CMBA Fall Blogathon: "Make Me a Star," or Tom Nix

This is part of the CMBA Fall Blogathon: Hollywood on Hollywood! Check out all entries!

If "Merton of the Movies" isn't the first spoof of Hollywood, it comes close.

Harry Leon Wilson's 1919 novel about a naive small-town clerk who goes to Hollywood with a correspondence course in film acting under his belt and not much in his head was adapted for the stage in 1922 by George S. Kaufman and Marc Connelly. It was made into a movie in 1924 (with Glenn Hunter as Merton) and again in 1947 with Red Skelton in the title role.

In between, there was another version, 1932's "Make Me a Star." The cast alone is a Who's Who of early Hollywood -- Stuart Erwin, Joan Blondell, Ben Turpin, Ruth Donnelly, Zasu Pitts and Charles Sellon. William Beaudine directs -- a guy who began his career with Mary Pickford and ended it with the Bowery Boys.

In addition, there are fleeting, almost incidental cameo appearances by the biggest stars on the Paramount lot at the time -- Gary Cooper, Tallulah Bankhead, Claudette Colbert, Maurice Chevalier, Fredric March. Jack Oakie, Charles Ruggles, Sylvia Sidney and Clive Brook, among others.

We begin in the hamlet of Simsbury, two thousand miles and a world away from Los Angeles. Merton Gill (Erwin) is a rather preoccupied clerk who works for Mr. Gashwiler (Sellon) in the local emporium. Movies are on Merton's mind constantly, particularly B-grade westerns with humorless hero Buck Benson (Dink Templeton) -- so much so that Merton is given to whispering things to the horse pulling his delivery cart like "Let's get goin', Pinto, old pal -- we gotta make Red Gap before sundown."

Unfortunately, Merton's daydreaming leads to havoc at the store, what with messed-up deliveries and such. A frustrated Mr. Gashwiler finally gives Merton the boot and California, here he comes.

Merton goes directly to Majestic Studios, home of Buck Benson. He re-christens himself as Whoop Ryder and is befriended by stuntwoman "Flips" Montague (Blondell) and the studio's hard-bitten-but-kindly switchboard operator, The Countess (Donnelly). (One of the joys of this movie is listening to Donnelly say, in that testy manner of hers, "Now listen, Whoop.")

Flips helps Merton get a walk-on in a Benson picture; he blows his chance and is fired. But he won't leave the lot because he's afraid he'll never be let back in, and it's not like he has anywhere to go -- he's been kicked out of his apartment. By the time Flips sees him again, he's been sleeping on empty sets and is slowly starving.

Flips stakes Merton to a meal and gets an idea -- because Merton is such a straight arrow, he would make a perfect parody of Buck Benson. She sells it to a Mack Sennett-like producer and filming begins. Just one problem -- Merton thinks he's making a straight picture. He hates comedies and can't figure out why the cross-eyed Ben Turpin (playing a guy named Ben) is playing his sidekick.


On the eve of the premiere, Flips feels guilty.
She's fallen for Merton -- she calls him Trouper -- and can't bring herself to tell him the truth. So he faces it himself -- a theatre full of people laughing at him. He comes back to Flip and bursts into tears.

By now you may be getting the idea that "Make Me a Star" isn't quite a romantic comedy, or a slapstick comedy, or really much of a comedy at all. And I believe at least part of the fault lies with Erwin -- he's too vulnerable as Merton. You pity him, which isn't a good look for a hero. He's also frustratingly dense and a bit pompous.

On the other hand -- and this may be accidental -- "Make Me a Star" illustrates what it takes to be a success in Hollywood: sometimes the price is that you leave your real self behind. The movie leaves us up in the air -- we don't know if Merton makes another Whoop Ryder picture or not. And we're never quite clear just what the self-assured pro Flips sees in Merton.

The 1947 remake of "Merton of the Movies" takes place during the silent era, which with its outsize personalities and exaggerated acting styles is much easier to make fun of. The way Skelton plays Merton is easier to make fun of, too -- he's a genial dope who wins a contest and comes to Hollywood. In "Make Me a Star" Merton has been dreaming of coming to Hollywood all his life, which makes his failure even more poignant. All in all, "Make Me a Star" has a wistful sadness about it, and dares to float the idea that a Hollywood career doesn't guarantee a happy-ever-after ending.

Pre-Code vs Post-Code: "The Crowd Roars" and "Indianapolis Speedway"

Pre-code versus post-code is the difference between a Duesenberg and a Hummer, between cafe au lait and chocolate milk, between a camisole and a union suit.

Take the differences, for instance, between the 1932 film "The Crowd Roars" and the 1939 film "Indianapolis Speedway." Same story (by Howard Hawks, who also directed the first film), same setting, same characters (with different names, in some cases), even much of the same racetrack footage. By the way, want to know how to switch up your stock footage of a crowd? Just flip the image, like this:












And, since these are Warner Bros. films made in the 1930s, naturally both of them feature Frank McHugh -- playing the same character, and even with the same name. Spud. (Frank McHugh was born to play guys named Spud.)

But there's a distinct difference in the way the film's romantic relationships are portrayed, and, by extension, in the relationship between the brothers at the center of the story.

The brothers are Joe and Eddie Greer, played by James Cagney and Eric Linden in "The Crowd Roars" and Pat O'Brien and John Payne in "Indianapolis Speedway." Joe is a world-famous racing driver who drinks and carouses a little too much, tilting slightly but not totally into arrogance. Eddie is his hero-worshiping brother, who also wants to race.

In the 1939 version, Joe's reluctance to work with Eddie has a noble basis -- he wants Eddie to finish college, at Joe's expense. But after Joe leaves his hometown and his visit with Eddie to return to Los Angeles, he finds an unexpected stowaway.

In the 1932 version, Joe's reluctant to work with Eddie for two reasons -- one is because of Eddie's inexperience, but the other is that Joe doesn't want Eddie to know that he's shacking up with longtime frail Lee (Ann Dvorak). Once Eddie enters Joe's life, Joe starts giving the cold shoulder to the bewildered Lee. In "Indianapolis Speedway," by contrast, Joe and Lee (Gale Page) are already engaged, which makes their coupling a little more legitimate. When Joe gives Lee the brushoff in "Indianapolis," he makes it clear it's because he wants to tutor Eddie. In "The Crowd Roars," Lee grins and bears it, but in "Indianapolis Speedway" she gets rightfully honked off. Here are the two scenes:






But the real woman trouble in both movies comes from Lee's friend. In "The Crowd Roars," her name is Ann (Joan Blondell) and in "Indianapolis Speedway" her name is Frankie (Ann Sheridan). In both movies, she's first portrayed as bad news, and Joe doesn't want her "corrupting" his pure younger brother. In "The Crowd Roars," when Ann meets Eddie and starts showing some leg, Joe sneers, "Why don't you stand on your head while you're at it?" -- a line that's as likely to show up in "Indianapolis Speedway" as I am to grow a tail. In "Indianapolis Speedway," Frankie -- who's the roommate of Ann -- is known for feminine wiles that have driven at least one racer track wacky. (Sheridan, at the peak of her reign as Warner's "Oomph Girl," is top billed here -- and like Blondell, she is shown in the skimpiest post-code outfits possible.)

Here's how Cagney and O'Brien handle the problem of the other woman:






Even by Cagney standards, the character of Joe is wound unusually tight. His obsession with keeping Eddie from sinful entanglements and what he perceives as loose women -- playing around for me, but not for thee -- goes beyond brotherly concern and makes him seem like a hypocrite.

O'Brien portrays Joe as a little wearier -- the movie is telling us that what he needs is to settle down with a good woman, but it'll take him about 65 minutes to figure that out.

All around, in fact, the Joe in "Indianapolis Speedway" seems more human and more vulnerable. The relationship between the brothers is much warmer -- in the 1932 film, Joe dominates Eddie the way that Cagney naturally dominates the more diffident Linden. Payne, by contrast, has a stronger screen presence and makes more of an impression opposite O'Brien.

In both versions, Joe's downfall comes when, out of anger at Eddie's romance, he causes a fiery crash that kills Spud (Twice!). Joe is spooked and can't bring himself to race again, but he gravitates toward Indianapolis on the day of the 500. Eddie is racing, and when he is injured, Joe jumps back behind the wheel with Eddie as his co-driver. Guess who wins?

In the 1932 film, the reunion between the brothers isn't even played out -- Joe just jumps in the car and takes off. But in the 1939 version, there's a spoken rapprochement between the brothers, capped off when Eddie gives Joe his trademark cigar to chomp on for good luck. Guess who wins?

Here are the full credits for "The Crowd Roars" (which also features several real-life drivers as themselves) and "Indianapolis Speedway."

"Footlight Parade," or Taps

Everything below this logo is made up.

INTEROFFICE MEMO

April 12, 1933

FROM: Busby Berkeley

TO: Jack Warner

Greetings, J.L.

First off, let me say I was delighted to see you at the premiere of "Gold Diggers of 1933" the other night along with your new protege, Miss LaTour. I think her studio dancing lessons are paying off -- she seemed very flexible. And then she did that high kick that knocked off Jolson's toupee when he was looking up her skirt! I thought May Robson was going to bust a gut laughing.

Second, many thanks for the gift of the spats. I can't think of a better way to mark the success of "42nd Street" except maybe a large bonus, ha ha!

Now to the point of this memo -- an update on our next musical project.

I know we have a title picked out -- "Step-Ins of 1934" -- and we have James Cagney set as our lead. I have a story sketched out that I'd like to tell you.

I have an idea that Cagney, basically, plays me in this picture -- he is a brilliant creator-choreographer of motion picture prologues. And he is a prisoner of his own success, something I -- if you will excuse a personal aside -- know a little something about.

Every time Cagney comes up with a brilliant musical number filled with drama, spicy humor, scantily dressed girls and dazzling geometric dance routines -- something that takes weeks to choreograph, costume, set up and shoot -- he gets but one response from his bosses:

"Whaddya gonna do next?"

It's enough to drive a person to drink! (Speaking of drinking, J.L., thanks for having a "talk" to the judge about that whole messy car wreck incident.)

So Cagney is the brains of the outfit, and he works for two oafish producers -- let's say Guy Kibbee and Arthur Hohl. They are lazy, leeching slobs who wouldn't know Art if they tripped over it. They contribute nothing of value, but they are content to ride on the back of Cagney's success. His creations make thousands for the company and yet he is rewarded with something puny and insignificant, like a lousy pair of spats.

In fact, no one recognizes Cagney's creativity except his loyal girl Friday -- Joan Blondell, of course. Everyone else in this picture is out only for themselves, unable to see past their egos, refusing to credit, even fleetingly, the genius of Berk -- I mean Cagney.









And speaking of Cagney, I think he will be swell in this picture. He has a natural pugnacious grace that fits the character perfectly and a background in dance. I know he will be happy to step away from gangster roles temporarily -- he and I have had many heart-to-heart talks about what it's like to be taken for granted by oafish producers who make millions while the performer gives his all and guarantees the success of a picture much more than anything contributed by the overpaid, empty suits in the front office.

But I digress.

As for the supporting cast, I believe we can get Dick Powell and, of course, Ruby Keeler. A Warner's musical wouldn't be a Warner's musical without Keeler and her electric feet. Frank McHugh has only appeared in about 65 other Warner's films so far this year, so he's in. And Hugh Herbert keeps bothering me about a part, so I guess we can use him.






And before you ask me "whaddya got," I can tell you that the musical numbers will be sensational, J.L. These are, of course, the numbers Cagney's character slaves over while everyone else in the business is busy counting the money he makes for them.

And, of course, they will all feature Keeler. One will be called "By a Waterfall," featuring dozens of young woman in flesh-colored bathing suits, with strings of green vines as thongs.

Then there will be another number called "Shanghai Lil," where Cagney and Keeler will dance a duet.

I haven't forgotten, J.L., that there are two things you want to see in every one of my movies. One is that weird-looking little lecherous midget kid who makes you, as you once told me, laugh your balls off. 

And the other is that man in the White House. We will manage to squeeze in a subtle message about him.











Finally, just one more thought. While I recognize the box-office value of a title like "Step-Ins of 1934," I also know that the general feeling in Hollywood these days is that the Production Code we've been flouting for so long is about to get some teeth. So rather than ask for trouble, I've been thinking of another, less incendiary title. What do you think of "Footlight Parade"? Chew it over like one of those big expensive cigars you always have in your mouth and see what you think.

As for me, I'm convinced that, by any title, this movie is going to be a hit. How big a hit? Let's just say I look forward to getting a new pair of spats.

Best,
Bus

The Polly Walters Film Festival: "Young Bride" and "American Madness"

Polly Walters and Joan Blondell in "Bleaches"

Of all the actors and actresses who appeared in 1930s movies, Polly Walters (1913-1994) was certainly one of them.

Although she appeared in small roles in only a handful of movies between 1931-32, Walters made an impression with her blonde hair, deadpan style and Betty Boop-ish, singsong voice. She was usually a working-class girl -- a waitress, a hotel maid, a manicurist, a switchboard operator -- with a working-class name like Mabel, Ethel, Daisy or Gladys.

Born Maude Walters in Zanesville, Ohio, our heroine trained as a dancer and made her way to Broadway, appearing in several productions during the late 1920s. Then came a stage stint as Eddie Cantor's straightwoman before Warner Bros. signed her to a contract in 1931.

At Warner's, Walters appeared in three James Cagney films -- "Taxi," "Smart Money" and "Blonde Crazy." In "Blonde Crazy," she plays a hotel maid who warns another maid -- the film's female lead, Joan Blondell -- to stay away from Cagney, as a bellhop who knows all the angles:



Walters also appeared in Warner films with Douglas Fairbanks Jr. ("Union Depot"), Loretta Young ("Play-Girl"), Edward G. Robinson ("Five Star Final") and Warren William ("The Mouthpiece" and "Beauty and the Boss").

For the most part, her Warner roles were bits. It wasn't until she was lent out to other studios that Walters played roles that were actually important to the plot.

In the 1932 RKO film "Young Bride," for instance, she is Daisy, the streetwise best friend of innocent heroine Allie (Helen Twelvetrees). They work together as librarians, and Daisy introduces Allie to nogoodnik Charlie (Eric Linden). Allie ends up marrying Charlie while Daisy ends up with Pete (Cliff "Ukelele Ike" Edwards), and doing lots of heavy partying:



Then in one of her last films, Frank Capra's "American Madness," released by Columbia the same year, Walters's switchboard operator character starts the gossip that threatens to bring down a bank headed by honest Thomas Dickson (Walter Huston):



After appearances in only 17 films, Walters left Hollywood in 1933 and went back to Broadway, appearing in a production called "She Loves Me Not" with Burgess Meredith. After that, there was talk of returning to Hollywood, but nothing materialized. From 1936-37 Walters was on stage in "Red, Hot and Blue" with Jimmy Durante, Ethel Merman and a young Bob Hope. Then came roles in plays that ran only a few performances -- her last work was in a 1942 production called "The Life of Reilly" that closed quickly.

For the next 50-odd years, Walters lived a quiet life in New York City -- she had no other film, play or TV credits. Maybe she found a job as a switchboard operator.  

"Three on a Match," or Ladies and the Tramp

The 1932 film "Three on a Match" traces the lives of three women friends from their school days to adulthood. It also offers an interesting look at three actresses on different career trajectories, with the one in the least showy role going on to become the queen of the Warner Bros. lot into the early 1950s. 

The story is by Kubec Glasmon and John Bright, the same duo who gave us "The Public Enemy," and the movie begins in the same territory -- a working-class urban neighborhood right around the end of World War I. This time around, however, the plot centers on three girls -- Mary, Vivian and Ruth. Ruth is the goody-goody kid, Vivian hangs upside down on the swings to let the boys see her bloomers, and Mary is voted most likely to be out back smoking with the boys.

Fast forward thirteen years, and the girls have grown up -- Mary into Joan Blondell, Ruth into Bette Davis and Vivian into Ann Dvorak. Ruth is a responsible office worker, Mary has gone from a stint in reform school to a life as a good-hearted showgirl and Vivian is married to wealthy attorney Robert (Warren William). Ironically, even though she has the most to be thankful for, including a young son, Vivian is the least content:



What Vivian is looking for is a little hotcha, and she gets it in the form of Lyle Talbot as Michael, a smooth gigolo-hood. They meet on a cruise ship, introduced by Mary -- Michael is there seeing off some friends and Vivian is going to Europe with Junior. At least that's her plan until Michael sweeps her off her feet:



The trunk belongs to Vivian. She's getting off in more ways than one.

And before you can say "sexually transmitted disease," she and Michael are shacking up, with neglected Junior along for the ride, a towhead in tow. Robert is going crazy trying to track them down, and with Mary's help, Junior and father are reunited. Vivian, on the other hand, is sliding steadily downhill, hanging out with Michael's hood friends (including Humphrey Bogart and Jack LaRue) and developing a taste for nose candy. (In one great moment Bogart wipes his nose dismissively as he refers to her.)

Meanwhile, Mary and Robert are getting cozy, and Ruth has become Junior's nanny. Mary and Robert marry as soon as his divorce from Vivian is final. Vivian and Michael have fallen on hard times, and Michael hatches a plan -- they'll kidnap Junior for ransom from Robert. Vivian is a reluctant accomplice, and when the heat is on, the hoods -- including Bogart, La Rue and Allen Jenkins -- make plans to kill the boy. Dvorak learns of this and in a scene that's still compelling after 80 years, she takes matters into her own hands:



There's a kind of perverse melodramatic beauty in those last scenes, from the jump to Junior's painfully lame acting to the casual tossing of the match. Tramp's dead and all's well!

Davis's performance -- and her character -- are pretty colorless. She was still a couple of years away from her breakthrough role in "Of Human Bondage." Blondell is pretty much playing the same good-hearted dame she would play through the 1960s and as late as 1978, in "Grease." Dvorak has the showiest role here, but that wouldn't last long, thanks to her battles with Warner Bros., her desire for independence and her subsequent move to England.





    

My Old Movie Manifesto, or It Happened One Night (at My Uncle's House While I Was Watching Old Gangster Movies)

Now that I have written more than 50 posts, this seems like a good time to stop and explain why I love movies -- especially older movies, and particularly those from the 1929-35 era. And since this is a blog where one picture (or one movie scene) speaks more than a thousand words, here's my lede:

This is what is known as "adding
visual interest," and it is also
James Cagney.

That is a scene from the 1931 film "Blonde Crazy," with James Cagney and Joan Blondell, and it contains everything I love about old movies, particularly the ones made before the 1934 production code. It's racy, it's funny, it's cynical and it's just one scene out of one movie in a year when studios cranked them out at a furious pace, at practically dozens a week. Even though there were nominal limits in place, pre-code movies reflected depression life in a particularly vivid way. They contained rough edges, adult desires and plot shadings that were later sanded down, cleaned up and bleached out by the Hollywood studio system.

Carole Lombard, holla.

The early 1930s was a time of larger-than-life movie heroes and anti-heroes like Cagney, Spencer Tracy, Edward G. Robinson, Paul Muni, Dick Powell, Robert Montgomery and Clark Gable. It was also a time of movie beauties both ethereal and down to earth, from Greta Garbo to Carole Lombard, from Marlene Dietrich to Joan Blondell.

And we cannot forget the character actors and the comics -- Aline MacMahon, Frank McHugh, Frank Morgan, the Marx Brothers, Wheeler and Woolsey, Boris Karloff and Laurel and Hardy, to name a few.

Maybe they weren't more magnetic than today's stars, but they sure as heck were more visible -- movies were the television of the early 1930s, and folks went to the show, as it was often called, at least once a week, so films were cranked out like Model Ts. (It helped that the studios owned the theatres.) And for at least the first half of the decade, these movies were edgier, sassier and more topical than they would be by the end. I personally think that, even though we came close, there are two major reasons why the United States didn't become a fascist state during the Great Depression -- Hollywood movies and Franklin D. Roosevelt. (I sound like Jack Warner, who was a big FDR booster.)

Anyway, watching these movies to me is like re-reading a favorite book, or, um, re-watching a favorite movie. I marvel all over again at the raw storytelling power of "I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang," or the wit of the Marx Brothers. I love watching and listening to James Cagney, with his rat-a-tat style of speaking and his exuberant-yet-contained physical presence, and Barbara Stanwyck's pugnacious performances. And to me "It Happened One Night" is one of the best pure romantic comedies ever -- and, judging by the romantic comedies we see today, contemporary Hollywood agrees, because they keep remaking it. It's also fascinating to me to watch as the industry emerges from the silent era and starts learning how to make talking movies. And it's interesting to see tropes in the making that are commonly accepted assumptions in today's films.

I also love older movies because they are free of the hype or the fashion of the moment. The years have either added or subtracted from their reputation. The older I get, the more I believe in perspective, and I think that in many cases it takes years or even decades to see a movie for what it really is -- and as I grow older, I see these movies through a different lens.   

I'm not a believer that older automatically equals better, but when I watch older movies I'm more likely to forgive clumsy performances or technical snafus and marvel over the ones that still resonate and entertain, sometimes even despite those limitations. Some might argue that it's because these older movies echo my older, clumsier self. Maybe. But I also felt that way when I was 12, and first started developing an appreciation for old movies by seeing Warner Bros. gangster movies on TV at my uncle's house. (My mom wouldn't even let us watch "Dragnet.")

In this blog, my intent is to watch and share old movies, so that if you don't have the time or inclination to watch them yourself, you can catch a condensed (and biased) review here. For 15 years I made a living as a movie critic for a daily newspaper, but I rarely got to write about the old movies that I particularly love. Now I can. And I'm glad to have you along for the ride.
      
 

"Union Depot" and the Warner Regulars

In their underrated 1978 film "Movie Movie" director Stanley Donen and screenwriters Larry Gelbart and Sheldon Keller paid homage to the 1930s movies they loved as kids. To do this, Gelbart and Keller wrote two 45-minute movies -- one a black-and-white boxing film, the other a musical in color -- so that "Movie Movie" took the form of a double feature. More importantly, as in the 1930s when studios had stock companies -- players under contract -- it was a double feature with the same actors (including Art Carney, George C. Scott, Eli Wallach, Red Buttons and Trish Van Devere), but in different roles. The movie even had a preview of coming attractions -- a World War I movie ("War at its best!") with all the same actors as the other two movies.

In 1932's "Union Depot" we get to see a good chunk of the Warner stock company from the early 1930s, including Frank McHugh, Guy Kibbee, Alan Hale and David Landau. They all have business of one sort or another within the majestic marble structure where people are coming and going while announcements of train departures bounce off the walls. The movie opens with a tracking/crane shot to show you the whole enchilada:



More than other Hollywood studios, Warner Bros. had a uniquely working-class viewpoint, and in this movie it's expressed by the fact that the station is teeming with immigrants, from Eastern Europeans -- as seen above -- to Asians:



Our hero is Chic (pronounced "chick," not "cheek"), played by Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. He and his sidekick, Scratch (Kibbee), have just been released from the local hoosegow on a vagrancy charge, and they're looking to raise a few bucks. Chic gets lucky when he "inherits" a suit from a drunken traveler (McHugh, doing one of his specialties) with money in the pocket. He buys himself dinner, and then he sees a forlorn-looking Ruth (Joan Blondell) on a bench. She's a chorus girl who broke her ankle; now she's recovered, but the show has moved on without her, and she needs money to catch a train to Salt Lake City, where she can get her job back. At the same time, Scratch has come across a claim check. Chic redeems it, and gets a violin case -- filled with money!

Meanwhile, the guy who belongs to the case (Hale) is trying to get it back, and he'll get tough if he has to, see? And Ruth is trying to escape the clutches of a creepy old guy (see creep at right) who developed the hots for her during her recovery. And the money turns out to be counterfeit, and Chic is arrested by the feds, leading to a pretty cool chase through the train yards as he tries to capture the real bad guy, Hale:



And one thing's for sure -- if you didn't like the Warner regulars in these roles, you'd be seeing them in something different within a few weeks. In 1932 McHugh appeared in eight films -- he played a mechanic in "The Crowd Roars," a frantic new father in "Life Begins" and a wisecracking reporter in "Blessed Event," among others. Kibbee was just as busy, going from a drunk hobo here to a corrupt cop in "Big City Blues" to a bartender in "The Mouthpiece" to James Cagney's father in "The Crowd Roars."

Here are the full credits for "Union Depot."

Movie Scenes That Make Me Grin Like an Idiot: "Blonde Crazy"

The Eric Linden Film Festival: "Big City Blues" and "Life Begins"

"But I AM talking in my deep voice!"

Of all the actors who appeared in 1930s movies, Eric Linden (1909-1994) was certainly one of them.

He played a variety of roles, including young salesman, young father, young traveler, young rich man, young detective, young gambler and not-quite-as-young soldier with gangrene leg (in 1939's "Gone with the Wind"; perhaps you've heard of it). Befitting his youthful appearance, he played characters named "Bud" in at least three movies. He also played characters named Freddie, Eddie, Benjy and (spoiler alert) Amputation Case ("GWTW").

During the first half of the 1930s, Linden toiled at Warner Bros., where he played opposite contract players including James Cagney, Joan Blondell, Loretta Young, Ned Sparks, Lyle Talbot, Humphrey Bogart and Guy Kibbee. Despite all this experience, his voice never changed.


We begin our scholarly analysis with the 1932 film "Big City Blues," Linden's seventh film. Here he is Bud "Bud" Reeves of Hoopersville, Indiana, who has inherited a bit of money and is bound for New York City. While waiting for the train he has a little talk with the philosophical stationmaster (Grant Mitchell):

In the city, Bud is greeted by cousin Gibboney (Walter Catlett), a Big Apple chiseler who is rotten to the core. He gladly appropriates Bud's bread and throws a big party. "The boss said you was having ladies over so we put labels on the bottles," says Gibboney's bootlegger.

The future Sam Spade faces off against the
future next-door neighbor on "The Adventures
of Ozzie and Harriet."

Gibboney also introduces Bud to chorus girl Vida (Joan Blondell), another small towner who's come to New York. She's a good egg, but almost everyone else at the party is rotten -- they drink the liquor Bud has paid for and a couple of them get plastered, leading to a fight between romantic rivals Lyle Talbot and Humphrey Bogart. In what they used to call the ensuing melee, a girl is accidentally killed and everyone skedaddles. Bud ducks out as well and wanders the city, trying to figure out what to do next.













Bud's journey eventually leads him to a nightclub that Vida mentioned, where he meets Serena (Jobyna Howland), an older woman who's so philosophical she might be the hometown stationmaster in drag:



All's well that ends well, of course -- Bud and Vida are reunited. Bud is cleared of the murder and he hightails it back to Hoopersville, where faithful dog Duke awaits.

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy, whose next film would be the gloriously melodramatic "Three on a Match" and then the classic "I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang," "Big City Blues" is slight, short (just over 60 minutes) and, like its hero, a little shaky.

In "Life Begins," also released in 1932, Linden's character's name is Jed, but he's pretty much still Bud, this time as a young father. The setting of "Life Begins" is, of course, a maternity ward, and it's a slice-of-depression-life ensemble drama, similar to Warner films "From Headquarters" and "Union Depot," both released about the same time. Linden is the hero of sorts and Loretta Young, as Linden's wife, is the heroine, but there are also lots of eccentric, incidental characters, played by Warner's stalwarts, who spice up the story line. Frank McHugh, for instance, plays a nervous father with a weakened wife. Will she make it? Glenda Farrell is a saloon singer pregnant with twins who can't wait to give them up for cash. Will she take it? And Aline MacMahon is the head nurse with a heart of gold who's always carrying a sleeping baby. Will she wake it?

There's also a pre-code single mother, a psychotic baby snatcher and a few oafish doctors whose bedside manner consists of saying "there, there" a lot. But the real melodrama is contributed by Young and Linden -- she's serving time for killing a man. He probably tried to sexually assault her, but murder is murder ("Some guys deserve to be killed," Farrell says). Anyway, once the baby is born, Young will head back to prison, so her time in the maternity ward is also the first time husband and wife have been together in months. And he's worried about her health, so he's as exhausted as she is. Linden plays the whole movie as if he's carrying a safe on his back, and his big scene comes at the end, after the baby is born:



By the end of the 1930s, Linden's career consisted in small roles in A pictures, like "Gone with the Wind," and lead roles in B and C pictures such as "Here's Flash Casey" and "Everything's on Ice." He went back to his first love, the theatre, for a while but ended up working as a civil servant in Orange County, California.

Here are the credits for "Big City Blues" and "Life Begins".

And here are the previews for both films:

"Blonde Crazy" and the Art of Cagney

Fellow film scholars, I believe we can safely say that the 1931 film "Blonde Crazy" is the only one where this happens.

James Cagney's facemask is played by Joan Blondell's brassiere. 

"Blonde Crazy," released just a few months after Cagney made a hit in "Public Enemy," shows a more playful side of the pugnacious star. My favorite movie actors -- Cary Grant, Burt Lancaster, Fred Astaire, Cagney -- have their own distinctive physical style, a special way of carrying themselves. At least part of Cagney's inspiration, he once said, came from the hopheads he'd see in his lower East Side neighborhood. But beyond that, Cagney was light on his feet and used his hands to accent his every move. And his training as a dancer showed up at the darndest times:

It's not hard to imagine that at least part of "Blonde Crazy" was made up as they went along, especially the interplay between Cagney and the ever-present Blondell. They both came to Warner Bros. from the Broadway play "Sinners' Holiday" and made at least a dozen films together, lending their relationships an easy realism.

In "Blonde Crazy" Cagney is Bert, an enterprising hotel bellhop always interested in picking up a quick buck. He even keeps a scrapbook of con schemes for easy reference. He is what today's kids would call a "baller."

Blondell plays Anne, who goes to work in the same hotel and reluctantly joins Bert in fleecing folks such as a lecherous traveling salesman (Guy Kibbee). And before you can say "pyramid scheme" the pair is working a counterfeit racket with Dapper Dan Barker (Louis Calhern). But then Dapper Dan pulls a con of his own, and the victims are Bert and Anne.

But Bert doesn't want to admit he's been taken, so he works a con of his own. He lifts a diamond necklace from a ritzy store and then hocks it. (He calls the pawnbroker "three balls.")

Meanwhile, Anne is falling for a bond broker (a young Ray Milland) who's a bit of a noodle. He sends her books of poetry, much to Cagney's delight:



And when Anne learns that Dapper Dan has given Bert the shaft, she sets up a little con of her own -- one with echoes of "The Sting" that involves horse races, off-track betting and license plates:



Written by John Bright and Kubec Glasmon, the men behind "The Public Enemy," "Blonde Crazy" has a couple of neat little con games interwoven with the love story between Blondell and Cagney. By the end of "Blonde Crazy," Bert is the hero despite his larcenous ways, and he has won Anne by making a huge sacrifice for her. It's the typical Cagney formula -- a charming, tough, good-bad guy.

Who can dance.

And do this.

Here are the complete credits for "Blonde Crazy" and a trailer: