Nowadays, the ‘when worlds collide’ comedy setup has all but lost its luster. It’s been played out in just about every possible permutation across just about every demographic group. While this now-tired film convention has made many a moviegoer cynical and detached from the antic within the reels, there’s a magic present in its early incarnations that still manages to bring a smile to faces everywhere. Such is the case with You Can’t Take It with You.
Alice Sycamore (Jean Arthur) is madly in love with her employer’s son, Tony Kirby (James Stewart). Tony reciprocates her feelings and their world is hunky dory. The only snag is that they come from two very different families. The rest of the Sycamore clan, and their live-in friends, are nothing less than eccentric. Tony’s family is a bunch of stiff, well-to-do elitists who don’t believe in marrying below their privileged station in life. Sparks fly and hilarity ensues when the Sycamore’s and the Kirby’s finally meet.
I don’t think I’ve been disappointed yet by a Jimmy Stewart film. He and Jean Arthur are simply adorable in this film. They share the kind of chemistry that Hollywood classics are made of. Arthur’s relationship with her bizarro family is equally seamless. The film could probably use a little more interaction between the easy-going Tony and his highbrow parents. Is he as whimsical around his folks as he is around Alice? If so, the shock value of the Sycamore’s wouldn’t be as exaggerated as it is, though it would certainly raise the eyebrows of just about any parent.
As enjoyable as this film may be, the word ‘adorable’ keeps popping into my mind. It applies easily to many aspects of the film: Alice’s Grandpa (Lionel Barrymore) and his simplistic worldview, the optimism of the Sycamore clan, the love between Tony and Alice, the trajectory of the film itself even works in adorable ways. That creates a problem for me. Great films go beyond adorable.
I can’t tell if it’s the jadedness that comes from being exposed to these polar opposites coming together kinds of tales or if it’s the lack of much technical whizbangery that holds this film back for me. I’d like to say the latter but the former is always a possibility. In many ways, my generation is blessed and cursed with the period of films we grew up on. We’re blessed by ever-increasing technical advancements but we’re cursed because everything we’ve grown up watching is in some way derivative of films no one really watches anymore.
Fortunately, quaint films like You Can’t Take It with You remind us that the Hollywood hits of today have a solid foundation underneath them. I won’t make any promises as to how much you may laugh at this classic comedy (let’s face it, some of you out there are so cynical it’s scary!) but I can say with some confidence that this film will, at the very least, make you smile. Even if you try to thwart me by remaining as stern as possible throughout it, I think the charm and magic of this film will finds a way to win you over.
At one time, I’m sure that grade school history books mentioned the name Emile Zola, if not then certainly the Dreyfus Affair. But with two world wars amidst a century of Western and American development, the subject matter of this early Oscar winner no longer exists in the recesses of audience’s minds. While it may have been fresh and riveting back in the day, The Life of Emile Zola feels more like the stiff, performance-focused biopics of today that are offered up as Oscar bait more so than for box office returns.
In his early days, Émile Zola (Paul Muni) ekes out a bohemian lifestyle in the heart of Paris with his friend and artist Paul Cézanne (Vladimir Sokoloff). Upon meeting a prostitute evading the police, the aspiring writer makes her his muse and writes a salacious and popular novel. As Zola becomes the voice of the people, he loses his desire to ‘fight the good fight’ and grows complacent as a wealthy and respected writer. Many years later, a chance encounter with his old friend emboldens Zola to take on the task of fighting the injustice of the Dreyfus Affair, in which a French soldier (played by Joseph Schildkraut) is falsely accused of being a spy only because he is Jewish.
I can see how the content of this film won favor with the Academy and Hollywood in general. What’s not to like about fighting injustice, especially when it involves corrupt government officials and antisemitism? The true-story aspect of it is just icing on the cake. The trouble is that, in the decades since this film’s release (and the century since Zola made his stand), America has seen enough rights fights and political shenanigans that 19th century European scandals have lost their appeal.
In theory, this fact shouldn’t take anything away from The Life of Émile Zola. Taken for the piece of cinema that it is, Zola shows signs of creakiness in its structure. The film makes the fatal error of many modern biopics and puts too much focus on the titular character. Paul Muni does a very good job, particularly in his four-and-a-half minute long extended take monologue before the French courts. Schildkraut won a Supporting Actor Oscar for little more than looking exhausted, which surprised me. The only other supporting player to make a dent in my memory is Gale Sondergaard as Dreyfus’s wife. Her passion and desperate pleas for help clearing her husband’s name are powerful, though a smidge overdone.
Herein lies the problem, for all the social justice elements fueling the drama (though the film never directly tackles the issue of French antisemitism), The Life of Émile Zola is a one-man show. The cynic in me thinks it served as little more than a star-vehicle for Muni to get a little more attention. He had already been making waves for his supporting and lead performances and was fresh off an Oscar win for The Story of Louis Pasteur. Might the studio have been looking to make him the first two-time and first back-to-back winner for Best Actor? I t wouldn’t surprise me in the least.
Unlike many of the older films I have watched, Zola actually does play in to the generalization that older films have a sluggish pace. The film drags in many places, making its runtime feel quite a bit longer than two hours. If you’re big on European history or social justice, this might be worth your while. Otherwise you can freely pass up on this winner from yesteryear because its polish has been lost with age.
In just eight years, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ top prize has gone to just about every major film genre of the era. With the crowning of The Great Ziegfeld as the ninth ever official winner for Best Picture, the Academy ushered into its ranks what has come to be a time-honored tradition of awards season- the biopic. Cynics may argue that this film is a sappy example of Hollywood’s self-loving of all things showbiz. Hindsight isn’t always 20/20 though, because, while the story may not be riveting by modern standards, this little gem holds plenty of acting, writing, and technical prowess to be worthy of its place in Oscar history.
As a young man, Florenz (Flo) Ziegfeld (William Powell) sets out to make it in show business, much to the chagrin of his music professor father. Over the years, Flo finds himself in constant competition with fellow promoter Jack Billings (Frank Morgan). From carnival attractions to singers to Broadway musicals, Flo always finds his way on top. Determined to be a game-changer in entertainment, Flo’s lifelong quest to be an American original has many ups and downs both personally and professionally.
At first this seems like quite a daunting film to take in. At over three hours long (including the overture and entr'acte), this is still one of the ten longest Oscar winners of all time. Your time will be rewarded though, and how! There is something for aficionados of every branch of filmmaking to appreciate here and even general audiences who don’t normally care to spot the little details will have a good time. Does it drag a little bit? Yes, particularly in the second act, when we see more of Flo’s personal troubles. That might make some people squirm a little bit but if you are wise enough to take a break between acts, you should have little trouble managing it.
Many of the sets are glorious in detail and (at times) impressive in scope. Choreography and blocking prove to be stunning feats if you take time to consider the logistics of the large-cast sequences. And what film about an early titan of Broadway would be complete without including the songs that took him to prominence? A few new numbers are added as well, all of which are delightful. For me though, the icing on the cake is the use of extended takes. Several of them exist but the granddaddy of them all occurs just before the entr'acte. It’s actually two extended takes edited together so seamlessly that you’d swear it was one ridiculously intricate 5-minute sequence. This scene single-handedly bounced this film up a notch into my ‘great’ range.
Tying the film together are the writing and performances. Anytime a film includes crisp one-liners and charm, it’s natural to credit the actors first. William Powell has a Clark Gable-esque presence as Flo Ziegfeld. He’s charismatic but authentic, a far cry from the morally ambiguous aura currently demanded from the biopic genre. Behind all the wit and charm lies some powerful writing. If you consider the length of The Great Ziegfeld, it’s all the more impressive that a writer can sustain all those magical qualities. Granted, it’s up to the actors to infuse those words with all the necessary pizazz to make the film watchable, but without a firm foundation, performances are nothing.
As much as I appreciate this film, I understand that it will not be everyone’s cup of tea. It’s not a musical in the way musical fans will expect. If you’re looking for an early Singin’ in the Rain, you’ll be out of luck. The musical numbers are all within the context of Ziegfeld shows. Old but not creaky, dated but still aging well, The Great Ziegfeld is a joyous blend of romance, drama, style and substance. If you find yourself in a position to take in this all but forgotten about Oscar winner, I recommend you do so.
Nowadays, the ‘when worlds collide’ comedy setup has all but lost its luster. It’s been played out in just about every possible permutation across just about every demographic group. While this now-tired film convention has made many a moviegoer cynical and detached from the antic within the reels, there’s a magic present in its early incarnations that still manages to bring a smile to faces everywhere. Such is the case with You Can’t Take It with You.
At one time, I’m sure that grade school history books mentioned the name Emile Zola, if not then certainly the Dreyfus Affair. But with two world wars amidst a century of Western and American development, the subject matter of this early Oscar winner no longer exists in the recesses of audience’s minds. While it may have been fresh and riveting back in the day, The Life of Emile Zola feels more like the stiff, performance-focused biopics of today that are offered up as Oscar bait more so than for box office returns.
In just eight years, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ top prize has gone to just about every major film genre of the era. With the crowning of The Great Ziegfeld as the ninth ever official winner for Best Picture, the Academy ushered into its ranks what has come to be a time-honored tradition of awards season- the biopic. Cynics may argue that this film is a sappy example of Hollywood’s self-loving of all things showbiz. Hindsight isn’t always 20/20 though, because, while the story may not be riveting by modern standards, this little gem holds plenty of acting, writing, and technical prowess to be worthy of its place in Oscar history.
