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#Jesse L. Lasky
citizenscreen · 3 months
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Producer and co-founder of what would become Paramount Pictures, Jesse L. Lasky (September 13, 1880 – January 13, 1958)
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memolands · 2 years
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Paramount Pictures Studio - One of the world's oldest surviving film studio in Los Angeles
Paramount Pictures Studio – One of the world’s oldest surviving film studio in Los Angeles
  The American film and television production and distribution company, dates its existence from the 1912 founding date of the Famous Players Film Company. Hungarian-born founder Adolph Zukor with partners, Daniel Frohman and Charles Frohman, he planned to offer feature-length films that would appeal to the middle class. Its first film was Les Amours de la reine Élisabeth, which starred Sarah…
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adscinema · 2 years
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The Grim Game - Irvin Willat (1919)
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nine-frames · 11 months
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“The story takes three hours and 39 minutes to unfold. There will be an intermission.”
The Ten Commandments, 1956.
Dir. Cecil B. DeMille | Writ. Aeneas MacKenzie, Jesse L. Lasky, Jr., Jack Gariss & Fredric M. Frank | DOP Loyal Griggs
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byneddiedingo · 1 year
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Gary Cooper and Joan Leslie in Sergeant York (Howard Hawks, 1941)
Cast: Gary Cooper, Walter Brennan, Joan Leslie, Margaret Wycherly, George Tobias, Stanley Ridges, Ward Bond, Noah Beery Jr., June Lockhart, Dickie Moore, Clem Bevans, Howard Da Silva. Screenplay: Abem Finkel, Harry Chandlee, Howard Koch, John Huston, based on a diary by Alvin C. York edited by Tom Skeyhill. Cinematography: Sol Polito. Art direction: John Hughes. Film editing: William Holmes. Music: Max Steiner
Sheer Hollywood biopic hokum made watchable by Howard Hawks and Gary Cooper, along with a colorful supporting cast. Sergeant York earned Hawks his one and only Oscar nomination for directing -- not Bringing Up Baby (1938) or Only Angels Have Wings (1939) or His Girl Friday (1940) or To Have and Have Not (1944) or The Big Sleep (1946) or Red River (1948) or Rio Bravo (1959), more than two decades of the most entertaining movies anyone ever made. It was in fact Hawks's lack of the kind of high seriousness so often rewarded with Oscars that makes Sergeant York still entertaining today, which is why he lost to John Ford for How Green Was My Valley, a directing Oscar that by rights should have gone to Orson Welles for Citizen Kane. It's fairly clear that Hawks doesn't take Sergeant York entirely seriously, with its exteriors built on the soundstage, its well-scrubbed hillbillies, its cornpone hijinks and caricature religiosity, not to mention dialogue that sounds straight out of Al Capp's "Li'l Abner." But it also takes a Gary Cooper to deliver speeches like "I believe in the bible and I'm a-believin' that this here life we're a-livin' is something the good lord done give us and we got to be a-livin' it the best we can, and I'm a-figurin' that killing other folks ain't no part of what he was intendin' for us to be a-doin' here." Granted, Cooper had just turned 40 and was a good deal too old to play Alvin C. York, but his characteristic sly, shy self-effacement is essential to the role. The old story that York himself said that he wouldn't allow himself to be played on film by anyone else but Cooper sounds like the work of a Warner Bros. publicist, and one biographer has suggested that it was a hoax cooked up by producer Jesse L. Lasky to persuade Cooper to take the part, but se non è vero, è ben trovato -- if it's not true, it ought to be. Sergeant York cleaned up at the box office, especially when it got a second run after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and raked in 11 Oscar nominations, winning for Cooper and for film editing. Other nominees include Margaret Wycherly as Mother York -- a far cry from her killer mama in Raoul Walsh's White Heat (1949) -- and Walter Brennan, with his false teeth in and his eyebrows darkened, as Pastor Pile, along with the screenwriters, cinematographer Sol Polito, the art direction, the sound, and Max Steiner's patriotic tune-quoting score. It can't be taken seriously today, but it can be enjoyed.
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mischa-auer · 2 years
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Silver Screen magazine, March, 1937: Wildboy of Siberia Conquers Hollywood by Whitney Williams
Transcript of article
Wildboy of Siberia Conquers Hollywood
Mischa Auer remembers the days when, as an exile, and friendless, he fought for life against starvation and the biting cold of the Russian Steppes.
Solemn-visaged Hollywood is laughing. Not alone laughing… but screaming with hysterical glee.
Now, for such a state of affairs to happen in this movie town of ours, where the lads and lassies in-the-know DARE anybody to make them even smile, is so startling an event that something has to be done about it. And Hollywood’s doing pul-lenty.
It has taken the raison d’etre (fancy French, for “cause”) of the matter and skyrocketed him to the object of everybody’s affection. It has pounced upon him, like a tiger on its kill, and elevated him to a niche many a fading star would give his very soul to once more attain. In short, Hollywood is lionizing Mischa Auer, the young man of our story, and from one not too well known on the screen- although he’s been in the movie colony for nearly eight years- this tall and lanky Russian overnight has become one of its favored sons.
Why, you ask? What’s the reason for Hollywood affixing its unanimous and fondest eye of approval suddenly upon an actor who has been in its midst for years?
All right, I’ll tell you.
Think back- not too many months- to “My Man Godfrey”. To all intents and purposes, this riotous film co-starred Carole Lombard and Bill Powell. Fair enough… it did. But it did more.
“My Man Godfrey” made Hollywood so Mischa Auer-conscious that Mischa was hailed as the real star of the picture. Not that he’d admit it- you’d never catch him that way, this sly Slav- but to the majority of the picture-wise around the colony, and for the critics through-out the land, he simply wrapped up the honors and tucked them very neatly into his pocket.
Will you ever forget his impersonation of that ape in the picture, as he went into his monkey act with all the feeling of a bewildered simian? Can you ever erase from memory how he struck the monkey pose, shoulders hunched over and long arms swinging ground-ward, and, with bent legs and features contorted slap-bang-ape-like, he swung about the room, over furniture, up pillars and ended by climbing the iron-grilled gate?
Well, hardly.
All Hollywood gasped to its very toes at Mischa’s antics, too amazed at first to quite believe its eyes. It couldn’t be Mischa… Mischa always had played either dark and dirty glowering roles or parts deeply dramatic. The night of the big preview it burst into a mighty roar of thunderous appreciation; laughter still ringing long after the film had ended. When an actor can do that to as sophisticated and hard-boiled an assemblage as one plays to in the cinema capital… he’s made.
Several months later, with the recollection of Mischa’s performance lingering vividly in their consciousness, the movie-great-producers, directors, writers, stars- went to see the previewing of Mary Pickford and Jesse L. Lasky’s production of “The Gay Desperado,” starring the opera-singing Nino Martini.
As the film unreeled, a familiar, yet not too familiar, figure inserted itself into the action… a tall, serape-huddled, black sombrero-topped Indian who stalked stolidly through scene after scene, saying not a word. Suddenly, the identity of this wooden individual was realized, and with this circumstance the audience as one man acclaimed him noisily, deafeningly. The Indian, who from the first had created ripple after ripple of merriment, was Mischa Auer!
Hollywood has taken other players to its heart ere this for some very outstanding performances, but I can recall no incident in which a more or less established actor or actress, a native of Hollywood for so many years, has struck the chord that Mischa Auer has touched. It is as though he has entered upon a new life. Certainly, Hollywood producers think so.
Immediately after he made his hit in “My Man Godfrey”, every studio in the business tried to cast him in a comedy role. Previously, if anybody had mentioned, even in jest, that Auer might be acceptable in a humorous vein, he would have been booed right out of the studio. But that one part changed his whole future.
Basically, Mischa Auer, sad-faced a young man has ever set foot in our capital of Cinemania, is a comedian, and loves to clown and be gay. He is the very antithesis of the character you undoubtedly have fashioned for him, through the medium of his screen appearances prior to the Lombard-Powell feature.
“For years I’ve tried to enter the forbidden realm of comedy, but only once was I given a chance.” Mischa sipped a brandy, and after each taste of the liqueur put a small piece of lemon dipped in powdered sugar- Russian style, Mischa said- into his mouth. “That was in Lily Pons’ first picture ‘I Dream Too Much.’ In this I played a musician who hated music, who accompanied Miss Pons during her first audition. From the miserable musician I was to turn into a raving enthusiast. Apparently, it went over so well that everybody liked it; many called me up to tell me how funny they thought that bit of action. But though the studio praised it, nothing ever came of my clowning and I continued in heavy and dramatic roles.”
Mischa Auer’s preference for light characterization is a strange commentary on the man, for Mischa’s early life in Russia scarcely prepared him for such interpretation. By all rights, he should be enacting still those highly dramatic roles for which he was he is best known, for his existence in his homeland was beset with hardship and suffering.
Born after the intelligentsia- his father, killed in the Russo-Japanese War, held a high naval rank- Mischa was caught up in the whirlpool of the revolution and at the age of twelve, along with two hundred other lads of his class, ranging in years from eight to seventeen, was sent by the Bolshevists from his home in St. Petersburg to a small settlement in Siberia… to learn Communism!
“It was a tiny place, with a long name, and just eighty miles from where the Czar was assassinated,” he tells you. “For a time, we had things pretty much our own way, but gradually the food gave out and we existed for months on nothing but rotten potatoes, with living conditions absolutely intolerable. The ones that sent us to this desolate spot forgot all about us and there we were, two hundred of us, with nothing to eat but those damned rotted spuds.” Mischa is quite American in his speech.
“Late one afternoon, a chap only a little older than I, announced he was going out and beg around the countryside for food. There were plenty of wealthy farmers at this time, and several hours later he returned with a large sack filled with bread- fresh bread, too!- and large hunks of meat and all sorts of vegetables. I tell you, we feasted that night, but two days later the boy died, from the effects of over-stuffing. That’s the condition we were in.
“His success in foraging started others of us on the same path, and before long large bands of us would descend upon the farmers and demand to be fed. It got so we were a dangerous lot, for when you’re desperately hungry you’re apt to do anything. Eventually, after we had held up and robbed travellers of their clothing- we were cold, freezing- and stoned farmers who would not feed us, nearly killing a number, the government stepped in and sent us home.”
I mention the foraging in such detail in an effort to give you a word-picture of this actor’s past- the Siberian episode was only one of many hazardous and agonizing experiences- and why it is all the more surprising that he turns to comedy so readily and with such gusto. At fourteen, because of the suffering he had endured and the gruesome sights that were his daily lot, Mischa thought and acted like a man of thirty, as, indeed, did all Russian boys of that period.
“But I learned the value of things, during all that while,” Mischa says. “Instead of acquiring the bitterness many could not empty from their souls, I learned to evaluate that which surrounded me. My mother taught me the futility of revenge, and the necessity for becoming a fatalist.”
Mischa’s mother died from the typhus she contracted while administering to the sick in Constantinople. Following the lad’s return from Siberia, mother and son soon fled to the south of Russia- the mother’s name appeared on the Bolshevist list of those to be shot- and there Mischa fought in the British ranks against the Russian Red armies. Some time later, he and his mother were evacuated to the Turkish capital, and as a result of her humanitarian work in refugee hospitals the lady passed away.
By selling a few jewels he had clung to in flight, the boy, only fourteen, made his way to Florence, Italy, where a girlhood friend of his mother was living. This woman, wife of a Florentine attorney, took the boy in, and notified his grandfather, Leopold Auer, in New York, who immediately cabled passage money.
Only since Mischa has been in America has he grown to his present stature of six feet two inches. Because of hardship and malnutrition, he was less than five feet tall when he joined his grandfather, the famed music master who taught Zimbalist, Heifetz and Elman, among others, the art of the violin. Even today, the effects of those early years of strife are plainly evident.
Hollywood first saw this talented Russian when he appeared with Bertha Kalich on the Los Angeles stage in Sudermann’s “Magda” some eight years ago. Prior to this, he had shown an early interest in the theatre and played in a number of shows on Broadway.
Returning to the film capital following completion of his stage tour, Mischa discovered the man who had promised him a contract with a studio had been discharged two days before he arrived- and he had less than two hundred dollars in his pocket. When this had gone the way of all funds, he threw pride to the winds and turned extra.
An amusing incident, although at the time it was far from funny, insofar as Mischa was concerned, occurred during this period of travail. Henry Hathaway, then an assistant director, fired him from his first “extra” job because he said Mischa wasn’t “the Russian type!” But Frank Tuttle, the director, befriended him and gave him work in every picture he made.
To chat with Mischa Auer in his hilltop home. Amid the luxurious surroundings he has provided for his American wife, and his two-and-a-half-year-old son, Tony, and himself, one would never suspect he had ever known anything but an even-tenored existence. His sense of humor is superb and there is not the slightest suggestion that he might be an actor. He rears champion Great Danes- Lars, his pet, weighing only a measure less than a house, stretched at our feet during the entire course of our conversation and occasionally uttered yawning noises that suggested a noontime factory whistle. Mischa likewise owns up to a fondness for cats. He is looking forward to the time he can amass sufficient wealth to retire… then, he expects to do one of about two dozen things, none of which he knows he will ever attempt. Meanwhile, he teaches his wife Russian, and she responds with lessons in draw poker.
You’re going to see much of Mischa Auer. He’s the comedy find of the year and his humor on the screen is so infectious that it will continue to entertain American public for years to come. You’ll laugh with him in “That Girl from Paris,” Lily Pons’ latest picture, in which he glories in the cognomen of “Butch” Strogoff… watch him burlesque Hamlet in Universal’s “Top of the Town” in such a manner that even the members of the company roared with delight… and the potentialities of his role in Hal Roach’s feature, “Pick a Star,” are sufficient to predict a brilliant performance. Just as murder…comedy will out!
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ladailymirror · 11 days
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Mary Mallory / Hollywood Heights: Bessie Lasky, Painter
Bessie Lasky in her studio, courtesy of Jesse L. Lasky.com. Note: This is an encore post from 2019. Though overshadowed by her husband, Jesse, Bessie Lasky was as much an artist as he, a multitalented artist in many fields with some renown from the 1920s through the 1950s. Born Bessie Ginzberg April 30, 1888, in Boston, the gentle, spiritual woman earned an early education in Boston’s Sacred…
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pierceloftin · 3 months
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A tomb now suffices him for whom the world was not enough - Alexander the Great
Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts. - Winston S. Churchill
We are products of our past, but we don't have to be prisoners of it. - Rick Warren
In fact, the world needs more nerds. - Ben Bernanke
You don't have to hold a position in order to be a leader. - Henry Ford
For dogs encompass me; a company of evildoers encircles me; they have pierced my hands and feet - Psalm 22:16
The secret to success is to do the common things uncommonly well. - John D. Rockefeller
And this be our motto—"In God is our Trust;" And the star-spangled Banner in triumph shall wave, O'er the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. - Francis Scott Key
“My father [Jesse L. Lasky] was co-founder of Paramount, yet now he’s a forgotten film mogul” - Betty Lasky
I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it. - Lord Byron
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freakyfoottours · 2 years
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citizenscreen · 2 months
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Producer Jesse L. Lasky, stars Spencer Tracy and Colleen Moore, and director William K. Howard on the Fox Studios lot during filming of THE POWER AND THE GLORY (1933)
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kellygrantrealtor · 2 years
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* OUTSTANDING CLASSIC CINEMA #88: "SERGEANT YORK" ©1941 Howard Hawks (Based on Writing by Tom Skeyhill) (Warfare / Drama / Romance Genre - Starring: Gary Cooper, Walter Brennan, Joan Leslie, et al.), Produced by Howard Hawks, Jesse L. Lasky, Hal B. Wallis https://www.kellygrant.ca/OutstandingClassicCinema.ubr
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ultraozzie3000 · 2 years
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Bohemian Rhapsody
Part love story and part wildlife protection fable, the pre-Code romance and melodrama Zoo in Budapest was that rare film that pleased critics and audiences alike. May 6, 1933 cover by Richard Decker. This is one of four covers Decker (1907–1988) contributed to The New Yorker; he also contributed more than 900 cartoons in his nearly 40-year run with the magazine. Jesse L. Lasky’s first production…
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deepredradio · 4 years
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Inferno
Story:Der Ex-Marine-Offizier Adam Jones wird von einer Gruppe um den Wissenschaftler Prof. Montel als Kapitän eines U-Bootes angeheuert, um ein kommunistisches Frachtschiff von Tokio bis zu seinem Ziel zu verfolgen. Dabei stößt die Besatzung, zu der auch Montels Tochter Denise zählt, auf eine Insel mit einer geheimen chinesischen Militärbasis. Diese soll als Ausgangspunkt für einen…
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Sergeant York (1941)
by Howard Hawks Drama / Historia / Bélica 134 mn - United States of America
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dweemeister · 6 years
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It (1927)
Sexuality in classic Hollywood movies tends to be misunderstood. The steamiest films are the ones that tend not to sell themselves on then-saucy themes – think early romantic comedies by Ernst Lubitsch and films like Gun Crazy (1950). The ones that generate the most noise regarding their depiction of sexuality or sex appeal are usually quite tame. Such was the case for 1953′s The Moon Is Blue (for its use of words like “virgin”, the film was banned from Boston, Memphis, Maryland, and Kansas), as is the case for the subject of this review – Clarence G. Badger’s It. As a vehicle that made Clara Bow the “it girl” of 1927, It is a film designed to strike terror into coulrophobic audiences with its relentless pace and outstanding child acting. You’ll never see Albert Lamorisse’s The Red Balloon (1956, France) the same way ever again! Oh wait, that’s some other movie!
Badger’s It, starring Clara Bow, is based on Elinor Glyn’s 1927 serialized story from Cosmopolitan magazine (Cosmo was a literary-political magazine before the 1960s, similar to The Atlantic) and is adapted by married screenwriters Hope Loring (1927′s Wings) and Louis D. Lighton (Wings, producer on 1937′s Captains Courageous). Glyn, an author of female erotic fiction and who campaigned against the idea of sexuality as a taboo conversational subject, introduced the concept of “it” in this film – which Paramount paid $50,000 for (almost $725,000 in 2018′s USD; it’s one thing to buy the rights to a short story, it’s a stranger thing altogether to purchase the rights to a concept). What is “it”? Well, it depends on when you asked Ms. Glyn. Glyn did not keep her definition consistent in her writing, interviews, or in this film adaptation. But, broadly speaking, “it” can be sex appeal, or this definition as written in Cosmopolitan:
That quality possessed by some which draws all others with its magnetic force. With 'It' you win all men if you are a woman and all women if you are a man. 'It' can be a quality of the mind as well as a physical attraction.
Or perhaps this one of four different explanations from the film’s intertitles (Glyn makes a cameo appearance when she states the following):
Self-confidence and indifference as to whether you are pleasing or not – and something in you that gives the impression that you are not all cold. That's "IT"!
Whatever the hell “it” was – and I’m guessing you, the reader, are fatigued by discussion of “it” by this point (in modern, meme-y parlance, perhaps “BDE” will be more understandable for younger readers) – Clara Bow has it in excess for this film. She meets all the discussed criteria for Glyn’s concept, except for an important aspect. I am not certain that Bow’s character, Betty Lou Spence, has the “quality of mind” requisite for “it”. Given the film’s seventy-two-minute runtime and a silly adapted screenplay by Glyn herself, her character is never given the development necessary for the audience to believe that this is not just another cute Hollywood romantic comedy with a whirlwind romance that we forget about the next day. And that is exactly what It provides: a lackadaisical plot, cardboard characters, and Glyn’s wildly embellished and wooden writing style.
Betty Lou Spence (Bow) works in a department store in New York City, and she instantly crushes on the new manager, Cyrus Waltham, Jr. (Antonio Moreno; what a pretentious name that is for a character). But Cyrus is in romantic cahoots with socialite Adela Van Norman (Jacqueline Gadsden) and he and Betty are separate by several rungs of socioeconomic class. Meanwhile, Cyrus’ friend Monty (William Austin) is interested in Betty and shenanigans resembling screwball comedy start from there. Also important to It is Betty’s roommate, Molly (Priscilla Bonner), who is unemployed, ill, and is attempting to take care of her newborn. Both women are struggling financially, but this is deemphasized after a certain point. The film’s conclusion arrives quickly in an open-sea incident that was executed with less humor but more effectively in a film like Overboard (1987).
Going into It, what I feared was that Badger and Glyn might depict Bow’s character as a gold-digger willing to throw herself onto any fellow she might be interested in. An unwanted advance from Cyrus after an otherwise wonderful date at Coney Island elicits this from Betty: “So you're one of those Minute Men – the minute you meet a girl you think you can kiss her!” She pushes, wrestles him off, and learns that Cyrus is “crazy” about her. Though too many films of classic Hollywood, the Hollywood of today, and popular culture in general glamorize individuals being “crazy” about someone else and showering that someone else with fancy gifts and experiences, Betty knows that what Cyrus is offering is something to avoid. As starved for character development as It is, it is Betty’s independence and need for mutual respectability that quells some of the film’s contradictory messaging. This is a lady who wants glamour and life’s niceties, yes, but disposing her values and getting there on the fawning patronage of a man is not an option.
Does Betty have much of a life outside of preparing for and playing romantic games, however? Can she comprehend that enduring love needs no games or flightiness? We do not see much of this, as It ratchets its charms to maximum. Fitting too easily into the trope of the hardworking, cash-strapped Woman of Morals, Betty shows no signs of ignobility. Physical and situational gags – especially in the film’s final scenes – are present. One of the funniest moments is when Betty is in a French restaurant, the menu is entirely in French, and asks for the ���same” as her date. It adds to her character with subtlety and believability. Yet there are narrative distractions, too, mostly surrounding the subplot around Molly’s baby. Cognizant that this subplot results in one of the film’s final laughs, it still feels too forced and hackneyed to add to whatever the film is trying to express (that those who have “it” are never afraid to be themselves?... if so, Betty’s idea to masquerade herself as an upper-class debutante has little to do with having “it”).
No matter one’s reservations with It, Clara Bow’s performance is star-making material in any decade. The personification of a fun-loving woman from the Jazz Age, Bow is spirited in this production where she received little interference from Badger or heavy-hitting producers Adolph Zukor, Jesse L. Lasky, and B.P. Schulberg. One drawback to Bow’s outstanding charisma is the film’s and Bow’s self-awareness of the concept of “it”. Perhaps Elinor Glyn might disagree with me, but someone who has “it” must traverse the boundary between using and abusing “it” (okay, enough of this damn discussion). At times, it feels like her character is embodying the latter – detracting from a tremendous, fun as hell performance.
Following It, Clara Bow became Paramount’s most important contracted star. Too many of the films made at her peak are now lost films, and Bow – despite having a Brooklyn accent that neither executives nor audiences objected to – did not make the transition to talkies. Bow’s preferred acting style, heavy on physical gestures, made the actress dislike synchronized sound productions. She remained popular at the box office, but she retired from acting following a two-film contract with Fox that expired in 1933.
Today, It should be viewed as Clara Bow’s true introduction to movie audiences when it came out – popularizing a concept that, for whatever purposes helpful or harmful it serves, any cultural consumer is at least superficially aware of. For those cultural contributions, It was inducted into the Library of Congress’ National Film Registry in 2001, alongside fellow class members Jaws (1975), Planet of the Apes (1968), and The Sound of Music (1965). As a predecessor to the screwball comedies of the 1930s, It should probably be seen after having viewed some of those aforementioned comedies. Very little separates It aesthetically from other late 1920s silent films, as this film can best be appreciated for what it is: a marker of where American society was at a given time and a decent character piece.
My rating: 7/10
^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.
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artdecoblog · 7 years
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Manslaughter (1922 / Paramount) (Sweden)
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<strong>Manslaughter (1922 / Paramount) (Sweden) <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/klaatucarpenter/">by KlaatuCarpenter</a></strong> <br /><i>Via Flickr:</i> <br />The poster illustration is by Eric Rohman.
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