Thursday, June 15, 2017

Orange Is the New Black, Season Five

Orange Is the New Black


The popular Netflix dramedy has made it to its fifth season, and although Orange Is the New Black continues to blend in comedic moments in every episode, it’s the most complex and darkest season yet. Fans of the show who love the show’s combination of outrageous humor with pulpy, women-in-prison action, know that season four ended on the eve of an uprising at Litchfield, the minimum-security facility that has been the setting for Orange Is the New Black since it premiered. The season four finale left viewers with one the prime villains, Correction Officer Thomas Humphrey, portrayed with sadistic flare by actor Michael Torpey, kneeling on the prison floor with a pistol pointed to his head. An errant bullet escalates the action into a full riot and long-suffering Dayanara played by actress Dascha Polanco, was the unlikely shooter.
Michael Torpey and Dascha Polanco
Unlike previous seasons, all of the action in season five occurs within a three-day span during the riot, a device that works well at times and fails at others. The writers spread the action among the supporting characters and season five has reduced the protagonist, Piper Chapman played by the amazing Taylor Schilling, to a second banana. In addition, actor Michael Harney, who has portrayed Litchfield’s counselor, Sam Healy since the series’ inception, is missing in action. We last saw a suicidal Healy walking into a psychiatric institution. Have the writing team of Orange Is the New Black, scrubbed his character from the show, or, will Healy return in season six? Fans will have to wait a year for the answer.

Taylor Schilling, Orange Is the New Black
Danielle Brooks and Uzo Aduba, Orange Is the New Black
The real star of season five is the marvelous Danielle Brooks who has emerged a star with her portrayal of Tasha ‘Taystee’ Jefferson. In past seasons, Taystee’s role is primarily comic relief, but not in season five. She leads the revolt, and has to decide what is most important to her, avenging the death of her best friend, Poussey Washington, or improving the conditions at Litchfield. Brooks has grown into the role over five seasons and the writers finally have written an arc that allows the actress to bring her explosive presence to the small screen. Uzo Aduba continues to amaze as the disturbed but brilliant Susanne.
Uzo Aduba, Orange Is the New Black
Jackie Cruz and Diane Guerrero as Flaca and Maritza
The most delightful paring of the season belongs to Jackie Cruz and Diane Guerrero as Flaca and Maritza. The two actresses bring needed humor and a sense of fun to the show as wannabe makeover artists and YouTube stars who broadcast the rebellion online.

Unfortunately, another pairing on the show simply doesn’t work and makes annoyance an art form. The talents of Emma Myles and Julie Lake are wasted in the thankless roles as Leanne and Angie, two mean-spirited, racist meth addicts who create havoc throughout the riot. While no one can deny that their acting is solid, the writing team forces the characters to go from one vile action to another, with no sense of awareness of the brutality of their acts or character arc. The characters remain just as sadistic and racist as they were in earlier seasons, their actions cruel and redundant, and viewers never watch them grow. Whoever penned their segment not only turned off viewers, but also cut two gifted actresses off at the knees.

Emma Myles and Julie Lake
Orange Is the New Black

Monday, June 12, 2017

The new TNT show, Claws


Claws

If you like bold, outrageous, and unrestrained television, TNT’s newest offering, Claws, is the show for you. The always watchable, Niecy Nash heads the  diverse cast, Ms. Nash portrays Desna, a wildly ambitious, upwardly mobile nail-salon owner whose thug boyfriend, Roller, gets her involved in money laundering for the Dixie Mafia. Desna, who dreams of owning a premier nail shop, soon makes the grim discovery that getting involved with hoods is a lot easier than breaking away from them.
Karrueche Tran, Carrie Preston, Niecy Nash, Jenn Lyon and Judy Reyes
Producer Rashida Jones has assembled a terrific supporting cast including Jason Antoon as the nervous Dr. Brickman who rakes in a fortune by selling prescription drugs to the highest bidder, True Blood’s Carrie Preston as Polly, a mild-mannered manicuring felon who wears an ankle monitor. Jennifer Lyon portrays Jen, a brash Southern girl, Karrueche Tran as Virginia, a gold-digging hoochie mama who sets her sights on Roller.

Jack Kesy and Niecy Nash
Devious Maids veteran, Judy Reyes, portrays Quiet Ann, the baseball bat wielding muscle in the group, while hunk Jack Kesy is picture perfect as the libidinous, ultra-violent Roller, and the amazing Dean Norris of Breaking Bad fame as Uncle Daddy, Mafia-don Southern style. Norris has the time of his life playing Uncle Daddy, a murderous bisexual gangster who manages to blend his unrepentant brutality with his devotion to Catholicism. 

Dean Norris
While Claws is still rough around the edges and so over-the-top that it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, it is worth a viewing if only to see Dean Norris in action.

Claws on TNT

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Butch/Femme


Butch/Femme

Actress Kirsten Stewart gets her butch/femme on for Elle Magazine
In the 1940s and 50s, butch/femme relationships were de rigueur in the queer sub-culture, especially for lesbians. They were notable at a time when straight culture labeled gays and lesbians as deviants and pushed them toward nocturnal existences in bars and underground clubs. A butch represented the male role while femme referred to the female role. Working-class butches lopped off their hair, rolled a pack of Camel cigarettes in their tee shirt sleeves, sported blue jeans and leather jackets in an era when girls were expected dress themselves in poodle skirts and angora sweaters. Like exotic dancers, butches were the ultimate sexual outlaws.
Butch women in the 1950s
Prior to the middle of the 20th century, homosexual societies were underground or secret, a fact that makes it difficult to determine how long women have taken on butch and femme roles. The clandestine relationships were celebrated in underground pulp-fiction paperbacks bought by heterosexual males. Butch-femme relationships were the norm among lesbians and particularly prominent in working-class lesbian bar culture of the 1940s, '50s, and '60s, while butch-butch and femme-femme relationships were taboo in the sub-culture. Ki-ki was  a pejorative used to describe lesbians who were neither butch nor femme or who switched roles. In contemporary times, some call women whose traits are not as masculine as a traditional butch either soft butch or chapstick lesbian.
 
A butch/femme couple in the 50s

In the 1940s in the U.S., society forced most butch women to wear convention feminine dress in order to hold down jobs. "Saturday night" butches donned their jeans, tee shirts, or men's suits on weekends to go to bars or parties. The 1950s saw the rise of a new generation of butches who refused to live double lives and wore butch attire full-time, or as close to full-time as possible. This usually limited them to a few jobs, such as factory work and cab driving, which had no dress codes for women. Their increased visibility, combined with the anti-gay rhetoric of the McCarthy era, led to a rise in violent attacks on gay and bisexual women, while at the same time, the increasingly defiant bar culture became more willing to respond with force.

The presumption was that the butch was the physically active partner and the leader in lovemaking inherent to butch-femme relationships, the top to the femme’s bottom. Yet unlike the dynamics of many heterosexual relationships, the butch's foremost objective was to give sexual pleasure to a femme. The ideal of the stone butch, or untouchable butch captured the essence of the emotional/sexual dynamic. To be untouchable meant to gain pleasure from giving pleasure. Although women involved in butch/femme relationships emulated heterosexual society, they transformed those models into an authentically lesbian interaction.


The word femme is the French word for woman and in gay culture referred to a feminine lesbian in a butch/femme relationship. (Femmes are sometimes confused with lipstick lesbian, a modern term describing feminine lesbians who are attracted to and partner with other feminine women.) The word butch, meaning "tough kid," is possibly an abbreviation of the word butcher.  Although butch became the word used for masculine lesbians in the 1940s, people also used the term to describe a masculine person of either gender. 

When describing a lesbian, the term butch denoted masculinity beyond the typical tomboy. These women dressed in masculine attire, had male mannerisms, and often worked in jobs usually reserved for men. Like effeminate males, society linked butch women to homosexual communities and stereotyped them. Although modern culture has changed in recent decades and is more accepting of gays and lesbians, it was  common for females with a butch appearance to meet with hostility  at the hands of the police during raids of gay bars.  They were subject to cross-dressing laws and embarrassment of having their names posted in the city ledgers of local papers.

 The origin of the term dyke was obscure, and students of gay history have proposed many theories about the word’s beginnings. The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) dates the first recorded use of dike, dyke in Berrey and Van den Bark's American Thesaurus of Slang, 1942. The usage of dyke has widened in recent years to encompass queer women in general. Social historians have proposed several theories for the origin of dyke. One is that it was an abbreviation of morphadike, or morphadite, a dialect variant of hermaphrodite, commonly used for gay men in the early twentieth century. Some even suggested the term derived from the late-19th-century slang use of dyke (meaning ditch) for the vulva.  


The term bulldyker, from which dyke may have been shortened, first appeared in 1920s novels connected with the Harlem Renaissance. For example, in the 1928 novel Home to Harlem, author Claude McKay wrote, "[Lesbians are] what we calls bulldyker in Harlem. Two things in Harlem I don't understand, that is a bull-dyking woman and a faggoty man." In African American parlance, some called a man who was a great lover a bulldyker. Bulldyking woman and bulldyker became terms for women who resembled a bulldyker, a male stud. Bull was also a common expression for masculine and aggressive (as in bullish), and bulldyke implied a "masculine woman." Some claimed the word bulldyker was a term used for bulls used to impregnate cows. Bulldagger is another American pejorative slang to describe a masculine lesbian.

The terms bulldyker and bulldagger were interchangeable. While many insist the term is African American, Southerners of every hue have called lesbians bulldagger for decades. At one point in time, lesbians considered the words bulldyke and dyke derogatory, but over the years, dyke has become a more neutral term, only offensive when used in a derogatory manner by those outside the LGBT community. Unlike dyke, bulldagger and bulldyke have remained offensive.

 Stud is another common term to describe masculine lesbians. African Americans originally used the term to describe a sexually promiscuous man who was successful with women. Among African American lesbians, the stud is a dominant lesbian, usually butch. A stud typically dresses in masculine attire and enjoys male activities. The term stud refers to black masculine lesbians, while butch designates white masculine lesbians.
 For more information on butch/femme, read The Persistent Desire, A Femme-Butch Reader edited by Joan Nestle and Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold: The History of a Lesbian Community by Elizabeth Lapovsky Kennedy and Madeline D. Davis.









Saturday, June 3, 2017

13 Reasons Why



13 Reasons Why

 


13 Reasons Why is Netflix’s chilling adaptation of Jay Asher’s best-selling, 2007 Young Adult novel, Thirteen Reasons Why. The novel and the Netflix production tell the story of Hannah Baker, the bright, complicated teen does the unthinkable, yet the true protagonist is Clay Jensen, a socially awkward, sensitive boy who is Hannah’s friend, co-worker, and most importantly, potential savior.
Unfortunately, at sixteen, Clay didn’t have the language to express the depth of his feelings for Hannah, and as the events start unraveling, a series of incidents suck the teens into a whirlpool from which neither can escape. We watch as thoughtless acts push a girl toward self-destruction, the consequences of her suicide, and its effect on her parents and those in her high school who pushed her to suicide. Unlike the book, the thirteen-episode format of 13 Reasons Why allows the writers to go beyond Hannah’s retelling of the events and to delve into the backstories and motivation of her those who treated Hannah with apathy and heartlessness.

The thirteen reasons are the seven secret cassettes Hannah recorded prior to her demise. Each double-sided tape details bullying, betrayal, and unimaginable brutality from those she considered friends. There is Justin, a handsome jock with whom Hannah shared an innocent kiss. Unfortunately, Justin and his friends twists Hannah’s beautiful moment into a sordid tryst affair and their thoughtlessness labels her the school slut. It doesn’t help when another boy bestows title of “Best Ass” in the school on her. The discoveries on the tapes escalate into a cascade of lies, shaming, and duplicity that come to a head when the school’s golden boy brutally rapes Hannah. After the attack, a fragile Hannah turns to a school counselor who appears powerless. She then decides to take her own life in one of the most brutal depictions of suicide ever put on film. Because of the tapes, the story doesn’t end with her death, and the repercussions begin.
Dylan Minnette and Katherine Langford
The cast, led by Dylan Minnette in an impeccably nuanced performance as Clay, and Katherine Langford’s soulful performance as Hannah, is superlative. The lead actors not only have palpable chemistry with each other, they also embody their roles with authenticity and pathos; however, the star turns are not simply limited to the leads. Alisha Boe is remarkable as Jessica, Hannah’s troubled friend who betrays her, as is Miles Heizer, the boy who comes between Hannah and Jessica. Brandon Flynn does fine work as Justin, the jock whose callousness started Hannah’s descent.

While the younger actors are all superb, the older actors deserve kudos too. Kate Walsh gives a heart-breaking performance as Hannah’s mother and Derek Luke hits all the right notes as Hannah’s befuddled counselor.


The series has had its detractors, especially from those who feel it glamourizes suicide by allowing Hannah’s story to live on through the tapes. Others hated the take-no-prisoner depiction of Hannah’s rape and suicide. I disagree with the disparagers on both points. The tapes allowed me as both a reader and a viewer to understand the mindset of a troubled teen and share her desperation. Sexual assault, depression, and self-destruction are never glamorous and the show presented them in the most graphic detail possible. Who can gage the success of season two without the novel as a guide, but if the writing matches the acting and production values of the previous season, fans of the show are in for a five-star ride. 

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Before the Code


Before the Code


Tarzan and His Mate

Pre-Code movies - two words that thrill cinema buffs and make their hearts beat faster. The term, pre-Code, relates to films made between 1930 when two men wrote the Motion Picture Production Code, and, July 1, 1934, when studios finally enacted the Code; however, pre-Code is a misnomer. Moving pictures were still a nascent industry when regional censorship boards tried to dictate on-screen content. In 1915, filmmakers went to the Supreme Court with the case of the Mutual Film Corporation verses the Industrial Commission of Ohio. The highest court in the land ruled against Hollywood, declaring that the movies were a business and not an art form entitled to First Amendment protection. That ruling may have opened the film industry up to the mandates of local blue stockings but the studios managed to work around them. From the 1910s through the 20s and into the early 30s, nudity, drug and alcohol addiction, along with explorations of hedonism, vice and sexuality were common elements in motion pictures.   

Manslaughter, 1922
Faith-based censorship groups may have tsk-tsked the images on the screen but the films they condemned reflected the outré aspects of American life. Sexual relations outside of wedlock and between the races were part of American society as were gambling halls and brothels. Silent dramas reflected them. Filmmaker Cecil B. DeMille partnered with his mistress, writer Jeanie Macpherson, on a number of contemporary melodramas that DeMille peppered with as many provocative scenes as possible. He even managed to slip a bare breast or shapely calf into his famed religious spectacles.


Sessue Hayakawa
 Although miscegenation among whites and blacks was a “no no,” DeMille made a matinee star out of Japanese actor, Sessue Hayakawa. Hayakawa worked opposite white actresses and attracted a huge female following despite his race.  
Lupe Velez
Mexican actors Ramon Novarro, Lupe Velez, Gilbert Roland, and Dolores Del Rio achieved a degree of stardom in the 20s and 30s that was unmatched until Jennifer Lopez and Selena Gomez came on the scene decades later. 


A pre-Code image of Anna May Wong
Chinese-American actress Anna May Wong’s career spanned the silent era and beyond playing “Oriental temptresses” but no studio cast her opposite the great male stars of the period. Miss Wong watched as Caucasian actresses donned yellow-face to play roles she would never be considered for.
1920s Our Gang with African American actor, "Sunshine Sammy"

The one ethnic group Hollywood couldn’t shape into matinee heroes or heroines were African Americans. With the exception of the child actors in the Our Gang comedies, move studios stripped black performers of any semblance of sexuality and relegated to roles as servants.

Filmmakers faced catering to regional differences in taste and the ambivalence of the American public towards provocative subjects. Scenarios that sophisticated audience in New York City eagerly embraced faced heavily censorship in Omaha, but the studios were undeterred. Hollywood however, would periodically confirm the worst fears of prudes who saw movies as a moveable feast of celluloid sin and vice. In 1920, Olive Thomas, a former showgirl married to Mary Pickford’s wastrel brother, died after accidentally ingesting mercury bichloride.  

Roscoe Arbuckle's Mug Shot
A few months later in 1921, on Labor Day weekend in San Francisco, comedian Roscoe Arbuckle was a guest at an afternoon soiree. An actress and fashion plate named Virginia Rappe attended the party and died four days later from peritonitis. The tabloid press painted the bash as a drunken orgy and labeled the comedian a rapist and sadist although he had nothing to do with the woman’s death. The notoriety almost destroyed Arbuckle’s career (Arbuckle worked as a director before his acting career rebounded briefly in the talkie era) and allowed morality groups across the country to point a Puritanical finger at degenerate Hollywood.



These same self-appointed guardians of the nation’s morals labeled Hollywood licentious and immoral for the slightest misstep but remained silent about lynching, the rampant racism, sexism and anti-Semitism of the period and the mistreatment of the American worker by big business. It’s not a stretch to suggest that anti-Semitism played a large role in the indignation over the “debauched” behavior of those in the film community. Powerful anti-Semites like Henry Ford feared Jewish power and raged against Jews in a rag he financed called The Dearborn Independent. Other voices joined Ford including the virulently anti-Semitic radio personality, Father Charles Couglin. The Klan and Christian extremist groups promoted visions of gentile virtue sacrificed on an altar of Jewish lust.
Will H. Hays

Mabel Normand
In January 1922, the studios found a buffer between censorship boards, holier than thou evangelists and the industry, His name was Will H. Hays, the former chairman of the Republican Party and an ex-Postmaster General. Hays was a ‘by gosh by golly’ straight arrow, a Presbyterian deacon from Indiana and the perfect person to convince local censorship boards to leave the movies alone. He took the helm of the newly formed Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) at the perfect time.

There were two more major scandals after the Arbuckle debacle brewing on the horizon, one in 1922 and 1923, and they were a double whammy for Hollywood. Someone murdered director William Desmond Taylor in 1922 and the mystery surrounding his death adversely affected the careers of the two women closest to him, comedienne Mabel Normand and ingénue, Mary Miles Minter. The studios managed to handle the hot potato, but Taylor’s murder compromised both Normand and Minter.  The dust hadn’t begun to settle from the Taylor murder when there was another catastrophe. Leading man, Wallace Reid, died in private sanitarium of pneumonia and heart failure while trying to kick his addition to morphine. A fall injured the handsome actor while shooting a motion picture and he turned morphine, a legal drug at the time, for relief. Like thousands of Americans, including veterans of W.W.I, Reid became addicted. A sanctimonious press spun his unfortunate death into another tale of Hollywood as a cesspool of vice. Luckily, Hays and the studios were able to skirt the line of provocative fare for another eight years. 


Jeanne Eagles in The Letter shortly before her death

Even a cursory glance of films from the 20’s yields a number of provocative silent dramas. The titles are legend - Manslaughter, The Ten Commandments, Flesh and the Devil, Hula and The Wedding March among many more. Producer Samuel Goldwyn even briefly flirted with filming The Captive, a lesbian drama that the New York police raided during its Broadway run. A few more premature deaths including Barbara LaMarr from tuberculosis, Jeanne Eagels, and Alma Rubens from drug overdoses, led to more finger pointing, but it was the advent of talking pictures that signaled the beginning of the end to artistic freedom.     
A DeMille Biblical epic

In 1927, the Hollywood “problem” exacerbated with the coming of talkies. Now the public could hear racy dialogue along with seeing provocative images. Sound, especially Vitaphone, made the job of local censorship boards more difficult since it was impossible to remove offending scene when sound engineers recorded the audio disk. Cutting the offending footage from a Warner Brother’s film would throw the movie out of sync. The end of 1929 saw the Great Depression and more problems for Hollywood. Studios had to up the ante to attract audiences but not go too far. Hays assembled list of don’ts compiled from the suggestions of local censorship boards, but the studios often ignored their ideas were still largely ignored. Finally, the Catholic publisher of motion picture trade newspaper, a pious fellow named Martin Quigley turned to Daniel Lord, a Jesuit priest whom Cecil B. DeMille employed as a consultant on King of Kings. The Catholic Church had the distinction of being the largest Christian church in the country yet in the past had left censorship issues to their Protestant brothers and sisters - no longer. There was power in numbers and the Church exploited them. 

Like many moralists around the country, the idea of the potential of talking films to destroy American values terrified Father Lord and he seized his entry into controlling popular culture. With the fervor of a member of the Spanish Inquisition, the sex-phobic padre declared, “Silent smut has been bad, vocal smut cried to the censors for vengeance!” Father Lord gave his recommendations to Hays in 1930 who promptly set up another impotent group, the Studio Relations Committee. The pre-Code era was born. 

Father Lord was right about one thing - sound opened the floodgates to adult entertainment. Warner Brothers started with a half-silent musical called The Jazz Singer then brought the charismatic gangster into movie theaters. In the persona of stars like James Cagney and George Raft, thugs became sexy. New personalities like Mae West, Fredric March, Jean Harlow, Clark Gable and Marlene Dietrich emerged and actors who put their sexual personas front and center. Hollywood turned to the Broadway stage for teleplays with mixed results; the acting may have been static but the subject matter was tantalizing. On-screen patter became snappier and movies reflected the American zeitgeist. Pre-Code movies examined the issues of the day, the Depression, the police, big business, and the plight of the workingman and woman as never before.

The pre-code talkies opened the floodgates to the unbridled sexuality stars like Clara Bow, Gary Cooper, and Ramon Novarro appeared nude on screen in the silent and pre-code era. Still, the action was tame by modern standards. 1930s Hell’s Angels featured a scene of open-mouthed kissing and raised eyebrows with phrases like “for Christ’s sake”, “goddamn it,” and “son of a bitch,” but even in the most daring films, foul language or simulated sexual acts were verboten - it was the mere suggestion that offended. Actresses like Harlow, Dietrich, West, Shearer, and Stanwyck blurred the line between virtuous lady and sinner, portraying women as three-dimensional beings who were unapologetic about their independence and sexuality.

Studios continued to skirt the code but there were a few sacrificial lambs along the way. 1933’s Convention City, a comedy about drunken conventioneers, was pulled from theaters and the original negative destroyed.

Censorship in the guise of the Catholic Legion of Decency reared its head and rather than face a boycott by a huge church group, the studios relented and began adhering to the code. Hays hired the pugnacious, Joseph I. Breen, a.k.a. “Mean” Joe Breen to become his enforcer as head of Production Code Administration. In July of 1934, the pre-code years ended led by a mean-spirited bigot who was not above getting physical with those who questioned his authority. Breen struck director Woody Van Dyke for questioning him about edits he had ordered in a film. The 1934 version of Imitation of Life raised his racist hackles because of hints of miscegenation, and Breen did everything to torpedo the production. As Censor in Chief, he was determined to protect the world from anything tainted by “Jewish lust.” He contacted the Jesuit priest, Wilfred Parsons, S.J., editor of the Jesuit weekly, America, and declared, “These Jews seem to think of nothing, but money making and sexual indulgence.” The inmates were indeed in charge of the asylum.  

Joe Breen
Generations of moviegoers grew up with the flash of the PCA certification. The studios were forced to edit movies like King Kong and Tarzan and His Mate.  Mae West found herself censored and her sex appeal blunted. For next thirty years, the code constrained an American art form that had an unbelievable influence on world culture. Under Breen’s watch, sexuality was off the table and the work of geniuses like Tennessee Williams and William Faulkner were effectively spayed and neutered. As far as race, namely relations between blacks and whites, under the dictatorship of Breen whom moviemakers called the Hollywood Hitler, the film industry remained fixed in the days of petticoats and mint juleps. African American beauties like Nina Mae McKinney and Fredi Washington, along with the elegant Paul Robeson had truncated Hollywood careers as a result.
Fredi Washington and Louise Beaver in Imitation of Life, 1934
Who knows how many films died in the womb during the Breen watch? Breen finally passed away in 1965, and the code died three years later. Years of repression ended.

Books of interest include Sin in Soft Focus: Pre-code Hollywood By Mark A. Vieira: Pre-Code Hollywood: Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema; 1930-1934 by Thomas Doherty: Hattie McDaniel: Black Ambition, White Hollywood by Jill Watts: Complicated Women by Mick LaSalle, Dangerous Men: Pre-Code Hollywood and the Birth of the Modern Man also by Mick LaSalle

Pre-Code.com

Monday, May 29, 2017

Sexual Outlaws


Sexual Outlaws



Writers heralded New Orleans in the forties and fifties as “The Most Interesting City in America.” Bourbon Street was its epicenter, and became world famous for its concentration of nightclub shows featuring exotic dancers, comics, risqué singers, and contortionists, backed by live house bands. Along a five-block stretch, club goers could see over fifty acts on any given night. The street gleamed with neon lights as barkers enticed tourists and locals into the clubs, the images of the featured attractions prominently displayed in the large outside kiosks. Clubs included the 500 Club, the Sho Bar, and the Casino Royale. It was a glamorous street where men and women dressed in their finest to take in a show.

New Orleans has a history of appealing to the carnal senses. Storyville, the famed red-light district at the turn of the last century, was known for its many houses of prostitution as well as being the birthplace of jazz until it was closed down in 1917. After vaudeville and the success of burlesque, striptease acts became a mainstay on the nightclub stages. In the Forties, strip teasers were in it for the money, as servicemen passed in and out of town looking for a good time. As “Stormy,” one of the most popular Bourbon Street dancers told in Cabaret magazine, “Anything you do, no matter what it is, if you do it well enough, can be lifted to an art.”


Girls competed with each other by creating acts based upon elaborate themes. Imagination was always the key even as props and they incorporated beautiful costumes, mood lighting, and original music into their acts. The production values only enhanced the natural beauty and talents of the girls. There were a bevy of exotic dancers like Lilly Christine, the Cat Girl, Evangeline, the Oyster Girl, Alouette Leblanc, the Tassel Twirler, Kalantan the Heavenly Body, Rita Alexander, the Champagne Girl, Blaze Starr, Linda Brigette, the Cupid Doll, and Tee Tee Red.


The young beauties of Bourbon Street gained star status. They had their own hairstylists, maids, assistants, agents, and managers. They mingled with visiting celebrities and producers gave some exotic dancers small roles in films. Lilly Christine, the Cat Girl, graced the covers of dozens of national magazines, and appeared in a few movies. Considered the top attraction on Bourbon Street, she performed at Leon Prima’s 500 Club. Musician Sam Butera, who worked with “the Cat Girl,” recalls her popularity, “One time they had a hurricane threatening. People were standing outside the 500 Club a block long waiting to get in. That’s how popular she was, even with a hurricane warning!”

 The French Quarter had a seamier side. Pimps, prostitutes, criminals, and mob figures inhabited the Quarter and B-drinking, in which strippers tempted men to buy them drinks for a cut of the profit, was rampant–and illegal. Since everyone dressed up to attend a show, the girls often didn’t know if they were sitting next to a wealthy oilman, or a thug.

Politicians courted their own doom by enjoying themselves in the clubs and ultimately, brought down the final curtain on girlie burlesque. During the 1960s, New Orleans district attorney, Jim Garrison, “cleaned up” Bourbon Street. The New Orleans police raided nightclubs up and down Bourbon Street and arrested numerous young women on charges of B-drinking and obscenity. In order to cut costs, club owners replaced the bands with records. The sexual revolution of the sixties eventually brought in go-go dancers, porn films, and strippers whose acts focused on flesh more than flash. Top musicians like Al Hirt and Pete Fountain survived, but the great burlesque queens of the 1950s did not.


Article courtesy of  Bustout Burlesque

Sunday, May 28, 2017

From Silents to Talkies


                           From Silents to Talkies





From the early 1920s to the end of that decade, taking in a movie was a unique and wondrous experience. Going to the picture show became a regular ritual for many Americans who went to the cinema three or four times a week. Radio was still going through growing pains and television, digital gaming and the Internet were years away.
                           
For those who lived in large American cities, twenty-five cents bought the ticket to a magic carpet that transported them from their dreary lives to a world of unparalleled opulence, the movie palace. The furnishings in these temples of excess were as sumptuous as Versailles in the 18th century. Everywhere one turned were crystal chandeliers, marble fountains, gilt inlay, and richly upholstered seats. The ushers wore smart uniforms and there was often a live musical prelude accompanied by the theater’s orchestra. Movie actors had dropped the histrionics of old for a subtle pantomime and the camera moved with amazing fluidity. This was the film experience at its best.



The term ‘silent film’ is a misnomer; silent films were never silent. The grander palaces used full symphonic orchestras to accompany their movies. Film historians have written extensively about the impact live musical performances had on American cinema in the 1920s. For theaters that couldn’t afford an orchestra, the mighty Wurlitzer organ became a staple, a marvel that could make every sound effect under the sun. Smaller movies houses accompanied their silent dramas with pianos and in areas with large immigrant populations, young girls would act out the title cards in Yiddish, Italian, or Russian as a piano accompanied them. In Japan, an actor called a benshi would narrate the film with a group of musicians playing under him. 


In October 6, 1927, the success of The Jazz Singer, a Warner Brother’s a half-silent, half-talking musical signaled the beginning of the end of silent films and that wonderful experiencebut just how rapid was that transition?


Donald Crafton began his book, The Talkies: American Cinema’s Transition to Sound, 19261931, by addressing the biggest misconception of the transition to sound, namely that it was rapid and completely disrupted the movie making process.  Nothing could be further from the truth. The transition took years to take effect and was a much slower process than many film historians have suggested.


Crafton opened The Talkies with an in-depth critique of the one film that tackled the changeover from silent films to talking pictures, 1952’s musical classic, Singing In the Rain.  Singing In the Rain presented a whimsical vision of the transition. The movie is set in Hollywood in the late 1920s, during the time of flappers, the Charleston and prohibition. The Jazz Singer creates a worldwide sensation and within a couple of weeks, the fictional studio, Monumental Pictures, easily converts their stages to accommodate sound. Miraculously, producers are able to deliver talking pictures to theaters around the country despite the fact most theatre owners had not wired their movie palaces for sound. The new technology was expensive and ever changing and the Great Depression made the cost prohibitive. The director of the Dancing Cavalier, the film within the film, effortlessly shoots a motion picture with the same grace and fluidity as a silent drama. While everything works out beautifully in Singing in the Rain, the reality of the conversion to sound was far more complex and took years rather than weeks. 


One of the early issues with talking dramas was the question of what method filmmakers would use to deliver sound to movies. Like the early battles in video, BETA verses VHS, there were two competing sound technologies, both from upstart studios; Warner Brothers had Vitaphone and the Fox Film Corporation had Movietone. Though Jack, Albert, Sam and Harry Warner didn’t realize it, their process, Vitaphone was doomed from the start. Vitaphone recorded the sound on a separate wax disc and left it to the projectionist to synchronize the sound with the film. It was a formidable enough task, and there were other issues. The discs would break, scratch, were often misplaced and most importantly, were unusable after twenty screenings, effective making the movie a silent drama. Since the sound was already pre-recorded, local censors couldn’t cut out offensive dialogue that was problematic since many early talkies were peppered with saucy dialogue.


The other process, Movietone, recorded the sound directly to the strip of film used to make the motion picture. By 1928, Movietone became the preferred method, but by that time, the changeover to talking pictures created a host of other problems.

While many in the audience were enamored with the thought of finally hearing the voices of their favorite actors, a large portion of the movie going audience loved the silent film experience, the live music, subtle acting and agile camera work and weren’t really interested in talkies.

RKO Radio Pictures made talking pictures from their inception in 1928, the Fox Film Corporation and Warner Brothers were committed to pushing their own sound technologies; however, the bosses at Paramount Picture Corporation, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and the “little three”, Columbia, Universal, and United Artists, were certain that this new technology was just another way to deliver motion pictures. They all assumed that talking pictures would co-exist as a separate medium from silent dramas, i.e. talkies for musicals and stage plays, and silent dramas for everything else. In fact, in the final quarter of the 1928-1929, of the 200 films released, the majority, 114 in total, were silent dramas. MGM decided to let everyone else take the plunge and delayed sound conversion until other studios had ironed out the kinks. 


 Another interesting creation, the hybrid film, would eventually bite the dust. Hybrids were odd ducks; some, like The Jazz Singer were half-talkie and half-silent. Others, including classics like Wings and Seventh Heaven, were silent films with synchronized effects and music. In a process known as ‘goat glanding,’ sound technicians gave older silent dramas new life with sound effects and a smattering of dialogue in some key scenes. In 1930, Universal re-released The Phantom of the Opera, re-shot scenes with the same cast as the 1925 original and added bits of dialogue and music. Lon Chaney’s silent footage from the original was used because he was negotiating his contract at MGM and wasn’t available to reshoot. 



After the novelty of talking films began to wear off, audiences tired of the hybrid.  Except for some notable exceptions like Al Jolson’s The Singing Fool that held the box office record until Gone with the Wind, and Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights, the hybrid eventually went the way of the dodo.


 The most common way to capture the movie audience was to make dual versions of one filma talkie for theaters wired for sound, and a silent version of the same film for those theaters that weren’t.  Large numbers of movies houses in rural areas and small towns throughout the country had not yet been prepared for sound. It was a costly process especially during the years of the Great Depression and many independent movie houses went under because they simply couldn’t afford the expense of transforming to sound. In 1929, MGM announced that Greta Garbo’s The Kiss was their last silent but the studio continued making silent versions of talking films possibly as late as 1931.

 Modern film historians tend to exaggerate the number of theaters owned by the biggest of the big five studios, MGM. Paramount owned more movie houses and in some cities, Paramount actually co-owned some of MGM’s movie palaces. While the MGM lot had the greatest square footage, the real power of a studio was ownership of the means of production, distribution and exhibition by the same company, know as vertical integration.


Vertical integration began in the earliest days of cinema. The French film company, Pathé Frères, opened its first theater in Paris in 1906 and by 1909, owned and operated over 200. In the United States, vertical integration continued until late 1940’s, when a federal anti-trust suit forced studios to divest themselves of their theaters.


David Stenn’s biography of Clara Bow, Runnin’ Wild provides the most vivid description of the transition to talkies. Bow was Paramount’s biggest star, and Stenn wrote extensively about her baptism by fire into the world of talking pictures; however, he didn’t note that her early talkies had silent versions, many of which were superior to the talking original.

Even musicals like Showboat, Montana Moon, The Jazz Singer, and The Singing Fool had silent versions. Garbo may have talked in Anna Christie, but there was a silent version of the film. As late as 1930, the vast majority of talking films had silent versions.


 1931 was probably the last year that silent dramas were produced en masse by major American studios but smaller, “Poverty Row” houses continued filming silent dramas for theaters that couldn’t afford to wire for sound. Universal released a silent version of their 1931 hit, Dracula, in the spring of 1931. Though there is no mention of a silent copy of Frankenstein, a film released in the fall of 1931, one probably existed since Universal catered to smaller movie houses that didn’t have the funds to wire for sound. Douglas Fairbanks filmed a part-talking hybrid called Mr. Robinson Crusoe in 1932 and provided a completely silent version of it in the same year.


The creation of silent versions of talkies may have continued for considerably longer since European cinema owners did not wire their theaters for sound until well into the 30s. The silent film tradition continued in Japan as late as 1935. The Warner Brothers musical, Footlight Parade, begins with an electric billboard circling a Manhattan building with the announcement that silent films were finally dead. Footlight Parade was released in October, 1933, a date that suggests silent dramas took a very long time to die.

Film historians have detailed the destruction of the careers of actors who didn’t make the transition to talkies but there were other behind the camera casualties. The coming of the talkies eliminated live performances called preludes, the major plotline of Footlight Parade. There were other casualties. The members of the American Federation of Musicians  took out newspaper advertisements across the country protesting the replacement of live musicians with canned music. Scores of virtuoso musicians lost their livelihood in the transition.



Directors of silent films spoke continually as they guided an actor’s on-screen movements, gently coaxing out a performance. There were many silent directors who, after attempts at talkies, couldn’t or wouldn’t make the adjustment, D.W. Griffith being the most notable but there were others: Rex Ingram, Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Victor Sjöström being the most notable cases.  The early sound technicians were tyrants on the set and in the early days of talkies, it was the sound technicians who yelled, “cut” not the director.

When studios stopped making dual versions of films, writers of title cards, the method used for years to tell the story and deliver dialogue, found their art to be obsolete. Cinematographers swapped bulky Mitchell sound cameras for the featherweight Bell & Howell cameras used in silent dramas. Arc lights became obsolete because of their faint hiss and silent tungsten lighting replaced them. Even the make-up used in film changed. After 1927, panchromatic film became the standard and Max Factor had to devise a different type of make-up that worked with sound lighting. 


Talking pictures emerged as the dominant celluloid art form and went through their own painful growing pains with static scenes and stagy acting until 1932 when the movies finally moved again.

Thanks you David B. Pearson for sharing some of your knowledge of the transition to talkies with me. I found the following books helpful in writing this page: Donald Crafton, The Talkies: American cinema’s Transition to sound, 1926 – 1931, Donald Stenn, Clara Bow: Running Wild, Fred E Basten, Max Factor: the Man Who Changed the Faces of the World, Mark E Viera, Hollywood Dreams Made Real, Irving Thalberg and the Rise of M-G-M.


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