Dallas M. Fitzgerald | My Lady of Whims / 1925

the prodigal daughter

by Douglas Messerli

 

Edgar Franklin (screenplay based on a story by Doris Schroeder), Dallas M. Fitzgerald (director) My Lady of Whims / 1925

 

Dallas M. Fitzgerald’s empty vehicle for the always entertaining Clara Bow playing Prudence Severn, a budding flapper moved to Greenwich Village in order to “write,” would be of absolutely no interest to an LGBTQ audience except for how it reiterates the normative pattern of the strong and violent heterosexual male who wins the girl because he treats her tough.

      In this version of the tale told ten thousand times and more, Prudence is the daughter of a wealthy man who along with Prudence’s sister Mary (Betty Baker) are terrified for their loved one who has moved to the Village and is obviously beginning to get a reputation for being a wild young thing.

     They’ve already hired two detectives who have failed to bring her back, and now hire a missionary of a young man, Bartley Greer (Donald Keith) and his ineffectual gun-toting partner, Dick Flynn (Lee Moran), to dare the voyage downtown to bring her back.

      It is almost as if they are venturing into some dark continent out of a white racist myth, with Flynn flinching every few seconds over the “toughs” he encounters on the streets. Bartley rents a room in Prudence’s apartment house, pretending that he too is a budding novelist, entering into Prudence’s and her artist roommate Wayne Leigh’s (Carmelita Geraghty) garret through the old trick of tossing a suitcase into the wrong apartment (in the days when even Village doors were evidently kept unlocked) and later popping in to claim it.

      Prudence pretends interest, but quickly sees through Bartley’s disguise, particularly when, after the couple dines in a village café with a pirate act, he pays in crisp $50 dollar bills with which he’s been paid by her father.

       Bartley, however, hardly wastes any time to begin his missionary statements, chiding her for preferring the tawdry life at such bars over living with her own family, spouting lines like “You really mean you left the family who loves you—to choose this sort of tinsel and trash.” Either she is somewhat convinced of his “good boy comments” or she pretends to be, answering with drivel such as “You make me seem as if I’d been selfish——I hadn’t thought of it before——"; frankly it’s hard to see at this point why she might even want to remain in the same room with the bore.

       She makes clear, moreover, that she’s not going to give up her life when her “boyfriend” Rolf (Francis McDonald) shows up, reminding her “You didn’t forget our little date at Benny’s masked rumpus, did you lamb?”

        Obviously, Bartley can’t stand the guy and threatens him with violence almost immediately, Rolf pulling back in self-defense and making no attempt whatsoever to challenge the intruder’s claims. Rather, he turns to Prudence, continuing their somewhat secret code with an even greater fierceness, “Don’t wear your ear muffs Petite. Remember the least worn the easiest mended.”

        By using words such as “rumpus,” “lamb,” and “Petite” to address her and discuss the situation, Rolf clearly signals to the straight audience that he is not one of them, and is probably “gay,” a word by this time that had begun to be used by those in the know to describe homosexuals. Although he seems to be “dating” Prudence, by Wayne’s describing him as “her inspiration” and he himself expressing their relationship as a “little” date, he makes it clear that even if he imagines marriage with her—and soon after they do attempt to elope in order to escape Bartley—he is not a “real” man in the way Bart defines himself.

        By this time the detective is so fed up with the situation that he actually warns Rolf, who suggests that while his “Petite” is getting dressed he will go out for Turkish cigarettes, not to return.

      Prudence has suggested that she’ll dress for the event, and if Bart feels she’s not appropriately costumed, she’ll stay home. Actually, she has signaled Rolf, and escaping from her bedroom window meets up with Rolf as they hurry off to Benny’s rumpus.

       Actually, the “rumpus” with folks dressed mostly in the kinds of costumes that the partyers in Gene Kelly’s musical An American in Paris wear in their art school ball—there are several male Pierrots, including Rolf (perhaps another sign of his outsider sexuality)—but Prudence is dressed far more stylishly and controversially for the day in what was described as a “scandalous skintight costume.”

     Yet the party looks to be mostly fun, that is until our corn-bred detective shows up with his trigger-happy partner looking to beat up Rolf. Fortunately, if Rolf himself cannot save her, the clever Prudence arranges for Bart to get his comeuppance by pretending to flirt with another Pierrot while Rolf hides around the corner. The “other” Pierrot is evidently one of the tough guys we keep hearing about, for when the detective attempts to live up to his threats, Prudence’s “other” friend knocks him out cold.

       By this time, it is clear that she is already a bit tired of having to take things into her own hands, Rolf being totally unable to protect her. But still, when her roommate Wayne suggests that she and her weakling lover elope to put an end to Bartley’s intrusions, she is enthusiastic about the suggestion and calls up an older man who is desperate to become her “daddy” to loan them his yacht.

      No sooner has the yacht began its voyage than Rolf becomes queasy with sea-sickness, telling the captain to slow down. Nonetheless, the marriage ceremony proceeds. Prudence quickly notices, however, that Bart and Dick are moving toward them on a speedboat, and she goes off to manage the sailors who quickly take the two under arrest when they board.

      Dick, strangely, turns out to be a marvelous dancer, and makes some quick steps to kick the gun out of his guard’s hand, the two, now both carrying pistols, returning to deck, breaking up the ceremony, and binding Prudence, Rolf, and the Captain, returning them as promised to the Severn family.

      Mary and her father are delighted to receive the Prodigal daughter, as the worn-out Bart resigns his former job. Seeing Rolf, the father asks whether or not Prudence intends to marry him, she responding with utter disgust. “Never him,” she responds, but “him,” as she makes her way to the all-American hero who looks again as if he’s about to slug her as well, before she chases him across the den, declaring that they will move back to the Village, but this time it will be different.

      There are several early movies with LGBTQ subtexts that somehow still manage to show us women attracted to men precisely because they are utterly boring brutes, beating and raping their way through the opposite gender. Now we might add this abysmal little work to the list that includes Al Christie’s Making a Man of Her (1912), nearly all of the Jekyll and Hyde films, Hamilton McFadden’s Oh, for a Man! (1930), and Rowland Brown’s Blood Money (1933). Evidently, to some women a good beating once and a while was far better than consorting with a gentle and non-aggressive male. So deep was the disgust of homosexuals, that heterosexual violence was represented as a preference and even a standard of marital relationships.

 

Los Angeles, February 14-15, 2022

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (February 2022).