It's not quite two months since I last wrote about 'old' Cary Grant, and here we go again. Especially since he is paired here with one of my all-time favourite actresses Katharine Hepburn. They made four films together, three of which are classic screwball comedies: "Holiday" (1938), "Bringing up Baby" (1938), and "Phildadelphia Story" (1940). However their first joint venture is not only little-known, but often either dismissed as a silly trifle or barely remembered as germane to their filmographies. Made during the period when Hepburn was regarded as 'box-office poison' and Grant had not quite morphed into the epitome of the sophisticated leading man, this film is actually not only essential viewing for their respective fans, but a great deal of fun as well.
The film opens in France where small-time embezzler Edmund Gwenn (eventually to become everyone's favourite Santa Claus) is on the run from the police with daughter Hepburn in tow. To prevent the cops searching for a man travelling with a young girl on the cross-channel ferry, Sylvia chops off her hair and becomes young Sylvester, spending the first half of the movie in cross-dressing drag. On the ship they meet Cockney con-man Grant, who shops the lace-smuggling Gwenn to the Customs authorities to distract from his own underhand activities. Chastened and broke, Gwenn and his young 'son' Sylvester are at their lowest ebb, before Grant saves the day with some cash and plans for future joint scams. These include trying to pass off the fluent French-speaking Sylvester as a young and abandoned waif, milking the crowd for their spare change, to looking up an old girlfriend Maudie, a maid in the home of a cruising rich couple.
There the vulgar young woman (Dennie Moore, surprisingly uncredited in a pivotal role) is encouraged to dress up in her mistress's best togs and jewels which Grant plans to purloin, but she also catches the eye of amorous Gwenn (who also uses the occasion to dress up in her master's velvet court togs and prance about). Hepburn still playing a gormless teenager, gets roaringly drunk but manages to shame Grant into returning the swag. From here, the storyline gets even more bizarre as the four decide to go off to become a seaside entertaintment group, the Pink Pierrots (!), travelling the countryside in a caravan and performing their very old-fashioned act in small holiday resorts. In their Harlequin and Columbine costumes, the quartet seem to be enjoying themselves hugely, and one must remember that Grant first went to the States as part of a knockabout comedy vaudeville turn. Here, he plays the piano and sings in a way a million miles away from his usual screen persona -- and very charming he and his colleagues are too as they set out to entertain us all.
At one seaside gathering artist Brian Aherne, watching with his rich young friends, heckles the act and is shamed into apologising by the feckless Sylvester. Aherne is enchanted by the pretty young lad and wants him to pose for him, while Hepburn discovers the first stirrings of love, despite the artist's obvious affair with Russian emigre Natalie Paley (real Russian royalty and also uncredited). So she steals a dress and bonnet from a seaside changing-room (actually a cave!) and reveals herself to Aherne as the young woman she really is. Grant and Moore are also taken aback by her transformation, especially as the latter had jokingly attempted to make out with the would-be youth. And so the story goes on to its ultimate and not so obvious conclusion, which sees Hepburn paired off with the elusive Aherne and Grant doing his best to put the flighty Paley in her place. Having already told us of his attitude to women in general -- basically love them and leave them -- it is rather refreshing that he and Hepburn are not paired off after Gwenn's and Moore's disappearance from the action.
Directed by George Cukor, it is not surprising to learn that this film was another of Hepburn's 'flops' and the leaps in logic of its storyline did not find many takers amongst the moviegoers of the day. However as a period piece and as a stepping stone in the development of its two leads, the movie is an undemanding and unexpected pleasure. We are more used to men dressing as women a la "Some Like it Hot" than women passing themselves off as men a la "Victor/Victoria" but drag turns from both sexes have a long and honourable history in film. Katharine Hepburn here is enchanting as both a young girl and a young man and that's just fine with me. As for Cary Grant, I've yet to see a film where he is anything less than priceless, and "Sylvia Scarlett" deserves its shining place in developing his longterm career.
Showing posts with label Katharine Hepburn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Katharine Hepburn. Show all posts
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Monday, 5 April 2010
Box Office Poison
If you asked me to choose my favourite film actress of all time, it would be something of a toss-up between Katharine Hepburn and Bette Davis. Both had long and distinguished careers and both survived sticky patches when their star had faded. With Davis this came late in the day concurrent with the demise of the studio system, but with Hepburn it was early on. After winning an Oscar for her third role in "Morning Glory" (1933) and her magnificent turn in that year's "Little Women", she fell from favour and her films were deemed 'box office poison' until the success of "Philadelphia Story" (1941). This is despite the fact that some of her most charming and memorable films were actually made during this period: "Alice Adams", "Sylvia Scarlett", and "Bringing up Baby" to name but a few.
It is hard to remember that this esteemed actress who died at the ripe old age of 96, who appeared in pictures through her eighties, and whose fame remains, both through her many memorable roles and her fascinating relationship with Spencer Tracy, was so unpopular in Hollywood in the late 1930s that she decamped to Broadway for several years. Two of her films from that period which I watched recently may explain this strange dichotomy:
The Little Minister (1934): This story was something of a warhorse when the film was made since it is based on a 1891 novel from J.M. Barrie which was originally made into a stage play in 1897. In it Hepburn plays an aristocratic lady who frolics through the Scottish countryside in gypsy garb upsetting the locals. The new minister John Beal who has arrived with his overly mothering mother, Beryl Mercer, is soon enraptured of her charms to the chagrin of the local community. Despite an appealing turn from Hepburn and a lovely Max Steiner score, the twee plot and tender sentimentality would probably also alienate moviegoers today. It is therefore not difficult to understand why Depression-era audiences found it a slight, over-extended, and uninvolving folly. However for a viewer like yours truly, the high production values and the contribution of the supporting cast, including Alan Hale, Donald Crisp, and many more familiar faces, adds to the pleasure of a role where Hepburn is playfully enjoying herself.
A Woman Rebels (1936): This early feminist tract would almost certainly not have gone down terribly well with film audiences when it was released, but it is typical of the many emancipated roles that Hepburn embraced during this period, ones which seem brave and meaningful some seventy-odd years on. In this film, set in the Victorian era, Hepburn and her sister are at the mercy of their widowed martinet father, another fine turn from Donald Crisp. While her younger sister is happy with an arranged marriage, the willful Hepburn embarks on a mad fling with young nobleman Van Heflin (in his debut film role), ending up pregnant and alone when it turns out that he is already married. Through various plot contrivances, her sister dies of grief after her husband's death, and Hepburn ends up supposedly raising 'their' child to avoid society's shame. She also pushes ahead in the workplace, taking jobs not suitable for a lady, and ends up as the fiery author of popular feminist manifestos. As her daughter reaches adulthood, circumstances contrive for past sins to raise their ugly head, but with the support of her faithful suitor, the ever-debonair Herbert Marshall, Hepburn triumphs in adversity. This is not quite as easy a film to warm to as the make-believe-gypsy extravaganza, but Hepburn never gives less than a feisty and believable performance.
Hepburn was not quite the Meryl Streep of her day, but the comparison has some merit. Although not Oscar-nominated quite as often as La Streep, she did actually win four Oscars -- three of which were late in her career (so there is still time for Meryl). Thinking back on her filmography, Hepburn too was tempted by a range of 'funny' accents, but her generally aristocratic bearing and sense of fun always managed to shine through. Box Office poison be damned!
It is hard to remember that this esteemed actress who died at the ripe old age of 96, who appeared in pictures through her eighties, and whose fame remains, both through her many memorable roles and her fascinating relationship with Spencer Tracy, was so unpopular in Hollywood in the late 1930s that she decamped to Broadway for several years. Two of her films from that period which I watched recently may explain this strange dichotomy:
The Little Minister (1934): This story was something of a warhorse when the film was made since it is based on a 1891 novel from J.M. Barrie which was originally made into a stage play in 1897. In it Hepburn plays an aristocratic lady who frolics through the Scottish countryside in gypsy garb upsetting the locals. The new minister John Beal who has arrived with his overly mothering mother, Beryl Mercer, is soon enraptured of her charms to the chagrin of the local community. Despite an appealing turn from Hepburn and a lovely Max Steiner score, the twee plot and tender sentimentality would probably also alienate moviegoers today. It is therefore not difficult to understand why Depression-era audiences found it a slight, over-extended, and uninvolving folly. However for a viewer like yours truly, the high production values and the contribution of the supporting cast, including Alan Hale, Donald Crisp, and many more familiar faces, adds to the pleasure of a role where Hepburn is playfully enjoying herself.
A Woman Rebels (1936): This early feminist tract would almost certainly not have gone down terribly well with film audiences when it was released, but it is typical of the many emancipated roles that Hepburn embraced during this period, ones which seem brave and meaningful some seventy-odd years on. In this film, set in the Victorian era, Hepburn and her sister are at the mercy of their widowed martinet father, another fine turn from Donald Crisp. While her younger sister is happy with an arranged marriage, the willful Hepburn embarks on a mad fling with young nobleman Van Heflin (in his debut film role), ending up pregnant and alone when it turns out that he is already married. Through various plot contrivances, her sister dies of grief after her husband's death, and Hepburn ends up supposedly raising 'their' child to avoid society's shame. She also pushes ahead in the workplace, taking jobs not suitable for a lady, and ends up as the fiery author of popular feminist manifestos. As her daughter reaches adulthood, circumstances contrive for past sins to raise their ugly head, but with the support of her faithful suitor, the ever-debonair Herbert Marshall, Hepburn triumphs in adversity. This is not quite as easy a film to warm to as the make-believe-gypsy extravaganza, but Hepburn never gives less than a feisty and believable performance.
Hepburn was not quite the Meryl Streep of her day, but the comparison has some merit. Although not Oscar-nominated quite as often as La Streep, she did actually win four Oscars -- three of which were late in her career (so there is still time for Meryl). Thinking back on her filmography, Hepburn too was tempted by a range of 'funny' accents, but her generally aristocratic bearing and sense of fun always managed to shine through. Box Office poison be damned!
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