Galmour and Glitz
I liked both movies, neither of which I had seen before. I must say that the reputation of these films did precede them. These are exactly the kind of films that I like to watch and that my husband can’t stand. He wonders what I see in them. I sometimes wonder what he likes his action flicks/spy thrillers besides the adrenalin rush. Okay, okay. I sometimes like them too.
I have a terrible confession to make. I just had to sneak out and one point and tune into the “Phantom Menace” playing simultaneously on the CBC. This was partly because I wanted to check on my VHS taping quality and partly because I was falling asleep watching “Dinner at Eight” on TVO’s Saturday Night at the Movies. It wasn’t so much that I was bored as that I was tired. I think I would have been more bored by the Star Wars prequel – wooden acting, computer generated set designs, special effects that underwhelm you every other scene. Give me some of that good old-fashioned made on the back lot in
Both of these films were classic displays of some of the best offerings of the studio system in the 1930s: star power, ensemble cast, good acting, lots of clever dialogue, big elaborate sets – at least the one in the Grand Hotel is impressive when you remember that this film was made in the early 30s.
I guess that I am endlessly fascinated by the interesting array of human personality and the human condition that filmmaking can convey. The “shoot ‘em up, blow ‘em up” special effects stuff just doesn’t grab my attention the same way. It’s over in a second and, once my senses have recovered, my mind has nothing to ponder and no one to relate to.
The whole premise of both “Dinner at Eight” and of “Grand Hotel” is to offer up a parade of interesting characters to amuse and delight, to surface our disdain and our compassion. And it is all done in a very memorable way.
In “Dinner at Eight”, delightful characters such as the inimitable Carlotta Vance (Marie Dressler), fading film star, Larry Renault (John Barrymore), and vivacious vixen, Kitty Packard (Jean Harlow) spring to life. What an interesting mixed-up muddle of humanity is put on display on the occasion of
Everyone, it seems, is conniving and scheming at some level from the chain-smoking maid (Hilda Vaughan) committing blackmail to the ill-fated Oliver Jordan (Lionel Barrymore) in trying to salvage his failing shipping business while covering up his serious heart condition. Everyone is trying to get ahead in their own way – or at least stay afloat. It makes for a queer mixture of tragedy and comedy. There are scenes that are pure and uproarious comedy. There is also unavoidable pathos. You can’t get around the dark bits, such as the suicide of Larry Renault. When Marie Dressler as Carlotta makes her statement to the newly berieved Paula about how death is so terrifyingly final, no one is laughing. The big dark eyes and the slightly exaggerated mannerisms that remind one of the silent film era might provoke laughter in other circumstances, but not here. Carlotta, for once in this film, is in dead earnest: there is no coming back from beyond the grave. But Carlotta, after peering over the edge of the gravesite, pulls herself together along with the other dinner guests and gets on with the business of the day: scratching and clawing her way in her memorably comedic fashion through the rest of the days allotted to her. In response to the Jean Harlow character’s comment about a book Kitty had read that predicted that mechanization would change every profession known to man, Carlotta tosses off an immortal comedic come-back line: “You needn’t ever worry about that, dear.”
People who came to watch this film originally were living through the Dirty Thirties. I can imagine that they were fascinated by the
“Grand Hotel”, while sharing something of the same MGM winning formula and even some of the same cast members, is different in that there are clear and fully developed representatives of the “ordinary man” in amongst the rich and famous inhabitants of the posh
Let me give you a wake up call about the world of dance (not that I have ever been a ballerina let alone a principal dancer). I don’t think that a Grusinskaya would ever be able to make it as dancer in the real world in such a state of perpetual emotional instability. Dance takes discipline and a state of internal emotional strength and stability. The old dancer’s saying about discipline and performance goes: “If I am not in rehearsal for one day for any reason whatsoever, I know it. If I am not at the barre practicing, after two days, the ballet master knows it. If I skip ballet class for three days, the whole world knows it.” But, a manic-depressive ballerina does make for high drama. Anyways . . .
In the end, by a twist of fate, the two representatives of the working poor, Flaemmchen and Kringelein, make off with a pile of cash and a new lease on life. Everyone cheers. They deserve some happiness in life after all, don’t they? And money makes for happiness, doesn’t it?
Well, maybe if you spend enough time living at MGM’s Grand Hotel you think it does.
Next week’s feature on TVO’s Saturday Night at the Movies,