Motion Picture (Aug 1940-Jan 1941)

COMMENTS ON THIS PICTURE BUSINESS By LARRY REID DID you know that the Axis boys would give their trigger-fingers to have American films again to show to their entertainment-starved subjects? Fed as these people are with incessant propaganda, deprived as they are of a chance to read or hear what the "decrepit democracies" are doing because of the controlled press and radio, their Big Shots are now discovering a distinct letdown in morale. And so they miss the Hollywood posturings and posings of our lovers, the strumming of "geetahs" of our singing cowboys, the comedies — and especially Dr. Disney and the songsters like Jeanette MacDonald, Nelson Eddy and the Bing. They miss the nimble toes of Astaire and Ginger and La Powell and yes, La Henie, too. And how they miss Garbo whether she talks or holds her tongue. They miss that strong, silent man, Gary Cooper — and the loquacious giverouter, Mickey Rooney. They miss Shirley Temple. So do we. They miss Chaplin, but he'll keep on missing if Adolf, Benito and the Son of Heaven have anything to say about it. Well, it just goes to show that you can't keep feeding any people the same old pap — not even the disciplined disciples of Der Fuehrer and II Duce. They boycotted us. Instead of giving their peoples a taste of American romance, adventure, comedy — they gagged them with war and racial propaganda. There are no belly laughs over there. Take a belly laugh away and put them on rations and even Goebbels can smell revolution in the offing. The Big Shots know that their subjects know that American movies are superior. On the other hand, Britain is seeing American movies — and they have done wonders in keeping up morale. British chins and thumbs are up — and despite the bursting bombs, Britishers are risking their lives to see our releases — knowing that Hollywood is taking their minds off the constant sights and thoughts of death and destruction. It's odd, too, how Britain went for The Grapes of Wrath. You'd think that they wouldn't care to see such a serious film, one playing on the theme of the downtrodden. One must conjecture that they wanted to share their own suffering with the Joads, who were fighting a battle, too — with thumbs up — and a "you can't lick us" glint in their eyes. Britishers can hardly wait to see their own Chaplin in his tragic-comic take-off of Hitler. Yes, indeed, The Great Dic 84 tator will provide them with a triple-dose of morale medicine. If the British are showing movies at all to German war prisoners, you can bet they won't miss the chance to show them Chaplin. Enter — Chaplin YES, the British will eat it up — even though it has caused some disappointment with Americans who expected the comedy masterpiece of all time. New York film critics didn't go overboard, because they anticipated he would burlesque Hitler to the extremes of ridiculousness. They forget that Chaplin always dovetails comedy with pathos — that one follows the other as night follows day. They thought he over-emphas-ized the tragic plight of the Jews. They probably thought they were in for a constant play of belly laughs. Chaplin has his answers for these critics. For those who say Hitler is no laughing matter any longer, he replies that people can smile, will laugh even though death and misery and suffering stalk in every conquered land. Disliking Hitler and all he stands for, Chaplin pours on the irony and bitter burlesque. He shows up the dictator's vanities, emphasizes his ridiculous moods, his pseudo pomp, his vain-glorious struttings. And nowhere is the master of ridicule so effective as when he takes off Hitler making speeches. To me the highlight of showing Hitler drunk with his own importance is when Chaplin has him playing with a gas balloon made up like a globe of the world. Here is Hitler manipulating it, tossing it, catching it, balancing it — with all the grace of an adagio dancer — and then of a sudden it breaks. Here is symbolism at its highest. The globe that Hitler would conquer — would use to suit his whims, is punctured and along with it his dream of world conquest. He holds the torn pieces in his hand and goes into a paroxysm of sobs. Chaplin has said that he wouldn't change the ending if everybody disagreed with him. He practically steps out of character of the Jewish barber who has taken over Hynkel's power — the inarticulate little barber — and becomes a propagandist for peace, justice and tolerance. It is then that he is Charlie Chaplin, the man — not Charlie Chaplin, the comedian. He must have spent considerable time and worry over how to conclude his picture— and realizing that Hitler, at pres ent, is sitting well in the saddle, he couldn't very well dispose of him without spoiling the truthful burlesque he created. Chaplin talks for the first time — in clipped British voice that records well — not too high, not too low. And his faithful props of decrepit derby, spindly cane, baggy trousers and big "trampy" shoes ■ — these establish the Chaplin genius for carrying out the frustrations of the little man of all nations in his battle against society. The Great Dictator will be remembered for Chaplin's accurate take-off of Hitler when he is orating, for his marvelous pantomime with the gas balloon — and for sheer Chaplinesque comedy when, as the barber, he shaves a customer to the rhythmic music of a Brahms Hungarian Dance, perfectly timed to the last note. Joan Bennett's Noble Deed THOSE who've held the belief that the glamorous femme stars do nothing but pose and strut in the latest styles and hair-do's — who never do anything to upset their poise — who never step out of character as pampered ladies of premieres and night clubs and social swings, must give Joan Bennett a great big hand. With no publicity fanfare — because the sacrifice was done modestly and sincerely — Joan Bennett has given up a half-pint of her blood as plasma for wounded Britishers. This act might have been expected from some rabid publicist determined to make headlines with his client. But the modest, self-effacing Joan was not guided by any such motive. She went through with it because she was determined to do her bit for anguished Britons who really need help. She didn't take her knitting-needles and make a sweater (which is admirable too). But instead was hospitalized for a few hours to suffer the shock of donating good Bennett blood. It may be she becomes the first movie star to perform such a sacrifice. And Britain's hats, Hollywood's hats, your hats and ours, are off to Joan Bennett. By her thoughtful self-sacrifice she proves that the people of the make-believe world can step into the realm of reality and do good deeds — without recourse to the loud-pedaling of publicity. Some time when you see a picture and the heroine is doing some noble deed of sacrifice — don't say, "It's only make believe." Actresses, and actors, too, can be real life heroines and heroes.