Claude Rains

Four Daughters (1938)

Four Daughters (1938)

(On Cable TV, November 2019) It’s an exaggeration (perhaps blasphemy) to call out similarities between Four Daughters and Little Women, but both offer middle-American small-town drama involving sisters living in a house with a single parent (here: Claude Rains as the patriarch of a musical family), with suitors popping up and a story that plays over many years. Everything else is different, but from the 2010s all we see are stories with a similar feel. What’s distinctive here is that three of the four sisters were real-life sisters as well—the Lane sisters, who went on to play as a family in other films. But the highlight here is John Garfield as the young beau who sends the daughters aflutter, through some less successful suitors who come and go. Directed by Michael Curtiz, the film was regarded well enough to warrant an Academy Award nomination for best picture—but while it’s still reasonably good, it does feel a bit like a self-imposed ordeal if you’re trying to complete the Best Picture nominees marathon. There’s nothing wrong with Four Daughters—but if your mind wanders to find comparisons with Little Women, it may be because it’s not engaging enough by itself.

The Invisible Man (1933)

The Invisible Man (1933)

(archive.org streaming, November 2019) Compared to other inaugural titles from the classic Universal Monsters stable, it has proved surprisingly difficult to find a way to watch The Invisible Man—it doesn’t play and isn’t as available as the other monster movies. But there’s always a way, and I’m almost glad I waited a bit because it’s perhaps the film that strays furthest from what we expect from classic movie monsters. With Dracula, The Werewolf, the Mummy, the Creature from the Black Lagoon or Frankenstein, the story is the one you remember from other adaptations and the characters all have redeeming moments of humanity, restraint or compassion. But The Invisible Man is different: he’s certifiably a homicidal maniac, and that bonkers quality is honestly unnerving. Unlike the other monsters, this one doesn’t blink at causing mass death—invisibility has removed his moral compass, and that makes him far more dangerous than his contemporaries. (Accordingly, it may help explain why it’s a monster often skipped or entirely redefined by Halloween myth-making and other comic takes on the characters such as the Hotel Transylvania films—well, that and the lack of any visual identifiers, I suppose.) This 1933 original film doesn’t hold back when it’s necessary to clearly depict what a monster he is—as a Pre-Code production, the film becomes surprisingly intense at times and having Claude Rains in the main role is an undeniable asset even if only for his voice. (Then there’s a funny performance by Una O’Connor, who also shows up in the same director’s Bride of Frankenstein and exemplifies this film’s brand of dark comedy.)  Some good directing from James Whale and still-amazing special effects complete the package. If you think you don’t need to see The Invisible Man because you think you know (from the Wells novel, from later adaptations, from popular mythology) how it’s going to go or it’s going to be stale material from the 1930s—please reconsider: it turns out that Paul Verhoeven’s crazy-psycho take on The Hollow Man was a lot closer to the original than anyone remembered.

Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941)

Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941)

(On Cable TV, April 2019) Everyone has their own irrational film dislikes, and one of mine is 1978’s Heaven can Wait, in which a lunk-headed football player is given another chance at life. It’s a manipulative, insulting piece of nonsense that doesn’t even work on a scene-to-scene level and one of my questions in approaching its original inspiration Here Comes Mr. Jordan was whether those flaws were inherent in the concept, or specific to the remake. (This seems as good a time as any to point out that 1941’s Here Comes Mr. Jordan was remade as Heaven can Wait [1978], even if there was a different—and much better- 1943 film called Heaven can Wait. But that’s not all! Here Comes Mr. Jordan had a sequel in 1947 called Down to Earth, which was also the title of a third 2011 Hollywood remake of Here Comes Mr. Jordan. All of these can trace their origin to a 1938 theatrical play called Heaven can Wait but originally titled It Was Like This. If you’re not confused, it’s because I haven’t included a diagram.)  The best thing I can say about the original is that it’s not quite as irritating as the remake. Robert Montgomery plays a boxer sent to heaven too soon, and then sent back to earth in another body.  The titular Mr. Jordan has the good luck of being played by Claude Rains, with Evelyn Keyes as the love interest.  But it’s still irritating: The protagonist is still an idiot, and the film still becomes ludicrous in its attempt to make an unsatisfying concept work. I understand the need to underscore unusual premises by clearly explaining to the audience, in triplicate, what’s happening—but a common failing of both versions is to dumb things down so much that the protagonist’s idiocy becomes grating and pile on one arbitrary rule on top of another until they don’t really matter anymore because angels. Speaking of which, there are much better angel movies—going from It’s a Wonderful Life to Here Comes Mr. Jordan feels like a downgrade. Or maybe I just don’t like the very idea of these films.

Casablanca (1942)

Casablanca (1942)

(Second or third viewing, On DVD, January 2018) I first saw Casablanca in the mid-nineties, as I was rummaging through my university library’s collection of film classics. I really, really loved it at the time, to the point of writing a Science Fiction parody that has thankfully not escaped my hard drive since then. Casablanca remained my standard for accidental greatness from the Hollywood studio system, the kind of film where magic just happens from competent people just doing their job. (In discussions about classic cinema, I usually oppose Casablanca to Citizen Kane, both of whom I love dearly but the second of which was designed to be a masterpiece while the first just sort of happened.)  I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to another viewing now: What if the film wasn’t as good as I remembered? What if it fell flat next to the thousands of movies I had seen since then? I shouldn’t have worried: Casablanca is still as good today as at any time since its original release. It’s a film that grabs you quickly and seldom lets go, whether it’s firing on romantic or thrilling energy. Blending comedy, passion, suspense and political issues (now deliciously historical), Casablanca is one of the original four-quadrant triumphs, seamlessly going from one thing to another along the way from a gripping opening to a memorable conclusion. Humphrey Bogart is impeccable as the protagonist, but the supporting performances are fine across the board, from Claude Rains to Ingrid Bergman to Paul Henreid, all the way to the extras singing The Marseillaise given how (Casablanca histories tell us) that they were nearly all European exiles or refugees. Historically, Casablanca rolled the dice and landed a solid 12, describing a personal tipping point right after the country decided to go beat up Nazi Germany. Still, there is something for everyone in this film—you don’t have to catch the allusions to the date of the events to feel for its heroes at the most basic level. The Paris scenes may feel redundant, but they provide some of the film’s best quotes and movie-star moments. All told, iconic Casablanca remains a triumph of moviemaking, as good as the genre ever gets. I look forward to seeing it another time.