BarbaraStanwyck Tagged Articles at Cinematical

The battle of the sexes is alive and well in Hollywood, and whether it is the subject of a rom-com or an indie flick, audiences love to watch a good ol' fashioned throw down. But what makes a 'battle of the sexes' comedy a tricky proposition is that someone has to lose. So how do you make your audience (who is for the most part, female) accept the idea that a strong and feisty gal has learned the error of her ways and has 'surrendered to love''? Granted, it was a heck of a lot easier when they were making these movies in the '30s and '40s and marriage was the inevitable 'happy ending' for most gals.

Today, The Ugly Truth has been released on DVD and just like a million films to go before it, the story centers on a man and a woman who 'meet cute', fight a lot, and then fall in love -- and just like every other film, the whole thing hinges on the happy couple. When you're covering well trod ground like a battle of the sexes comedy, the charm and likability of your leads are your bread and butter -- and on a personal note, I just don't think Truth pulled it off, and I never got that charge from watching Katherine Heigl and Gerard Butler engage in a little 'verbal foreplay'.

So at risk of sounding like somebody's grandmother, I decided that when it comes to the battle of the sexes comedy, nobody did it better than classic Hollywood, and it didn't matter whether it was during the hay day of screwball comedies or gritty films noir. That's why this Cinematical Seven is dedicated to those classic Hollywood couples that could battle with the best of them, but unlike Heigl and Butler, their chemistry became the stuff of movie legend.

After the jump; seven classic couples that are all-time champs when it comes to the battle of the sexes....

There's a caveat or two with which I submit this list of our favorite con artists on film, to correspond with tomorrow's NY/LA bow of The Brothers Bloom (our review from Toronto is here; our interview with director Rian Johnson, there).

One: I have not seen the following -- David Mamet's House of Games, David Mamet's The Spanish Prisoner, and David Mamet's Frank Oz's Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. I know, for shame, boo and hiss and so on and so forth.

Two: I've seen but don't fully recollect either The Grifters or Nine Queens enough to feel comfortable including them as if I had (I also missed the English-language remake of the latter, Criminal, though I've been told that's for the best). If I were a slier man, then maybe I could fittingly deceive the lot of you, but I'm not, so I won't.

While I don't doubt that the characters in those films would be worthy of a slot on our list, there are still at least seven other con (wo)men in the movies worth shining the spotlight on, and I do hope that you do think that may make do when all's said and done.

Jette's very good column the other day called Remember the Night one of the seven Christmas movies you haven't ever seen. Jette caught it on TV once and hadn't watched it since. This 1940 romantic comedy is another one of those films that reminds you why you'd better not ditch your VHS player yet. If you want to see this (and, oh, you will want to see this, if you're a Preston Sturges fan), you have three options: one is to buy a grey-market DVD, something anyone with a search engine and a credit card can do. Another is to get one of the few VHS copies available off Amazon for $50 (excuse me, $49.99). The last, and cheapest, is to live in an urban area with a good specialty video store--such as Silver Screen in the Berkeley area suburb of El Cerrito.

If the last is the case, it's worth checking today to see if someone hasn't rented it out yet. Remember the Night is an unknown classic of the holiday, stressing romance, comedy and -- most important on Christmas -- hope and rebirth. The American cinema's most versatile actress, Barbara Stanwyck plays a character study for screenwriter Sturges' later The Lady Eve. Here she's a larcenous woman who turns out to be essentially no worse than the people around her.

One hundred years ago today, Barbara Stanwyck was born. While her professional life flowed with vigor and success, she was also a fighter, who overcame a heck of a lot to get to the top and stay there. Stanwyck lost her mother at two, was abandoned by her father at four and spent the rest of her childhood in various foster homes and with an older sister. She began working at the fresh age of 13, and it would be six years before she discovered acting. While a number of hardships continued to befall Stanwyck, from marital issues to a run-in with a robber, the success she found on the silver screen continues to impact, even 17 years after her death.

Funnily enough, I first discovered Stanwyck because of Grease 2 -- Maxwell Caulfield had piqued my interest, so I would slip my young butt down in front of the television and watch The Colbys -- Stanwyck's last work. Lucky for me, what introduced me to the actress was nowhere near the caliber of what she accomplished. Her work was known for its range, and she managed to nab four Oscar nominations for her performances in Stella Dallas, Ball of Fire, Double Indemnity and Sorry, Wrong Number. Yet it wasn't until 1982 that she got a statue for herself, under the mouthful: "for superlative creativity and unique contribution to the art of screen acting." But we've also seen her board the doomed Titanic, flash pistols as sharp-shooter Annie Oakley and even wear Boots when the whim overtook her.

As Anne Thompson outlines in her blog, everyone seems to be taken right now with her memory, from Anthony Lane at the New yorker, to Kenneth Turan at the L.A. Times. But beyond the written word, the actress is also being remembered on Turner Classic Movies today, and according to Thompson: "the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts & Sciences has mounted its largest-ever exhibition dedicated to one star, featuring more than 70 posters and lobby cards from Stanwyck's pics." In a world where Monroe and Dean have become epic figures beyond their body of work, its nice to see some solid praise for long-lasting, classic talent.

Trying to figure out how many prostitutes have turned up in the movies is a mug's game, but let's play it a little, shall we? James Robert Parish's 1991 Prostitution in Hollywood Films (McFarland) lists 389 films in which prostitution is a subject or subplot. Parrish includes everything from Porky's to all six versions of the penthouse-to-pavement melodrama Madame X. The IMDB tops this number by claiming about 800 movies with prostitution as a subject. Ever since the first important film on the flesh trade -- the 1913 Traffic in Souls, just inducted into the Library of Congress -- the subject of the Fate Worse Than Death has fueled comedy, drama, and film noir. Oh, and science fiction -- remember the "Furniture Girls" in Soylent Green? Playing a hooker is also good Oscar fodder. So far it's gained six Best Actress awards and 15 nominations, as well as seven Best Supporting Actress wins and five nominations.

This count requires some give and take: Madeleine Kahn's Lili von Shtupp in Blazing Saddles (an Oscar nominee) was officially a dance hall girl (wink, nod). Sally Bowles in Cabaret didn't make the count, though it's fairly clear how she paid the rent. Ditto the no-visible-means-of-support Holly Golightly. Hey, we're all prostitutes! So the top seven below need kibitzing and counter suggestions, and perhaps some flame-broiling. The idea here is for time-tested films, meaning that more recent working girls aren't aboard, despite impressive acting by Sophie Okonedo in Dirty Pretty Things, Taraji P. Henson in Hustle and Flow or Morena Baccarin in Serenity. (And Brittany Murphy was no slouch as The Dead Girl.) Let's overlook Reagan-age free-market propaganda disguised as sex comedies, and pass on that famous trio of savvy businesswomen Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, Jamie Lee Curtis in Trading Places and Rebecca de Mornay in Risky Business. (How about Kathy Baker in Street Smart, Marilia Pera in Pixote and Louise Smith in Lizzie Borden's neo-doc Working Girls instead?)


Janet Gaynor, Seventh Heaven (1927) The ultimate Victorian-era victim of circumstances, gold heart beating under a manhandled breast, pursued by the same hypocrite society that drove her to a life of crime. And now I'm making this really beautiful film sound terrible. Gaynor, a small and frail-looking actress--a shadow of the streets, as Edith Piaf put it--is teamed with ultimate woman's-film director Frank Borzage. And Borzage was one of the few men who could make a movie that you'd weep at without hating yourself for it in the morning. Matching her here is frequent co-star Charles Farrell, who plays a Parisian sewer worker who wants to rise out of the depths to the open air. Some (Catholics, probably) would make the mental connection between Seventh Heaven's pairing of the two trades and St. Thomas Aquinas's cold-blooded comment that prostitutes were like sewers: despicable but necessary to society.

Finally doing something about the lack of pre-code films available on DVD (or, for that matter, in any other medium) Warner Bros. is teaming up with Turner Classic Movies to release what they swear will be be a series of films from that period. The first such set -- TCM Archives: Forbidden Hollywood Collection Volume 1 -- is due out December 5, and the films included in volume one are anything to go on, this series is going to be one to look out for. Included in the set are the Barbara Stanwyck-starrer Baby Face (including both the edited and recently discovered original versions), Red-Headed Woman (starring Jean Harlow) and James Whale's Waterloo Bridge. All three films were released in 1932 or 1933, shortly before the Production Code went into effect, and are striking illustrations of just how different (part of) Hollywood was before Will Hays and his friends came along.

The only problem with the set so far is that for some reason they squeeze all four films onto two discs, with Waterloo Bridge and Red-Headed Woman on one, and the two version of Baby Face (plus the film's theatrical trailer) on the other.

Nothing restores my faith in the future of America than the yearly announcement of additions to the National Film Registry. In 50 years, some lucky high school student will gaze opon the archives of "culturally, historically or aesthetically significant films" set aside for preservation at a rate of 25 per year, see that the The Rocky Horror Picture Show has been placed on the same level as Casablanca, and instantly start making assumptions about the 20th century that I can't even fathom.

This year's list of inductees is typically quixotic, with Toy Story joining the ranks of government-approved film history alongside The French Connection, Hoop Dreams, Fast Times at Ridgemont High and, most interestingly, Baby Face. The ultimate example of Pre-Code scandalousness, Face stars Barbara Stanwyck as a tough gal who escapes her father's speakeasy/brothel to sleep her way to the top of the corporate ladder – only to trade a suitcase full of diamonds to be with the man she loves. Daryl Zanuck, Baby's producer, left Warner Brothers over Harry Warner's refusal to release the film uncut; he went on to start what would become 20th Century Fox.

The full list of this year's inductees is after the jump.