Archive for Annabella

Tales of the Riverbank

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 21, 2016 by dcairns

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So, my enjoyment of THE PRISONER OF ZENDA led me to investigate the often-overlooked John Cromwell a bit, flipping through my heap of unwatched discs to see what I might have of his lying about. BANJO ON MY KNEE came up — Stanwyck, McCrea? What’s not to like? Walter Brennan in support? Screenplay by Nunnally Johnson? All good.

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Plus Walter Catlett in the role of Harold Lloyd’s dirty uncle.

It’s not all good, though, but it has definite pleasures. It begins with a wedding, and the impetus gained by starting with the leads already tying the knot gives a sense of plunging right in. The story world is a novel one — the main characters are Mississippi river-folk, dwelling on boats anchored to tiny islands in the great river. The only unfortunate thing about this is it brings in a lot of rowdy humour of the kind Johnson would supply to John Ford, a little of which goes a long way. As the movie goes on, preventing McCrea and Stanwyck from consummating their wedding takes quite a lot of plot ingenuity, and where that fails, the movie resorts to making McCrea an obnoxious lout. Now, it takes quite a lot to render the laid-back McCrea dislikable, but at times this movie definitely manages it.

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Brennan fulfills his allotted role as Mr. Entertainment, playing McCrea’s old dad, lugging around his one-man-band “contraption,” and there’s amusing support from Buddy Ebsen and the sullen, feisty Katherine DeMille (adopted daughter of Cecil, wife of Anthony Quinn). Tony Martin suddenly turns up. “Who the hell is that?” asked Fiona. “A bar of soap,” I suggested. But do you know, by the end, we quite liked him. But, just when he’s become more of a hero than McCrea, the movie forgets he’s there.

Theresa Harris from David Cairns on Vimeo.

Brennan’s contraption and Martin’s crooning combine to make this a kind of stealth musical. All the numbers are diegetic, performed in situations where they might be performed, and the plot to some extent revolves around Brennan’s desire to serenade his son and daughter-in-law on their first night of passion, that he might become a grandfather. The biggest number, and the one that feels most on the verge of breaking the fourth wall, is a rendition of St Louis Woman by the great Theresa Harris. I swear you can actually see the splice where this whole scene could be removed for screenings in the south, so that residents of the film’s locales wouldn’t have to be offended by the sight of a black person being talented.

In a way, music goes beyond being a feature in the film and becomes a theme, a plot point and a character.

Cromwell’s skill with striking compositions is much in evidence, so even though the surly hero and incessant brawling get you down a bit, the visuals and the music and the players sustain interest and provide lashings of entertainment, with a slightly unusual flavour. And Katherine DeMille, in a magnificently mean and moody supporting role, produces a surprising burst of wet slip action which puts Annabella in the shade. Or it would if Annabella stood next to her and crouched. Seems to be a Zanuck fetish.

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Canal Knowledge

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on November 21, 2016 by dcairns

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Well, after five and a half majestic hours of Abel Gance’s NAPOLEON on the big screen I ought to have plenty to blog about this week. But my first observations are going to be pathetically trivial.

Being a newcomer to this movie — I purposely held off on watching it until I could see it projected with an audience — I’m not sure how much new footage may be included in Mr. Brownlow’s latest restoration. And my unwatched DVD turns out to be taken from Francis Ford Coppola’s somewhat pruned version of the movie — he de-restored it a bit for US consumption, apparently feeling himself better qualified to produce a director’s cut than Gance himself. So all I can say is that the version currently screening in select venues turns out to have more Annabella than the Coppola cut. I don’t know if this is because FCC thought we could do with a life of Bonaparte containing about 30% less gamine, or because more footage of the elfin one has since turned up. Here she is ~

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The upper intertitle made me smile, because there happens to be a film called SUEZ, directed by Allan Dwan, dealing with the construction of the famous canal, and Annabella is in it, along with her then husband, Tyrone Power (what should we call that marriage – lavender, open, or just plain peculiar?).

SUEZ is a pretty dull film. Zanuck’s Fox was just the kind of studio where somebody would make the assumption that a large civil engineering project would automatically make a good movie. But if you look in the Yellow Pages under “civil engineering” it says “see boring,” and rightly so.

Annabella provides the only minute of interest in the film, using her breasts.

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Seconded to Alexandria to prepare the canal, Ty Power immediately chances upon a runaway bathing machine and a naked damsel in distress, played by his offscreen wife. Though her character is supposed to be anxious to conceal herself beneath the conveniently opaque waters of her oasis, Annabella herself seems more interesting in bobbing up and down and revealing as much as possible.

And so, a unique sight for 1938 — a topless woman covering her breasts with her hands. Might not seem that shocking, but I can’t think of any similar view in a film of that period.

Tyrone is the perfect gentleman, returns the bathing machine, Annabella gets dressed, and then, in a bit of screwball slapstick, the couple both fall in the water. Cue 1938’s second surprise image, the wet shirt scene ~

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This is, in motion, even more explicit than it looks here. Annabella’s shirt becomes a translucent membrane, clinging to her boyish figure like a second skin. Ahem.

I realize I am probably apt to overrate the importance and interest of female breasts in the scheme of things. But this double violation of censorship norms seems to require a theory to explain it. The only explanation I can come up with is a rather sad one: the Breen Office allowed Annabella’s breasts to make themselves known because they are very small, and they didn’t think they counted.

I think they count, Annabella! And everyone thought you were much cuter than Josephine in NAPOLEON.

Pretty lame to be pondering this after seeing the wonder that is Gance’s masterpiece, I know. But that movie has a bunch of much more fulsome and unabashed nudity, so in a way I’m being restrained by focussing on this modest sample.

(As ace researcher Christine Leteux discovered, there was once even more of Annabella in NAPOLEON. I mean screen time, not flesh. Intriguingly, the deleted scene linked to here is more dramatic than anything remaining of A’s performance in the film.)

Drag Race

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2011 by dcairns

WINGS OF THE MORNING (1937) — shown to a select few as part of Filmhouse’s beloved “Projecting the Archive” programme — was Britain’s first Technicolor film. The great Jack Cardiff, trained in the ways of three-strip at MGM, was camera operator, but Ray Rennahan (an old hand from the two-strip days of DR X) was cinematographer. Harold D Schuster directed, but we don’t care! What concerns us is the gorgeous, soft, muted hues and the bizarro plot turns and genre shifts.

Technicolor is very much under the supervision of Natalie Kalmus, estranged wife of the bloke who invented it — she was drummed out of Hollywood after her dictatorial demands about how colo(u)r should be deployed ran up against the expertise of photographers and designers who could get great results by ignoring her. GONE WITH THE WIND (1939) seems to have been the test case: Kalmus demanded restraint, they cut loose for one scene, found they liked the more vivid look, and booted her off the set. Thereafter Nat K would find herself working exclusively in Britain, getting kicked off sets by Michael Powell. But that hasn’t happened yet in 1937, where it’s forever gentle earth tones, and Natalie Kalmus and her law of restraint holds illimitable dominion over all.

But hey! There’s something to be said for it. The warm pastels compliment the actors’ skin tones, and when a few scenes pop out louder due to unavoidable red London buses and the like, you really feel the vibrancy. This film isn’t good in any recognized sense of the word, but it coasts along on prettiness and peculiarity.

Although this is a 2oth Century Fox production, it’s uniquely British owing to its inadequacies in casting and plotting, but these are so off-the-wall as to instil it with fascination. Only in Britain do we regularly seem to find major top-of-the-line product put together by people who manifestly don’t know the first thing about movies and stories. This one commits an elementary beginner’s mistake by opening twenty years before its main characters are born. For no reason. Never do this: it’s frowned upon in the industry. This protracted prologue presents an unlikely romance between portly landowner Lord Clontaf (pronounced variously by the cast) and a young gypsy “princess” (they like giving themselves extravagant titles, we’re told). He’s Leslie Banks, disastrously — this is one of those films which doesn’t know what to do about his dramatic facial scarring, so as in Powell’s quota quickie THE FIRE STARTERS, they always show him in profile, Like Dick Tracy. But his mouth is distorted by the wound, and so this is much worse than just letting us see him properly: we find ourselves edging round in our seats, leaning across our neighbours, trying to get a better look. What’s wrong with his face? In HOUNDS OF ZAROFF and THE SMALL BACK ROOM and even THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH the face is more or less displayed to full effect, and we don’t mind the scar at all.

The girl is played by Annabella, just before she married Tyrone Power. her accent is thick, charming and unexplained by narrative contrivance. Once the prologue us disposed of her character ages into Dame Irene Vanbrugh, who has a richly English accent, and now we meet a second Annabella, playing the great-granddaughter of the first, having been raised in Spain with the same French accent as before. The Civil War is raging so Annabella escapes the country disguised as a boy — Duchess Maria of Leyva becomes Duke Mario, and then, having wound up back in Ireland where the action started, she carries on in drag for no reason. The insanity of this is questioned by none of her gypsy friends, but it’s basically the source of all the entertainment for the next half hour. For two reasons —

1) Annabella makes a stunning boy. She’s obviously having the time of her life, also. Given that she did marry Tyrone Power, she’s been the subject of rumours, and I’m just going to declare them all true based on this performance alone. And it’s sort of a sweet thought: this wasn’t a lavender marriage where the affection was false. Instead we have two randy bisexuals assuming respectability via holy matrimony, shagging each other senseless and also shagging everything else in sight. If that’s how you roll, it seems a productive arrangement.

I like Annabella well enough as a girl, but she exerts even more attraction in a suit and beret, puffing on a cigar. I’m at a loss to explain it. At this point I would begin to question myself, except I can’t think of anybody else I fancy who wears a suit and smokes cigars, so I don’t really know where to begin.

2) Annabella meets Henry Fonda, playing a Canadian horse trainer. (British films are often coy about shoehorning American stars into the action, so we call them Canadians.) Like Leslie Banks in Part 1, he’s initially far more interested in her horse, but soon he’s sparring aggressively with Duke Mario, spanking him/her, kicking him/her up the arse, and calling him “shrimp.” Hank F probably has less homoerotic fervor about him than any leading man who ever lived, so this sequence doesn’t sparkle with forbidden allure quite as it might with Ty Power in the role (the celluloid would combust!) but that adds to the surreality and giant overhanging question mark about what will happen next. In fact, Fonda learns the truth the hard way by physically tearing Annabella’s shirt off in a bush (long story) — we watch from without as the branches wave and a shrill scream sounds forth. Fonda emerges, visibly shaken, clutching the torn chemise, and stammers “I’m sorry!” Which puts me in mind of this —

Drag artiste Jessie Matthews is revealed in all her girlhood in FIRST A GIRL.

Thereafter, all it takes is for Henry to see Annabella in a beautiful evening gown and he forgets his dislike of the “spoiled brat” and falls madly in love. At which point the movie “introduces” the “world famous tenor” John McCormack (“How can you introduce someone who’s world famous?” asked David Wingrove, on my left) and the movie grinds to a deadly halt as he sings three — THREE!!! — “old favourites.”

Seconds out, round five– having tried its hand at period romance across the class barriers, Spanish Civil War drama (briefly), transvestite romp, and deadly musical, the movie now turns into a racing picture, with Annabella’s great-gran (remember her? She used to be Annabella! DO keep up, will you?) and Hank both entering horses in the Epsom Derby. Cue stunning colour shots of London and humorous Derby Day characters (I’m particularly intrigued by King Honolulu, King of the Derby, a black guy with gold teeth — “I got a HOOORSE!!!”) and a frantically edited finish. If Annabella wins, she’ll be forced to marry snooty Don Diego, but if she loses, her family will be ruined but on the other hand she can marry Hank? How can this be resolved satisfactorily? I know, but I’m not telling.

Fonda also has a very funny dog, called Scruffy, which was my first boyhood dog’s name.

Most images swiped from this excellent article by Murray Pomerance.