Stand Up and Cheer (1934)

Stand Up and Cheer (1934) is a morale-boosting movie about…morale boosting…during the worst years of the Great Depression.  Whether it actually succeeded in spreading optimism could certainly be doubted, but it likely was successful as, at least, a diversion.  The thin plot of a new government office being created to bolster good feeling during the hard times was the framework for a lineup of vaudeville acts and musical numbers that carries us through the end of the movie and the fictional end of the Depression.

Warner Baxter, a driven, hard-working producer (not too unlike the character he played in 42^nd Street the year before), is summoned by the President (who does not sound like FDR) to take over a new cabinet position, Secretary of Amusement (which reminds one, less cheerfully, of the “Secretary of Morale” position grifter and sellout to fascists Andy Griffith was given in A Face in the Crowd – 1957 – which we covered here).  Mr. Baxter arrives at the Capitol Building in an autogyro, a 1920s and 1930s precursor to the modern helicopter.  Someday I’d like to take a look at autogyros in movies and cartoons of that period.

Unlike the role Griffith played, however, Mr. Baxter is no megalomaniac, just a driven workaholic with a passion for the entertainment industry.  He calls for entertainers of all types: circus acts, ballet, vaudevillians, but apparently no “boop-a-doop singers.”  The Roaring Twenties are behind us, and flappers are passé (it’s all about autogyros now).  He calls for auditions from all 48 states, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines, which at that time was still a U.S. territory.

Madge Evans plays an underling in charge of the children’s division.  We last saw her as the tragic and touching female lead in Hallelujah, I’m a Bum! (1933) here.  She will eventually become Baxter’s love interest, though there’s hardly any time for that in the continual stream of acts, sometimes coming at us in unexpected ways.  The first, rather startlingly, is when Baxter and Madge Evans are looking at a newspaper, and punching through the big headlines is Nick Foran (whom you may remember better as Dick Foran, changing his first name the following year) singing in a booming baritone, “I’m laughing.” Despite being out of work and down on his luck, this barrel-chested workingman declares that “I’ve got nothing to laugh about, but if I can laugh and sing and shout, brother, so can you!”  His spirited verse launches a montage of people who’ve got nothing to laugh about either, but they still carry on cheerfully, including a farmer, a woman with many children washing laundry on the roof of a tenement, and, most touchingly, a garment worker at her sewing machine in a sweatshop.  

Her moment in the song is not as rollicking; the tempo has slowed, and she is almost whisper-quiet, singing of dreams and future hopes.

The final verse in this song is taken by Aunt Jemima in what appears to be a church hall.  The actress is actually named Tess Gardella, but the corporate logo – for reasons both racial and monetary – was seemingly deemed to take precedence over a real actress.  Aunt Jemima was one of the oldest and most successful corporate logos in the U.S., dating back to 1889 and the Pearl Milling Company.  Pushing their flour product at the 1893 World Columbian Exposition in Chicago, they hired Nancy Green, a former slave, to cook pancakes, tell stories and sing songs in a kind of cozy folklore embodiment of the home goodness of their flour, and Aunt Jemima became a company trademark.  It was certainly not the first capitalist fantasy ever generated in our culture, but it would last longer than most.

The mammy image went through a few transformations over the years, but most curious was the adoption of the name by performers.  To be sure “Aunt Jemima” began as a minstrel character even before she became a corporate trademark, but though several actresses were hired to portray her in company promotions, Tess Gardella, who originated the role of Queenie in the seminal Show Boat (1927) on Broadway, was billed as “Aunt Jemima,” as this was the stage name she used in vaudeville – though she was not connected with the company that made flour and pancake mix.  (Reportedly, a light-skinned woman, she performed often in blackface.)  You can see her here on this YouTube clip.

Another veteran of Show Boat was Stepin Fetchit, who played Joe in the 1929 “part-talky” version.  His real name was, impressively, Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry.  “Stepin Fetchit” was his own vaudeville creation, “The Laziest Man in the World,” and made him one of the highest-paid performers in vaudeville, and his name in the credits of Stand Up and Cheer is more prominent than most of the rest of the cast.  For all that, the stereotype he embellished brought him no good fortune in later years and fell out of favor.  Though I can admire his success in vaudeville and early 1930s films, I confess I find him one of the most annoying characters in this movie or most other movies he appeared in—not because of the insulting stereotype—Hollywood was full of them—but because of the quality of his speaking voice.  To me, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. 

Stepin Fetchit’s part in this movie is to latch on to Warner Baxter and take a job as a guard to keep out the riffraff.  He stumbles about, has a comic struggle babysitting a penguin, and takes a plunge into a large aquarium. 

Strangely, the penguin is voiced-over, muttering complaints, by an actor doing a Jimmy Durante impersonation, wearing Durante’s trademark hat.  One wonders why Mr. Durante himself isn’t in the movie?  Maybe the penguin had a better agent.

Stepin Fetchit isn’t alone in the physical slapstick department; Jack Durant and Frank Mitchell play a couple of bumbling senators who keep up with a stream of nonsense dialogue about a dam project (“We’ve been together on every dam project!”) while they do acrobatic tumbling and throwing each other around Baxter’s office.  It’s quite funny and rather jaw-dropping.  Literally.

Handsome John Boles, in his romantic tenor days, is dressed in a white Naval uniform and sings a love ballad with Sylvia Froos, he with the rolling “r’s” and she looking a little bored.

Look for little Scotty Becket in a brief, uncredited role as one of the child actors under Madge Evans' tutelage.

Warner Baxter runs into a snag when the big business oligarchs (though the term was not commonly used then) try to scuttle his project with a “campaign of ridicule.”  He nearly quits.

I would expect any film buff worthy of the name knows that the real breakout star of the film was little Shirley Temple, who plays the daughter of hoofer James Dunn.  She is a charming moppet—her own trademark, merchandising to follow—and sings a verse of “Baby, Take a Bow” with Mr. Dunn.  Practically before the director could yell, “CUT!”, little Shirley was whisked away into a new movie called Baby, Take a Bow (along with Mr. Dunn), and became the highest box office draw for the next four years.

So memorable a figure she cut in Stand Up and Cheer, that in the film’s finale, after a rather long salute to hillbilly music “Broadway’s Gone Hillbilly,” (which features the always delightful sight of chorus girls dancing on top of New York City skyscrapers), that Shirley takes a solo bow in the big parade in Washington.

This happens when James Dunn rushes into the despondent Warner Baxter’s office and announces that the Depression is over! 

“Factories are opening up!  Men are going back to work by the thousands, our farm products are being sold the world over, savings accounts are leaping up, the banks are pouring out new loans!  There is no unemployment!  Fear has been banished!  Confidence reborn!  Poverty has been wiped out…We’re out of the red!”

That’s kind of a lot to scream at somebody, using up all those exclamation points like that.  But Dunn is right, the Great Depression has ended, and to celebrate, an NRA-style parade commences with armies of workers, nurses, teachers, military—and little Shirley Temple—all singing “We’re Out of the Red.”

Must be true.  Nick (Dick) Foran is back, dressed as Paul Revere, and his ghostly figure is riding across the sky on a horse, singing it, too.

I can remember watching this movie on TV with my parents when I was a child, and my mother chuckling, “And that’s how the Great Depression ended.”  And my father snorting, “Yeah, just like that.”

Even as young as I was, I could tell they were being sarcastic, but at the same time, the strangely wistful, almost sad smiles told me they wished it could have been like that.  They were the original audience for that movie when they were young teens.  Maybe at that age they really believed the Depression could end like that, any day now.  Maybe seeing the movie again after so many years, they realized they’d been hoodwinked.  Maybe they also realized that the fantasy was needed at the time.  Warner Baxter certainly thought so.

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Jacqueline T. Lynch is the author of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. and Movies in Our Time - Hollywood Mirrors and Mimics the Twentieth Century and Hollywood Fights Fascism and Christmas in Classic Films. TO JOIN HER READERS' GROUP - follow this link for a free book as a thank-you for joining.

My new non-fiction book, CHILDREN'S WARTIME ADVENTURE NOVELS - The Silent Generation's Vicarious Experience of World War II -- is now available in eBook here at Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo, and a wide variety of other online shops.

Or here from my Shopify store if you want to buy direct from me and avoid the big companies.

And it is here in eBook, paperback print, and hardcover, from Amazon.

It is also here in paperback from Ingram.

And here in hardcover from Ingram.

From Cherry Ames, to Meet the Malones, from Dave Dawson to Kitty Carter - Canteen Girl, the Silent Generation spent their childhood immersed in geopolitical events through the prism of their middle grade and young adult books.  From the home front to the battlefield, these books are a window on their world, and influenced their hard-working, conformity-loving generation. 

 

Rochelle Hudson - new biography by David C. Tucker

Rochelle Hudson is the subject of David C. Tucker’s latest book, “largely because she deserved one.”

Miss Hudson’s career began in 1930 when she was still in her teens.  A 1931 WAMPAS Baby Star, the bulk of her film work occurred in the 1930s, when her roles ranged from sadder-but-wiser gun molls, nice girls, young brides, young mothers, tricksters and vamps, in an array of gangster films, action films set from the big city to the jungle, comedies, convict stories, and melodramas.   A beautiful actress, who could also sing and dance, nevertheless her career dwindled in the 1940s and her starring roles were usually in B-pictures; her finer films usually saw her in supporting parts. 

The author notes, “Even during her lifetime, however, there was a sense that she had been underappreciated.  By the mid-1940s, when her career was past its peak, columnist Ed Sullivan lamented (in 1944) -- “Rochelle Hudson should have been a much huger success.  She had everything.”

It’s a forlorn thought, but when picking through her films, as Mr. Tucker does so well, we see there are gems to remember her by most fondly:  As Shirley Temple’s big sister in Curly Top (1935), paired romantically with John Boles, she sings “The Simple Things in Life.”

Other important roles occurred in Imitation of Life (1934) as Claudette Colbert’s daughter, Les Misérables (1935) as Cozette with Fredric March, and four films with Will Rogers, the last released just after his tragic death.  She has a minor role in Rebel Without a Cause (1955).

I found it delightful to discover that she also, at least on some occasions, supplied the cartoon voice of Honey in the series of Bosko cartoons in the early Looney Toons from Warner Bros.  I excitedly mentioned this to my cartoonist twin brother, but he already knew.  He always already knows anything about cartoons.  (We have a set of cute ceramic Pilgrim figures, a boy and a girl, purchased decades ago in Plymouth, Mass., and though they look nothing like the cartoon characters, John immediately dubbed them Bosko and Honey.  It never fails that, taking them out of the box every November, one or the other of us will shout, “Hel-l-o-o, Bosko!”)

Okay.  Back to Rochelle.

Mr. Tucker has written several Hollywood biographies (listed below), and the reader will always learn something new.  What I especially enjoy is examining the twists and turns of a Hollywood career through the nuts-and-bolts information on life in the film industry, including contemporaneous critical reviews of movies and a look at what was happening at the same time in Hudson’s life. Mr. Tucker is meticulous and thorough.

Miss Hudson also starred in a short-lived TV sitcom, That’s My Boy (1954-1955) and she noted in an interview on the sometimes difficult irony of pursuing a television career when at the same time her much younger self was being shown in old movies on TV.  It’s an issue I’ve often wondered about, how film stars of the Golden Age, still working, were almost in competition with their younger selves and always needing to measure up to that more glamorous image.

The book contains a complete and detailed filmography, preceded by a biography that includes information on her personal life, with many great photos.  It can be purchased here at the McFarland website.

Have a look below for my posts on David C. Tucker’s previous books on Gale Storm and S. Sylvan Simon.  Also below is a list of links where you can purchase Mr. Tucker’s other books.

 

Another Old Movie Blog: Review of Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record by David C. Tucker

Another Old Movie Blog: An interview with author David C. Tucker - Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record

Another Old Movie Blog: Review: S. Sylvan Simon, Moviemaker - David C. Tucker's new book

 

Other books by David C. Tucker: 

Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record

Martha Raye: Film and Television Clown

Eve Arden: A Chronicle of All Film, Television, Radio and Stage, Performances

Shirley Booth: A Biography and Career Record

Joan Davis: America’s Queen of Film, Radio and Television Comedy

Lost Laughs of ‘50s and ‘60s Television

Pine-Thomas Productions: A History and Filmography

 

Have a look here at David C. Tucker’s blog

More Movie Christmas Trees

As a follow-up to last year’s look at some movie Christmas trees, here are a few more to deck the halls.

“Peyton Place” (1957), discussed in this post, shows how fun Christmas can be with Hope Lange and her little brother until abusive stepfather Arthur Kennedy shows up and spoils the afternoon. Not only that, the tree gets knocked over (gasp!). And Arthur gets knocked off. But hey, pass the eggnog.

In “Bell, Book, and Candle” (1958), discussed in this post, we see perhaps the ultimate in artificial Christmas trees, a kind of tree-inspired metal sculpture around which some witches switch presents, which is fun for witches.

Here in “Stella Dallas” (1937), we get the old fashioned traditional enormous tree with visiting papa John Boles and daughter Anne Shirley sharing a brief happy moment in another traditional dysfunctional family.



That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown, making the best of it. And being grateful for the socks and underwear. Or, whatever is it those witches are giving each other.

Frankenstein (1931)

Universal’s second blockbuster monster hit of 1931 was “Frankenstein” which made a film star out of Boris Karloff in the way “Dracula” did Bela Lugosi. The physical appearance of the monster, the burning windmill, have all become iconic now.

The film is noted in the opening credits to be taken from a novel by Mrs. Percy B. Shelley, as if she were some society dowager writing short stories for “The Saturday Evening Post.” The audience is not informed that this is a classic of English literature, and it is not treated as such, as both the films “Frankenstein” and “Dracula” were based more on the play adaptations than the original novels.

The film opens with a gentleman master of ceremonies introducing the film, and warning us, “I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even horrify you. So, if any of you feel you do not care to subject yourselves to such a strain, well, we warned you.”

Well, now, them’s fighting words and of course not only are we going to stay for the feature, we’re going to take it darned seriously.

Colin Clive plays Dr. Frankenstein, a highly strung scientific genius who lives for his work, at the expense of his friends, his fiancée Elizabeth, played by Mae Clark, and his curmudgeonly father. John Boles plays Victor, who in a role similar to David Manners’ role in “Dracula,” has the less glamorous supporting role as the friend and all around good guy.

Our old friend David Frye appears in this film as well, as Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant, Fritz. Fritz is hunchbacked, subservient, and not overly intelligent. Fritz does a lot less scenery chewing than the crazed Renfield of “Dracula,” but Mr. Frye now seems locked into spending his considerable talent on horror films.

The film begins with Frankenstein and Fritz (sounds like a law firm), robbing a grave. Dr. Frankenstein has cobbled together a body from different body parts, and now needs a brain. The hanged man they find will not do because his neck has been broken, (well, yeah) and so Fritz heads off to the lab of Dr. Frankenstein’s mentor, where there are brains conveniently in jars, to get one.

There are two brains, one labeled “normal” and one “abnormal,” which the lecturer tells his students is the brain of a criminal. One wonders if there is a bit of eugenics of that period involved here. In Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s novel, the creature is not born evil.

Dr. Frankenstein’s secret laboratory is a cavernous stone castle full of beakers and electrical coils. He is a brilliant megalomaniac who wants to create life from scratch. Getting married to Elizabeth and creating life the old fashioned way doesn’t seem to appeal to him. As he prepares to complete his experiment during a terrific thunderstorm, his mentor, his fiancée, and John Boles crash the party. Mr. Clive’s exasperated, “Of all times for anybody to come!” is almost comic. We’ve all felt the same way at one time or another about unexpected guests.

In a few moments, the inert body of the monster will be hoisted to the skylight to absorb the electricity of the storm outside, Mr. Clive gets to shriek his classic words, “It’s alive! It’s alive!” and we get soon get a monster on the loose.

We hear the heavy footsteps of the creature, and are introduced to the monster in an extreme, but brief close-up, on his drooping lids, his morose expression, the bolts in the neck. The really high forehead and the really flat head. His sleeves are too short. He obeys simple commands, and cannot speak. There is less horror than sympathy for this creature, whom even his creator calls “it” and not “he.”

When the monster kills Fritz, the completely unstrung Dr. Frankenstein is led back home by the dependable Mr. Boles, while his mentor, Dr. Waldman, prepares to destroy the monster. No such luck, and monster heads for the foggy hills. Waldman was played by Edward Van Sloan, who we last saw as Professor Van Helsing in “Dracula.” He also plays the MC at the beginning of this film.

We see jubilant preparations being made in town for long-awaited wedding of Dr. Frankenstein and Elizabeth, which his curmudgeonly father, played with comic irascibility by Frederick Kerr, has been whining for all along. Curiously, none of the citizens of this German village speaks with a German accent. They all sound like a mix between London’s East End, and somewhere in Missouri.

A poignant scene between the monster and his new friend, a little girl who wants to play with him and hasn’t the sense to run away from very big strangers with flat heads, turns tragic when he accidentally kills her. Horrified by what has happened, the monster runs away, more agitated than before, and wrecks the boudoir of Elizabeth, dressed in her wedding gown. Soon all the people with torches and clubs are after him. Evidently nobody owns a gun. Dr. Frankenstein changes from his formal wedding attire and puts on a pair of Jodhpurs, so you know he means business.

Eventually there is a showdown between creator and creation on the stony heights of an impressive set, and the monster knocks Dr. Frankenstein silly, dragging him to the windmill, where of course, the villagers set fire to it. This film has a bit more graphic horror than “Dracula” in the sense that we see the monster throw the little girl into the lake, and we see him throw Dr. Frankenstein’s limp body from the windmill, and we see the flames encircle him as he shrieks in terror. It is as if Universal is starting to push the envelope a bit.

The film ends with a recovering Dr. Frankenstein supposedly having learned his lesson, but quite tellingly, matinee idol John Boles does not get the girl in this film, as David Manners was allowed to in “Dracula.” Both these men were stars who were relegated to these minor roles probably to jump-start the hoped-for popularity of these films. Both films were financial successes, leading to new stars being created, to the point where the handsome leading men were no longer needed to attract an audience.

One note on Boris Karloff’s work in this film, though he does little more than pantomime and grunt, what Karloff endured to create this character is remarkable. The makeup, devised by Jack P. Pierce, took 3½ hours to apply. The costume weighed nearly 70 pounds, and each shoe weighed about 21 pounds. No wonder his footsteps always sounded heavy.

Stella Dallas (1937)

Stella Dallas (1937) is one of the reasons why Barbara Stanwyck was one of the best actresses of her generation. It demonstrates not only her believability in a role, but a dedication to her character that seems to outstrip her contemporaries. Often labeled a “tearjerker,” the film really does not get tear jerking until the end when Stella is faced with a decision about her daughter’s future. Most of the film is an interesting commentary on class structure and about being true to oneself.

Stella’s New England mill town and her family’s dingy company house is presented with stark realism. She becomes smitten by Stephen Dallas, who works in the factory office, the son of a disgraced millionaire who had committed suicide due to the failing of his business. Stella knows very well that Dallas has no money and has severed his ties to rich society. All she wants from him is what attracts her about him: his kindliness, his manners. She wants to be with him, she says, because what is good and fine about him may rub off on her in time. Her early scenes with John Boles, who plays Stephen Dallas, are sweet and earnest. Stella is clearly not a gold-digger, just a girl with a soft heart afraid to grow up hard in hard surroundings. 

Boles encourages her to be herself, that it really isn’t good manners to pretend to be something you’re not, and that high society is really dull. Dallas had previously broken off an engagement to be married, and Stella brings warmth and fun back into his lonely life. They start their life together, but after their daughter is born a rift begins that will tear them apart. Stella’s campaign of self-improvement ends when her daughter, Laurel, is born, and from then on puts all her energy and interest in the child. 

Boles’ character grows dismayed when he sees the change and becomes embarrassed by Stella’s behavior. She has grown loud, coarse and common. When Boles is promoted to run the New York office of the firm, Stella refuses to go with him, no longer interested in society, wealth or finery, or Boles. She just wants to raise her baby by herself. At this point, the film could turn into a story of a smothering, domineering mother living her life through her child, but the film never skirts into that territory. Both parents are kind to the child and respectful of each other, never playing Laurel off on the other parent. As a result, Laurel, played very sweetly by Anne Shirley, grows up to be an unaffected young lady, with her mother’s spirit and her father’s gentleness and elegance. 

Alan Hale has a particularly wonderful part as Stella’s low-brow buddy, and his drunk scene with the turkey at Christmas is some of his best work, funny and sad at the same time. He is abashed when he realizes his untimely appearance has messed up a reunion between Stella and her husband. Bole’s look of bewildered helplessness whenever Hale is around goes a long way to explaining who both men are and how they fit into Stella’s life. 

What makes Miss Stanwyck’s work in this film so fascinating is her intimate, clinging scenes with Anne Shirley that illustrate their co-dependence, and also her willingness to look frumpy. Screens stars of Hollywood’s “Golden Age” were sometimes willing to play the bad girl, but that bad girl was inevitably glamorous. Stanwyck went where no major star would go at that time: into unflattering clothes and gaudy jewelry, and body padding to make her appear heavier as she entered middle age. 

Stella is not aging well, including her bad dye job with a brief but meaningful scene where after she and Laurel have words, and Laurel makes repentant overtures by silently coloring her mother’s dark roots for her while Stanwyck sneaks a forlorn look at herself in the mirror. Stanwyck invites the audience to laugh at her, dares them to deride her, and yet because of the astonishing honesty of the performance, we cannot really laugh because she is too real. 

When Laurel’s friends mock Stella, and Stella overhears, it is a loss of innocence for them both. Laurel has sometimes been frustrated with her mother, but never before embarrassed by her. Stanwyck sees for the first time what must have embarrassed her husband so many years ago. Now, the film becomes a tearjerker when Stella must make choices, which she makes with clarity and resolve. At last, Stanwyck has that famous final shot, what some have called the best fadeout in motion picture history, as she beams triumphantly at the result of the choice she has made. 

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Jacqueline T. Lynch is the author of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. and Memories in Our Time - Hollywood Mirrors and Mimics the Twentieth Century. Her newspaper column on classic films, Silver Screen, Golden Memories is syndicated nationally.  Her new book, a collection of posts from this blog - Hollywood Fights Fascism - is available here on Amazon.