Down Argentine Way (1940)

 

Down Argentine Way is basically a series of delightful musical numbers that keep getting interrupted by a plot. Ricardo Quintana (Don Ameche) comes to New York from Argentina to sell some of his father’s horses. His father has warned him not to tell any horses to Binnie Crawford (the great Charlotte Greenwood, totally in her element as the wisecracking second female lead) or her family; apparently, there’s longstanding bad blood between the families. Quintana falls in love with Glenda Crawford (Betty Grable, who seems game for almost anything) but refuses to sell a horse to her because she’s Binnie’s niece. So angered is Glenda that she flies all the way to Argentina to slap him, which is absurd. There’s more silliness about training a race horse and how Don Diego (Henry Stephenson), Ricardo’s father, will forgive everything if the horse wins the race. By today’s standards—actually, probably even by the standards of the time—the depictions of the Argentinians are stereotypical and offensive, and most of the narrative details are somewhat ridiculous. What made this film a success were, undoubtedly, the musical numbers. Carmen Miranda, whose scenes were filmed in New York because she couldn’t get out of her nightclub contract to come to Hollywood, performs “Bambu, Bambu,” “Mamae Eu Quiero,” and “South American Way,” all marvelous numbers. The Nicholas Brothers appear in a nightclub scene that highlights how marvelously flexible they were as tap dancers. (It’s still infuriating to know that their scene was inserted into the film in such a way that it could be deleted for screenings in Southern states.) Ameche and Grable sing the title song in Spanish (Ameche) and English (Grable). And if you’ve never seen the high-kicking Greenwood, you’ll love “Sing to Your Senorita” (that is, if you can overlook the fact that a white woman is singing this song at an Argentinian village festival). The movie made stars of Miranda and Gable, and they are truly the highlights of the film.

Oscar Nominations: Best Color Cinematography, Best Color Art Direction, and Best Original Song (“Down Argentine Way”)

Best One-Reel Short Subject of 1940

London Can Take It! is a short documentary about the German blitz on London during the early years of World War II. Quentin Reynolds, an American war correspondent, serves as the narrator for a series of images of the kinds of preparations that the citizens are making in advance of the nightly attacks on their city. As the sirens wail, they close their curtains and relocate to shelters. From 8 p.m. to 6 a.m., much of the city goes into hiding as the German planes bomb different sectors. The next morning, the destruction of various sections of the city is heartbreaking to witness, but the Londoners go about cleaning up their neighborhoods and going back to work and even getting ready for another cycle of attacks. The film, produced by England’s GPO (General Post Office) Film Unit for the Ministry of Information, is meant to be a testament to the resilience of the people of London, and it is an effective, understated piece of propaganda. The film presents what should be disturbing images in a very matter-of-fact way, and the narration by Reynolds is also quite low-key. Despite all of this, though, watching the film is quite an emotional experience because you get to see the strength of the English people as they live their lives in the midst of the horrors of war. It’s an inspiring, powerful film even though it only lasts about 9 minutes.

More about Nostradamus is really rather less about the famed predictor of the future than it is about the predictions he made that seem to match what was going on in Europe just prior to American involvement in World War II. The short begins with a nobleman leading a group of grave robbers to Nostradamus’s tomb on July 2, 1626, sixty years after Nostradamus’s death. He learns the hard way to follow the warning on the tomb, “Encroach not upon the repose of the one lying here,” as it collapses on him, killing him just as was predicted on a scroll included in the tomb. That’s supposed to be a shocker of an opening and perhaps a way to solidify the idea of Nostradamus’s accuracy. A short biography follows, highlighted by his prediction that a young cleric will one day become pope. When it comes true, everyone goes back to read the thousands of predictions in his Prophetic Centuries. The film then gives a series of examples to demonstrate further the accuracy of his prognostications: the defeat of the Spanish Armada, the creation and eventual failure of the League of Nations, and a host of World War I events. It’s the slipperiness of the language that allows people to think that Nostradamus was so spot-on with his predictions. Of course, “fishes of steel” could be submarines and “machines of flying fire” could be airplanes, and Germany could be the “miserable republic usurped by a new leader,” Adolf Hitler. This is when the “real” focus of the film becomes more apparent: the predictions about the situation in Europe at the time of the film’s completion in 1940. Vichy France and the bombing of England are among his predictions (if, of course, you accept the interpretations of his language as applying to them), and the film then uses the prediction that the “daughter of the English Isles” will help to end the war. A shot of the Statue of Liberty that ends the film couldn’t be more obvious about its plea to have the United States fulfill its “destiny” by entering the war. The use of both re-enactments of historical events and contemporary newsreel footage is quite effective, and the narration increases in intensity and emotion as the film progresses, reflecting the heightening concern over the events in Europe at the time.

Quicker ‘n a Wink was the second (and last) Pete Smith Specialties entry to receive an Academy Award. It features the work of Dr. Harold E. Edgerton at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, who invented the process of stroboscopic (“super high speed”) photography. Edgerton’s process allows us to see in slow motion the kinds of actions like the whir of fan blades and the breaking of a soap bubble that occur too quickly for us to be able to examine them with the naked eye or even to capture with the conventional photographic process. We get to see some unusual effects such as a bullet shattering a light bulb and a golf ball punching a hole in a telephone book. At times, there are comparisons between Edgerton’s photographic process and “standard” photography, such as the moment when a football player’s foot comes into contact with a football. The film (and Edgerton, I suppose, by extension) spends a great deal of time using milk. We see the coronas formed by milk drops and the tall spire created when a golf ball drops into a vat of milk. It was intriguing to see how a cat’s tongue curls when it drinks milk, but not all of the images are equally interesting. The beating wings of a hummingbird are fascinating to watch, but getting to see a dentist’s drill in slow motion is hardly a highlight for most people. As a scientific document, this short captures the beginning of the use of high-speed photography to study the details of motion too quick to discern with only our eyes. Even though it’s really just a series of shots, Quicker ‘n a Wink remains a fascinating historical film.

Siege provides quite shocking timely footage of the devastating German attack on Warsaw, Poland, at the start of World War II. It’s a simple and powerful series of images of the kind of damage that was inflicted upon the city by the German bombers. Journalist Julien H. Bryan arrived in Warsaw just after the end of the first week of bombing and stayed for two weeks to witness a series of air raids and the destruction that followed. The German goal was to destroy the bridges to and from the city, but that never happened. What resulted instead was the loss of many lives and homes and buildings such as churches and hospitals. We get to see the bread lines for limited supplies of food as well as the gutted structures and the bullet holes that riddle walls.  Incendiary bombs caused fires almost every day, and families became accustomed to moving their possessions around the city to avoid having them destroyed. Bryan’s almost day-by-day account is quite moving. His story of the maternity hospital where the patients and their four-day-old babies had to be moved to the basement is quite heartwarming, and his story about how quickly the women re-entered a field to dig potatoes after an air raid had killed some of their fellow citizens is astonishing. He appears in the footage sometimes himself, talking to the residents and recounting their testimony for the viewer. Interestingly, the footage itself almost didn’t survive the attacks. Bryan and his small crew had to find a place to get it developed quickly before it was destroyed or rendered unable to be developed. This film was released two years before American involvement in World War II, and it seems clearly designed to increase U.S. support for entering the war effort by showing the suffering that the people of Warsaw and Poland and the rest of Europe endured under the German attacks.

Oscar Winner: The Academy selected the only entry that didn’t involve some aspect of World War II, Quicker ‘n a Wink. Perhaps there was some concern in Hollywood over supporting the war so early after its inception.

My Choice: I would pick either London Can Take It! or Siege instead. Both deal with the aftermath of the German attack on a city. However, Siege is more likely to invoke pity based upon the kinds of images that it shares, and London Can Take It! leaves viewers with perhaps a more upbeat feeling about the strength of those undergoing the bombings. Both had to be very effective in building American sentiment for supporting the countries involved in what would come to be known as World War II.  

Kitty Foyle (1940)

Kitty Foyle, one of the ten nominees for Best Picture of 1940, has such an odd structure to it. It isn't confusing, by any means; I don't mean that. It's just strange. Much of the film is a discussion between the title character, played by Ginger Rogers, and her reflection in the mirror. I do understand that the mirror is supposed to represent Kitty's conscience, but wouldn't she know the details of her own history? Why would she need her conscience or her reflection or anyone else to relate these events back to her? I suppose that's what passed for a clever plot device in 1940, and maybe that's why this standard soap opera-ish film was chosen to be one of the Best Picture finalists. Other than Rogers' performance as Kitty, there's little else that's above average in this film.

Subtitled The Natural History of a Woman, Kitty Foyle begins with a sequence designed to show the development of women's rights since 1900, particularly the so-called equality that women have achieved as a result of the suffrage movement. It's really a rather condescending presentation, particularly as it suggests that what equality has truly brought is the inability of a woman to sit down on a crowded trolley because men no longer feel obligated to have manners. It's pretty clear that we're meant to think that women were better off before they started demanding to be treated as the equal of men. Like I said, a very condescending attitude.

When the story finally gets to Kitty herself, we learn that she has been dating a handsome young doctor. He is so dedicated to his career that they have to stop on the way to dinner so that he can deliver a baby. He proposes to Kitty while she's holding another woman's child in her arms because they both decide that it "looks" and "feels" right. However, he wants reassurances from her that her relationship with some man in Philadelphia is over before they wed, and he asks her to meet him the next day at noon for the ceremony. With the kind of timing that only Hollywood could invent, the man from Philadelphia, actually her first husband, Wyn Strafford VI (Dennis Morgan), is waiting for her back at her apartment. He too wants to be with Kitty, and he invites her to join him on a trip to Buenos Aires. He's married again and can't divorce his current wife, but Kitty initially decides that she will leave with him at midnight.

That's when the magic mirror begins. Or maybe it's the snow globe that's magic. You see, Kitty has this snow globe that she purchased for her father years ago, and she shakes it while looking at herself in the mirror. That snow globe is used as a transition between the various scenes from Kitty's past that follow, and it's a remarkable globe indeed that could keep the snow whirling for almost two hours without all settling to the bottom. I suppose, though, that if you have a magic mirror that represents your conscience, you ought to have a magic snow globe that serves as a bridge between thematic elements in your life story.

Wyn and Kitty initially meet at her father's home. Wyn is starting a magazine named Philly and has decided to interview his old cricket coach, Pop (Ernest Cossart), Kitty's dad, for a story. He hires Kitty to be a secretary, and it isn't long before he's making suggestive comments to her. Nowadays, some of the statements he makes into the Dictaphone would be considered sexual harassment (and pretty stupid, considering that she would have a record of them to use as evidence). However, Kitty is also attracted to him, and they begin dating. He takes her to New York to a speakeasy on the night of Franklin Roosevelt's election, and they share a bottle of some hard-to-pronounce Italian drink. He also takes her to the Poconos, making her wonder if he's trying to hide from his rich friends and family the fact that she is from a poor background.

Despite warnings from her father that wealthy people like Wyn always marry each other, Kitty decides to stay with him. However, after her father dies and then the magazine folds during the Great Depression, she leaves for New York and starts a career on her own. She becomes a cosmetics saleswoman for fashion designer Delphine Detaille (Odette Myrtil), and in a comic accident involving a fire alarm button, she meets Dr. Mark Eisen (James Craig), who tries to convince her to go out on a date with him. Their first date is three hours of playing cards, double solitaire, a rather inauspicious beginning and one that makes Kitty wonder about his intentions. Subsequent dates go better once he realizes that she isn't out to get his money, the reason he had "tested" her with the cards.

That, of course, is when Wyn returns to Kitty's life. It's the night of the Assembly, the largest ball in Philadelphia for the upper class, and he's there to keep his promise to take her...just not in Philadelphia. He rents out an entire room for the night and brings her a dress and flowers. They're the last ones on the dance floor when the sun begins to rise, and it's clear that Kitty is still in love with him. They marry without his family's consent, and the moment that he introduces Kitty to the family as his wife is a shocker. The delightfully wry Gladys Cooper plays Mrs. Strafford, who begins to make plans to send Kitty to school and make her more presentable to society. If she refuses and Wyn takes her away from the family, he loses all of his money. Kitty decides instead to divorce Wyn and leave Philadelphia behind her forever.

That's not how the film ends or even all of the key moments in the plot, but I've spared you the death of Kitty's baby in childbirth--it was Wyn's, not to worry. And I've skipped over the subplot involving an unusual ring shaped like a serpent that belonged to Wyn's grandmother and allegedly represents eternal life. I've also avoided talking about the scene where Kitty meets the new Mrs. Wyn Stafford and her son. All of these scenes are played with too much sentimentality to rise above the maudlin. Of course, I've also left you without knowing which of the two men Kitty chooses at the film's end. If you want to find out, you can watch on your own. I have no idea if you'll be surprised or not.

Rogers won the Oscar for Best Actress for the title role, and she is quite good here. She's not the charismatic co-star of all of those films with dancing partner Fred Astaire. Instead, she has to carry the film almost all on her own, and she's certainly up to the task. I don't think she's particularly convincing as a little girl in some of the earlier flashback sequences, but they are thankfully brief. She's shot in soft focus throughout much of the film, giving her face a particularly gleaming quality. As talented an actress as Rogers is, though, I would have given the award that year to Bette Davis for The Letter or maybe to Joan Fontaine for Rebecca. Both of those actresses had more substantial material to work with, and both of them delivered classic performances. Rogers, while certainly a fine actress, isn't really their equal in this role.

Rebecca (1940)

Rebecca, the winner for Best Picture of 1940, is a ghost story without a ghost. The title character never appears because she died the year before the start of the film's narrative. She was the first Mrs. de Winter, and now the second (played by Joan Fontaine as if she's likely to fall apart or faint at any moment) has come to Manderlay, the home where Rebecca's presence seems to be as strong as ever. The movie never needs an actual ghost; eventually, just her name is sufficient to send a chill over Fontaine's character.

The film begins with the courtship of Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier) and Fontaine's character, who is never identified by name. They meet in Monte Carlo where she has traveled as the companion to a rather stuffy older woman. When the older woman falls ill to a cold, the two lovers use their free time to develop a deepening romantic relationship. Rather than travel with the woman to America for a wedding, Fontaine's character decides to accept Maxim's marriage proposal. Little does she know what is in store for her.

When the newly married couple arrives at Manderlay, which is a rather impressive ancestral home, the new Mrs. de Winter quickly learns how devoted everyone was to the first Mrs. de Winter. Hardly a moment goes by without some comparison to Rebecca, who was apparently lovely and charming and whatever other marvelous adjectives could be used. Chief among the culprits is Mrs. Danvers, brilliantly played by (later Dame) Judith Anderson. Mrs. Danvers has assumed control of the household since Rebecca's death and has managed to maintain it in much the same manner as Rebecca did while still alive. If you're wondering why the new Mrs. de Winter doesn't just say that she wants things to be different from the start, you've never had to confront Anderson's implacable face.

Maxim is no help either. He continues to seem distraught over Rebecca's death from a boating accident, even to the point of forbidding the second Mrs. de Winter from entering the boathouse. When the new wife shows up at a costume ball dressed in the same way as Rebecca once did--thanks to the interference of Mrs. Danvers--well, Maxim almost explodes. He has a rather short temper anyway, but any reminder of his late wife, even an accidental one, seems to set him off quickly.

There's an interesting twist to the plot about three-fourths of the way through the film, but I won't spoil that for you. It really does make you question who is telling the truth in this film, and much of the movie forces you to question what constitutes someone's true identity. Who is the "real" Mrs. de Winter, in particular, becomes a key matter of concern. There's also a shocking finale to the story, and I definitely won't spoil that either. It's worth the surprise if you've never seen Rebecca before.

All of the acting is first-rate. Fontaine shows you just how close to the edge she becomes, a trait she would also use to good effect the following year in Suspicion, which would garner her an Academy Award for Best Actress. Olivier probably has the greatest range of emotions here; he gets to be fiery and passionate and defeated. It's quite solid, if not as showy as his earlier work in Wuthering Heights. The supporting cast includes such noteworthies as George Sanders and Nigel Bruce (he of Sherlock Holmes fame) and Gladys Cooper, who is fast becoming one of my favorite actresses thanks to this project.

The one who steals the movie, though, is Anderson. She gives such a controlled performance as Mrs. Danvers, one of the most truly frightening characters in film history. Much has been made of the homoerotic subtext of this film as it relates to her character, and it isn't difficult to see how she has made and maintained a shrine to the woman she loved. The way she caresses Rebecca's fur coat and then uses the sleeve of that coat to caress Fontaine's face pales in comparison only to the gentleness with which she displays Rebecca's underwear drawer and then fondles Rebecca's sheer nightgown, which has been tucked conveniently in a case embroidered by Mrs. Danvers herself. It's all a bit creepy, to be frank, particularly as you begin to realize that she would rather Maxim mourn the loss of his first wife than enjoy the company of his second wife.

This was the first Hollywood film to be directed by Alfred Hitchcock, who had already made a name for himself in Great Britain. It's also the only one of his films to be named Best Picture (and one of the very few even to be nominated). Rebecca doesn't quite hold the same level of suspense as some of his later work, particularly those masterpieces of the 1950s like Rear Window and The Man Who Knew Too Much. And it certainly isn't quite as tense as his greatest works, films like Vertigo and Psycho and The Birds. Still, there is a strong hand at work already, and you can easily see how Rebecca fits into the growing directorial sensibility that would come to define his movies.

The Long Voyage Home (1940)

I was surprised by The Long Voyage Home, a 1940 nominee for Best Picture. Directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne, it is very different from the Westerns the two men made together. Ostensibly, this film links together four short Eugene O'Neill plays, leading to a somewhat episodic structure. Set aboard a freighter that is carrying ammunition to be used in the war, The Long Voyage Home is really more about the men aboard the ship and the ways that they interact with each other and the effect that such trips had on their mental state.

It is a bit of a misstatement to call Wayne the star here. Much like in Stagecoach, he is one of a company of actors. Almost all of the men aboard the Glencairn have stories that are revealed, and each of the main parts is developed equally with the others. Thomas Mitchell is here again, playing a variation on his stock drunk character. Barry Fitzgerald and Ward Bond provide able support. The standout for me, though, is Ian Hunter as the man falsely accused by his shipmates of being a spy. This is a small part, but Hunter makes it unforgettable.

This film has some moments of fun and humor, such as when the men smuggle aboard some whiskey and some women from the islands. However, it is overall a very dark film thematically. These men are suffering; they are far from home, having come from different parts of the world to this ship. When they get just a few moments of shore leave near the end of the film, what happens to them in the shady environment of a dockside bar is quite harrowing. (A very young Mildred Natwick, whom I loved as one of the Snoop Sisters on television back in the 1970s, is part of the "bait.") The Long Voyage Home is a relatively short film, but it is quite insightful about the ways that long confinements can influence one's personality.

All This and Heaven Too (1940)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1940, All This and Heaven Too is, at its heart, a fairly standard melodrama disguising itself as an elaborate costume drama. Set mostly in Paris in the 1840s, it's the tale of an English governess who takes a position caring for the four children of a prominent French "Duc" and "Duchesse." The Duc and Duchesse are unhappily married, primarily because of the hysterical nature of the Duchesse, who seems to want all attention to be paid to her alone. Throughout much of the film, her behavior borders on the truly insane, and she seems to be a danger to herself and her family at times. The Duc strikes up a friendship with the governess, who is kind and gentle and sweet, all things his wife is not. Gossip about the Duc and the governess leads to allegations by the Duchesse, and the Duc winds up being accused of her murder after a particularly tumultuous night. The governess is jailed as well, but she gets set free after the Duc poisons himself rather than implicate her.

Did I mention that the governess is played by Bette Davis? Here she's not her usual fiery self; she's very much restrained and even conservative. The governess' behavior never seems improper, but that does not stop the members of Parisian society from making up tales to fit their own purposes. Davis interacts in a very loving way with the four children of the family, particularly the youngest, a boy who speaks with what sounds like a Southern accent at times (an odd inflection for Paris, which isn't even in the southern part of France). A very young June Lockhart plays the eldest daughter, and the best performance among the children is that of Virginia Weidler as Louise, the next oldest girl. She and Davis seem to relish their time together on screen, particularly when they get to attend the opera with Louise's father, Charles Boyer.

Yes, Charles Boyer, who was so good at playing roguish lovers around this time. Here he's the object of our pity. He seems to have married for prestige, only to be stuck with a wife who is unbearable. The Duchesse is played by Barbara O'Neil, and almost from her first moments on the screen, I didn't like her character or the actress' performance. O'Neil is probably best known for playing Scarlett O'Hara's mother in that Big Movie of 1939, but here she's just too much of a ham. No scenery is safe while she's around. Frankly, I even started to wonder if the children were safe.

Davis and Boyer are an interesting match. They're playing against type here, and it works, for the most part. I tend to prefer them more in the types of roles for which they are best known, but both are actors who can play a variety of parts well. The story seems designed to make the audience want them to be together, perhaps in keeping with the melodramatic structure. It's all perfectly harmless entertainment, an enjoyable way to spend a few hours, but I don't think there's much in the way of analytical fodder here (except perhaps in the possibility of diagnosing what's really wrong with the Duchesse).

I did have one problem with this film. It begins and ends in a school room in the United States. Davis' governess has now taken a position teaching French at a girl's school. Naturally, the gossip from Europe has followed her to her new life, much to her shame. However, after initially fleeing the classroom (never a good idea, especially on the first day), she returns and begins to tell the girls the "truth" about what they've heard or read about her past. For the next two hours, what we see on film is what she tells the girls. The ending is a bit preposterous, but I was astonished that anyone would expect students to sit still for that long listening to a story like this and then react the way that they do. Yes, I know it's filled with Very Dramatic Moments, but it is a very slow build to the "good stuff" in the governess' past. Aside from that, how appropriate is it for a teacher to abandon teaching French and proceed to tell a rather sordid personal story in a room filled with impressionable girls? Wouldn't parents be outraged by this behavior? Alas, it seems doubtful based upon the ending that the girls will ever tell their parents what happened in class that day, so I suppose we should just be grateful that we were allowed to overhear it ourselves.

The Philadelphia Story (1940)

The Philadelphia Story was nominated for Best Picture of 1940. It's a witty movie with three great lead performances from Katharine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart, and Cary Grant (he's making a lot of appearances on this blog, isn't he?). Allegedly, it marked Hepburn's return to prominence as an actor after several years of being labeled "box office poison." She's very charming here, as are her two male co-stars.

It's a love story. Hepburn's Tracy Lord is about to be married when her ex-husband C.K. Dexter Haven (Grant) shows up with a tabloid reporter, Macauley Connor (Stewart). Tracy soon realizes that she is in love, to varying degrees, of course, with three men. The film charts the dilemma she faces and the method she uses to make her choice. There's a lot of smart verbal sparring here, and even members of the excellent supporting cast (my favorite being Ruth Hussey as the photographer Liz Imbrie) have a chance to get a good zinger in every now and then.

I wish I could say that I loved this film. It's always listed as one of the best romantic comedies ever made, and it's on many people's lists of favorite films of all time. I do like it, certainly. It has a sharp script and strong acting. It just seems a bit cold or distant to me. Perhaps it's because it deals with such old-money types (although I've certainly enjoyed other movies about the idle rich). Or maybe it's because the chemistry seems "off" a bit between Hepburn and her co-stars, despite their considerable acting talents. I don't know. Everyone seems so smart and clever in this movie, and yet it all seems so artificial in some way. I realize this assessment will likely mean that I'm forced to watch Dances with Wolves until I change my mind, and perhaps subsequent viewings of The Philadelphia Story will cure me instead, but at this point, this isn't one of the best films that I've managed to see since starting this project.