Shirley Temple

  • The Little Colonel (1935)

    The Little Colonel (1935)

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) I usually watch and enjoy older movies on their own terms, but sometimes that doesn’t happen and I’m forced to power through them out of a sense of film history. The Little Colonel is, for many reasons, a difficult sit: Never mind the shaky technical qualities of a 1935 film, it’s an incredibly problematic film on issues of race. The portrayal of black characters is difficult to accept, and the sympathy that the film has for its ex-Confederate characters is troubling. On the other hand, well, The Little Colonel does feature two of the best-known black actors of the 1930s (Bill “Bojangles” Robinson and Hattie McDaniels), and its famous interracial staircase tap sequence between Robinson and a young Shirley Temple attracted a fair amount of controversy in the racist US southern states, so much so that it was removed from southern-states showings according to the practices of the time. The film is still known for being one of Temple’s best showcases, and it does feature Lionel Barrymore in a leading role. There is also the ending sequence in which the black-and-white film transitions to colour, a still-striking transformation that remains one of the earliest uses of colour in popular feature films. Still, I found The Little Colonel a slog to get through—the melodrama is overdone, the pacing is tepid, the characters are not always likable and nearly every scene reminds us of the racism of the time. But so it goes: not every title in anyone’s film history appreciation regimen has to be interesting or enjoyable. At least I can now strike it off my list of what to see.

  • The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer (1947)

    The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer (1947)

    (On Cable TV, March 2020) As the title suggests, there is one potentially troubling March-June relationship in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer that would make any viewer apprehensive – especially considering that it’s a film from the 1940s. But fear not, enlightened twenty-first-century viewers: Even Classic Hollywood knew that thirtysomething bachelors (even one played by Cary Grant) should not mess around with 17-year-old girls with a crush. Much of the film’s comedy in this film is about the protagonist (Grant) trying to get together with an age-appropriate professional woman (Myrna Loy) while her younger sister (Shirley Temple) interferes. There’s just enough implied naughtiness to make things interesting—the rest is scene-by-scene comedy, as Grant plays both halves of his suave persona unafraid to be humiliated. Cleverly conceived (the script, penned by future potboiler bestseller Sidney Sheldon, won a Best Original Screenplay Academy Award), it’s unobtrusively put together by director Irving Reis and very easy to watch. Grant’s charm does most of the work, but there are also plenty of scattered laughs in the details—my favourite has to be a rapid-fire exchange about “The man with power of whodoo / Who do? / You do!” which sounds like the kind of period nonsense exchange immortalized on screen—and later quoted by David Bowie. While definitely a middle-tier Grant comedy, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer remains a charmer despite a slightly suspicious premise, and a great showcase for its three stars.

    (Second Viewing, On Cable TV, January 2021) Cary Grant had the looks and the charm that could make any kind of creepy nonsense seem amusing, and there’s no better proof of that statement than watching The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer, a film in which (as it says in the title) he suffers through an unrequited crush from a flighty teenager. Shirley Temple plays the titular bobby-soxer, but it’s Myrna Loy who’s the prize here as the teenager’s older sister, a judge whose tangles with Grant’s character leads to romance. Before that happens, however, there’s got to be plenty of sequences of misunderstandings, comic complications, bone-headed movie psychology, attempts from Grant’s character to divert his teenage admirer to a more appropriate partner, and some physical comedy along the way. To its credit, the film knows that pairing Grant (who was 43) and Temple (who was 19) is a terrible idea—and if that seems perfectly reasonable to you, keep in mind that other similar Hollywood movies, such as the 1954 farce Susan Slept Here, weren’t even able to do that. There are a few good set-pieces and lines of dialogue here: While I’m ambivalent about the outdoors sports scene, the last restaurant sequence is very funny—even if it ends in a way that leads the film to another ten minutes of decreasing interest as the conclusion peters out rather than build to a strong finale. (Hollywood obviously disagreed, because the film won a screenwriting Academy Award.)   The call-and-response, “The power of hoodoo.” “Who do?” “You do!” is also quite amusing, and wisely used as closing lines to wrap it up. In between Grant, Temple and Loy, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer is an amiable-enough comedy that manages to steer itself away from some pitfalls that befell other similar films. It’s worth a look, especially for fans of the three lead actors.

  • Since you Went Away (1944)

    Since you Went Away (1944)

    (On Cable TV, May 2019) Some movies are more interesting as time capsules than stories, and the nearly three-hour ordeal that is Since you Went Away often feels more like time travel than entertainment. Taking us back to WW2 America, it’s a film meant to portray the sacrifices of a nation and bolster morale along the way. It’s occasionally fascinating in how it portrays the minutiae of the 1940s Midwestern-city life and courtship rituals, but the sheer duration and large scope make it feel more like a miniseries than a focused film. I’ll defend its place as a portrayal (however idealized) of the times and how legendary producer-writer (From the opening credits: “Script by The Producer”) David O. Selznick wanted to immortalize it. If you feared an excess amount of sentimentalism, you’ll be half-pleased: there’s a lot of melodrama in Since you Went Away, but the film rarely pulls its punches when it comes to show the deaths awaiting some characters going overseas. There’s nothing particularly wrong with the actors (including a teenage Shirley Temple, and a rather grouchy Monty Woolley), but there is nothing in this film that justifies its excessive length, complete with an intermission. In fact, the repetitiveness of the subplots (so … many … dead … soldiers) and the lack of forward narrative does start working against the film after a while. The endless harping on the same theme gets exasperating the farther we go past the two-hours-and-a-half mark and onto the film’s final staggering 172-minute running time. I’m sort of glad I’ve seen it and can scratch it off my best-picture nominee list, but I’m not sure I’ll ever volunteer to watch Since you Went Away again.