Greta and the Barrymores

I want to wear huge fur collars

Stumbled into Greta and Lionel in "Mata Hari " (1931) this morning. Well. We must begin with the clothes. Oh, those clothes and the way Greta wears them. A huge fur collar and cuffs. Enormous. Anyone else would look ridiculous. She does regal as if it's in her bones. She doesn't even have any hair in this movie. She is all face. A face that makes your heart beat faster. Much faster. But I have to say, her acting is way over the top.
The bulk of her film work is from 1931 and earlier. We all know she vanished before her perfect visage would be marred by signs of age. Wise. And perhaps she knew her acting style wouldn't carry over into the forties. Try to imagine Garbo in "His Girl Friday". No. It is too painful. Forgive me for suggesting it. We love her sultry voice, but it is languorous. No long speeches for Garbo. Long takes. The camera is lost in her spell and she takes her time with every thought. But my darling is already outdated in the '30s. Her style is for the time before sound. Everything she feels is there without words. So her acting looks too big.

Next up was "Grand Hotel." This film has become somewhat obscure, but is required viewing for any Garbo fan or lover of old Hollywood, especially pre-code Hollywood. It is summed up nicely here When it comes on I always think I won't watch it. I've already seen it so many times. But the plot is so good. The way these archetypal characters weave into tangled knots sucks you in before you know it. Here Garbo's over acting fits perfectly. She's playing a diva ballerina -- the pampered neurotic star. Perfectly, flawlessly believable. The immortal lines are here, "I want to be alone", "I'm so tired ... ". Brilliant. She clings to the dissolute Baron's (John Barrymore, in make up for the stage) love for her as a precious orchid, a stem so delicate it cannot stand on its own.

Who me? I'm just a stenographer.

The real surprise in "Grand Hotel" is Joan Crawford. A luminous Joan Crawford. With a smile that melts you. She plays a "stenographer" and I use quotation marks because she's the girl who has abandoned virtue quite some time ago, in favor of getting what she wants. And she's not at all coy about it. She shows up in the room of a repulsive, obnoxious rich man, and while she doesn't flirt or flatter him, she doesn't discourage his suggestions that she'll be "nice to him." His delicate use of the word nice is about the only subtle thing in this scene. She comes out of the bathroom in a robe wrapped loosely enough to make sure the audience knows she's got nothing else on. A modern audience doesn't think anything of it, but if they tried to make Gand Hotel after the Hays Code her character would have had to be utterly pure, or dead by the end of the movie.  Her character's frank, and crisp cynicism is a lovely counterpoint to her still pliable charm. In '31 Joan was already 27, but she looks 20. Soft, lithe, malleable. No hard edges. She wears the slim flat-chested style of the time with an elegance that looks effortless. One dress carries her through the entire film--only two days-- and she wears the most mesmerizing cuffs. Almost the length of her forearm, white, sheer with a large ruffle on the outside that never looks too stiff or too floppy.

So luminous and innocent

Joan was in an astonishing number of films prior to 1940, but hardly any of them are in circulation. The only two early ones that she is known for are this and "The Women". Ironically they are both star laden ensemble casts where she did not receive top billing. But she did get to play a husband stealing tramp in "The Women" and she's still darn cute.

But Joan is much better known for the later '40s roles. The don't-fuck-with-me Joan. That silky, intoxicating smile is gone. If you are a drag queen you are this Joan. You own those famously forties shoulder pads. Your hair doesn't float anymore. It is architecture, and it's staying put. Now your lips are fixed too. Fuller than '30s lips and the corners go down. You could be covered in the fluffiest peignoir and those lips would still say don't fuck with me.

Scary Joan

And then There is John Barrymore. He was such a huge star of stage and screen, bigger than Greta, bigger than anyone today. But he was on his way out by '31. If you want to know why watch his brutal characterization of himself in "Dinner at Eight". His brother Lionel is a bigger legend today. I say legend and yet I'm quite sure he's not a household name. Who is anymore? Whose legacy from the Golden Years still holds? Liz Taylor. Any teenagers out there know who Cary Grant is? I'd like to stand on that walk of fame and interview the idiots that come by to walk on those stars. How many of them will have ever heard of the ones I hold so dear?

John Barrymore with Joan Crawford

~got to go find some photos ...
 So I'm looking for photos of Joan and she is smiling or vamping in nearly every one.  She was a hard working girl who worked hard on her image. From what I've read her "Grand Hotel" was pretty close to reality. She used her sex appeal to get what she wanted, and that meant being the girl who knows what she's doing, and does it a lot.

Way to look cheap!