My Man Godfrey

Turner Classic Movies' Star of the Month is William Powell, who seems to have fallen out of the consciousness and discussion of Great Hollywood Actors. I will avail myself of seeing a bunch of his films, as I've always found him astonishingly creative and real.

My Man Godfrey (Gregory LaCava, 1936)  Bill Powell isn't given nearly enough credit in Hollywood history.

Popular in his day, he worked just enough to maintain his reputation and dignity, then retired and kept to himself. But you watch him in something like My Man Godfrey—a not quite screwball comedy of the "The Rich, They are a Peculiar Lot" school—and you see him stretch a little bit, and definitely see him playing a different character than the familiar Powell persona (even an extended drunk scene is played differently than his pleasantly soused Nick Charles from the "Thin Man" series), but still retains that measure of insinuation that took every line of dialogue and made it spin on its heels. His character, Godfrey Pike, starts out as a bum living in a dump underneath the Brooklyn Bridge, where he's picked up by socialite-heads as part of a charity scavenger hunt for the idle rich.

He attracts the attention of Irene Bullock (Carole Lombard, formerly Mrs. Powell) probably because he's different, a genuine "find," and he does stick out like a sore, if well-manicured, sore thumb among the derelicts. Articulate and dignified, he's quietly worldly-wise, politely sarcastic (neat trick to pull off, that) and keeps a cool eye on the rich partiers for whom he's an oddity, a curiosity—like watching a car wreck—and slightly discounted, although he's  probably better than all of them as a human being. Mentored by Irene, he assumes a position as a gentleman-butler for her family, a job that's bested a steady stream of other men. But he does the job well, keeping his opinions to himself, the most sane man in a palatial asylum.

And an asylum it is, with the father (the foghorn-voiced Eugene Pallette, staple of Capra comedies) the only one with any sense (or schedule), and who has long given up on his family making any steps to adulthood. Mother (Alice Brady) is a drama queen, who can only be distracted by her protege Carlo (Mischa Auer) and other daughter Cornelia (Gail Patrick) has to fill her empty life with schemes and conspiracies.

But Irene is a dreamer. In Godfrey, she finds a competent supplement, practical, in marked contrast to her flibbertigibbet, caring to her carelessness.

Such a creature, alien to her environment, makes her fall in love with the old boy, while he still tries to make his way through Society, and back to the life he has previously abandoned.

It's all high-style and fast-paced. And even though Lombard's society gal is a comic cry-baby notched up to "11" on a scale of "10," she is leavened somewhat by the tolerating, sly performance by Powell—who insisted that Lombard, his ex-wife, get the part.

Powell was the epitome of well-mannered play-acting, while never, ever betraying a dull moment. He made style which—when done in the hands of amateurs can look confining—seem effortless, while also being insouciant, and fun.

Olde Review: Stage Door

The following was part of a series reviewing the ASUW film series at the University of Washington that were broadcast on KCMU-FM in 1976--I found the old scripts and thought it might be interesting to post them here--with no editorial alteration or comment. I have no doubt that my attitude to some of these films has changed over the years--ageing does that--but to just erase my opinions from back then and tack on my new-found objections would do a disservice to the reviewer who was just a "stinky kid" back then. It'd be like making Greedo shoot first.

Stage Door (Gregory LaCava, 1937) It's hard to say what I like best about Stage Door--not the story, it's pretty much the "tough-road-on-the-way-to-success" trope. But the dialogue is original--snappy and delivered at a break-neck pace, sometimes overlapping (and you don't see that very often in modern movies)* It all tends to make watching old-time movies invigorating.

Maybe it's the acting, delivered by an all-star cast headed by Ginger Rogers (again), Gail Patrick as a primary sufferer, Lucille Ball as a wicked-tongued Seattle-ite (but don't hold it against me), (and) Eve Arden as an aspiring actress who is permanently attached to a cat. All live together in various stages of animosity when Katherine Hepburn makes another of her grand entrances and proceeds to steal the movie as easily as candy from a bunch of talented babies. Her role is somewhat autobiographical--rich society girl trying to make it into acting because it's a thrill and it's different. To see newcomer Hepburn--a small strap of a girl squaring off against a star-since-silent-days Adolphe Menjou and run acting rings around him is a certifiable thrill. It's Hepburn that is best about this movie, but then Hepburn has always been one of the best things about the movies.
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* Well, you did if you saw any Robert Altman movies at the time, and I'm sure I did--at least Nashville and California Split and M*A*S*H and The Long Goodbye! But the last movie I saw where the movie was seriously over-lapping and going at this pace was Clooney's Leatherheads (and I think I was the only one...)

I notice I neglected to mention such stars of the future as Ann Miller and Jack Carson (one of my favorites). Well, these things could only be two minutes long...and it should be noted that this is the film where the Hepburn trademark line "The calla lilies are in bloom a-gain!" came from. Any actress or comedian who wanted to do a quick impression of Katherine Hepburn (in the days before Martin Short) would just say that line and people would immediately get the connection.

One interesting little piece of trivia:  Gail Patrick was the long-time executive producer of the "Perry Mason" TV-series.