Men of the Thirties: 1937

The Nominees Were...


Charles Boyer - Conquest
Fredric March - A Star is Born
Robert Montgomery - Night Must Fall
Paul Muni - The Life of Emile Zola
Spencer Tracy - Captains Courageous

And the Winner Was...

Spencer Tracy - Captains Courageous

Had Paul Muni not got his Oscar for playing Louis Pasteur in 1936, he probably would have got it for playing Emile Zola in '37. As it stands, the Oscar went to the only other character of the five without any real flaws, the Portugese fisherman played by Spencer Tracy in Captains Courageous. Boyer and Montgomery had juicy roles as Napoleon and a potential killer respectively, but didn't have BP nominees to back it up. March's role is sympathetic so he may have been in with a chance, but it isn't difficult to surmise why Tracy managed to get this win, given his nomination the year before.


My Ratings (in order of preference):-

*** Charles Boyer in Conquest

Conquest sounds like an epic tale of conflict but so isn't, and seems only concerned with the silly soap opera of the French emperor's complicated love life. Boyer more than anyone else is aware of the film's silliness, and plays Napoleon like a big kid in a man's body, sure of what he wants (at least in the short-term) but clueless about how to go about things. Unsurprisingly then he flourishes when the tone of the film is lighter, super fun when wooing and flirting with Garbo and successful at conveying Napoleon's lack of emotional intelligence. A particular scene in which Garbo teaches him to dance is a highlight. It's a shame that Boyer can't really follow this through into the bouts of melodrama, and doesn't give any variation to his superior "Why don't you see things the way I do?" glare that became a staple into the peak of his career.

*** Fredric March in A Star is Born

March set the ball rolling for pretenders James Mason and Kris Kristofferson as the overshadowed husband of Janet Gaynor's movie sensation Vicki Lester. I actually don't like the role of Norman Maine: it's underwritten, fairly simple, rather dull in truth. Disappointment creeps into March's reactions to every phone call and correspondence being for his wife and not him, and as his career dies a death March charts Norman's decreasing self-worth fairly competently. But A Star is Born has always been about the leading lady.

** Spencer Tracy in Captains Courageous

Spencer's trained modesty gets another outing in this little fable, and it's a lovely change to see Tracy play somebody like fisherman Manuel, more exotic and less culturally cardboard. While Tracy himself gives an occasionally moving account of a grouch who has his emotions deepened (using his eyes to great effect) he doesn't convey enough of the core industriousness of Manuel. It's lucky he has an incredibly talented co-lead to work with, and the rapport between the two is convincing enough to carry off the earthy versus pompous sparring.

** Paul Muni in The Life of Emile Zola

And here we are again - Paul Muni's fourth nomination in five years. Sadly this is incredibly similar to his winning turn the year before, and the film too is equally as unconcerned with tapping into its principal figure. One could have crafted the film from scouring the archives for all of half an hour. Muni does a semi-reprisal, but looks less like a goat and more like a shaggy dog, shaking his head in a "What is the world coming to?" kind of fashion. He fares better (if only because he gets some tasty monologues to sink his teeth into) and is able to impart the struggle of an academic within a 'practical' society.

Unseen Nominees:-

Robert Montgomery in Night Must Fall

The Snubbed

***** Cary Grant in The Awful Truth

The wonderful thing about Grant as a comedy actor is that he can play both the unstable hapless victim (Bringing Up Baby, Arsenic and Old Lace) and the sly, scheming charmer, seen in His Girl Friday and most wonderfully Leo McCarey's The Awful Truth. He knows what's expected of him in giving the relationship backstory and ensuring that the audience know that this pairing has a future. Grant revels in his love/hate relationship with Dunne, and sells every wisecrack with brisk, perfect timing and unrivalled charisma.

**** Freddie Bartholomew in Captains Courageous

As a pompous, uppity schoolkid Bartholomew seems like he's just been plucked out of a private school. God knows where they plucked him from but whoever made that call did well, since his performance is the perfect buffer for the film's ideas about class structure and self-sufficiency. Bartholomew gives Freddie exactly the right level of arrogance, and even at his most testing you can see that the boy is not massively fazed by having to do things for himself as much as inconvenienced by not being completely aware of his setup. He has several line deliveries that are laugh-out-loud funny, and is very patient with his simple arc, becoming emotionally effective in the final act.

Men of the Thirties: 1936

And the Nominees Were:

Gary Cooper - Mr. Deeds Goes To Town
Walter Huston - Dodsworth
Paul Muni - The Story of Louis Pasteur
William Powell - My Man Godfrey
Spencer Tracy - San Francisco

And the Winner Was:

Paul Muni - The Story of Louis Pasteur

In this case the result reflects two tried-and-tested ways of winning an Oscar: a) play a famous, real-life person, and b) be nominated enough times to gain "overdue" status. Paul Muni had done both by the time the 1936 awards rolled around and was up against three first-time nominees and a comedic, Best Picture nominee-less William Powell. Plain sailing.

My Ratings (in order of preference):-

**** Gary Cooper in Mr. Deeds Goes To Town

The first of a string of nominations for Cooper, Mr. Deeds is a true display of his penchant for extracting empathy from an audience. His humanism reaches heights in High Noon, where his aging lawman has considerably more wisdom than Deeds, but by my reckoning the younger Cooper is just as valuable. Though the character is a bit too well-rounded and aware of the vicious circle he's dragged into, Cooper never lets you under the skin of Longfellow. He doesn't pin him down as a lucky simpleton, and doesn't really change a great deal from start to finish. It's clever then that he makes Deeds representative of anybody with political power, guilty of taking it for granted and duly pounced upon by the inevitable group that simply don't believe in you. It's a brilliant performance because it counters the spin that Capra's satirising by showing us that there is no saviour, and that the working class everyman is likely to suffer the same fate of the politician with the privileged pedigree.

**** Walter Huston in Dodsworth

Loud, brash, honest, dependable -- they're admittedly not the most exciting adjectives, and so it might not be difficult to surmise why Ruth Chatterton's Fran leaves these characteristics behind for a cosmopolitan life in Europe. Her husband Sam is played with admittedly little variety by Huston, but he manages to capture the perplexity of this retired, business-minded, commonsensical veteran at his wife's actions. Why has she done this? Why has she done this now? Why doesn't she want to be a mother anymore? Why doesn't she want to be a grandmother? Where has this come from? The revelation that he doesn't know his wife half as much as he thought he did comes as a bit of a body blow, and Huston gives the wounded husband a frantic yet assured, grumbly, uncompromising demeanor. The hurt is there but it's beyond this guy to go to pieces, just clean up the damage and move on.

**** William Powell in My Man Godfrey

William Powell is a sly dog. The topsy-turvy politics of My Man Godfrey complicate his performance greatly, introducing Godfrey as a poor man and revealing him as a rich man masquerading as a poor man. To Powell's credit he succeeds at being both, although a repeat viewing might be called for to detect if this plot device is evident in his actions in the film's early stages. He sure seems regal throughout the screwball comedy, maddeningly unwavering when observing the chaos around him, and quietly resentful of the wealthy way of life.

** Paul Muni in The Story of Louis Pasteur

The Story of Louis Pasteur is just that, a story, well thought-out with regard to historical overview and plot points, and completely non-threatening as a vehicle. And if the five nominees are judged by how well they know their own film and character's limitations Muni would be up there. But 'reliable' does not excel in my eyes, and Paul Muni's animated, head-scratching robotic dog impersonation grows tiresome quickly. Madness is notoriously synonomous with genius but the madcrack mannerisms of Muni's Pasteur (nodding interminably, itchy-chin syndrome, raised eyebrows) only serve as an admission that this film has nothing to offer but EVENTS and ACTIONS, and doesn't even attempt to delve into Pasteur the man.

* Spencer Tracy in San Francisco

I was hoping to enjoy this film and performance, particularly as in the next couple of profiles I'll be pretty much ripping Spencer Tracy to pieces, but this nomination is one of the most bizarre I have ever come across. Tracy features in about six scenes (probably about fifteen minutes screen-time in all) and in only one of these scenes does he raise his voice. My only guess as to why this happened is that there must have been some kind of media/studio talk of Tracy as the next big thing, because nothing in the film demonstrates any kind of chops, sadly.

The Snubbed

**** Leslie Howard in The Petrified Forest

Howard was snubbed again in 1936, for his screen reprisal of a broadway play. His character in the film, Alan Squier, is the most pseudo-intellectual depressing person. But if you ever wanted to hear someone be intellectual Leslie's your man, and he absoloutely nails the conflicts of a man desperate to matter.

*** Clark Gable in San Francisco

We're back to devilish Clark, and believe me he's fiendish in this one. I read on IMDB trivia that in the more emotional scenes he wouldn't let W.S. Van Dyke film his face. It's probably a wise move for his performance, and the film was already a goner by that point anyway. Much better than Tracy.

Men of the Thirties: 1935

The Nominees Were:

Clark Gable - Mutiny on the Bounty
Charles Laughton - Mutiny on the Bounty
Victor McLaglen - The Informer
Paul Muni - Black Fury
Franchot Tone - Mutiny on the Bounty

And the Winner Was:

Victor McLaglen - The Informer

The Mutiny on the Bounty guys fairly obviously split votes here, since none of them really stand out as the obvious pick. Paul Muni's write-in nomination for Black Fury meant that he had a lot of fans but was battling against a massive resurgence for John Ford's film. The Informer was a financial failure but virtually everybody with any influence in LA was raving about it. Victor McLaglen's win is partly a product of this and surely because his role is much more of a one-man show than the others.

My Ratings (in order of preference):-

**** Franchot Tone in Mutiny on the Bounty

While caught at the centre of a struggle between a tyrannical Captain and his increasingly concerned first mate, Tone's eager midshipman features a lot less than he ought to and is often left in the shade in favour of the more obvious 'characters' of the piece. Nevertheless, his presence is a valuable one, and as the most grounded character within a very fervently political environment, the honest, loyal remonstrations against mutiny feel integral to the film's ideas about what 'serving' your country really means. Tone charts the arc of his surefire, adaptable Byam in moving from a position of anti-idealism to a much more sceptical outlook on institutional hierarchy, and learns his lesson the hard way.

*** Charles Laughton in Mutiny on the Bounty

Laughton's silliness reached its peak with royalty in 1933 and, while Captain Bligh aboard the Bounty would never purport to be anything other than a stern nobleman, his monstrous actions are a flimsy way of setting up the ethical dilemnas that plague the film's second half. Parts of Laughton's Bligh are successful: he's predictable, emotionally-disposable, only harmful through position, and kind of reminded me of Captain Manwairing in Dad's Army (i.e. laughably hypocritical). Is this enough? Mutiny is let down a tad by its own narrow-minded views about villainry and Laughton does nothing to suggest that Bligh is battling with ethics himself, or indeed considering anything outside of his power-trip duty. In the end he plays up to Lloyd's emphasis on accessibility, the easier option but possibly also a wise one.

*** Victor McLaglen in The Informer

The protestations of innocence by Victor McLaglen's guilty Gypo are far too easily-read for a higher rating here, and honestly the film is less about his character than an examination of culture and community politics. The gentle giant is not quite on the level of Michael Clarke Duncan in The Green Mile, whose character required him to be meek and little else. McLaglen has to process the guilt of Gypo and does so with the kind of bumbling brashness that makes The Informer seem all the more harsher and imposing. Detrimentally, this makes him stick out like a sore thumb and takes away some of the ambiguity that might have richened the production had a patient, introspective Actor took this role on.

** Clark Gable in Mutiny on the Bounty

There's not much wisdom to be seen in Clark Gable, and the plucky humanitarianism of Fletcher Christian strikes up a much different, wholesome Clark to the one that we're accustomed to. It's difficult to believe that Christian's sudden and rather drastic overhaul of the Bounty was borne out of pure empathy, and one considers that the first mate may be impatient in aspiration, deluded even. Gable doesn't really allude to any unknown motivation, and his fatal flaw is toning down his renowned dastardly charisma in favour of a more dull, reluctant 'hero'. Certainly acceptable as an unwilling moral crusader yet strangely vapid when interacting with Laughton, his best work emerging in the quiet moments with Tone.

Nominees Unseen:

Paul Muni - Black Fury

The Snubbed

**** Robert Donat in The 39 Steps

It's incredibly impressive that guys are still using the techniques of Donat as Richard Hannay, one of the original innocents on the run. The 39 Steps is one of Hitchcock's most watchable films and like The Lady Vanishes seems anti-try hard, easy to follow and digest, charming in the most ballsy, unexpected ways. Its caper style often put me off a little but Donat is inspired in these moments, bang-on tonally, effortlessly funny, the perfect 'wrong man'. And yet as a hero he is thoroughly dynamic, sexy in spontanaeity, and one of Hitch's most appealing screen protagonists he alternates from being a 'man's man' and a 'ladies man' with such ease that it's hardly surprising he was a big box-office draw in this period.

Men of the Thirties: 1932-33

1932-33

The Nominees Were...Leslie Howard - Berkeley Square
Charles Laughton - The Private Life of Henry VIII
Paul Muni - I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang

The Winner Was...


Charles Laughton - The Private Life of Henry VIII

My Ratings (in order of preference):-

***** Paul Muni in I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932)

As an unwilling rebel against a questionable and heavily-criticised judicial system, Paul Muni is a near-revelation in Mervyn LeRoy's I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang. Muni gives his wronged man the kind of naive, grounded appeal that heroes always need; that instinctive, direct way of looking at the world, and a degree of intolerance for people and situations that complicate that notion. He convincingly dissects his new situation, initially making James a petulant passenger in the chain gang before a sturdy realisation that to conquer it he must take charge. Fugitive is not as scathing as one would think: James' entry into jail is the primary force in his eventual achievements outside of it, and while the film ploughs on with such capable finesse and ease of storytelling Muni seems to be the perfect central element to its poltiical motivations, a product of his own victimisation.

***

Charles Laughton in The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933)

Surely there isn't a more definitive screen version of Henry VIII than this 1933 tour-de-force? As well as looking remarkably like the man himself Laughton chews on drumsticks and spits orders with the self-righteous bravura of a man consumed by inherent, ingrained arrogance, and raucously chomps at the bit when surveying the womenfolk too. My problems with the film stem from its rushed desire to pack every juicy bit of history into ninety very stagy minutes, and Laughton himself doesn't really help in this regard. His mannered approach occasionally feels cartoonish, and his effective moments usually come in the form of comedy. A good performance but nothing exceptional.

*

Leslie Howard in Berkeley Square (1933)

The toe-in-the-water exploration of the absurd Berkeley Square requires Leslie Howard to be: a) besotted with the idea of his own ancestry, b) besotted with a member of his own ancestry, and c) infuriated with both a and b. Infuriation is something Leslie Howard can only demonstrate with the snarl of a terrier puppy, and even the stuffiness of the film's setting and subject cannot make his efforts feel beyond first base. I am generally a Leslie fan but he feels as if he's acting in a glass box here, understandably unsure of his film's bizarre intentions but fatally unable to eek out any belief for his character's fascinations or sympathy for the predicament he gets himself into.

 

The Snubbed

***

Warner Baxter in 42nd Street (1933) 

The academy don't really like men in musicals. William Powell in The Great Ziegfeld (not exactly a "musical" but about musical theatre) similarly found himself on the wrong side of a snub, and that was for a film about HIM. 42nd Street is also more concerned with women and theatricality than the man who must hold it all together, Warner Baxter. Baxter isn't wonderful but he does draw attention to the frantic, fragile nature of showbusiness and the line between success and failure, and responds to each mini-disaster with the level of comic resignation that takes envy and shoves it down your throat.

**

Nils Asther in The Bitter Tea of General Yen (1933)

This beastly pet-figure of reluctant lust for heroine Barbara Stanwyck would later be modestly improved upon by Yul Brynner in Walter Lang's The King and I. Asther's stoney stern glare (as if he were telling off a small child), and satisfyingly smug closed-grin seem to be the faces of choice, and as such he loops them throughout The Bitter Tea, making his General Yen somebody fundamentally formidable, but never really expanding upon the barbarism that tarnishes his acceptability. A late scene shows promise but in general he's one of the main reasons why the film doesn't work.

Men of the Thirties: 1931-32

1931-32

The Nominees Were:

Wallace Beery - The Champ
Alfred Lunt - The Guardsman
Fredric March - Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

And the Winner Winners was were...

Wallace Beery - The Champ
Fredric March - Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

In an extraordinary year, the majority of the Leading Actor nominees actually won, with Beery and March sharing the accolade. Fredric March is the true winner, since he got just one vote more than Wallace's Champ, but the then-rules stipulated that if a competitor was within a certain number the contest would be deemed a tie. After frantically searching for a spare statuette for Beery, he too got a speech, and Alfred Lunt remained the only bridesmaid of the trio.

My Ratings (in order of preference):-

**** Wallace Beery in The Champ (1931)

One half of the gentle giant-cute kid partnership Champ demonstrates paternity in different ways, caught between a desire to ingrain Dink into the only way of life that he knows (as an attempt to keep up a "legacy" that's paper thin anyway), and a realisation that Dink needs a more stable and (for lack of a better word) childish childhood. Beery's reaction to suggestions the kid would be better off with his mother is stubborn but with a hint of conciliation, and he conveys the esteem issues of Champ and his failed boxing career without giving the audience too strong a sense of where the film is going. His chief scene comes after admitting to himself that Dink would be better off elsewhere, and in true macho fashion Champ cannot bear to seem weak in front of his child, opting instead to admonish him and make him seem like a burden. Beery plays this scene incredibly well, and after slapping the kid gives a devastatingly effective wince, the obvious regret halting every ounce of anger you could have had for this troubled but ultimately noble man.

**** Fredric March in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931)

Rouben Mamoulian's Jekyll and Hyde would undoubtedly be a multiple winner had the make-up category been introduced sooner. March's transformation between Professor and monster is a cosmetic feat for the time and surely contributive to the effect and popularity of his performance. The manneristic qualities of March, however, are perhaps more striking and integral to his double-persona; the arrogant delight that transcends from the welcome danger and escape of the Doctor to the aggressive primordial revelling of his creation. And the rather obvious switch-up from physical refinement to ape-ish predictability serves him well as it feels particularly parallel to the literary tone of the film. March seems very aware of Robert Louis Stevenson's orginal narrative and the storytelling style of director Mamoulian, and is dynamic without ever taking over the film, becoming an example of the fine line between genius and madness and the increasingly powerless victim of his own dark desires.

Nominees Unseen:

Alfred Lunt - The Guardsman (1931)

The Snubbed

**** Jackie Cooper in The Champ (1931)

If Cooper's performance in Skippy was a mini-revelation it's blown right out of the water in The Champ, a film in which he's largely let down by his irresponsible drunken father. Cooper gives Dink a similarly caretaking mentality, and in reacting to disappointment his pet lip runs into overdrive. Yet these moments are only brief, and it soon becomes clear that Dink is incapable of being truly broken like his father, instead reacting to every situation with the faux-common sensical approach of Champ. The fact that the boy only ever refers to his father as "Daddy" in one scene solidifies the sense of them as unified through circumstance rather than obligation. The final scene of The Champ is hard-hitting, and Cooper absoloutely nails it, devastatingly effective as someone finally failed by something completely beyond his control.

**** Robert Williams in Platinum Blonde (1931)

I'm somewhat surprised that Frank Capra's Platinum Blonde did not receive a single nomination, since it certainly feels to me in the same level of quality and similar in theme to his other thirties films. A story of culture and class clashes and the questionable morals of the newspaper business, Platinum Blonde provides a great deal for leading man Robert Williams to eschew over (two women and his diminishing masculinity for a start) and he gladly channels this into a charismatic character that has perhaps been entrenched in his work for too long.

Williams handles his arc well, reluctant at every step, and while the film treats his decline into a position under the thumb of the insistent Jean Harlow a little too swiftly and severely, he helps us to understand the man's belief in his own infallability as inherently working class and independent. He underplays his concessions and diminishes their effect with redundant sarcastic protests and faux-'Jack the lad' charm, and ably expresses the cultural naivety with which his newspaperman approaches his first relationship with a socially-superior woman.

*** Paul Muni in Scarface (1932)

If you've seen Muni's nominated performances, most of which feature after this, it's difficult to believe that they actually rate as comparatively restrained. In Scarface he twists his face with sour putrid, and undoubtedly performs the part of Tony Ferino with a 'MORE is more' attitude, making every aggressive outburst feel like some kind of seizure. It would be fair to say that, to an extent, it works: Muni gives us smugness, possessiveness, and paranoia with the flagrant generosity of a man that knows he's there for show, menacingly apt when you consider the dangerous reputation of his volatile gangster. But there's always such a nagging methodology to Muni that extends to other performances (allbeit in a banal, less valuable context) that makes Tony appear too outrospectively emotive, treating every situation too dramatically, to the point where I don't trust that he fully considers Tony's desire to hold onto his untouchable status.

Men of the Thirties Month: Commencement

And so it begins.

I've been racing through the Academy Awards' first embracees with the lightning fury of a bushfire in Skippy and with the determined desire for escape of Victor McLaglen in The Informer. But before I launch into annual rundowns of each respective year, I just wanna make one small point about George Arliss, and his fellow nominees in the 1929-30 awards. Although technically these awards consider films in the first half of 1930, Disraeli was released in 1929, and so I don't count his win as a thirties victory -- if you get me. Therefore I'll be starting with the 1930-31 line-up.

Here are the nomination totals for the Actors of the Thirties (* denotes win) :-

4 Nominations (and leader of the pack)

Paul Muni*

3 Nominations

Clark Gable*
Fredric March*
Spencer Tracy**

2 Nominations

Charles Boyer
Robert Donat*
Leslie Howard
Charles Laughton*
William Powell

1 Nomination

Lionel Barrymore*
Wallace Beery*
James Cagney
Gary Cooper
Jackie Cooper
Richard Dix
Walter Huston
Alfred Lunt
Adolphe Menjou
Robert Montgomery
Frank Morgan
Victor McLaglen*
Laurence Olivier
Mickey Rooney
James Stewart
Franchot Tone

Extra Stats and Trivia

The average age of the Leading Actor winner is just under 40 years old.

Youngest - Gable (34 years and 26 Days)
Oldest - Barrymore (52 years and 196 days)

Only two of the Leading Actor winners (Laughton as Henry VIII and Muni as Louis Pasteur) are starring in actual biopics -- so we can't blame the current obsession on Academy Award founders. Having said that, five of the other eight winners are literary characters. Originality didn't exactly reap reward in this period either.

*SPOILER ALERT*
Seven of the ten winners have death scenes.

Paul Muni's nomination for Black Fury in 1935 was a write-in, like Bette Davis' Of Human Bondage turn the year before. Both were revealed as second-place finishers to Victor McLaglen and Claudette Colbert respectively. The 'write-in' nomination was eventually abolished though, and the rules subsequently changed to ensure that the Academy would get it right the first time around. Whether they did or not is a matter of opinion.

The correlation between the Picture and Actor categories is nothing new: of the ten winners, only Lionel Barrymore and Fredric March were not in a Best Picture nominee. However, Clark Gable is the only winner to see his film win the big prize. He's also the only winner to see a co-star get an Oscar.

Of the 25 men nominated for Leading Actor in the 1930's, five went on to win the award in later decades (Cagney, Cooper, March, Olivier, Stewart) although Walter Huston did win for Supporting in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948). Fredric March is the only Actor to win in both the thirties and forties.

None of the ten Actor winners won the New York Film Critics Circle award, the then biggest precursor for the Oscar. And only one of the guys managed to get noticed elsewhere for their performance, although I'd certainly question Paul Muni's 1936 Volpi Cup from Venice.

Upcoming: 1930-31 Profile

The Men of June

Since I frequently go on about Actresses on this blog, and truthfully tend to lean towards them when choosing my "high priority" rentals, I've been trying to redeem my neglect of the men of cinema. I made a conscious decision a few weeks ago to catch up on the Leading Actor nominees of the 1930's, which range from tyrannical monarchs to alcoholic lawyers to double-persona scientists.

This testerone-heavy experiment has therefore led me to proclaim June as the "Men of the Thirties" month on this blog, in which I'll throw some stats out and analyse the nominated performances that I did manage to catch. As per usual, the eventual winners of the prize are often bewildering but I'll save the bitching until later on.

Early Hawks Blogathon: Scarface (1932)

This post is part of the Early Howard Hawks Blogathon over at Only the Cinema. Enjoy and check out the interesting posts there.

Firstly I'm gonna list the Howard Hawks films that I have seen, and then I'm gonna start discussing Scarface, which I caught the other day. Incidentally, I like all of these films, although I'd say that they get worse throughout the chronological list:-

Bringing Up Baby (1938)
Only Angels Have Wings (1939)
His Girl Friday (1940)
To Have and Have Not (1944)
I Was a Male War Bride (1949)
Monkey Business (1952)

It's incredibly poignant that Scarface should end with a closeup of the slogan "The World Is Yours", a statement displayed on the lit sign of a travel company. Howard Hawks' 1932 original tells the story of a man who thought the world was his, Tony Camonte, played here by Paul Muni and later most famously by Al Pacino. It's clear throughout the 90-minute wave of death and corruption that Tony has an obsession with obtaining more and more power, respect, authority -- he seems most proud of his "possessions" (guns, women, bulletproof vehicles, steel window covers), which collectively encourage him to buy into his own invincible aura. The aforementioned slogan takes pride of place in view of Tony's apartment and, as far as he's concerned, he owns that as well. In fact, he owns the world. Hence the slogan.

But this isn't the only reason why the slogan emerges as one of the most resonant features of Scarface, a film that Howard Hawks frames with messages in order to hammer a point home about crime and social problems in post-depression era America. It begins with a preface about these problems, and as such proceeds to address them, but the lingering directness and clear purpose of its style did surprise me as the Hawks films that I've seen feel a lot freer in theme. The screwball comedy was to an extent formulaic but I suppose a lot easier to manage, given the responsibility that Scarface seems to pose as both a spectacle and a statement. Tying in with that idea is the IMDB listing of The Shame of a Nation as an alternatively used title for the film, which brazenly wraps both the drama and the message into one.

The plot itself is very repetitive; that familiar pattern of brotherhood, betrayal, and death rearing its ugly head on more than one occasion, much like we've come to expect from imitations such as The Godfather etc. Scarface isn't as together, grand, or epic in scope as Coppola's film (this was 1932, so really, how could it be?) but the legacy it has created is plain for all to see. Having said that (and in part because of such imitations) it often feels a little too predictable and melodramatic, and the absence of sound for large pockets does hurt the effect of Scarface and make its violent sequences feel more cheeky than pulpy. Still, the stolid rules about blood etc. on screen makes the film often feel more visually enthralling in that it forces Hawks to think of new ways to capture death. Much to do with light and shade (like silent films), but you can't really beat a good silhouette murder, can you? There's just something wonderfully gothic and clever about watching someone's shadow disappear.

Amongst all the burly men vying for control Tony has a couple of women to consider. His mother, whom we actually don't see a lot of (and he doesn't seem that bothered about her, honestly), his 18 year-old sister Cesca, whom he is fiercely protective of, and love interest Poppy, who begins the film romantically involved with Tony's boss but switches allegiances when it's clear who the top dog is going to be. By far the most interesting of these relationships is his love for Cesca, which extends to turfing her out of every social event she dares to attend, giving her money to stay away from men, and murdering those men that she does take a fancy to. Although never overtly addressed (again, this is 1932) there's a hint of incestuousness on the part of Tony, as he seems to revere her and keep her to himself in a way that perhaps surpasses brotherly love. In one heated scene she accuses him of not treating her like a sister and "more like a...". If we're supposed to fill in the blank, my vote goes to "mistress", or something of that ilk. It feels it to me anyway. But regardless of their tempestuous relationship a scene towards the end demonstrates their affection for each other, and reminded me a lot of Bonnie and Clyde.

Hawks wants a little too desperately at times for us (or 30's America) to see the world's failures. Sometimes it's distracting but largely it's more than a preface and a closing remark. We're encouraged to see the world through Tony's eyes; expansive, a commodity, rather than looking on at his actions and shaking our heads in disapproval. If Scarface was all about the message then Muni's leading man wouldn't feel so close-to-the-heart and irretrievable. He wants the world to do what Tony can't -- wake up before it's past the point of no return.