Mildred Pierce (1945)

Ajax and wire hangers aside, I do have a special love for Miss Joan Crawford. One of the actresses I came to know backwards, my first introduction to her was the “Rodan versus Godzilla” that was What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962). Young enough to be beyond terrified of the film’s title star, I had a child’s sympathy for Miss Crawford that somehow remains with me today. Despite what kind of mother she was offscreen, and regardless of what her diabolically-eyebrowed character is doing on-screen, I can’t help but delight in watching Crawford play Crawford.

As members of the Hollywood royal family were before her, apparently Miss Crawford was labeled “box office poison” prior to Mildred Pierce. This exact label has been shawled over so many great stars, that sometimes I wonder how much salt I should sprinkle on film history. In any event, the tale of a newly divorced housewife and her transition into a successful businesswoman grandly suited Miss Crawford and her shoulder pads, said to have revitalized a career that was losing its steam. Mildred does anything in her power to earn enough money to satisfy her spoiled daughter, played by a stealthily vicious Ann Blyth. The two actresses develop mesmerizing chemistry as mother and daughter, and you wire hanger fans out there will get a kick out Miss Crawford playing the all-concerned mother.  Fear not, my friends — there’s a slap or two in this one…

After the first shadowy shot of Miss Crawford, I was ready to buy the DVD the following day… luckily a birthday and a “tell-me-what-you-want” friend came in handy. As Mildred walks through the shadows of a Southern California pier wearing her fur coat and hat, I think of a glorious time when all forms of “correctness” weren’t crammed down my throat… and I was born 35 years later! Don’t get me wrong; I love our furry friends and absolutely do not wish them any harm — a fur coat is just one of many decorations in the world of old movies; a world that feels less angry than the politically correct one surrounding me.

Judging from the look and tears on her face in this early scene, Mildred’s black-and-white world is perhaps not as pleasant as I see it… we know something has gone down, and before we have too much time to wonder, Jack Carson pops into the scene with a free drink — once again there’s that lovely drink and its sidekick the cigarette, making their cameos in so many beloved old movies. The Crawford face combined with the shadows that probably moved when she told them to (and of course that little ol’ dead body in the film’s opening scene), made me fall — and fall hard — for Mildred Pierce.

Dead bodies lead to cops, and oh, how I love the policemen in old movies. Guns that produce enormous amounts of smoke always provoke a call to headquarters, typically on a car radio the size of a bullhorn. And when we finally get down to headquarters or the station, the “cop classics” just keep on coming — detectives with fedoras, overalls, and a “drink-cigarette” combo that has become more of a “newspaper-cigarette” pairing… these ARE policemen, after all.

The police bring in Mildred for questioning about the dead body, and she cooperates fully, insisting that her daughter stays at home. As Mildred walks into the station and sits down, mimicking our own confusion about where all of this is going, my eyebrows unfurrow immediately when I see Eve Arden sitting in one of the chairs behind her. As Ida (Arden) roughly shakes off the cop holding her arm and tells him “Look, I bruise easy,” that deliciously brusque voice sets off an alarm in my childhood memory bank.

During my first time through Mildred Pierce, it took me an agonizing 20 seconds to place Miss Arden — fans of the movie Grease (1978) will remember her as Principal McGee of Rydell High. “If you can’t be an athlete, be an athletic supporter.” Yup, that’s Eve Arden. Unwilling to limit myself to a witch’s hat and cape, I also dove wig-first into Grease as a kid, brilliantly transforming a small blanket into the wig that Stockard Channing sports during “Look At Me, I’m Sandra Dee.” And trust me, our harmony together (Miss Channing’s and mine) was nothing to sneeze at. In Mildred Pierce, Miss Arden’s sassiness provides the film with some needed humor, and although she has the potential to steal scenes from the star, it seems like she was smart enough not to do so. As Jack Carson’s character gives her a lusty eye in one scene, she shoots back with “Leave SOMETHING on me; I might catch cold!” It was just enough to earn her an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actress, up against costar Ann Blyth… neither went home with Oscar that night.

I can leave my Oscar Time Machine in the garage, as you Mommie Dearest fans may recall Faye Dunaway’s portrayal of Miss Crawford winning Best Actress in a Leading Role from her bedroom. Too ill to attend the ceremony, her symptoms subsided as soon as her name was announced over the radio, and she ran to address her beloved fans. And she deserved it; Mildred Pierce is a classic that gives us not only the Crawford eyes, eyebrows, and shoulders but also the Crawford who holds our hand while we ride her roller coaster of emotions. As the mother who will stop at nothing to please a daughter incapable of being satisfied, Miss Crawford elegantly blazes through Mildred Pierce and encouraged me to explore a number of her other films.

So where do we go from here? Unavoidably for me, there’s only one direction in which to head after paying my respects to Miss Joan Crawford — I thought about saving it for later, but it’s best not to keep the crazies waiting…

 

Academy Award (1946) for Mildred Pierce: Best Actress in a Leading Role

Add it to your queue.

A Star Is Born (1954)

With the “Garland Goose Bumps” still on my arm from The Wizard of Oz, it seems fitting that I move on to an epic film that is nothing but pure Judy. The story of a star who rises as another falls is not a new one, yet I’m more than happy to revisit it in A Star Is Born, Miss Garland’s first film in almost five years. This one has it all — terribly fake sunrises, cigarettes that seem ad-libbed in their frequency, the Hollywood bellboy from I Love Lucy, an eerie little visit from Liza, and of course, that unparalleled voice…

If you’ve never had the pleasure, I’d highly recommend finding, borrowing, or downloading any version you can find of the song “The Man That Got Away.” If you can locate the live version from Carnegie Hall, I say pounce! Since “Over the Rainbow” remains in its own category unaccompanied by any other, I can safely say that “The Man That Got Away” is my favorite song of Miss Garland’s. James Mason plays Norman Maine in the film, an actor falling deeper into alcoholism and further off the movie screen. Norman still manages to help Miss Garland’s character rise to the top as his fall accelerates — in one of his sober moments, he catches the unknown Esther Blodgett (Garland) and her band just as “The Man That Got Away” comes pouring out of her. He’s as hypnotized as I am by this tiny woman whose voice is still unlike anything I’ve ever felt or heard.

How that immeasurable voice fit into that tiny woman was all I ever wanted to learn in biology class — that’s one the few science tests I could have aced! How does she make the double T’s in “bitter” and “glitter” sound so amazingly painful that I can’t wait for more? In any event, that gorgeous song was more than enough for me to hop in my Oscar Time Machine and snatch the Best Actress Academy Award out of Grace Kelly’s hand (for The Country Girl) and place it in Miss Garland’s.

The fast-paced dialogue of old movies can be quite the workout for me, as I run behind the stream of words, trying to keep up. After Norman grabs Esther’s lipstick and draws a heart on the wall with their initials in it, she narrowly escapes his advances for a second meeting.  Esther tells him “I’ll lay out a whole supply of lipsticks, and we’ll celebrate all over the walls.” That quick delivery, combined with such a scrumptious line,  is one of the many loves I find on my journey through old movies. The confidence that stirred within me years ago with the witch’s hat and broom reappears again, perhaps a bit transformed, and a certain familiar half-smile forms on my face. I wanted my mind to work as quickly as hers, churning out the wittiest of comebacks without thinking. The gift of mimicry was always there for me — I can remember movie lines without fail, precisely as written and recited. Although I was usually called upon to perform such lines and flawlessly did so, a part of me still wished for some lines of my own.

Over the years I’ve discovered there’s an important piece of information that some of my generation go through life without… on March 12, 1946, Miss Judy Garland gave birth to Miss Liza Minnelli. This fact that I learned on perhaps my second or third week on this planet is still unknown to many — please pass it on! In A Star Is Born, a wonderful form of creepiness rears its two heads during the 15-minute musical number, “Born in a Trunk.” In the number, Miss Garland joins a chorus of dancing girls who all sport a rather short black wig. As she looks directly into the camera for just a moment, all those Cabaret fans out there will swear, as I did, that both Judy and Liza are inhabiting a single body.

If you do give this one a try, I’ll warn you that it’s quite the commitment — at just under three hours, A Star Is Born requires me to stop all liquids half a day before viewing if I want to make it all the way through. It is a film I return to often enough, and although Mr. Mason and the others give wonderful performances, I do sometimes fast-forward any scenes without my dear Miss Garland. There is another voice in the film, though far less powerful, that tinkers with my old movie memory just a pinch… with his big talk and big shoulders, Mr. Jack Carson plays one of the studio’s big shots who witnesses Esther Blodgett’s rise in Hollywood. Mr. Carson brings me to a favorite of mine that he was in a few years earlier; try as he might, his shoulders were no match for those of our dearest Miss Joan Crawford…

My Oscar Time Machine for A Star Is Born: Best Actress in a Leading Role for Miss Judy Garland (and Grace Kelly can just sit there).

Add it to your queue.

The Wizard of Oz (1939)

As our beloved Miss Garland discovered, the Yellow Brick Road is the perfect place to begin a journey into the unknown, especially when said journey is into the world of old movies. For many, The Wizard of Oz has followed us from childhood into our teenage years, when friends suggested we watch it backwards with certain party favors. Finally it’s a part of childhood we bring it into adulthood, a time when we realized we still remember each and every word.

At the tender age of out-of-the-womb, I was hooked on our VHS copy of the film the family had taped off of TV. The old Kit Kat commercials on that tape will forever be locked in my memory, as will the image of Michael Jackson’s sequin socks and Pepsi drinking. Watching my DVD today, I can pinpoint the moments when I expect the film to pause for a Kit Kat and Pepsi break. A scratch in the record becomes part of the song when you’ve never heard it any other way…

My experience of The Wizard of Oz — for I didn’t just watch this gem; I experienced it — was not always a shared one. Yes, I’m sure there were times early on when the family gathered together to watch Miss Garland in her razzle-dazzle slippers skip down yellow brick, but my memories begin a bit later than that. As I imagine is true with many readers, this was the first special relationship I had with a film, so for me naturally it took special preparation.

While the film as a whole was, and is, to be treasured on one of the highest shelves, there was one character who really got under my skin… and later, with the help of a green marker, onto the surface of my skin as well.

 Before I could begin my private viewing of the movie at the age of five or six, a certain black cape had to be balled up on the floor with a pointed black hat placed on top of it. As the necessary garments rested on the carpet, I’d grab the red-handled broom from behind the garage door, always holding it broom-side-up as I walked back to the stirring black pile. Since the cape remained tied even when an Oz session wasn’t in progress (I was one of the last to master the art of shoe tying), naturally I had to be cloaked first. Resurrecting her with the placement of the hat on my head, the Wicked Witch of the West once again returned to life. 

Who knows what outlet was provided by my dressing up as the terrifyingly brilliant Margaret Hamilton? I imagine 20 or 30 possible theories are all somehow correct, but it’s still a smidge of a mystery to me. I used to get angry when this part of my childhood was put on display by my family; I wasn’t so much embarrassed as I was protective of the memory —  I had created my own little Oz and didn’t really understand the raised eyebrows that seemed to scream “what a weird kid.” But in my mind… weird, no. Lucky, oh you betcha!

Margaret Hamilton’s performance was the first to spark in me whatever needed sparking, and I had begun to understand how movies could be a marvelous part of my life. That trusty hat, tied cape, and red-handled broom is my first memory of what I believed to be “confidence.” Ms. Hamilton’s Witch of the West is one of the finest in film villains — she won me over with that evil self-assurance and confidence that only a villain can have — and with this came what I later named my imaginary Oscar Time Machine. Nobel and Pulitzer Prizes paled in comparison to the importance of an Academy Award, the highest honor in the (or my) land. Before my exposure to glorious Hattie McDaniel in Gone with the Wind, I was convinced Margaret Hamilton had been robbed of the Best Supporting Actress Oscar without even a nomination.

Ms. Hamilton’s wickedness was so real to me that long before Elphaba rose up in the Broadway curtain, I had already given her character a name. As I understood it, the Witch was not threatening our post-makeover heroine when she wrote “Surrender Dorothy” in the sky with her broom; rather she was simply announcing her arrival by writing her name for all of Emerald City to see — “Sorrenda” is perhaps how I would have spelled her name at the time.

 The Cowardly Lion’s accent is partially to blame here (if we even need to assign blame), as I heard no hard “r” at the end of “surrender” when he read the smoke signal aloud to the rest of the cast. Since I can’t help but smile at one of my many childhood misunderstandings that paved the way to creativity, I’ll dismiss the need to point a witchy finger in any particular direction.

One of the comforting aspects about The Wizard of Oz is that so many of us have these wonderful, embarrassing, green-marker-all-over-our-hand memories attached to it… and I’d love to hear yours! My loving worship of dear Sorrenda should by no means drown out the strong attachment I have to the rest of the cast. As I continue down my own brick road of (mostly) black-and-white, you’ll discover my love knows no bounds for the one voice to which none will ever compare… … …except maybe Liza’s.

In my next piece I’ll tackle a film of the radiant Judy Garland’s that perhaps my generation has not had the pleasure of viewing, since I only came to love it at the age of 28. Released 15 years after The Wizard of Oz, it has become one of my “Judy favorites” that manages to get me a bit teary every time. For those who have never voyaged beyond Oz, I encourage you to do so… you’ll probably hear a piece of “Over the Rainbow” in every song she sings.

 

 

Academy Awards (1940) for The Wizard of Oz: Best Music, Original Score, and Best Music, Original Song (“Over the Rainbow”). Miss Judy Garland received a special Juvenile Award at the ceremony.

My Oscar Time Machine: Best Supporting Actress for Margaret Hamilton (tied with Hattie McDaniel for Gone with the Wind).

Add it to your queue.

Overture: Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome!

 

At the age of three, I knew I was blessed with old taste. When I was a kid, the family would gather after dinner to watch old episodes of Soap, a brilliant TV show from the late 1970s, created by the same woman who later favored us with The Golden Girls.  As my sister and I moved backwards and earlier than our precious Soap, naturally my parents introduced me to I Love Lucy, All in the Family, and countless others, whetting my appetite for anything that was created before I was.

 

As luck and VCRs would have it, the backwards journey into entertainment took me into film as well. The look, the sound, the costumes, and the “nice and slow” pace of old movies all hypnotized me. The smell I imagined of the endless martinis and cigarettes was enough to draw me into the classic world in which I wanted to live, health risks aside.

 

As the years went by and I began to understand the lines I had committed to memory, my love and appreciation for a time that has since gone with the wind grew along with me. My intention here is not only to explore why the world of classic film sparks such a specified type of happiness within me but also see how many sparks out there I can light.  

 

Naturally I started my journey where so many others have, but over the years, I’ve discovered this is also exactly where so many stopped. The end of the Yellow Brick Road was the gateway into classic film for me; an Emerald City of my very own, full of curtains I wanted to look behind… … …here we go!