Ages (1923)

History of the World, Part I

***This Review Contains Spoilers***

Three Ages is one of the earliest spoof movies, a feature-length parody of D.W. Griffith’s Intolerance, cutting between three different historical periods in which in men set about obtaining the love of a woman. The Stone Age portions of the film are a fantasy stone age in which people wear fur, carry clubs and man and dinosaur live side by side and there is even a sequence with a stop-motion dinosaur; I wish I could see more of it. Three Ages long precedes The Flintstones with its use of anachronisms; with clever stone age equivalents of modern days things such as the turtle operated ‘wee-gee board’. Likewise just like in a D.W. Griffith film, the Rome featured in Three Ages actually looks vast and expansive while featuring the most amusing chariot race ever complete with sleds and huskies. It’s moments like these which give Three Ages a sense of cuteness and innocence to it.

The role of a caveman is perfect for Wallace Beery, Keaton’s more manly opponent. Many of Keaton’s films show him with a feminine side and this is particularly true with the stone age portions of Three Ages, not just with his rivalry with Wallace Beery but also in a scene in the stone age in which he is overpowered by a woman bigger and stronger than him whom the audience is led to believe is a man to begin with. Yet the prevalence of gender-bending is taken a step further in one of the modern age portions of the film in which the wife of a household whom is dressed like a man has the final say on who marries her daughter. Do girls like bad boys or nice sensitive guys? Buster Keaton films would have you believe the latter. Margaret Leahy is Keaton’s leading lady in Three Ages, an actress came to Hollywood because of a beauty competition and supposedly couldn’t act. The filmmakers appear to work their way around this as her performance largely consists of just mildly reacting to things.

Unlike Keaton’s other silent films, Three Ages has a larger emphasis on non-slapstick gags and not as much stunt work. The film still has one major def defying stunt sequence in which he failed to make a leap between two buildings; however, this happy accident resulted in a pure classic Keaton stunt sequence as he effortlessly descends several stories through a building. Likewise, the finale of stopping a wedding at the last minute is such a cliché but Keaton manages to put an unexpected spin on it. It would be easy for a film like Three Ages to be cynical and pessimistic but like Keaton’s other work it’s optimistic in the end. The three Keatons go through much hardship and pain but through much perseverance, they get the girl in the end.

Dinner at Eight (1933)

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Ah, the 1930’s. No decade in cinema has since captured such an aurora of class and sophistication from the clothes worn to the way people talk; a world so removed from our own. It feels like there is no other time period in which it was as easy to make a movie about rich people and their rich people problems without it coming off as a metaphorical dick waving display of wealth. There are few better representations of this than Dinner at Eight. With the heavenly, dream-like music from the film’s opening titles; the viewer is transported to a world long, long gone. All of the stories in Dinner at Eight have tragic, to say the least, but Billie Burke as the socialite holding the impending dinner helps bring comic relief to the proceedings with her histrionics as well simply the sound of her voice. Aside from the largely carefree Burke, the rest of the characters don’t have much to look forward to with their impending affairs, bankruptcy, failing careers and illnesses.

John Barrymore’s story is my favourite; the quietly tragic demise of washed-up film star Larry Renault. His tender love scenes with Madge Evans are largely the opposite of the grandiose interaction with Greta Garbo in Grand Hotel; this is far more down to Earth. It’s not apparent when Renault first appears just what a bad state his career is in. As his segment progresses he becomes more and more pathetic as he becomes increasingly drunk and we learn more about his current state that he is only being offered a bit part in a play, he only has seven cents on him and the ultimate blow when his manager tells him he’s been a joke for years and never taken seriously as an actor; he had his good looks but he doesn’t even have that anymore. The subplot is prophetic of Barrymore’s own future as he spent his last few years as a washed-up actor and succumb to alcohol. There are hints in his performance to the egomaniac he would play the following year in Twentieth Century with his hotel room being littered with photographs of his own profile. With its haunting cinematography, Renault’s final outcome had me holding my breath with part of me wishing this could be its own film; a sort of predecessor to the story of Norman Maine in A Star Is Born.

The other storyline which particularly strikes me is Edmund Lowe’s. Once his wife confronts him about his ongoing affair with Jean Harlow, the two have a long serious chat in which she is completely understanding and forgives him. A stark contrast to any modern romantic comedy in which two characters would break up after a lengthy argument of one has betrayed the other, then get back together 20 minutes later. Are modern romantic comedies just so contrived and unreflective of real life, was adultery less frowned on back then or is it just a pre-code thing?

The early 30’s seems to be the one brief period in cinema history in which there was a number of older aged movie stars who box office draws; Wallace Beery, Marie Dressler, John Barrymore, Lionel Barrymore. There has never been another decade like it.

The Champ (1931)

Wallace Beery, Boxing Picture, What Do You Need, A Roadmap?

***This Review Contains Spoilers***

I can say without hesitation, The Champ is one of the most tearjerking stories ever committed to celluloid – a tale so moving in its raw, cinematic transcendence. Little Dink (Jackie Cooper) and his father Andy Purcell, aka The Champ (Wallace Beery), hold one of the most heartfelt and compelling on-screen relationships I’ve ever seen, with their chemistry and interactions showcasing the power of the medium.

Screenwriter Francis Marion wrote The Champ as a starring vehicle for Wallace Beery, with the picture perfectly matching his lovable lug persona. Andy/The Champ is not a two-dimensional stereotype, but rather a figure who is, in one sense, tragic due to his fall from grace after losing a championship boxing fight at an unspecified time in the past (possibly due to his alcoholism, although The Champ himself denies this). Despite his character flaws alongside himself and the fact that he and his son live in near poverty, he still manages to create a life for themselves, staying afloat from ventures in prizefighting and horseracing (and more unfortunately, gambling). Likewise, his failed marriage with society woman (and Dink’s mother) Linda (Irene Rich) showcases that although he is an unsophisticated slob at heart, his previous brush with the high life has had some effect on him, as he is able to maintain somewhat of a dignified aura. It is stated that Andy won the custody of Dink over his mother, which, given the film’s subtle characterisations, is something I can buy into.

However, it’s the ever-adorable Jackie Cooper who steals the show as Little Dink. Every time the little scamp utters the name of The Champ (“Come on Champ, “You betcha, Champ!”) or one of his many memorable lines (“You’re some dame with a lot of jack”), I have myself a little smile of joy. Cooper’s wide-eyed optimism and “aww shucks” persona stand in contrast to his position of being thrust into the role of an adult due to his father’s irresponsibility. Having to stay up at night until his drunken father comes home (and then helping him into bed) to managing a professional racehorse. Dink is even capable of driving a car full of adults (even if the steering wheel movements don’t match those of the car). Dink practically worships his father despite their relationship seeming like a massive contradiction. His father is a washed-up loser who drinks, gambles and often breaks promises he makes to his son. Yet, he still remains The Champ, “the greatest”, and truly loves his son back. At the end of the day, Dink’s devotion isn’t based on logic. It’s based on attachment, unconditional love, hope, and the inability of a child to separate a parent’s moral failings from the emotional bond they share. With these two, I feel like I’m observing real human behaviour, not acting.

The film’s naturalistic and unmanufactured feel extends beyond the performances. The world of The Champ feels real and lived in. It’s run-down and unpolished to the point that it’s hard to distinguish between what is real and what is a Hollywood backlot. The Champ also disproves the misconception of movies from the 1930’s being static. Right from the opening scene, the camera moves alongside Dink and The Champ as they are jogging, or take the sequence in which Champ arises from bed in the morning, with the camera following and zooming in on his movements throughout the room in a lengthy, uncut shot. The Champ belongs to the genre of waif films (such as Charlie Chaplin’s The Kid), about stories of children living in urban settings full of wooden fences and general dilapidation, with The Champ in particular featuring scenes of kids freely roaming the bustling streets, unescorted by adults. This is even reflected in the cinematography during the scene in which Dink and his friends try to find The Champ in a smoke-filled bar; the camera remains at the same eye level of the children. Likewise, the sequence in which Dink waits outside his mother’s large and opulent home really deserves mentioning. The scene has no relevance to the rest of the plot and simply involves Dink singing while he plays on some railings and proceeds to walk and further ascend the tiled roof. The scene is so intriguing to watch as it feels like looking into a slice-of-life time portal of a bygone era.

The Champ is set in Tijuana, Mexico, which makes sense why a character like Andy would choose to live just south of the border. During the era of Prohibition in the United States, Tijuana had become a playground for Americans, with thousands crossing the border every week to drink alcohol, gamble, attend horse races, and watch boxing – activities that were illegal or heavily restricted in the United States. In the film, all the background signage is in English (barring the exception of the police truck), while the only characters of Latin descent or who speak Spanish in the film are The Champ’s opponent, Manuel Quiroga (Frank Hagney) and his trainers. I can’t comment on just how accurate the film’s depiction of an Americanized Tijuana is, but it certainly adds another element of intrigue to the picture.

I initially reacted with dismay when Dink’s mother and her second husband, Tony (Hale Hamilton), try to separate Dink from The Champ, since the stakes of the separation feel real. In a lesser film, Linda and Tony would likely have descended into cliché villainy, but instead they come to accept that the separation of Dink and The Champ ain’t gonna happen and help support Andy rather than become antagonists of the story. They even show up to support Andy on the night of his big comeback fight. Andy wins the fight; however, this redemption comes at a price, as his injuries from the bout prove fatal. The Champ bows out one last time, in front of his son. With Dink’s entire world collapsing before his eyes, everyone in the room, one by one, tries to comfort the inconsolable child as he heartbreakingly yells, “I want The Champ!”. Everyone, however, fails in this task, and only when his mother enters the room, Dink thrusts himself into her arms for comfort. Only in death does the spiritual custody transfer. Watch and let the waterworks roll.

The Big House (1930)

You Know What They Do To Guys Up At The Big House!

I suspect The Big House helped birth many of the conventions, staples and slang terms which have come to define prison films. Many of the classic elements are here but they manage to feel fresh instead of coming off as worn out clichés.

The big impact this film had for me was that it made me a fan of two of its main stars, Robert Montgomery and Wallace Beery. The Big House made Beery a star, establishing his loveable lug persona and making him one of the biggest stars of the early 30’s and one of the most unconventional stars in Hollywood history. Beery has a contradictory screen persona as seen here as his role of Butch; a thuggish brute one minute but as gentle as a puppy the next. However, I feel Robert Montgomery is the one who steals the show, even If he doesn’t have as much screen time as Beery and Chester Morris. Montgomery strikes me as the most interesting character in the film, as a privileged pretty boy convicted of manslaughter while drunk driving; he appears to be barely ready for adulthood, let alone ready for serving 10 years in prison. Throughout the entire film, you can tell he’s completely out of his element with his trembling manner and naive wide-eyed stare. Unlike the rest of the prisoners, he is not a criminal in the common sense, displaying how it’s a scary possibility for any regular person to end up in prison regards of their background or social standing.

Being an early talkie, The Big House features many long static camera shots, muffled sound and no background music. However, I feel these technical limitations are one of the film’s greatest assets as they heighten the claustrophobia of the cells and other confined areas of the prison. If The Big House was made or remade later in the sound era with more advanced cinematography and clearer sound and a music score, it would not be as effective. The sound design itself is impressive, with the sound effects of whistles, prisoners marching or turning their plates in perfect unison in the mess hall showcase the routine nature of prison life and its mundanity.

The film’s screenwriter, Frances Marion interviewed actual prisoners and prison personnel when writing The Big House, making the film an as authentic as possible look at the American prison system in 1930. Director George W. Hill apparently threatened to fire anyone caught acting and forbade the use of makeup in the film. The sets don’t look like Hollywood sets and this is not a romanticized look at prison such as movies like Ladies They Talk About. At the beginning of the film the prison’s warden (Lewis Stone), delivers a monologue about the general public wanting criminals locked behind bars but don’t care about their treatment or rehabilitation once in prison. Here the prisoners have nothing to do all day in the overcrowded prison but grow animosity towards the guards and plot on how they are going to make their escape. Shortly after watching The Big House, I heard a discussion on the radio regarding the deteriorating conditions of prisons in the UK in 2014 and a caller phoned in and mirrored the exact points Lewis Stone made in The Big House; 80 years later and nothing has changed.