Thursday, September 19, 2024

Robert Hawk | Home from the Gym / 2014

body and soul

by Douglas Messerli

 

Robert Hawk and Jacob Robbins (screenplay), Robert Hawk (director) Home from the Gym / 2014 [6 minutes]

 

Why it took two writers to create a “screenplay” without dialogue and in which the central character (played by co-author Jake Robbins) simply undresses, I can’t explain. Perhaps it took someone other than US director Robert Hawk to describe what a gym costume really consists for, the hooded sweater, the open T-shirt, the heavily laced black gym boots, the difficult to pull-off sweat socks, the equally tight sweatpants, and the shorts under.

      Finally, with some struggles our strip-teaser is finished, naked, the camera eventually moving in and down even to catch a look at his penis.



       One has to wonder, is that what this film is all about?

       But then, there is the tear—actually two tears that drip slowly from his eye.


      As the reviewer on the IMDb site pondered: “Who could imagine the story? Or who reduced all that perfect body of the actor. Or who discover the bitter poetry of loneliness, a victory, a fall, or a break-up.”

     Sorry, but why should I care? Just because I’ve now seen him totally naked? That he seems to very vulnerable after he’s torn his costume—certainly every bit as complex as that of a drag queen—away from his limbs? You’d think that with two writers they’d have given us some further clue or even pretend an answer for such an after work-out melancholy.

     This might have worked far better as a photograph: a boxer all suited up and ready to punch with a tear rolling down his eye.  

 

Los Angeles, September 19, 2024 / Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (September 2024).

Dustin Shroff | Deflated / 2012

inevitable choices

by Douglas Messerli

 

Dustin Shroff (screenwriter and director) Deflated / 2012 [6 minutes]

 

In Dustin Shroff’s short film of 2012, a young boy named Chris (Carson Trinity Haverda) has jut been permitted by his father to select a toy for $3.00. He tells his father he already knows what he wants to get, and, as his father moves to the hardware aisle, Chris races to the toy aisle of the discount super-store.

 

     His eyes open in wonderment of a large bin of bouncy-balls. Just what he is seeking! Yet there seems to be a problem, despite his obvious delight. In the midst of the mountain of fully-inflated pink balls there is one lone green one. And Chris, without even having to be told, knows something already about what color means in relationship to being a boy.

      Not being able to reach into the bin from the top, he finds a way to let out all of the balls through a bottom wicket, the aisle filling up with pink bouncy-balls which almost cling to his heels. But there is the one green one, near the bottom. He picks it up and tosses it to the floor where it lands with a thud. The green one is deflated and impossible to play with.


      He takes a pink one in hand and tosses it up. It seems to stay in the heavens of the store several long moments before it begins to into his read hands, ready to bounce off with the child on the chase. It’s beautiful, perfect, just what he was hoping for.


      Soon, however, his father returns. It’s time to make his choice. The father is clearly a factory worker or a farmer, the kind of everyday macho dad of the Bible Belt, the territory in which director Dustin Shroff himself has admitted this tale is located.

      But the father might have a job in profession and the story might be located in any US location. For already at his young age, the boy knows that pink is a gender coded color signifying girls. His father would clearly be embarrassed or even angry if he were to choose the pink one, so it is the green, meaningless ball which the boy feels the necessity of taking into his hands, surely his heart already broken by the time they reach the check-out counter.

      Someday in the future perhaps this boy, having grown up in such an atmosphere, will simply have assimilated those same values. Or perhaps, he will resist them, having come to realize that pink does not truly mean anything. Maybe even he will prefer a pink ball over a blue or green one.

      But today, the child feels a pressure that he should not have to feel, a demand to select “male” toys over “female” ones, and even worse, to pick colors meaninglessly coded for gender.

      I believe Shroff’s argument in this film, that these subtle codes are instilled in most children even before they have any comprehension about their gender and have utterly no concept of sex. They know innately what their father and what prefer and how their behavior will be greeted by their parents by behaving in different ways.

      Not only does this charming young boy go home unhappy in this film, but boys and girls are daily disappointed by their parents’ mindless prejudices. I remember one Christmas, my parents (pretending to be Santa) brought me a tractor to play with. My father, now an educator, had grown up on a farm and he surely felt it was a fit toy for his son. It sat in the corner without me every playing with it. The next Christmas my surprisingly sympathetic parents brought me a Walt Disney stage all made of metal, accompanied by plastic figures from the Disney films, Snow White, Mickey Mouse, and the like. I played with that stage, performing theater to myself for months, perhaps for an entire year or more; and the next year I received a real puppet with strings to control its movements, which I have still today at age 76.

      Children such as Chris will likely continue to receive tractors, trucks, wagons and other such “male” toys for the rest of their childhood. Certainly there will be no cha-cha heels in their future, no purple backpacks.

 

Los Angeles, September 19, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (September 2024).

 

Leslie Pearce | Adam's Eve / 1929

trying to miss his own wedding

by Douglas Messerli

 

Alfred A. Cohn (screenplay, based on a story by Florence Ryerson and Colin Clements), Leslie Pearce (director) Adam’s Eve / 1929

 

     Earlier the same year as Adam’s Eve, Arthur played a true pansy in Roy Del Ruth’s operetta The Desert Song (see my review elsewhere in this volume). In Leslie Pearce’s 1929 short talking film Adam’s Eve, however, wherein he plays the reticent, soon-to-be-married man. He is scheduled to be married, in fact, the next morning when he discovers himself desperately drunk at a bachelor party

      Even here, where the character calls for pure heterosexuality, he has drunk himself out of his mind, we suspect, simply so that he might not have to go through with the marriage or perhaps to simply remove it entirely from his consciousness.


     Enjoying himself thoroughly among the all-male company, Adam, when reminded by his best friend Jack (Paul Powell) that it’s time to go home, doesn’t at all wish to leave. In his famed whine he sounds like a young boy told that it’s time to go home from the circus.

      Jack insists, however, planning to take him to his place and put him to bed, which one suspects would be just fine with Adam, particularly if Jack crawled into bed with him, as he throws his hands around Jack’s necks insisting over and over that “You’re my very best friend.”

      Adam is so drunk that he uses the famous phrase of all such plastered idiots: “I drive better after I’ve had a few,” and insists on driving, which we know immediately won’t end well. He hits a milk truck and ends up crashing into a fire hydrant, water spraying everyone and the police surely on their way.

      As if to make sure that Adam is jailed for his wedding, Jack insists he climb the fire escape to enter his window in order to escape the police, while he will remain in the apartment to confront them.     

     The drunken and confused man in tails climbs until he sees the first open window, not Jack’s penthouse apartment, but the flat of two chorines who share the place and who have opened to window simply to determine what is going on with all the noise below and the arrival of the police.

      Most of this short movie is spent with the standard vaudeville tricks of individuals entering the room at the very moment where the other inspects the closet or visits the kitchen, the two women just missing Adam as he, after discovering that individuals of other gender inhabit the space, hides out like a terrified tortoise. We are certain that he might spend even more time in the closet were it not that the large closet door is a revolving one, with a Murphy bed attached.

      The problem is that being a nice boy even when he’s drunk, Adam has called his fiancée June (Frances Lee) to tell her where he is—even taking time out to find out the apartment number.

     June, being a forceful girl—the perfect woman for a nebbish like Adam—this time encounters Peggy (Geneva Mitchell) on the other end of the line, and hearing a woman’s voice determines to immediately come over to check things out, telling Peggy her intentions, much to the inhabitant’s surprise. Why should a woman wish to visit her at this time of the night?

       In the meantime, Adam continues to escape being seen. But June, upon her arrival, immediately discovers her man in a room filled with dropped stockings and lingerie, and, furious about the situation attempts to get to the bottom of abysmal behavior. The other roommate in the kitchen, hearing her threats, takes an escape route through the fire escape and calls the police. But by the time they show up, Adam and June have been swept back into the closest, and the cops find no one. Overhearing the girl’s confusion, June finally believes Adam that his entry into the apartment was not intentional, as the two lovers escape like the rabbit the actor Arthur has oft been compared to.

      In short, Arthur often played just such roles of terrified Walter Mittys long before James Thurber created such a figure, and thus escaped being cast only as a sissy or pansy.

 

Los Angeles, July 10, 2022

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (July 2022).

 

 

 

Roland West | The Monster / 1925

a queer entertainment

by Douglas Messerli

 

Willard Mack and Albert Kenyon (screenplay, based on the story by Crane Wilbur), Roland West (director) The Monster / 1925

 

As early as 1925 Arthur had arguably created a kind of pansy figure in Roland West’s film The Monster, which also was perhaps one of the first horror films.



    But even here Arthur’s character Johnny Goodlittle might simply be better described as a Milquetoast, like Harold Lloyd’s Grandma’s Boy afraid of the world around him which generally bullies or ignores him. If he shares a mutual love of the small-town beauty Betty Watson (Gertrude Olmstead), she will surely choose the local grocer’s son Amos Rugg (Hallam Cooley) for whose father Johnny works. Although Betty is a friendly and kind soul, even she perceives him as off territory, the writer’s having her arrive at the store for a packet of pansy seeds, a request she makes three times. Barrios insists that it may even be the origin of the word associated with gay effeminate men. At her request, he suggests, he is flustered, which perhaps “has less to do with her request than her presence….but the message to the audience is unmistakable. This, in fact, is one of the earliest examples of one of the most popular gay-oriented code words; the word pansy was at the time not necessarily pejorative, but from this time until its use was banned from movies in 1934 it had one meaning only.”

      And even if we wanted to forget this one scene, the movie keeps reminding its character, through the others’ treatment of him, that he is not a figure who fits into their normative male-dominated society.

      Having joined up with a correspondence course of the Art of Detection, Johnny is about to earn his badge, gun, and handcuffs, along with the Kankakee-based certificate. He regularly reads the book on How to Be a Detective. Yet when a local farmer, John Bowman goes missing, the wreckage of his car discovered nearby the now closed Dr. Edwards’ Sanitarium, the constable Russ Mason (Charles Sellon) and Amos who with the Insurance Detective and Johnny make up the search squad, find anything Johnny has to say about the case as laughable, at best something to simply be ignored, Johnny sent away with the disdain of his “in-genuity.”

       When later Johnny attends a local dance, he is equally treated by all the guests as an outsider. He leaves the party, wandering over once again to the site where Jack Bowman was last seen, having left, he discovers, a mirror-image message saying “HELP”—the existence of which the others believe Johnny has made up.

        There he meets a strange man—who we latter find out is Daffy Dan (Knute Erickson). Dan asks him for a match, pretending to light up a cigarette with it. Wandering about the place, Johnny accidentally falls through a chute into the old sanitorium in which Dan was obviously once a patient.

        No sooner does Johnny arrive in the asylum but the partygoers. Amos and Betty are lured off the highway on their way home by a mirror, just as was Bowman was before them, and find themselves also trapped in the old sanitarium.


        Using the later typical tropes of “the old dark house” stories, a genre which in 1932 James Whale would make very famous with his film of the same name, the trio meet up with the mad Dr. Gustave Ziska (Lon Chaney) who along with his slave, Caliban (Walter James), and evil Rigo (George Austin) pull levers to scroll down panels that block all windows and lock the doors before attempting to drug, poison, and hypnotize particularly Betty and Amos, while Johnny goes exploring into a dark stairwell that leads to subterranean operating rooms, gets drunk on the wine the other two have refused to drink, and generally begins to put his detecting studies into operation.

       Between the alcohol, his timidity, and his naivete Johnny doesn’t accomplish much at first, although he does discover a secret room wherein the evil trio have locked away Dr. Edwards, Bowman, and another man.


       But eventually finding a way out of the building he battles with Rigo, returning dressed as him to save Amos and Betty just as Ziska is about to, most oddly, transfer Amos’ soul, thus killing him, into Betty’s body. Without any commentary by the filmmaker or the film’s critics, it sounds to me as if he were attempting some version of a non-surgical transsexual operation.

       Perhaps excited by the alcohol and certainly by the opportunity to show is abilities to use logical thought, Johnny frees Amos and Betty, straps Ziska into his own death chair, and watches as Caliban activates the transducer by command of his master, removing the man into thin air. As Caliban becomes distracted over his mistake, Johnny hooks him to a winch and sends him flying upside down over their heads as the town policeman, the insurance detective, and others who finally turn to praise their local hero, the insurance company man offering him a job and Betty offering him a kiss and her sexual interest.


      Precisely what the LGBTQ audience might most like about this film, its focus on the pansy outsider Johnny, because the basis of criticism for many critics, including the critics for The New York Times, who chose wording that perhaps did not intentionally mean what today we might it really means.

 

"The starch seems to have been taken out of the pictorial conception of The Monster by the inclusion of too much light comedy. The result is that, although this film possesses a degree of queer entertainment, it is neither fish, fowl nor good red herring. The thrills that might have chilled one's feet and finger tips end in causing chuckles and giggles...Mr. Chaney does not have very much to do, but his various appearances are effective...Chaney looks as if he could have enjoyed a more serious portrayal of the theme."

 

     Queer entertainment indeed!

 

Los Angeles, July 10, 2022

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (July 2022).

Douglas Messerli | Passing: Two Johnny Arthur Films

passing: two johnny arthur films

by Douglas Messerli

 

Beginning in the late 1920s and throughout the early 1930s, actor Johnny Arthur often played what was described as the role of the “panze” or “pansy,” a stereotypical role which—before the Motion Picture Code banned them—allowed effeminate and other gay-stereotyped characters to offer comedic moments, even if they were generally isolated through the plot from the heterosexual figures. These figures, at least reminded the presumed heterosexual audiences throughout the US that queers still did exist.

 


      LGBTQ film critic Richard Barrios characterized Arthur in this manner:

 

“Some cinematic sissies dither, others get all haughty, and still others suffer in affronted silence (as in some of Mr. Pangborn’s priceless facial expressions). Johnny Arthur exhibited onscreen in a constant state of anxiety, balancing precariously at midpoint between dread and displeasure. His established image was not so much effeminate as it was more subversively, a drastic departure from any kind of conventional masculinity. …Silent film deprived him of one of his prime assets, a voice so whiny that it probably caused early speaker systems to hum and buzz incessantly.”

 

    His sense of anxiety, in fact, allowed Arthur to perform in 89 short and feature films during the 1920s and 1930s, long after “sissies” had been banned from the screen by the morally prissy Joseph Breen. Arthur was the go-to man for the hen-pecked husband, a man who took on home decorating without of clue to what he was doing, and the soon-to-be married man upon whom you could most depend to never take a look at another woman because of his general fear of the species.

 

Los Angeles, July 10, 2022


Scott Sidney | Charley's Aunt / 1925

heterosexual drag

by Douglas Messerli

 

Joseph Farnham and F. McGrew Willis (screenplay, based on the stage play by Brandon Thomas), Scott Sidney (director) Charley's Aunt / 1925

 

This work, which over the years became almost a warhorse of both stage and cinema, in its first movie appearance is perhaps the very best. In most respects it is very like the 1930 sound version, as well it should be given that the producer of this version, Al Christie, was the director of the talkie.

     Despite very similar staging, however, this production’s auntie, Sir Fancourt Babberley, better known as “Babbs” (played by Charlie Chaplin’s brother, Syd Chaplin) is simply a more convincing aunt than is the later Charles Ruggles. And since the story is primarily a work of events, the various comings and goings of its cast, it truly works better in the silent version without all its often-cumbersome dialogue that attempts to explain the impossible relationships between characters present and past.

 

      Like all farces it is plot heavy, so instead of recounting the story scene by scene, I will just quickly summarize the basic elements of this 1925 rendition.

     University roommates Charlie Wykeham (James Harrison) and Jack Chesney (David James) are in love with Amy Spettigue (Mary Akin) and Kitty Verdun (Priscilla Bonner) who are respectively the daughter and niece, wards of Stephen Spettigue (James E. Page). Unfortunately, although they have reason to believe the young women are attracted to them, the suitors have been unable to get up the nerve to ask them to marry.

      Meanwhile, Spettigue learns that once Miss Verdun is married he will no longer be the recipient of a stipend for her support, and fearing that loss of income, he refuses to allow either his own daughter or his ward see the young men, planning instead to take them off to a summer vacation spot in Scotland where there are no young men in sight.

      Charley gets word that his Brazilian aunt, Donna Lucia D' Alvadorez (Eulalie Jensen), a woman he has never before met, has traveled with a young lady, Ela Delahay (Ethel Shannon) to England and plans to stop by for a visit that very afternoon, perfect timing the young men realize, since she might play the required chaperon to a luncheon party to which they plan to invite their women friends and pop the question.

      Meanwhile, their busybody college chum from another room, “Babbs,” trying to collect on a loan they’ve never paid back, attempts to rob them of the bottles of champagne they’ve set out for the event. He’s about to prepare for a new play in which performs in drag. Catching him in their room, they suggest that he also join them at the luncheon to help keep Charley’s aunt busy so that they might have time with the girls. But when, soon after, they get word that the aunt has missed her connection and has been delayed in her visit, and after seeing “Babbs” in his new female attire, they get the idea to have him replace the aunt so that the girls will have no qualms about a lunch alone with the two bachelor men.

      As often happens in such farces, people regularly drop in to add to the complexity of the situation. In this instance Jack’s father, Sir Francis (Phillips Smalley, who plays the same role in the later 1930 version) suddenly shows up to visit his son, reporting that having done a thorough audit of his finances, he finds they are now debtors. Jack suggests he join them also at lunch and woo Charley’s aunt who is notoriously wealthy and a widow. Obviously when he discovers that she will be “replaced” by their friend, it is too late, and he daren’t reveal the truth.

     When the girls go missing from his home, the bothersome father and ward Spettigue decides to butt into the celebrations as well.

    For the rest of the movie we are treated to “Babb’s” ridiculous attempts to imitate a Brazilian heiress, having utterly no knowledge about who she is and only knowing that she comes from Brazil, the land of the nuts. And nutty is the key word of his displeased attempts to keep in character, particularly when beyond all rationality, and much to the shock of his son, both Jack’s father and Spettigue fall head-over-heels in love with the aunt, dueling in their attempts to win her over.

    What the 1925 version makes far clearer with its beginning scene is “Babbs’” previous experience with Ela Delahay and her father in France, when he had attempted to help out the older man with his gambling obsession—the father losing with his favorite number “13” time and again before finally going into bankruptcy—by bribing the croupier to allow her father to win. When a group of nasty American tourists foil that attempt, Babbs arranged that his beloved Ela’s father to win a raffle, thus allowing her enough money so that she can join Charley’s real aunt in her tour of England.


    Inevitably, Thomas’ farce brings in, at the very last moment, the lovely and sophisticated real aunt and her companion, Babb’s lost love, Ela, who immediately realizing the absurdity of the young men’s fibs, play along without revealing their true identities. But not before the rejected Sir Francis recognizes Donna Lucia as a woman he loved from long ago in the past, thus hooking him up with both lost love and the money he needs to continue in his life.

     So too do the boys find the courage to ask their girls to marry them and are quickly accepted. Babbs recognizes Ela, although she, like all the others, cannot recognize him, and when he finally reveals himself, she accepts his love only after a great deal of dismay and doubt. And surely she might well wonder about a beau dressed up as a woman at the very edge of marrying an old man—a situation that reminds one most particularly of Jack Lemmon’s character Daphne’s last scenes with Joe E. Brown’s Osgood Fielding III in Some Like It Hot.

     The only one who winds up without a match is the foolish Spettigue, whose loneliness and poverty, the writer suggests, is his reward for his cross-gender licentiousness and greed.

     Not only does the lack of dialogue speed up the pace of this otherwise long and extracted series of mistaken identities and confused love, but the tradition of silent films speeding up the character’s movements rids us of the boring run-arounds that Babbs and Charley’s Aunt offers up to the old fool Spettigue. The accelerated speed not only saves us the slo-mo races in and out rooms but creates a true silliness for Babbs rooftop athletics which I found distracting in the 1930 version.

      Even in 1925 when drag was still extremely popular—evidenced in the appearance of Julian Eltridge’s Madame Behave (also directed by Scott Sidney), Stan Laurel in The Sleuth, Frederick Kovert in Chasing the Chaser and Starvation Blues, and the various maskings and drag appearances in Dick Turpin—there was something notably old-fashioned about Charley’s Aunt’s “heterosexualized” vision of cross-dressing. While Eltridge, Kovet, and even to a certain degree Laurel who absolutely convincing in their female attire, Syd Chaplin never attempted to convince his audience that he truly was a woman. More like the early drag appearances of John Bunny, Charlie Chaplin, Wallace Beery, Oliver Hardy, Roscoe Arbuckle, Buster Keaton, Harold Langdon, and others, the point was not to disguise oneself but openly perform as if one pretending to be a woman; the humor existed in the fact that while the audience was totally aware the falsity of the situation, the film’s characters mistook the male as a female. It was all in fun, not a true fetish or interest in becoming the opposite sex as it was with figures such as Eltridge, Kovert, and Bothwell Browne.

      Already in that same year, moreover, works such as second part of Manfred Noa’s Helena, Louis J. Gasnier’s Parisian Love, Adrian Brunel’s Battling Bruisers: Some Boxing Buffonery, Terence Greenidge’s The Scarlet Woman: An Ecclesiastical Melodrama, Alfred Hitchcock’s The Pleasure Garden, Malcolm St. Clair’s A Woman of the World, Dallas M. Fitzgerald’s My Lady of Whims, and Roland West’s The Monster were beginning to explore the gay sensibility, early versions of camp, and even homosexual love in both Helena and Parisian Love.

      By the 1930 production, as I note, drag as a comic device had begun to be passé of little deep directorial interest, even though it continues even until today, a fact that perhaps explains the odd lack of mention of this work in almost all of the major studies of gay cinema. Particulary in 1925 version, with its preface about Babb’s early relationship with Ela, Charley’s Aunt is more about willful trickery than it is about the relationship of gay men and the interest by some of them in cross-dressing.

 

Los Angeles, November 22, 2022

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (November 2022).

 

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).

       

My Queer Cinema Index [with former World Cinema Review titles]

Films discussed (listed alphabetically by director) [Former Index to World Cinema Review with new titles incorporated] (You may request any ...