Pre-Code Blogathon: "Love Me Tonight," or Some People Call Me Maurice

This is part of the Pre-Code Blogathon sponsored by Danny at Pre-Code.com and Karen at Shadows and Satin. Please visit either and/or both of them for more offerings. 


The 1932 film "Love Me Tonight" lets you know you are in for something special from the very beginning:

You haven't heard a word of dialogue, but the first few moments of the film set the stage perfectly -- Paris, morning, people waking up, a friendly man jauntily walking to his tailor shop and greeting his neighbors ("Hello Mrs. Bendix! How's your appendix?").

When it comes to modern life, I'm a firm believer in what Lily Tomlin once said: "No matter how cynical you get, it's never enough to keep up." And I love the cynicism of so many pre-code movies -- I think it's a period of filmmaking that mirrors the tenor of the times like no other.

But when I watch a movie like "Love Me Tonight," I happily park my cynicism at the door. It doesn't come easily to me, but the movie deserves sincere adjectives that I usually use sarcastically -- "delightful," "thrilling," "enchanting." It's a witty, lovely fairy tale with a prince named Maurice and a princess named Jeanette. It's not just one of my favorite pre-code movies -- it's one of my favorite movie musicals, period.

The pairing of Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald brings to mind what Katharine Hepburn is alleged to have said about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers -- "he gives her class and she gives him sex" -- but in reverse. MacDonald's regal bearing (even when she wasn't playing a princess) and cultured soprano is perfectly counterbalanced by Chevalier's good humor and growly, untrained voice.

Their paths cross when Maurice pursues Charlie Ruggles as a deadbeat vicomte (French for "viscount," if you care) to his family castle, where the women -- Princess Jeanette and Countess Valentine (Myrna Loy, sexy as hell) -- are literally wasting away from lack of love. See for yourself:

Aunts in your plans of 1932.

The lord of the castle, the stern Duke (C. Aubrey Smith), keeps everyone in line, or so he thinks, and three maiden aunts (Elizabeth Patterson, Blanche Frederici and Ethel Griffies) are a Greek chorus commenting on the action. Princess Jeanette's only suitor is a hapless count played by the Hapsburg of the hapless, Charles Butterworth.

We are introduced to Princess Jeanette in one of my very favorite film moments -- the Rodgers and Hart song "Isn't It Romantic" travels from one singer to another, beginning on the lips of the hero and ending on the lips of the heroine:

This, to me, is exhilarating filmmaking -- storytelling in a style that still seems contemporary and clever. Taking a score by Rodgers and Hart consisting of songs that are spoken as well as sung, director Rouben Mamoulian worked with screenwriters Samuel Hoffenstein, Waldemar Young and George Marion, Jr. to shape the story around the music.

Truthfully, the story is the weakest part of "Love Me Tonight," but it's more than enough to carry the score and the performances. Maurice is a tailor. The viscount owes him money. He goes to the castle to get paid. Princess Jeanette is nearby, riding in a carriage and combining the lyrics of "Lover" with commands to her horse (I wish I had a clip to share with you) Maurice meets Princess Jeanette and falls in love.

She resists his advances and runs away. They meet again at the castle, where the viscount passes off Maurice as a baron. Everyone else in the castle loves Maurice as much as the princess dislikes him. How do we know? After he arrives, they all wake up the next morning singing "Mimi" -- even C. Aubrey Smith in what is undoubtedly his most joyous moment on film.

"Trust me. I'm a professional."

The princess finally comes around, falling in love with Maurice and then realizing, as he's fitting her for an impeccably-made riding habit, that he's a tailor. "Love Me Tonight" seems a little anticlimactic after that, though the plot turn does cause one character to say/sing, "I'd rather throw a bomb at her than have her wed a commoner."

Despite its atmosphere of sweet romance, "Love Me Tonight" does have its share of pre-code spice, including scenes of Loy and MacDonald in lingerie and other revealing outfits, some of which were trimmed during the movie's original release. And one raised eyebrow from Maurice Chevalier is worth a million double-entendres.

Here is the film itself (with commercials; sorry):

"Trouble in Paradise," or The Snatch Game

"Trouble in Paradise" bugs me, man.

Writing about it bugs me, that is. It's such a flipping perfect little movie that I can't make affectionate fun of it the way I do with awkward early talkies, or Joan Crawford's bug eyes, or Marie Dressler's mugging. It forces me to resort to phrases that aren't part of my vocabulary as a cynical middle-aged guy in the early 21st century but that nevertheless are accurate, like "beautifully constructed," "sublimely witty" or "delightfully acted." Or descriptors that you usually use when talking about desserts, like "exquisite" and "fluffy" and "delectable."

Worst of all, I lack even an iota, a scintilla, a microscopic speck of the skill of the people behind the movie, particularly director Ernst Lubitsch, from whom all blessings flow, so how can someone so humble report adequately on something so special? Who do I think I am, Self Styled Siren? It falls to me to try and write about a movie I love while knowing that my pitiful efforts at describing why it's so special will never, ever, ever do it justice.

Having now built your expectations to a fever pitch, let us hie to Venice, where a night of magical romance is just about to go through cupid's checkout counter (12 items or less). We are in a hotel where the Baron (Herbert Marshall), a smooth customer with half-lidded eyes and a perpetual half smile, is ordering dinner from a willing waiter:

Baron: It must be the most marvelous supper. We may not eat it, but it must be marvelous.

Waiter: Yes, Baron.

Baron: And waiter --

Waiter: Yes, Baron?

Baron: Do you see that moon?

Waiter: Yes, Baron.

Baron: I want to see that moon in the champagne.

Waiter: Yes, Baron. (writes) Moon ... in ... champagne.

Baron: And as for you --

Waiter: Yes, Baron?

Baron: I don't want to see you .. at all.

Waiter: No, Baron.

The dinner guest arrives. It is the Countess (Miriam Hopkins), looking beautiful and breathless because she just succeeded at barely avoiding someone she wanted to avoid. Someone with a title and an estate, no doubt, but uninteresting -- the kind of ne plus ultra people who attend so many of the ne plus ultra parties she is forced to attend, in case you were wondering.

The Countess and the Baron circle each other, taking turns with mutual compliments and pleased smiles. Then comes moon-infused champagne, and dinner, and some straight talk:

Countess: I have a confession to make to you: Baron, you are a crook. You robbed the gentleman in 253, 5, 7 and 9. May I have the salt?

Baron: Please!

Countess: Thank you.

Baron: The pepper, too?

Countess: Oh, no, thank you.

Baron: You're very welcome. Countess, believe me, before you left this room, I would have told you everything. And let me say this, with love in my heart: Countess, you are a thief. The wallet of the gentleman in 253, 5, 7 and 9 is in your possession. I knew it very well when you took it out of my pocket. In fact, you tickled me. But your embrace was so sweet.

The Baron is actually Master Thief Gaston Monescu, and the Countess is actually Lily the Very Good Pickpocket. They are con artists, and each thrilled to be in the company of a master, so they become a couple.

Fast forward to Paris, specifically Colet and Company, makers of cosmetics. This is the business owned by the third side of our triangle, Madame Colet (Kay Francis). Her husband started the business, but now he's dead, and Madame isn't that interested in it. Neither is she interested in her two persistent suitors, the Major (Charlie Ruggles) and Francois (Edward Everett Horton). She gets joy mainly by buying beautiful things, and when her very expensive evening bag goes missing at the opera, she offers a large reward. The rewardee is Gaston, but when he meets Madame he senses the potential for more than just a reward:

Gaston: Madame Colet, if I were your father, which fortunately I am not, and you made any attempt to handle your own business affairs, I would give you a good spanking - in a business way, of course.

Madame: What would you do if you were my secretary?

Gaston: The same thing.

Madame: You're hired.

Gaston becomes Madame's live-in financial secretary. And Lily is hired as a stenographer. But when Madame confides her feelings about Gaston to Lily, the Very Good Pickpocket starts getting a little antsy.

Meanwhile, there are signs the jig, she is up. You see, on the night Gaston and Lily first met, in Venice, Gaston had just come from robbing a silly rich man in the same hotel, and it was Francois -- the man in room 235, 7 and 9. And since Francois is always hanging around Madame Colet, he meets Gaston and starts putting two and two together, but not without great difficulty.

At any rate, Gaston and Lily sense that it's time to go. But to Gaston, known to his mistress as Monsieur Laval, Madame Colet has become more than just an attractive target, and he takes appropriate action:  

Gaston: Is this the Petite Flower Shop? I want you to take five dozen roses -- deep, red roses. And I want you to put them in a basket, and send this basket tomorrow morning to Madame Colet. And attach a card: "In memory of the late Monsieur Laval." Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. Yes. Huh? Oh -- charge it to Madame Colet.

Truth be told, Gaston does not leave Madame Colet that abruptly. He does it with the kind of wit and style that marks "Trouble in Paradise" beginning to end. I've tried to recount some of it, but compared to the finished film my efforts are like those of the first fellow we see in the movie, an opera-singing Venetian piloting a gondola overflowing with garbage through a moonlit canal.

Oh, and one more thing -- Kay Francis has the cutest little speech impediment. You really notice it toward the end of the movie, when she turns to Gaston and says:

"Why talk of wobbewy on a night like this?"

Why indeed.

Here are complete credits for "Trouble in Paradise."

"If I Had a Million," or A Taste of Money

In the 1932 film "If I Had a Million," a cantankerous millionaire (Richard Bennett, the real-life father of actresses Constance and Joan Bennett) decides to stiff his greedy relatives and leave a million dollars to eight people picked at random from the city directory.

It was a big year for "all-star" films. MGM released three -- "Grand Hotel," "Dinner at Eight" and "Night Flight." And Paramount's entry into the sweepstakes included a cast of studio contract players ranging from W.C. Fields to a young Gary Cooper.

The episodes range from comedy to tragedy. There's melodrama in the segment with Gene Raymond as a convict on death row who gets to endorse the check just before he gets the hot seat. There's irony in the segment with George Raft as a check forger who slowly goes crazy because he can't get anyone to believe that his check is legitimate. There's a bit of sadness in the segment with Wynne Gibson as a prostitute who uses her money to finally rent a hotel room and sleep by herself. And there's poignancy in the segment with May Robson, who uses her money to change the bleak old folks' home where she's trapped into an exclusive club for older women.

But for my money, the best segments are the comedies, directed by Ernst Lubitsch and Norman Z. McLeod.

"Plhphluuuuuuuuuuu."

Lubitsch's segment, with Charles Laughton as a clerk who quits his job by giving the big boss a well-earned raspberry, is short and sweet.

Then there's the segment with Charlie Ruggles as the put-upon clerk in a china shop. He's been reluctantly promoted from the accounting department, and he keeps breaking the merchandise, which is subtracted from his salary. At home he is henpecked by wife Mary Boland, at her Mary Boland-iest. This leads to nightmares:

                

Once Ruggles gets his million, he gleefully destroys the store. And the film's other outstanding segment also features generous destruction. W.C. Fields and Alison Skipworth play a couple who use their million to finance a crusade against road hogs (bonus -- lots of cool footage of the Southern California landscape circa 1932):

  

Finally, there's a good look at a young Gary Cooper in the segment where he, Jack Oakie and Roscoe Karns play roughneck Marines who think the check is a joke:

  


Here's a complete cast listing for "If I Had a Million."