Showing posts with label greta garbo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label greta garbo. Show all posts

Friday, April 2, 2010

Reeling Backward: "Grand Hotel" (1932)

"Grand Hotel" was one of the first conscious attempts to gather an "all-star" cast. The poster blared out the names of the cinematic giants of that era: Garbo! Barrymore! Barrymore!

Joan Crawford, nearly unrecognizable with her trademark eyebrows shorn back, was the baby of the bunch.

Nearly 80 years later, the 1932 film is most notable for its intersecting, interweaving storylines -- similar to "Nashville," "Crash" and a number of other notable films.

Like "Crash," "Grand Hotel" would win the Academy Award for Best Picture. It was the only award for which it was nominated, and still holds the record of least number of nominations for the movie that won Oscar's top prize.

An old, horribly scarred doctor (Lewis Stone) acts as the quasi-narrator and chorus. "Grand Hotel: People come, people go, but nothing ever happens," he intones at the beginning and end of the story. The obvious irony is that a whole lot does happen.

The central story thread revolves around Grusinskaya, the greatest ballet dancer in the world, played by Garbo. At the height of her fame, she's sick of dancing and adoration. "I want to be alone," she insists after a performance -- words that would forever become associated with Garbo, herself a reluctant star.

Little does she know, but Grusinskaya is being stalked by a thief after her priceless pearls: Baron Felix von Geigern, played by John Barrymore. The baron is a ruined noble, a gambler and occasional bandit, when necessity calls. He poses as a rich gentlemen to move about in high society, which he exploits either with card games or outright robbery.

He's being financed by some criminals who are growing impatient with his attempt to wrest away the pearls, and are ready to apply strong-arm tactics to recover their stake money. The baron finally sneaks into Grusinskaya's suite and takes the pearls, but overhears her despair and stops her attempt at suicide. They fall in love, and he resolves to repay his partners in crime rather than hurt her.

The entire story takes place over the course of a couple of days, with lives and loves being changed forever.

Crawford plays Flaemmchen, a poor young stenographer hired by a powerful business magnate named Preysing (Wallace Beery). The baron and Preysing both flirt with the ingenue, which leads to a clash between the two later on.

The other principle character is Kringelein (Barrymore's brother, Lionel), an accountant from Preysing's textile plant. An old, timid man, he's been diagnosed with a fatal illness, and determines to spend all his money living his last few days in luxury.

Preysing, who's pursuing a major merger deal to save his failing business, is the villain of the piece, although he isn't portrayed as evil -- merely imperious. He's the sort of man who treats his perceived equals with genteel manners, and his underlings with dismissive contempt.

At one point Preysing hires Flaemmchen to be his secretary on a trip to England, and both of them understand this to mean she will become his well-compensated mistress. It's a great early role for Crawford, as the smart but fatalistic woman who keeps finding herself under various men's thumbs.

Director Edmund Goulding -- who also helmed "The Dawn Patrol," which was featured in this space some months ago -- uses some interesting storytelling techniques. He shoots the Grand Hotel in Berlin with an opulent eye, lingering particularly over the great checkerboard-tiled lobby and the view down the great circular atrium. William A. Drake adapted his play for the screen, which in turn was based on a novel.

Money, and the pitfalls of the pursuit of it, are the central theme. Other than Grusinskaya, who only wants a little joy in her life, every character is in some way ruled by their wealth, or lack of it.

"Grand Hotel" hasn't aged particularly well, but it's still an engaging and important piece of cinema.

3 stars


Monday, February 1, 2010

Reeling Backward: "Ninotchka"

"Ninotchka" may just have been the very first romantic comedy.

Although Hollywood produced many romances around 1939, and many of them were funny, I think "Ninotchka" stood out for several reasons. One is that it was Greta Garbo's second-to-last film. She famously abandoned acting in her mid-thirties, at the height of her fame.

Another is that it was among the first mainstream movies to explicitly criticize the Soviet Union under Joseph Stalin. Don't forget, he was "Uncle Joe" until after the war.

But watching it today, what most jumps out at me is how closely it resembles the structure and form of modern films like "The Proposal," "When Harry Met Sally" or "Leap Year."

The basic formula of the romantic comedy is two very different people meet, hate each other, but eventually come to realize they're in love. External forces conspire to drive them apart, but they subvert them and end up together. The End.

There are obviously a lot of variations, but most films that we dub romantic comedies follow this basic outline. And "Ninotchka" trailblazed the way.

Garbo plays the title character, an envoy from Russia (the movie never refers to the U.S.S.R.) sent to Paris to negotiate a settlement to the jewels belonging to the Grand Duchess Swana, a former member of Russian aristocracy. She lost her family jewels in the Communist takeover, and is trying to prevent three bumbling Russian diplomats from selling them.

The unsmiling, brusque Ninotchka is brought in to iron things out. On the street she runs into a suave gentleman, Leon (Melvyn Douglas), who pitches woo. He's a slick capitalist who prefers not to work, and basically represents everything she reviles. Nevertheless, she's soon smitten.

Soon they realize that Leon is a friend (and perhaps lover) of the duchess. As soon as the business with the jewels is concluded, Ninotchka has to return home and end the romance. Leon attempts to follow her, but is denied as a counter-revolutionary.

In the end, Leon cooks up another diplomatic mess in Constantinople that forces the Russian minister (Bela Lugosi, in a bit part) to send Ninotchka, reuniting them.

The film was directed by Ernst Lubitsch, the German-born master who segued easily from silent to sound pictures. But I think the real triumph of this film is in the screenplay, by Billy Wilder, Charles Brackett and Walter Reisch. It just crackles with great dialogue and humor that bites without ever seeming nasty.

For me the best exchange comes when Ninotchka and the duchess meet at a swank restaurant. Ninotchka is there with Leon, and Swana is none too happy with the presence of the woman who has (from her perspective) stolen her jewels and her man. Ninotchka has just made a pointed reference to the aristocracy using the Cossacks to whip the people into line:

Duchess: "You're quite right about the Cossacks. We made a great mistake when we let them use their whips. They had such reliable guns."

Or this exchange, when Ninotchka steps off the train and refuses to let a porter take her suitcase.

Ninotchka: "Why should you carry other people's bags?"
Porter: "Well, that's my business, ma'am."
Ninotchka: "That's no business. That's social injustice!"
Porter: "That depends on the tip."

I can't say as I was particularly dazzled by the Garbo/Douglas pairing. It's one of those goofy movie romances where the leading man falls in love within minutes of meeting his lady, and he spends the next reel or two convincing her -- and the audience -- it's true love.

If "Ninotchka" were made today, it would come off as a cliched knock-off of the old romantic comedy model. But it endures because it is the mold, not the imitation.

3.5 stars