Hollywood Spectator (1937-39)

Hollywood Spectator Page Seven And there are so many other things, possible only in Hollywood, tragic things which could have been made the motivating factor of the story. Instead of an indictment of the screen personnel, the picture so easily could have been a defense of the film colony as a whole. Freddie March’s performance as the star who becomes a drunkard, pleased me more than any he has given, but the manner of his fall from the height of greatness will not earn him sympathy. It is entirely his own fault, and his fall is the logical outcome of his individual folly. His characterization could have been made tremendously impressive and wholly sympathetic if the responsiblity for his loss of popularity has been ascribed to the fickleness of the public or to any one of a dozen other influences over which he had no control and which reflected no discredit on him personally. Thus, instead of our viewing him with disgust, we would have wept in sympathy with him for having been made the victim of something which may have happened to anyone in pictures. HE drama of the country girl’s sudden rise to fame is not developed. We do not see her in the moment of her triumph. When our interest lies with her, when we wish to be with her to be witnesses of her realization that all her dreams have come true, we are placed outside the theatre to listen to the departing audience recording in conversation the fact of her success. That is how we are made aware a new star has been born. What could have been presented to us dramatically is related to us in chance remarks by people unknown to us and whom we happen to overhear. We were subjected to the same thing when the girl made her first test. We see the test start, and the next thing we see is a contract with the girl’s name signed to it. There was a rare chance for an emotional treat in the test scene — ;the bored attitude of the people on the set; to them, just another test; the awakened interest as the test proceeds; to us, surprise that the girl should be so good ; on the set, amazement, acclaim — any amateur screen writer could have made of it a great screen moment. But the greatest story weakness, an incomprehensible exhibition of sheer ignorance of the most elemental principles of the screen, is the manner of the presentation of the story as a whole. The first thing we see is a page of the script, with shooting directions for the opening scene of a picture. It fades into the action it describes. At the end of the picture the last thing we see is the script for the final scene, describing the action as we have seen it. Unless a picture can convince us we are looking at reality, we can derive no entertainment from it. The illusion of reality, therefore, is the first thing a motion picture must create; we must feel we are looking at real people moving in a three-dimensional world, that the things happening them are real, not makebelieve ; that what we are viewing is life, not a motion picture. The producer spends almost a million dollars in making a piece of screen entertainment and starts it off with documentary evidence of its status as something he does not expect us to take seriously; and to keep us from carrying away an impression if its authenticity in case we forget the opening display of the script page, he puts the last one on the screen to remind us that what we looked at was phoney. In a dozen years of reviewing pictures I cannot recall having seen a comparable exhibition of downright screen stupidity, of such astounding ignorance of the spirit of film entertainment. ANET GAYNOR gives a performance of more strength than I looked for. The few previous pictures in which she essayed something more demanding than ingenuous girl type, revealed nothing to entitle her to serious consideration as an actrees, but in A Star Is Born , a new star, indeed, has been born. She proves herself entirely proficient in a role of many emotional facets. Adolphe Menjou gives such an excellent, intelligent performance that he probably will get but little credit for it. Apparently he merely walks through the picture, does no acting, is merely the big producer, all of which forms an impression only the most skillful acting can create. Andy Devine is another who is a little better than usual. He is a clever fellow. Lionel Stander, another capable actor, carries the burden of a characterization which adds one to the other weaknesses of the production. In the last of his important scenes he is made to reveal a viciousness wholly unbelievable and out of character. It is a clumsy device to explain March’s action in starting to drink again. Of far more story value would it have been if March had resumed drinking without more prompting than that of his lust for liquor. The maudlin attempt to justify his debauch by having Stander make an unprovoked and illogical attack on him, is in keeping with the other revelations of poor writing by the authors of the screen play. Stirring Prize-Ring Picture KID GALAHAD, Warners. Executive producer, Hal B. Wallis; associate producer, Sam Bischoff; director, Michael Curtiz; original novel, Francis Wallace; screen play, Seton I. Miller; photographer, Tony Gaudio; music, lyric, M. K. Jerome and Jack Scholl; dialogue director, Irving Rapper. Cast: Edward G. Robinson, Bette Davis, Humphrey Bogart, Wayne Morris, Jane Bryan, Harry Carey, Willian Haade, Soledad Jiminez, Joe Cunningham, Ben Welden, Joseph Crehan, Veda Ann Borg, Frank Faylen, Harland Tucker. JJITE the best prize-ring picture the screen has given us. All about fighters and their managers, Kid Galahad still has a spiritual quality which gives it definite and sustained emotional appeal. The production gets its greatest strength from the personalities of two young people, Wayne Morris, who plays the name part, and Jane Bryan, who plays his sweetheart. The desire to see the young fellow become world’s champion and the romance of the two end at the alter, is what keeps our interest alive. We root for both of them because we like them and wish them to have anything their hearts desire. One of the constant chirpings of the Spectator has been that the screen is not an acting art, that all it asks of a player is that his absorption in his part be so complete that he reacts subconsciously to its demands — that he is the person he plays, not an actor pretending he is such person. Motion picture producers hold a contrary