"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."

"The Story of Temple Drake," or Oh Brothel, Where Are Thou?

Around about 1932-33, Miriam Hopkins achieved what we might call a pre-code movie hat trick by appearing in three notorious examples -- "Trouble in Paradise," "Design for Living" and "The Story of Temple Drake."

The latter film, especially, is credited with being the straw that broke the pre-code camel's back, leading to the formation of the National Legion of Decency and the enforcement of strict movie censorship that would last until the mid-1950s. And even from the vantage point of 80 years, "Temple Drake" still packs a punch. Its lurid story deals with all kinds of pre-code hot button issues -- rape, incest, prostitution, illegitimate children, murder and agriculture.

We open down south in Dixon County, where Temple Drake (Hopkins) lives. She's a rich ninny -- the silly granddaughter of a local judge (Sir Guy Standing) who uses her beauty and his status to get pretty much anything she wants. Her life is a merry social whirl -- big parties! Late night revels! Formal dances with Grady Sutton!

Judge Drake is a respected figure, but he's not above sharing a shot of sour mash in his chambers between trials. And he's concerned about Temple's wild ways, but when she tells him not to worry, that the man she's out carousing with attends the judge's alma mater, he calms down.

Temple actually does have a secret love -- local attorney Stephen Benbow (William Gargan), who's noble enough to act as a public defender for those too poor to afford representation. At a ritzy party, Temple confesses to Stephen about her feelings for him, but she also talks about her untamed wild side. It's like the original "It isn't you, it's me" speech:



And once she confesses to Stephen, Temple goes back to the wild side of her personality, leaving the party to go for a joyride with Toddy (William Collier, Jr.), the drunken college boy from the judge's old school. Then there's an accident, and Toddy and Temple end up stranded at an abandoned plantation that looks like Scarlett O'Hara's place after the Civil War.

Living in the crumbling house is a motley crew -- bootlegger Lee Goodwin (Irving Pichel), slow-witted Tommy (James Eagles), Goodwin's common-law wife Ruby (Florence Eldredge) and their baby, and, most dangerous of all, the predatory Trigger (Jack LaRue), a small-time hood.

A storm is raging outside, and Temple is totally at sea -- for the first time in her life, she's trapped in a world where "I'm Judge Drake's granddaughter" doesn't mean anything. She tries to protect herself by staying with Ruby and her baby, who's sleeping in a wood box in the kitchen.

Temple: Why do you keep the baby in a wood box?

Ruby: So the rats won't get it.

Temple finally goes out to the barn and falls asleep in the corn crib. The simpleminded Tommy watches over her. But the snakelike Trigger is persistent, and we know there's trouble brewing when we see his shiny street shoes sliding across the hay-covered floor:



 Trigger kills Tommy and attacks Temple, and then he and a shellshocked Temple drive over a county or two and take up residence at Miss Reba's House of Ill Repute, Inc. It's interesting to look at the music on the soundtrack at this point -- up until now, Temple's trials have been punctuated by a nondescript orchestral score, but once we get to Miss Reba's all we hear in the background is a honky tonk piano. And somehow, it makes things seem even more nightmarish:



Meanwhile, back in Dixon County, the official story is that Temple's away visiting relatives. And Stephen remains the sole defender of Temple's honor, going into men's rooms and wiping "Temple Drake is just a fake/She wants to eat and have her cake" off the walls.

Then Lee Goodwin is charged in the murder of Tommy, and Stephen becomes his attorney. He sets out to find eyewitnesses. His trail leads to Trigger, and he's shocked to see Temple shacking up with him. Temple places herself between Trigger and Stephen to keep Trigger from shooting him, and tells Stephen she loves Trigger. Stephen leaves and Temple decides she's had enough. She puts on her hat to leave, but Trigger blocks her and starts pushing her around, and she shoots him. Then she tries to leave, but she realizes he's holding her hat:

  


Temple makes her way back to Dixon County, where Stephen calls her as a witness in Lee Goodwin's trial. But they both know that if she tells the truth, her reputation will be ruined. "Give me a chance to live it down," she pleads to Stephen -- and he has to decide whether he will serve justice or spare the woman he still loves.   

"The Story of Temple Drake" is based on William Faulkner's novel "Sanctuary," and considering what it couldn't include from the book, it very effectively retains the Southern Gothic flavor of Faulkner. Hopkins must have drawn from her experience as a native of Savannah, Georgia in conveying Temple's lethal charm.

And props, please, to Jack LaRue, who was given the part of Trigger when George Raft refused it. In a career of thankless roles, always as the bad guy, he actually seems half-human -- flattered and even slightly vulnerable -- in the scene where Temple pretends to be in love with him in order to save Stephen.

Here are complete credits for "The Story of Temple Drake," which by the way almost disappeared after its initial release. A restored version, courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art, premiered at the Turner Classic Movies Film Festival in 2011.