Archive for Dick Powell

Paramount Unimportance

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 24, 2019 by dcairns

The title PARAMOUNT ON PARADE was taken.

Watching STAR SPANGLED RHYTHM because it’s an Alan Ladd – Veronica Lake movie is a bad idea — they share no scenes, aren’t in the good bits, and don’t really do the things we like to see them do. It’s moderately good fun to see Lake spoof her image in the Sweater, Sarong & Peekaboo Bang number along with Paulette Goddard (?) and Dorothy Lamour, none of whom can sing terribly pleasingly, and it’s, well, strange to see Ladd take part in a pointless, desultory little sketch set in an expressionist pool hall. But then, none of the sketches in the film is any damn good.

Some of the musical numbers are pretty fine, though —

Stick with this one! It’s all about the Golden Gate Quartette (sic).

There is actually a plot, though the movie is forced to suspend it for large swathes of its runtime. It gets us from one musical sequence to another, shoehorns in a bunch of cameos, and the best of these, for both film-historical and entertainment reasons, are those of C.B. DeMille and Preston Sturges. Sturges does a great trip as he angrily exits a screening room. Not quite up to William Demarest standards, but very funny, especially for his furious look right at the camera department.

George Marshall directs, but it’s no BLUE DAHLIA.

The Past is Prologue

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , on May 28, 2016 by dcairns

vlcsnap-2016-05-28-11h43m31s163

vlcsnap-2016-05-28-11h43m39s243

Marvelous Mary came round with a steak pie and was in a musical mood so we ran FOOTLIGHT PARADE. One of those films I can’t be sure I’ve ever see all the way through. I had seen the big musical numbers, for sure, but the plot, or rather plots, seemed new to me.

Warner Bros are recycling the GOLD-DIGGERS OF BROADWAY 1933 format, but they’ve made it even stranger —

Firstly, rather than a Broadway revue, showman James Cagney, having been put out of business by talking pictures (ironic casting), starts staging elaborate live prologues for movie shows (something like this really did go on in big theatres in big cities, but of course Busby Berkeley is going to offer up stuff that couldn’t staged anywhere except a movie studio).

Then, rather than showstoppers at beginning and end, this one has no real full musical numbers until the climax, where we get three back-to-back-to-front. Honeymoon Hotel and By a Waterfall both star Dick Powell and are very peculiar in the best Busby Berkeley manner — lots of creepy stuff with child-dwarf Billy Barty, and so on. It’s been pointed out that the colossal swimming pool on the latter number (where chorine meets chlorine), with its sheer ten-foot sides, would be a death-trap for any unlucky dancer whose doggie-paddle gave out on her.

vlcsnap-2016-05-28-11h44m12s64

The true amazement comes with Shanghai Lil, in which Cagney, who up until now has been a vast improvement on Warner Baxter, now gets to be a vast improvement on Dick Powell too.

Of course, much of the number is a stupendous build-up to the crashing disappointment of Ruby Keeler in yellowface, clodhopping insipidly on a bartop, but we also get Cagney dancing, his body flowing like a trickle of liquid descending from his big, cocky cranium. So there’s the build-up, the astonishing pre-code detail (an opium den! racial mixing! naked girlies!) and Cagney, and the giant spectacle of it all, orbiting around the ordinary, untalented, unexciting R.K.

I did actually like Ruby in the film’s early part, where she plays a bespectacled secretary. The characterisation gives her something — character. An unfortunate example of a movie makeover robbing someone of interest rather than heightening their charm.

 

To the Neon God they prayed

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 9, 2011 by dcairns

“He’s still talking about editing.”

“Make him stop.”

“I can’t.”

More about editing. Here’s the opening of MURDER, MY SWEET, directed by Edward Dmytryk. In his book On Film Editing, later collected in his bigger book, On Film Making, Dmytryk talks about the scene in Philip Marlowe’s office. Watch the scene. Does anything strike you as odd, or wrong? Continuity, perhaps?

Chance are you haven’t spotted it. If you have, tell me. I’ll know if you’re lying.

Here’s the story: Dmytryk covered the action with all the camera angles he felt he needed, but when he came to cut it together, he saw a problem. The action is partly lit by a blinking neon sign, which gives it classic noir atmos, and also allows for Mike Mazurki‘s appearance as Moose Molloy, reflected in the window, to have an eerie, spectral, now you see it now you don’t effect. But although the light simulating the sign had been faded up and down at regular intervals — three seconds off, three seconds on — it wasn’t precisely synchronized with the performances. This meant that when you cut from a wide shot to a close-up, the sign might blink off prematurely, or it might stay lit too long. Cutting the conversation according to the performances left the blinking neon all out of whack.

So Dmytryk and editor Joseph Noriego tried cutting for continuity. Trouble was, with the neon sign flowing smoothly again, three seconds off, three seconds on, there were now awkward pauses and unmotivated accelerations in the dialogue. The lighting was consistent, but the scene fell on its face.

So Dmytryk made the bold decision to cut for dramatic values and say to Hell with continuity. Now watch the scene and count along with the neon sign. Three seconds off, two seconds on, four seconds off, six seconds on… it’s completely crazy. And at one point it blinks on in an angle on Dick Powell, and then on again in an angle on Mike Mazurki, without ever having gone off. But Dmytryk found that when the scene was cut this way, nobody noticed the strangeness of the light’s behaviour. Cutting solidly for dramatic values put the audience’s attention squarely where it was supposed to be, and they only took particular notice of the light during Mazurki’s first appearance, when they were supposed to notice it.

By this argument, the unusually large number of continuity errors in Martin Scorsese’s films (caused in part, no doubt, by the use of improvisation, which causes each take to differ) can be seen as evidence of the high quality of editor Thelma Schoonmaker’s work — the most obtrusive mismatches are permissable, as long as the dramatic flow is maintained. Check the bloodstains on DeNiro’s face during scene three of RAGING BULL, when Pesci hits him with a a fist wrapped in table-cloth. Hard to believe anyone would have the nerve to leave a howler like that in the cut. And that’s a good thing.

On Film Editing

Murder, My Sweet