My publisher asked me to interview myself about the book for their website. Since I am my favorite subject, I did it, and here it is:
The Incredible Inman
Writeups About Show Biz Stuff, Old-Timey and Otherwise
Me, Meet Me
My publisher asked me to interview myself about the book for their website. Since I am my favorite subject, I did it, and here it is:
My New Book
To read an excerpt, click here.
To buy the book from the publisher, click here.
Pre-Code vs. Post-Code: "State's Attorney" and "Criminal Lawyer"
Stevens's story is about a flamboyant attorney who's the mouthpiece for a big-city gangster. Thanks to the gangster's influence, the attorney becomes the chief prosecutor and starts dreaming of the governorship. But then the gangster commits murder, and, thanks to the love of a good woman, the attorney risks the wrath of his biggest backer -- not to mention his life -- to see that justice is done.

The screenplay for the Barrymore film, "State's Attorney," was written by Rowland Brown and Gene Fowler. Brown was responsible for some tough, notable pre-code movies, including "Hell's Highway" and "Doorway to Hell." Fowler was a longtime Barrymore crony -- he kept vigil at Barrymore's deathbed and later wrote the Barrymore biography "Good Night, Sweet Prince."
So the character of Cardigan is very much colored by what seems like Barrymore himself -- a wisecracking blend of impishness and melancholy, with plenty of boozing thrown in. Barrymore slides from comedy to drama with great grace and style. He doesn't look like he's acting, which is the best kind of acting.
The Tracy film, "Criminal Lawyer," is likewise heavily colored by its leading man, which isn't necessarily a good thing.
Tracy's screen persona was that of a fast-talking operator who was often just this side of being a con artist. Barrymore knew how to let silence work for him; with the characters Tracy played, there aren't any moments of silence, because to stop talking meant that the rubes were more likely to catch on to your scheme.

Both movies begin with a party thrown by the gangster -- in the 1932 film it's Valentine "Vanny" Powers, played by William Boyd, and in the 1937 film it's Larkin, played by Eduardo Ciannelli (seen with Tracy at left).
The party is raided, and we end up at night court. In both movies, the gangster orders the attorney to sweet talk the female judge into releasing the party without bail. But the attorney is feeling contrary, so instead he makes sure the judge sets bail -- at fifty bucks a person, which the gangster grudgingly pays.
Here is where things begin to diverge.
Next up on the night court docket is a woman -- in the 1932 film she's June, played by Helen Twelvetrees; in the 1937 film it's Madge, played by Margot Grahame.
Both women have been picked up for soliciting, although in the 1932 film it's much clearer. June, in fact, works for Vanny, which means he also does some pimping on the side. But as opposed to Vanny's well-heeled patrons, she really does need help, and Cardigan jumps in. First he reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a wedding band, and slips it on June's finger. Then he stands before the judge and proceeds to pull on her heartstrings:
The way Cardigan cross-examines the cop who arrested June also has more of a pre-code bite. Seems the cop served a hitch in reform school, and if we don't get the point that he's a bad egg we hear that after being paroled he was sent back again for torturing a dog. In "Criminal Lawyer" we don't hear anything about that.
In both movies, the attorney ends up taking the woman back to his place. Cardigan gently removes June's coat and pours her a drink, and she asks him what he wants for breakfast in the morning. Brandon, on the other hand, wastes no time in getting Madge an apartment in his building. No impropriety (or breakfast, for that matter) here! June is pretty clearly kept by Cardigan, but not Madge -- she goes to work in Brandon's office, where she can gaze at him longingly.
Once they become chief prosecutors, both attorneys hitch their star to a headline-heavy murder case -- a housewife (named Nora Dean in the 1932 film, Nora James in 1937) is accused of killing her husband as he slept. Nora whoever contends it happened during a break-in. Both attorneys are determined to break down Nora on the stand, and the 1932 treatment is much more lurid than the 1937 one. Cardigan has the bed where the murder take place brought into the courtroom, so that the jurors can see the bloody sheets. Then he takes the murder weapon -- an iron sashweight -- and incessantly taps it on the metal bed as he questions the suspect, causing her breakdown. In the 1937 film, there are no such histrionics, and Brandon takes only about five seconds to elicit a confession from Nora.
In both movies, however, the woman's character is quickly disposed of because the attorneys quickly have second thoughts, and because the women have eager suitors waiting in the wings. And as luck would have it, both suitors are played by actors with tangential relationships to Astaire-Rogers musicals.
In the 1932 version, Lillian is wooed by Alvarez, played by Raul Roulien, who would also play Gene Raymond's rival for Dolores Del Rio's affections in "Flying Down to Rio." In the 1937 film, Brandon's romantic rival is Bandini, played by Erik Rhodes (left), the comic actor best known as the Italian gigolo in "The Gay Divorcee" and "Top Hat."
There's a scene in both movies where the attorney meets with the suitor and lets him know that he's cutting the daughter loose. In the 1937 film, it's done with lots of mugging from Rhodes, and in the 1932 version it's done over a glass of saline laxative -- see for yourself:
And the ending, the same in both movies, is what you'd expect for that time -- the attorney walks out of the courtroom with his self-respect intact, along with the woman who stood with him through thick and thin.
We'll close with one more moment from the Barrymore movie -- a drunken conversation between Cardigan and a carriage driver where Cardigan is plinking out the wedding march on a series of half-full glasses of beer:
"Silver Streak," or Train Man
It's the future.
Specifically, it's the future in the form of the Pioneer Zephyr, a streamlined diesel train here called the Silver Streak. But incidental roles in the movie are played by the Century of Progress International Exposition, also known as the 1933-34 Chicago World's Fair; by Boulder Dam (now known as Hoover Dam), at that point the nation's largest construction project; and even by the recent development of the iron lung.
All these projects sent the same message to depression-weary America -- that prosperity was connected to innovative engineering and improved infrastructure.

We begin in the offices of the Stuffy Old White Guy Railroad, run by B.J. Dexter (William Farnum). Passenger revenues are off, and Dexter's assistant Allan (Hardie Albright), who is also his son, supports a plan for a new, more efficient streamlined train developed by lantern-jawed Tom Caldwell (Starrett). Caldwell pitches his idea to a skeptical board of directors:
The elder Dexter and Ruth are on board, but things don't go as planned -- there's an engineering glitch:
Naturally, instead of spending a little more time figuring what's wrong with the Silver Streak, the decision is made to scrap the whole project and put in on display at the fair in Chicago. Tom tells off Dexter, and he and Ruth break up.
A few weeks later, Tom has figured out the engineering problem, but the railroad management would prefer to keep the train as the world's largest paperweight.
Meanwhile, Allan Dexter is leaving the family railroad because of his father's refusal to be innovative. This leads to a nice scene where the elder Dexter puffs his stogie like a locomotive and reminisces about trains of the past:
The last third of "The Silver Streak" is all about the 100 mile-an-hour overnight race from Chicago to Las Vegas. Edgar Kennedy, God love him, steps in as an old school co-engineer and gives us several good examples of his slow-burn takes in between thrill sequences like this:
To the surprise of no one in the civilized world whatsoever, the Silver Streak makes it to Vegas, the train's future is assured, and Ruth and Tom make up.
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And if you'd like to see the real Pioneer Zephyr, it's on permanent display at Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry.
Screen Capture Theatre: "Dillinger," or That Old Gangster of Mine
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This is the hard-hitting, totally true, no really story of famous gangster John Dillinger. We first meet him on the day he has stolen a new suit from a five year old. |
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Dillinger then holds up a candy store with a Twizzler he has shoved into his pocket! Oh, the irony! |
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(Sad trombone) |
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John ends up in the jug, where he starts making new friends. |
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His jolly compatriots include (left to right) Specs, Sneezy, Romeo and Anthony Dellavorte, Certified Financial Planner. |
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The new gang soon begins robbing banks with the vigor of someone who is very vigorous. |
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Oh -- and Dillinger meets a young woman who will soon play a significant role in his DOWNFALL. |
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But in the meantime, Hoosiers are in a state of terror that will remain unequaled until the glory days of Bobby Knight! |
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Banks are being robbed all over Indiana, including ... El Segundo? |
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The fame makes Dillinger a worldwide celebrity, but he starts to get a little unstable. |
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He takes up hobbies, including woodworking ... |
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... and model railroading. |
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Finally, he decides to rob a bank by using baby powder and his gang decides it's time to move on to another criminal mastermind. |
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But the girl stays in the picture. And she starts wondering where she's going to get some money to buy Christmas presents. |
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She and Dillinger decide to forget their troubles and go to a movie theatre IT DOES TOO LOOK LIKE A MOVIE THEATRE SHUT UP |
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He is totally inconspicuous. |
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Then, outside the theatre, Dillinger makes his fatal mistake. He weighs himself and pays for it with a slug. |
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(Sad trombone.) |
Podcast: The Miracle of "A Charlie Brown Christmas"
"A Charlie Brown Christmas" wasn't intentionally created to be timeless, but because of its simplicity and sincerity, timeless it is. Miraculously, it avoids every cliche associated with children's animation and is a perfect blending of music, words and images that clearly conveys one man's vision and philosophy -- Charles Schulz, who drew "Peanuts" from 1950 until his death in 2000.
Sources:
Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography, by David Michaelis
A Charlie Brown Religion: Exploring the Spiritual Life and Work of Charles Schulz, by Stephen J. Lind
"How 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' Almost Wasn't," Jennings Brown, ny.com, November 16, 2016
"The 'Charlie Brown Christmas' Special Was the Flop That Wasn't," Carrie Hagen, smithsonian.com, December 9, 2015
"Ladies of Leisure," or Easel to Love
On shore is Ralph Graves as Jerry, who's also left a wild party, this one at his Manhattan penthouse. He's gone for a drive, but now he's fixing the flat tire on his Lincoln. Stanwyck climbs on shore, shivering.
Kay: How far is it to town?
Jerry: What town?
Kay: There's only one town.
So Jerry gives her a ride back to Manhattan, where the night is obliterated by blinking neon signs selling Squibb's Dental Creme and Aeolian Player Piano Rolls -- but where Kay will eventually learn to see beyond them to the stars.
"Ladies of Leisure" isn't Barbara Stanwyck's first film, but it's the one that made her a star. It also marked the beginning of a five-picture collaboration with director Frank Capra (seen with Stanwyck at right) -- one that almost didn't happen. Capra wasn't impressed with Stanwyck at their first meeting, and she left upset. It wasn't until Capra was bawled out by Stanwyck's husband, comic Frank Fay, who urged Capra to watch an older Stanwyck screen test, that she was cast in the role.
Now back to the plot -- Jerry's an artist who's anything but starving. He lives high thanks to his family wealth -- dad runs a couple of railroads. On the ride back, Kay dozes off. While she's asleep, Jerry sees something in Kay's face -- something that leads him to use her as a model for his new painting, "Hope."
"She had a mask on, like everybody else," Jerry tells his mother, "but underneath I think she had this."
The tricky part is getting down to it while Kay is awake, and their first rocky sessions together show a bit of improvisation on Stanwyck's part:
Jerry: It's like a man I knew once. He was suspicious, bitter, harsh, cruel. Those things were written in his face like a map of his life. He died -- I saw him laid out. His face was a new face -- it was fine, noble. There was peace in it. He was himself again. Do you see what I mean?
Kay: No. All I get out of it is you gotta die to find yourself. Not me -- not for two dollars an hour.
Also hanging around is Jerry's upper crust fiancee (Juliette Compton). She's cool and controlling -- we know she isn't right for our hero because she calls him "Jeddy." Marie Prevost is around for comic relief as Kay's roommate and best friend. And then there's Jerry's boozy friend Bill Standish, played by the ever-welcome Lowell Sherman. He and Stanwyck are perfectly matched in the wisecrack department:
Kay (seeing Bill enter): Drunk again!
Bill: Congratulations, so am I.
Of course, Jerry eventually gets through to Kay and she lets down her defenses and becomes a perfect model. They also fall in love, in a scene that echoes the moment in Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life" when George Bailey (James Stewart) realizes in a mixture of anger and awe that he loves Mary Hatch (Donna Reed):
Capra writes in his autobiography that, if she was filming an emotional scene, Stanwyck left everything on the field in the first take. And in this performance, so early in her career, she already has the ability to combine outer toughness with a sudden inner vulnerability that can tear your heart out. Sherman and Prevost perform like the pros they are. Graves, who was already a star thanks to his roles in the Capra-directed action pictures "Flight" and "Submarine," has a tough time impersonating someone with artistic temperament.
Here are the complete credits for "Ladies of Leisure."
"They Learned About Women," or Grand Slam Hams
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"I'm Van!" "I'm Schenck!" "Our music doesn't stenk!" |
In the movie, Van and Schenck are Jerry and Jack, two guys who play baseball for the Blue Sox by day (no night games back then) and play in vaudeville at night. Their performing style was simple -- Van sang bass and Schenck harmonized on tenor while playing piano. They did a lot of good-humored ethnic comedy numbers, usually poking fun at the Irish and Jews, such as "Dougherty Is the Name":
What plot there is to "They Learned About Women" involves a love story between Jack and Mary (Bessie Love), who are driven apart by the manipulative Daisy (Mary Doran). As if that isn't enough, the hussy also tries to split up Jerry and Jack!
In between there are several musical numbers that take place in the theatre and on the field -- although staging "Shake That Thing" in the team shower probably isn't the best choice. There's also comedy relief from Tom Dugan and Benny Rubin. Dugan would go on to play Hitler in several World War II-era movies, including Ernst Lubitsch's "To Be or Not to Be," and Rubin would become a popular comic second banana for everyone from Jack Benny to the Three Stooges. Their Irish-Jewish interplay actually echoes Van and Schenck's routine -- and as an added bonus, Dugan's character stutters.
During the early talkie era, Bessie Love was one of the busiest actresses at MGM, with a fresh, charming quality. Here's her big number in the picture, performed live on the set as far as I can tell:
You can see the full cast and production info here.
"The Silver Horde," or Alaska Me Anything
Aside from that honor, "The Silver Horde" is an interesting look at two stars early in their career -- Joel McCrea and Jean Arthur, more than a decade before they generated genuine heat onscreen in George Stevens' "The More the Merrier."
Based on a story by Rex Beach, adventure novelist and Olympic water polo player (!), "The Silver Horde" takes place in Alaska, where good guy Boyd Emerson (McCrea), who has failed at gold prospecting, takes a job at a salmon fishery run by Cherry Malotte (Evelyn Brent). Times are tough -- the business is struggling because of competition from the ruthless fish financier Fred Marsh (Gavin Gordon). Big Salmon ruins everything!
(Because of the color of their scales, large quantities of salmon are known as a "Silver Horde." End of title explanation.)
We're told that Cherry is a former "hanger-on in a men's camp," if you know what I mean and I think you do, but she has a heart of gold and she has eyes for Boyd. He, on the other hand, is unaware of Cherry's past, but he only has eyes for haughty rich girl Mildred Wayland (Arthur, seen at left).Cherry sends Boyd to Seattle, along with longtime fisherman Balt (Louis Wolheim) and comic relief Fraser (Raymond Hatton), in pursuit of a loan to install canning equipment:
In Seattle, the rough-hewn Balt, encouraged by the streetwise Fraser, gets new clothes, a fancy hat and a manicure:
Boyd, meanwhile, is combining business with pleasure by paying a visit to Mildred, and who does he meet but Big Salmon himself:
Big Salmon puts a wrench into the works and the loan is cancelled. But Cherry comes to Seattle and works her wiles on the banker, who happens to be an old acquaintance. And while they're out clubbing, Cherry sees Boyd with Mildred.
Back in Alaska, the equipment is put into place, and there's a salmon-canning montage that's a thing of beauty:
Considering this is one of his early performances, Joel McCrea seems as relaxed as ever. But -- and this is maybe because she's playing so against type as a haughty rich girl -- Arthur is really having a hard time. Here's a scene where she tells Boyd about Cherry's past -- hoo, boy:
By contrast, as Cherry, Evelyn Brent goes to toe to toe with Arthur and summons real Stanwyck energy to her takedown.
(Cherry's friend Queenie is played by Blanche Sweet in one of the few sound film appearances she made after a long career in silent films.)
Here's the complete film:
"The Big House," or Slammer Time
We first see the prison from the viewpoint of a new prisoner, Kent (Robert Montgomery). The paddy wagon that transports him to the gates is overwhelmed by the structure itself in a striking opening shot:
Once he enters, Kent is systematically reduced from a normal guy to just another convict -- they're givin' him a number and takin' way his name.
Kent is there because he's been found guilty of being a standoffish prig -- oh, and also of killing some guy in a drunken car accident. His cellmates are Butch (Wallace Beery at his Wallace Beery-ist, full of childlike bluster and yet handy with a machine gun) and Morgan (Chester Morris). They urge Kent not to hang out with the prison stool pigeon -- he's the only convict who's wearing a necktie -- but Kent hopes that he can trade inside information for a reduced sentence.
"The Big House" is full of scenes that have become prison movie cliches, showing up in films from "White Heat" to "Birdman of Alcatraz" to "The Shawshank Redemption." One of the best is the mess hall riot, not just because of Beery's violent protest of the dehumanizing effects of prison, but because of the silence -- and the hopeless panorama of convict faces -- leading up to it:

While Morgan's been out, Butch has been planning a massive escape to take place on Thanksgiving Day, while the place is low on guards. In a witty scene taking place that morning, all the convicts end up at a church service, singing "Open the Gates (of the Temple)." Then as they all kneel in prayer, Berry starts passing guns and bullets down the row to his fellow escapees.
Morgan refuses to be involved in the break, but he won't rat on Butch, either. That task falls to Kent. When the escape turns into a standoff between the convicts and the guards, Butch blames Morgan. But he finally figures out the truth. Meanwhile, Kent seems to be melting into a puddle of sweat:
Kent is killed in the riot, and Morgan is forced to shoot Butch. But Butch forgives him just before he dies. "The Big House" ends with a focus on Morgan, who's given an early release for his role in stopping the escape and saving a guard's life. The "decent" prisoner, Kent, is revealed as a coward and a stool pigeon, and Morgan effectively takes the place of Kent within the family.
"The Big House" won an Oscar for screenwriter Frances Marion, who adapted the script from Lennox Robinson's play. It was smoothly directed by George Hill, Marion's husband at the time. It represented a career-saving role for Beery, who got the role as a result of the death of Lon Chaney, Sr., who passed away after making only one talkie, "The Unholy Three."
Here are the complete credits.
"Children of Pleasure," or The Great Spite Way
The leading man, Lawrence Gray, is a handsome fellow who supported Marion Davies in her first talkie, 1929's "Marianne," and who played opposite Marilyn Miller in "Sunny," one of the year's top-grossing films. But left to his own devices, Gray has little more than a smile and a shoeshine, and a mildly pleasant singing voice.
Gray plays songwriter Danny Regan, whose tunes are being whistled by every Dick and Dora along the great white way. "That's the stuff!" they say in unison. Yes, the world is Danny's oyster -- he even knows Jack Benny (playing himself)!
Meanwhile, back at Danny's music publishers, we meet the warm, vivacious Emma (Wynne Gibson), Danny's former vaudeville partner who secretly lurrves him as she helps him put over his songs. Alas, Danny has met Pat (Judith Wood, acting under the name Helen Johnson), a rather chilly society girl, and the big sap falls for her like a tycoon jumping off a skyscraper ledge on Black Thursday.
Then there is more plot -- we're introduced to Fanny's piano player and reluctant lover, Andy (Benny Rubin). Fanny and Andy keep popping up to banter about Andy's roving eye.
Fanny (on Andy ogling a secretary): You never looked at me like that!
Andy: You never looked like that!
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A production number based upon particulate matter. |
At the end of the number, Fanny -- wearing a one-horned hat that makes her look like a cockeyed unicorn -- brings Danny on stage. He sees Pat in the audience and is smitten again, much to Emma's disappointment. Danny and Pat finally formally meet at a nightclub, where we also get a musical number with Lawrence Gray, Wynne Gibson and Benny Rubin.
Anyway, before you can say "Why in the world would you want to marry an iceberg like her?", Danny and Pat are engaged. But she's still hanging around with old flame Rod (Kenneth Thomson playing the same kind of smarmy rich guy he plays in "The Broadway Melody"). And just before the ceremony Danny overhears Pat and Rod making baby talk, with Pat telling Rod "you're Danny's understudy." So the heartbroken Danny breaks up the wedding rehearsal, giving Gray his only opportunity in the movie to display emotion that isn't expressed by a smile.
But never fear -- Danny turns to the long-suffering Emma to relieve his broken heart.
"Children of Paradise" is based on the play "The Song Writer," which author Crane Wilbur based on the courtship of Irving Berlin and heiress Ellin MacKay. The plot of the movie-play turns out differently than the Berlin-MacKay affair -- despite the strong objections of her anti-semitic father, MacKay and Berlin were married more than 60 years, until her death in 1988 (he died the next year). In a bit of poetic justice, Berlin reportedly helped his father-in-law financially when the old guy was wiped out by the 1929 crash.
As for Gray, his career faded quickly and he ended up in grade-C westerns before dropping out of show business in the mid-1930s.