The 1920s--a swingin' time was had by all--especially at the movies. Douglas Fairbanks, Rudolph Valentiono, and Ramon Novarro set women's hearts a flutter. Tom Mix, Buck Jones and Hoot Gibson provided authentic cowboy action, Lon Chaney gave patrons the shivers, especially when an unsuspecting Mary Philbin removed his mask in The Phantom of the Opera, old dark house mysteries such as The Cat and the Canary and The Bat were the rage, Our Gang, Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Charley Chase made people laugh, and Clara Bow, the "It" girl, was appearing in racily titled films such as Dangerous Curves, The Wild Party, Rough House Rosie, and The Fleet's In. Gloria Swanson, Billie Burke, and Mary Pickford routinely saw their name over film titles. Pickford, Chaplin, and Fairbanks would eventually form United Artists, and America's sweetheart, Mary Pickford would retire a very wealth woman.
In 1926 Fritz Lang would complete what is without a doubt his masterwork, Metropolis, a film that featured a saintly heroine and her robotic alter-ego, a depraved maniac who tries to lead the
inhabitants of Metropolis to their doom. Lang and cinematographer Karl Freund created a terrifying glimpse of a future inhabited by haves and have-nots. The visionary set design and brilliant cinematography created an underground city populated by downtrodden workers and an above ground paradise inhabited by a decadence-loving upper class. The lives of both the workers and elite are controlled by the machinery needed to run the complex futuristic city. Perhaps screenwriter Thea von Harbou (a real-life bitch in every sense of the word) consulted her crystal ball before completing the script for Metropolis--today in the 1990s the have-nots far outnumber the haves with the gap widening every day.
While the script is often cited as quite silly, we do get to watch Brigitte Helm ran a gamet of emotions in dual roles--from saint to sinner as Maria, leader of the underground workers, who pleads with them to await a mediator to help them communicate with the above-ground elite, and as the pleasure-loving robotic double created by evil scientist Rothwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge). Helm has a field day rolling her eyes, frenetically dancing with the upper-class, cavorting, carousing, causing riots, and laughing hysterically as the hapless workers, realizing they have destroyed their children and homes (never considering they made an error, placing the full responsibility on the impostor Maria), burn her at the stake. She cackles with glee as the flames destroy the robot. Meanwhile, the real Maria and Freder (Gustav Froehlich) manage to save the children, evade Rothwang, and bring about a peace between the laborers and the above-grounders. With the Nazi influence growing in Germany, Lang would depart for the United States. Von Harbou would remain behind and become a good little Nazi.
SHE WAS NOT ALIVE...NOR DEAD...Just a White Zombie--1932
WARNING! The Monster demands a Mate!-- Bride of Frankenstein, 1935
Look Out! She'll Get You!-- Dracula's Daughter, 1936
The virtuous Maria would reflect the fast approaching ’30s. The party clothes were put away and the dress-down clothes brought out. The depression was raging. A trip to the movie theater was a rare treat and not to be undertaken lightly. A visit to the local movie palace would probably be followed by a visit to the ice cream parlor for a 15-cent walnut sundae or a 5-cent lemon root beer. Film advertisements would be scrupulously inspected before the monumental selection of a film was made. Studios would indulge the public's desire to escape the despondent times--their taste for frivolity would lead to a plethora of escapist entertainment. Sophisticates were in vogue, on the silver screen that is. Nick and Nora Charles would begin their detecting career in The Thin Man, Snow White would capture the hearts of America, John Wayne would begin his domination of the Old West, and Shirley Temple, the tiniest of the Fox blondes, would become a box-office champ. Marlene Dietrich would slink her way through many a classic, Tarzan and his mate would swing across the theater screens, Mae West, with a twinkle in her eye, would invite audiences to come up and see her sometime, Fred and Ginger would dance their way into film history, Jean Harlow was the blonde bombshell, Bette Davis was a Marked Woman, Garbo talked, and laughed, and fell in love.
Laurel and Hardy inspired zany mayhem, Errol Flynn would swashbuckle his way into female affections, and 1939 would present a film list that even today sends film buffs into a state of nirvana: Gone With the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Son of Frankenstein, Stagecoach, Ninotchka, Dark Victory, Destry Rides Again, Goodbye Mr. Chips, The Little Princess, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Gunga Din, Love Affair, and Wuthering Heights. And then there was Universal--a Mecca to horror film fans. Universal made Hollywood history with legendary bogeyman Bela Lugosi as Dracula and then followed that amazing feat by introducing Boris Karloff in Frankenstein. The studio would dominate the horror field until doing a fast fade in the 1940s, but until that time they delighted, frightened, and swept audiences away from the terror of reality. The gruesome twosome of Dracula and Frankenstein would be followed by such glorious gems as Murders in the Rue Morgue and The Mummy (1932), The Invisible Man (1933), The Black Cat (1934), The Raven, Werewolf of London and Bride of Frankenstein (1935), The Invisible Ray, Dracula's Daughter (1936), and Son of Frankenstein (1939).
Universal's success did not go unnoticed by the other majors. They contributed their own classics to horror film annuals: Paramount delved into the decadent side of humanity in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1932), Supernatural (1933), Island of Lost Souls (1933), and the sadistic Murders in the Zoo (1933). RKO would weigh in with King Kong (1933) and The Most Dangerous Game (1932); Warner Bros. would wax poetic in Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933) and MGM would tap their maverick filmmakers to bring us The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), Freaks (1932), Mark of the Vampire (1935), and Mad Love (1935).
Universal heroines were standard issue--lovely delicate flowers terrified by monsters and rescued by manly protectors who would sweep them off their feet and take them away from all this terror. But the '30s also provided three of my favorite over-the-top examples of femininity, one feisty heroine, one deliciously decadent nymphomaniac, and one adventurous little girl.
Dorothy Gale ( Judy Garland) in The Wizard of Oz has always been every little girl's favorite heroine. She faces mean old Miss Gulch ( Margaret Hamilton) when Gulch tries to take Toto away ("You go away or I'll bite you myself, you wicked old witch!"). She slaps the lion on his snout when he threatens Toto (even before realizing he was a cowardly lion), and she leads her friends to the Witch's castle to retrieve the wicked old Witch's broomstick. We all shivered in our pj's as the Wicked Witch threatened Dorothy in the Munchkinland square, and gasped when she wrote, "SURRENDER DOROTHY" in the skies above the Emerald City. We hid our little moppet heads as the monkeys carried Dorothy through the skies to the castle and we cried as Dorothy said good-bye to the Scarecrow. Every little girl wanted to be Dorothy and travel over the rainbow, and now as adults we still dream about it. However, the real star was the wonderful Margaret Hamilton as The Wicked Witch of the West. She cackled wildly, frightened little children and small animals, and sent chills down our spines with every crack of her tongue ("I'll get you, and your little dog too!"). A simply sublime witch.
Mystery of the Wax Museum advertises Fay Wray and Lionel Atwill as its stars. But it is Glenda Farrell who steals the show, managing to hold her own with the flamboyant Atwill. Farrell would make her mark as a tough-talking blonde in the Jean Harlow mold. Before appearing in Wax Museum she had appeared in I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang and Little Caesar. The wise-cracking blonde would come into her own with the Torchy Blane series in 1938.
Farrell portrays mouthy reporter Florence Dempsey, roommate of the dull Charlotte Duncan (Wray). As Florence makes fun of Charlotte's boyfriend, she is chided for her frivolous ways. Florence embraces life while Charlotte hides behind it.
Charlotte: "I don't think you could have a real affair. I don't think you could care for anyone."
Florence: "I've been in love so many times my heart's callused. But I never hit one with dough. I'd rather die with an apoplectic heart from shaking cocktails and bankers than expire in a pan of dirty dishwater."
Lionel Atwill, as the demented Ivan Igor, has been masterminding the theft of bodies and using them to restock his wax museum. When Charlotte visits her artist boyfriend at the studio, Florence discovers an amazing resemblance between Joan of Arc and a missing body. She rushes to her newspaper office where she engages in snappy patter with despised editor, Jim (Frank McHugh).
Florence: "Hello, light of my life."
Jim: "Well, well, Prussic Acid."
Florence, visiting the exhibit with Charlotte, sneaks over to the Joan of Arc and scrapes a bit of wax from her foot then follows a henchman of Igor's to a deserted basement. She's accompanied by a rich young man, Winton (Gavin Gordon), she met the night before in the slammer. He is a little hesitant to get involved, having had enough interaction with the police. "OK, brother, then you can go to some nice warm place and I don't mean California." 
Florence climbs in a basement window and explores the area, scaring herself as she bumps into things. Unfortunately, Florence is not only adventurous, she tends to jump to conclusions, notably when she calls the cops convinced a body is in an oblong box she has discovered. The police burst into the room and approach the box with trepidation, however, it's not a murderer who inhabits the house, but bootleggers. Florence grabs a couple bottles as they leave.
In the car Winton professes his love for the daring Florence.
Winton: "I've only known you for twenty-four hours but I'm in love with you."
Florence: "It doesn't usually take that long."
Florence heads back to the newspaper office where she tackles her considerably unhappy editor.
Florence: "Mitt me kid, I got a classic."
Jim: "...an evil spirit to mar my happiness."
Florence heads back to the museum where she is just in time to save the wretched Charlotte from a wax bath. Actually, she sensibly runs screaming for the police--a nice touch--rather than stay and put her pretty neck in jeopardy; she actually uses her head for something other than a hat rack.
Florence returns to the newsroom in glory, jovially accepting congratulations from her colleagues.
Florence: "Well, how about it poison ivy?"
Jim: "Rotten. You had a million dollars worth of luck with you."
Florence: "Could I possibly do anything that would meet with your approval?"
Jim: "Yeah. Cut out this crazy business, act like a lady, marry me."
Florence: "I'm gonna get even with you, you dirty stiff. I'll do it."
Will they live happily ever after? Maybe, however, we all know she'll be back in the newsroom before the honeymoon's over. And we're glad.
Farrell spiels forth her newswoman patter with the zeal of an early Rosalind Russell and is a welcome change from your comparable '30s' scream queens.
Myrna Loy. Her name brings to mind the shaking of a cocktail mixer from The Thin Man or the aroma of fresh baked apple pie from The Best Years of Our Lives. But Loy, under contract to Warners, began her career playing mysterious oriental women in Crimson City (1928) followed a year later with The Desert Song. She would eventually sign with MGM where she would enact her last oriental role as the misanthropic sex-fiend Fah Lo See, daughter of Fu Manchu ( Boris Karloff), in The Mask of Fu Manchu.
Much has been written about this campy delight, but this all-star queen of evilness is one of the highlights of this chapter. Every line she utters is dripping with honey-coated daggers (screenwriters Irene Kuhn, Edgar Allan Woolf, and John Willard must have laughed with wicked glee while composing the dialogue). Loy's eyes brim with a silent mirth as she doles out Fah's vicious tortures and ludicrous speeches.
Fu Manchu is desperately seeking the sword and mask of Genghis Khan which will give him the power to control the world! He kidnaps Dr. Barton (Lawrence Grant) who was to head the expedition. Fu calls Fah into the throne room. "My daughter, explain to this gentleman the rewards that might be his. Point out to him the delights of our lovely county, the promise of our beautiful women--even my daughter, even that for you." Loy manages to maintain a blank look on her face while Karloff delights in delivering his over-dramatic lines with gusto.
Barton does not know the location of the artifacts and Fu holds him for ransom. The sword and mask are delivered by the virile Terrence Granville (Charles Starrett), true love of Grant's virtuous daughter. As Granville confidently strides into the throne room Fah smiles and catches her breath. When he removes the "sword" she again catches her breath and parts her hands in delight. Unfortunately for Granville, the sword is a fake. As he is led away Fah smiles with enjoyment.
As Granville hangs by his hands Fah watches as his shirt is torn off. "The whip!" she yells. She watches in orgasmic ecstasy as they beat Granville, yelling "Faster, faster, faster, faster, faster!" Subtle? Not in the least, but perversely entertaining none-the-less.
Granville is taken to Fah's rooms and placed on a divan. She leans down to kiss him as her father enters. She looks up with a smile, leering, "He is not entirely unhandsome, is he my father?"
"For a white man, no. May I suggest, however, a slight delay in your customary procedure."
"You have further need of him?"
"I have. He shall still be the means of discovering for me where they have hidden the sword and mask."
"And for that purpose you will..." Fah asks, leaning forward in excitement.
"Precisely." Karloff lisps.
We're not sure exactly what Fu is going to do to Granville, be we know it won't be pretty.
Loy has no more amusing dialogue and disappears from the finale all together. Perhaps they were saving her for a sequel that never came about.
Like the thoroughly evil villainesses of Disney, Fah has no redeeming values--and that's why we love her.
"What I like about you is you're rock bottom... It's a great comfort for a girl to know she could not possibly sink any lower."-- The Big Steal, 1949
"You know how to whistle, don't you Steve? You just put your lips together and blow."-- To Have and Have Not, 1944
"Doesn't it ever enter a man's head that a woman can do without him?"-- Road House, 1948
"Men like to see women cry. It makes them feel superior."-- The Spiral Staircase, 1946
The 1940s. The men were overseas, women were working in factories, and children huddled by heat registers during air-raid drills. Teenagers would visit the local cinemas to watch John Wayne and Gary Cooper shoot 'em up, Humphrey Bogart chase the stuff that dreams are made of, and Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, and Fred Astaire make movie magic in MGM's glorious musicals. Screwball comedies reached their peak in the forties with films such as The Philadelphia Story, My Favorite Wife, and His Girl Friday. Hope and Crosby were on the road, Abbott and Costello joined the cinematic army, Orson Welles was obsessing over Rosebud, Jimmy Stewart was having a wonderful life, and Humphrey Bogart opened Rick's Place. Radio shows were the entertainment of the average folks, never missing Jack Benny and The Shadow. With men off to war, women were taking charge of their homes, their families, and their new-found responsibilities in the war factories.
The tough-talking dame would become a staple of an emerging film genre, noir. The men were scoundrels or easy pickings, the women cheap floozies looking for an easy
ride to the good life. Hollywood actresses were in their glory as prime parts for women became standard operating procedure. Veronica Lake, Lauren Bacall, Lizabeth Scott, and Barbara Stanwyck would become the beneficiaries of this dark trend.
Universal horror films were on a downward spiral, their crown as king of horror passing on to the unpretentious and unsuspecting RKO whose resident geniuses producer Val Lewton and directors Robert Wise, Jacques Tourneur, and Mark Robson would almost single-handedly save the struggling genre.
Other than the intelligently drawn Lewton heroines, horror didn't offer much to actresses during this war-ravaged decade. One notable exception is Gale Sondergaard who would have a feline field day as the sly Tylette, Shirley Temple's conniving cat in The Blue Bird (1940), and as Sherlock Holmes nemesis in The Spider Woman (1944).
Holmes: "...Something uncanny about it, something monstrous and horrible. Something that drives these poor fellows to their so called suicides... murders brilliantly conceived and executed. They're very near to being perfect crimes. Indubitably these murders are the work of a well organized gang and directing them is one of the most fiendishly clever minds in Europe today. I suspect a woman... Because the method is peculiarly subtle and cruel. Feline, not Canine... the bloke is driven to suicide and in that case it's murder."
Watson: "Driven. That sounds like a woman doesn't it?"
The Spider Woman and Holmes verbally fence using the "I knew that you knew that I knew" routine. The best bit in the film has the notorious Spider Woman visit Holmes at 221B Baker Street with her young nephew. The kid is worth the price of admission for his hysterical imitation of a miniature Dwight Frye as he hops around catching flies.