Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933) **1/2

(In honor of the great Broadway producer Florenz Ziegfeld’s 145th birthday I have reissued this post about the classic Warner Bros. musical.)

In 1933 Warner Bros. made three very successful musicals; all of which were choreographed by Busby Berkeley. I have already reviewed the two bookends, 42nd Street and Footlight Parade, so it only makes sense that I give the third (and middle one) its due: Gold Diggers of 1933. While the other two big Warner Bros. musicals of 1933 were directed by Lloyd Bacon, this one was headed by Mervyn LeRoy.

The film is based on the Avery Hopwood play, The Gold Diggers, which first appeared on Broadway in 1919. Screenwriters David Boehm and Erwin S. Gelsey adapted the story to fit the times, namely the Great Depression. If there ever was a musical about the Depression, this is it. As a matter of fact, if someone asked me who the protagonist of the film was I’d say the Depression.

It’s 1933 and times are tough everywhere, especially on Broadway. This is evidenced in the beginning of the film with the “We’re in the Money” number. Here we find Ginger Rogers in one of the tackiest costumes ever, but also very apt for the rest of the film: the idea that chorus girls are synonymous with gold diggers.

Things were great before the Depression in America and on Broadway—they were in the money! But now the Depression has set in and when you can’t pay your bills the creditors shut you down. And that’s exactly what happens to Ginger’s would-be Broadway hit. She and her four roommates are out of a job and wondering how they are going to pay the rent. Fortunately for them and their cash-starved producer (Ned Sparks) they live next door to a gifted singer and songwriter, Brad (Dick Powell), who just happens to be a millionaire. The problem is Brad can’t be “visibly” involved with the show or his family will cut him off. When the male lead goes down with a bout of lumbago, Brad has to step in which brings publicity and the wrath of his family, who believe he is being fleeced by a gold-digging woman: namely his girlfriend Polly (Ruby Keeler). Yes, Powell and Keeler are once again romantically paired in a Warner Bros. film!!! The family sends Brad’s older brother Lawrence (Warren William) and their lawyer Fanny (Guy Kibee) to investigate and buy-off Polly. This move eventually leads to the two “rescuers” finding themselves enamored with Polly’s two other gold digging roommates, Carol (Joan Blondell) and Trixie (Aline MacMahon). In the end, the only “gold digger” who doesn’t find a rich man is Fay (Rogers).

While the story is cute, it is the musical numbers that make this a highly enjoyable film. Berkeley put together four stellar numbers: the opening “We’re in the Money,” the very racy “Pettin in the Park,” the sophisticated “Shadow Waltz,” and the topical “Remember My Forgotten Man.”

Adorned in next to nothing but a few gold coins, Ginger Rogers sings “We’re in the Money” while other chorus girls dance with giant coins. This was a memorable way to begin a film and it sets up the rest of the film well. I suppose you could say Berkley launched Rogers’ musical career with this number. Yes, she was in 42nd Street, but she wasn’t the focus of any musical numbers.

“Pettin in the Park” is one of the raciest numbers I can think of from this era. Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler sing the number—Keeler also performs a stellar tap dance—while a creepy baby played by Billy Barty escapes from his stroller and harasses chorus girls. In the number a rainstorm happens, and the women go behind a screen and remove their clothes in silhouette. When they emerge they are wearing metal garments, which make it difficult for the men who want to “pet.” Thus, creepy baby finds a can opener. The number is overtly sexual and would have never been allowed only a year later when the Hays Code was put into full effect.

Powell and Keeler also sing “The Shadow Waltz.” In this number Keeler and Rogers (with a whole bevy of girls) dance around with glow-in-the-dark violins. It is visually stunning to watch, but it is not one of my favorite Berkeley numbers. Which is kind of ironic since he (and a number of the girls) almost died while making it when an earthquake hit the studio. Still, the precision in which Berkeley timed these waltzing ladies is a sight to behold.

The final number of the film is the most memorable: “Remember My Forgotten Man.” Joan Blondell sings her little heart out in this number which criticizes America for forgetting the heroes of WWI during the economic turmoil of the Depression. The number opens by parading hundreds of forgotten men across the stage as Blondell, playing a hooker, sings about the dire circumstances facing the common man. The song talks about the emasculation of men and what it not only does to them but their women as well. In my opinion, this is THE musical number of the Great Depression. The lyrics say it all:

Remember my forgotten man,
You had him cultivate the land;
He walked behind the plow,
The sweat fell from his brow,
But look at him right now!

And once, he used to love me,
I was happy then;
He used to take care of me,
Won't you bring him back again?
'Cause ever since the world began,
A woman's got to have a man;
Forgetting him, you see,
Means you're forgetting me
Like my forgotten man.

The number was inspired by the Bonus Army’s disastrous march on Washington D.C. in 1932. Over 43,000 people marched to the capitol demanding payment for WWI benefits that were promised to them in 1924. Hoover ordered the army to forcefully remove the marchers and at least two people were killed. The song is awe-inspiring and Blondell’s performance is spectacularly raw and evokes strong emotions in me every time I watch it. This number is the main reason that I watch this film every time it is shown.

I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932) **

Get your mind out of the gutter—I’m not that type of girl!

Paul Muni plays James Allen, a returning WWI GI who finds unemployment and then is unjustly convicted of theft and sent to a southern prison to serve on a chain gang, in this classic 1932 film directed by Mervyn LeRoy. One of Warner Bros. social conscience films, and the recipient of three Academy Award nominations (Best Picture, Best Actor (Muni), and Best Sound), the film depicts the harsh world of the southern penal system in the 1920s. Based on the autobiographical story of Robert E. Burns, a man who became a fugitive from a Georgia chain gang, this is an excellent indictment of an abusive prison system.

When James Allen returns home from the Great War he wants to do more than go back to his clerk job in a shoe factory. Instead he wants to go to engineering school so he can build bridges. The problem is his mother (Louise Carter) and his reverend brother (Hale Hamilton) want him to stay at Mr. Parker’s (Reginald Barlow) shoe factory and pick up where he left off before the war. Not the arguing kind, he finds himself back at that factory, but is distracted by a bridge being built outside his office window and he decides to head north to find construction work. This sets him off on a transient existence, moving from place to place looking for work. Things become so bad that he tries to pawn his war medals to no avail; the owner already has a drawer full—a nod to the dire circumstances that war veterans faced at that time.

Eventually he finds himself back in the South and ends up meeting Pete (Preston Foster), the man who will fatefully change his life forever. When they go to a diner for hamburgers, Pete pulls a gun and orders a bewildered Allen to take the money from the till (a whopping $5). When the police arrive they kill Pete and assume Allen was his accomplice. He is convicted of armed robbery and sentenced to ten years of hard labor. Now, Allen is the member of chain gang that manually splits boulders at a rock pit. He endures blazing heat, vindictive guards, and substandard food and living conditions. When Allen makes the mistake of coming to the defense of another prisoner, he is flogged in his place. Though the actual beating takes place off-screen, LeRoy uses shadow silhouettes and agonizing screams to make his point.

After seven months of relentless work on the chain gang, Allen decides to escape. He has a fellow prisoner bend his shackles so he can slide it off his foot and he borrows $7 and the address of a former inmate from another. While taking a bathroom break in the bushes, Allen slips off his shackles and sets off for freedom. He exchanges his prison clothes for some hanging on a clothesline and uses the swamp to evade the bloodhounds. In an often imitated scene, Allen uses a hollow reed to breathe underwater while guards and digs pass by.

Allen ends up in Booneville and meets up with Barney, a former inmate who gives him a place to sleep for the night. The next day while he is waiting for a train he orders a hamburger (evidently bad luck for him) and hears that the police are looking for the escaped prisoner. In a near-miss episode, Allen finds himself scrambling onto a train as the police point in his direction but run past him for another man.

Free, Allen journeys to Chicago, where he gets a job (under an alias) at the Tri-State Engineering Company and works his way up the company ladder. He ends up boarding with a scheming landlady, Marie (Glenda Farrell), who sees a man on the rise and sets her cap for him. When Allen works his way up to a supervisor position he decides to get another place to live. This angers Marie and she reveals to Allen that she knows about his past and blackmails him into marrying her.

After years of hard work and study, Allen become a field superintendent and falls in love with Helen (Helen Vinson). Yet, he can’t get rid of Marie, who doesn’t care that he loves another woman. When he threatens her with a divorce she turns him in and he is arrested. His friends and the newspapers try to block his extradition to the South, especially after he describes how horrible the chain gang is. This causes a min-civil war between the northern and southern justice systems. Finally, Allen agrees to return to the prison for ninety days to work as a clerk, where thereafter he would be given a full pardon.

Once back in prison, Allen soon learns that this agreement won’t be kept by the Tuttle County Prison Camp. Instead, he is assigned to even harsher chain gang than before. After 90 days, his pardon hearing reveals that the state is angry with his public criticisms of their justice system and his pardon is denied but he is given the option of parole in nine months. Allen resigns himself to this nine month fate and is a model prisoner. Yet, when his case comes up again and a decision is suspended indefinitely, Allen decides he has to attempt another escape. He and another inmate escape the chain gang and steal a truck carrying dynamite, which they use to blow up a bridge to cut off the guards. It is interesting to note that LeRoy used the image of the blown up bridge to illustrate that Allen had now burned all his bridges of ever living a normal life again. A year later, we find Allen ragged and hunted. In a final meeting with Helen, he explains that they can never meet again. In one of the crueler instances of movie fate, when Helen asks him how he lives, he answers, “I steal.” All of this misery over $5! You won’t forget the image of this last scene.

This is the granddaddy of prison-break films. When you watch Cool Hand Luke, The Defiant Ones, or O Brother Where Art Thou?, you are watching films inspired by this one. It unapologetically exposed the horror of a system of forced labor in the South, which ground men down into nothing or into their graves. It angered southerners so much that it was actually banned in Georgia—where the real-life story of Robert E. Burns took place.

Paul Muni is excellent as a man who wants nothing more than to be a productive member of society. He always had the ability to encompass the true nature of all the characters he played, whether it be an escaped convict or Prime Minister Disraeli. In addition, the maliciousness of Glenda Farrell as Marie is something to watch.

A classic prison break film and one of Muni’s best performances.

Little Caesar (1930) **

Pizza-Pizza! Everybody wants a piece of the pie, right? Well, the title character of this 1930 classic, Caesar "Rico" Bandello (Edward G. Robinson), is just like everybody else—except, I hope, the psychopathic tendencies. Mervyn LeRoy directs this "grandfather" of the gangster film genre. The story follows the rise and fall of underworld kingpin Rico Bandello.

In the beginning of the film we see small-time crooks Rico and Joe Massara (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.) rob and kill a gas station attendant in some western town. The stop off at a diner, turn the clock back 20 minutes, and proceed to eat the prototypical Italian meal: spaghetti. While here they read about the funeral of a big-time mobster. Rico decides he wants to go big-time, too—if Peter Gabriel has just popped in your head, I’m sorry. Anyway, this leads Rico and Joe to Chicago, and Rico convinces kingpin Sam Vettori (Stanley Fields) to bring him into his gang and to nickname him "Little Caesar." Meanwhile, Joe takes a job as a dancer at a gambling club and is partnered with Olga (Glenda Farrell), who he quickly falls in love with and promises that he’ll try to stay away from crime.

Time goes by and Rico works his way into Vettori’s confidence, but because of his bad attitude he is often left out by the kingpin. When word comes down from "Big Boy" (so many food references to be had!!!), AKA the mayor, that mobsters need to curb the violence because of a police crackdown, Vettori is ordered to rein in Rico. Vettori then begins planning a robbery at the club where Joe works and Rico suggests they bring Joe in on the job. This causes a power struggle between Vettori and Rico. It also places an unwilling Joe in a difficult position, as Rico demands his friend’s cooperation. What follows is a montage sequence of gangsters robbing the club on New Year’s Eve. LeRoy chose to shoot the gangsters from the waist down, perhaps in an effort to stress the facelessness of crime. While the crime is taking place Rico shoots and kills the police commissioner. This leads to Rico dethroning Vettori as kingpin of the gang.

Now at the top of food chain, Rico begins to develop classic paranoid tendencies. When his getaway driver Tony starts to visit the local priest to repent his sins, Rico believes Tony has turned yellow. Predating The Godfather by more than 40 years, LeRoy deftly shoots one of the most memorable whack jobs in gangster film history, as he captures Rico driving up and shooting Tony as he is climbing the snowy steps of the church. Tony rolls down the steps and becomes an instant snow angel.

Later, Rico is honored with a party where he is given diamond, platinum watch and where he also makes the mistake of having his picture taken for the newspapers. Meanwhile, Joe overhears his gangster boss at the nightclub put hit on Rico and Joe tries to warn his old friend. Unfortunately, Rico doesn’t get the message and is assailed by machine gun fire from a milk truck. He is only grazed and is pleased to learn that Joe had tried to warn him. Then he takes out Joe’s boss, ostensibly making him Joe’s new boss. Impressed by Rico, Big Boy calls a meeting and informs Rico that he is now the boss of Diamond Pete Montana’s gang, too. This allows Rico the opportunity to offer his loyal friend Joe a partnership. When Joe declines the offer he shouldn’t have refused, Rico blames Olga for turning Joe into a "sissy". He tells Joe that if he doesn’t take the partnership and goes back to Olga that it will mean suicide for both of them. When Joe tries to get Olga to flee town she tells Joe she won’t leave and that they should tell the police what they know about the police commissioner’s death. Just as this is happening Rico and one of his thugs bust through the door. A face off occurs between Joe and Rico, and when Rico can’t pull the trigger on his friend Rico’s thug tried to shoot Joe, but Rico shifts the gun and Joe is only grazed by the bullet. When police sirens are heard the men flee from the scene, leaving Joe and Olga to "rat" on Rico. Rico goes into hiding and has a dramatic fall from grace, as he ends up in a 15 cent a night flophouse. Months later, the police lure Rico out of hiding by placing insulting comments about him in the newspaper. In an unforgettable final scene, the police surround Rico behind a billboard advertising Joe and Olga’s dance show. When Rico refuses to surrender the police riddle the billboard and Rico with machinegun fire. Lying on the ground dying, Rico asks: "Mother of Mercy! Is this the end of Rico?" It is.

What makes this film so good is Edward G. Robinson. He adeptly shows the many layers of Rico’s character, from menacingly evil to sympathetically disillusioned. It is a shame that he wasn’t nominated for an Oscar. He makes you both root for and against Rico. Douglas Fairbanks also does a nice job as conflicted Joe.

The story itself is hard-hitting and trim. There isn’t any fat that needs to be cut. All of the scenes are tightly constructed and lead directly to the dramatic finale. The film is gripping and gritty. This was not a film with a large budget, but that fit perfectly with the dark, sleazy underworld that Le Roy created.

Sadly, Little Caesar couldn’t be shown in American theatres between 1934 and 1953 due to the Hays Code. Today it is considered the movie that launched the gangster film genre. It is a true classic that any fan of Coppola or Scorsese should see.