Three Films Make A Post: The girl you've been waiting for

The Unheard (2023): Other people’s mileage apparently varies considerably, but I had a lot of fun with Jeffrey A. Brown’s thriller about the auditory haunting of a deaf girl (Lachlan Watson) during and after an experimental procedure to regain her hearing. The whole “person encountering ghosts while regaining a formerly lost sense” thing is of course less than original, but the script by Michael and Shawn Rasmussen is tight, Brown’s direction solid, and Watson’s performance effective and likeable, so I didn’t mind this lack of originality in the least.

Whipsaw (1935): This melodramatic crime romance by Sam Wood about an undercover cop (Spencer Tracy) and a thief (Myrna Loy) he is attempting to pump for information about her colleagues in crime going on the road together is a surprisingly fun little thing, living off the considerable chemistry between Tracy and Loy – not something I would have expected going in, though Loy apparently had the ability to spark off everyone if she wanted to – and a sense of melodrama that never becomes too sappy or kitschy. There’s what feels like genuine heart to the story, so much so that, even under the conservative hammer of the Hays code, the cop seems to learn as much from the thief as she from him. That the film manages to contrive a way to not punish Loy’s character for past misdeeds and points at a happy end is an additional pleasant surprise.

Battle in Outer Space aka Uchu daisenso (1957): Leave it to the great Ishiro Honda (and of course writer Shinichi Sekizawa) to make a film about a space war between Earth and a superior alien force that have made their base on the moon to not go for the jingoist vein but emphasise the importance of international togetherness. It’s till rather refreshing; and a bit uncomfortable in that it makes a space war movie feel somewhat utopian.

If that alone doesn’t float your boat, you also get some wonderful miniature work from Eiji Tsuburaya and company, an ever wonderful Ifukube score, goofy yet awesome science, and even a bit of the old “mind-controlled by the alien menace!” paranoia. Though most of the latter could have been avoided if the powers that be had put any effort at all into guarding their heroic astronauts from alien abduction. But what can you do?

In short: Love Crazy (1941)

Steve (William Powell) and Susan (Myrna Loy) Ireland are a very happily married couple, until their latest wedding anniversary turns into a series of comedic misunderstandings, certainly helped by Steve’s seeming inability to ever just straightforwardly tell his wife what the hell is going on. Soon, Susan is convinced Steve is cheating on her with the ex-girlfriend (Patrick Grayson) he dropped to marry her (or the other way round, depending on who you ask) and puts in for a very, very quick divorce. Steve decides his only way out of this trouble is to pretend to be insane, which would delay the divorce long enough for him to explain to Susan what actually happened, eventually. Alas, the man is declared rather more insane than he had hoped for.

I’m sure quite a few elements of this Powell/Loy vehicle directed by Jack Conway would not go over well right now with everyone. Its portrayal of mental illness is certainly, even for a film from its era, on the risible side, cliched and more than just a bit stupid; though, on the plus side, it clearly finds the business and practice of psychiatry just as hilarious as it does the mentally ill. If one isn’t grabbed by outrage by the thought of a film from the early 40s being terribly of its time, one might even suggest the film quietly argues that mental health and “normality” are very much things depending on the perspective of the onlooker. But then, this might indeed be a bit too much to put on a screwball comedy quite as low-brown in the style of its humour as this one is. Then again, when reading as many negative things into movies seems to be a perfectly serviceable critical approach for quite a few people, perhaps I’m allowed the opposite too, from time to time?

I’m generally not a fan of the comedy in my screwball being quite this low-brow, but the slapstick timing is often impeccable, especially when Powell is throwing himself bodily into perfectly ridiculous situations, mugging towards a Loy whose job here is mostly to be the straight woman to Powell’s mania, or to be wonderfully sarcastic. It’s very bread and butter comedy in this sense, but it’s the best bread and butter and town, served with perfect flair.

In short: Love Crazy (1941)

Steve (William Powell) and Susan (Myrna Loy) Ireland are a very happily married couple, until their latest wedding anniversary turns into a series of comedic misunderstandings, certainly helped by Steve’s seeming inability to ever just say straightforwardly what the hell is going on. Soon, Susan is convinced Steve is cheating on her with the ex-girlfriend (Patrick Grayson) he dropped to marry her (or the other way round, depending on who you ask) and puts in for a very, very quick divorce. Steve decides his only way out of this trouble is to pretend to be insane, which would delay the divorce long enough for him to explain to Susan what actually happened, eventually. Alas, the man is declared rather more insane than he had hoped for.

I’m sure quite a few elements of this Powell/Loy vehicle directed by Jack Conway would not go over well right now with everyone. Its portrayal of mental illness is certainly, even for a film from its era, on the risible side, cliched and more than just a bit stupid; though, on the plus side, it clearly finds the business and practice of psychiatry just as hilarious as it does the mentally ill. If one isn’t grabbed by outrage by the thought of a film from the early 40s being terribly of its time, one might even suggest the film quietly argues that mental health and “normality” are very much things depending on the perspective of the onlooker. But then, this might indeed be a bit too much to put on a screwball comedy quite as low-brown in the style of its humour as this one is. Then again, when reading as many negative things into movies seems to be a perfectly serviceable critical approach, perhaps I’m allowed the opposite too, from time to time?

I’m generally not a fan of comedy quite this low-brow, but the slapstick timing is often impeccable, especially when Powell is throwing himself bodily into perfectly ridiculous situations, mugging towards Loy whose job here is mostly being the straight woman to Powell’s mania, or to be wonderfully sarcastic. It’s very bread and butter comedy in this sense, but it’s the best bread and butter and town, served with perfect flair.

Three Films Make A Post: THE END IS COMING AND IT WILL BE PAINFUL

Do Not Fold, Spindle or Mutilate (1971): Four elderly ladies (Helen Hayes, Myrna Loy, Mildred Natwick, Sylvia Sidney) create a completely fictional young woman for a “computer dating club” to pass the time between drinks. Alas, their imaginary girl attracts a budding serial killer (Vince Edwards). This Ted Post-directed TV movie’s considerable entertainment value is mostly gained through the merry interplay between its four elderly Hollywood Stars, who clearly enjoy not having to play the standard roles women their age have to put up with, and who do know a thing or three about comic timing. The mystery plot itself isn’t particularly interesting, but Post does get quite a bit of tension out of the contrast between his female stars’ companionable fun and the killer’s well-written, downright creepy, whispered off-screen monologue.

The Haunting of Sorority Row aka Deadly Pledge (2007): Keeping with the TV movies, this Canadian Lifetime film by Bert Kish, is on a quite lower level. A sorority pledge (Leighton Meester) has to cope with an evil spirit that haunts her and her prospective sisters because of a hazing ritual gone very badly wrong. Unfortunately, most of the cast is pretty bad – the best performances here could be politely described as “unremarkable” – the script has about one and a half decent ideas during the whole running time, and director Kish shows no flair at all for staging spooky scenes. However, I probably have to praise this one for being willing to go for a much sillier and in your face finale than TV horror movies of its type usually do. It’s too bad that silly and in your face don’t make this a decent movie either.


Swiss Army Man (2016): We leave the world of TV far, far behind with Dan Kwan’s and Daniel Scheinert’s extremely weird comedy about a man (Paul Dano) stranded on a deserted island teaming up with a supremely useful and increasingly communicative corpse (Daniel Radcliffe) to get back to civilization. The first fifteen minutes or so are pretty insufferable, so consciously tasteless I found it difficult to persevere with the film. I did, however, and made my way through a tale that went from insufferable to moving to philosophical to silly to stupid to creepy at a moment’s notice, leaving one with the feeling that this thing is truly one of a kind. What at first looks like a too self-conscious bizarro comedy turns into a film exploring the vagaries of the male human heart through bizarre comedy and other things, while keeping in mind there just might be something very wrong with said male human heart, yet still never losing its compassion.

Three Thin Men Make A Post: Science created him. Now Chuck Norris must destroy him.

The Thin Man (1934): Of course, every fool knows that what makes the Thin Man movies such endurable classics isn't the mystery part of their formula (though there sure is a mystery, murder and crime) but the interplay between Myrna Loy and William Powell who were clearly born to play this sort of part in exactly this type of movie. Even 80 years later, it's still a joy to watch them playing one of the most matter of factly romantic couples, having what looks like the time of their lives, throwing each other one great line of dialogue after the next.

After The Thin Man (1936): The second time around, Nick and Nora's charms have a more difficult time in a film that sometimes seems to go out of its way to put stuff on screen that frankly isn't as interesting as its two core characters, needlessly prolonging a story that would work better if it always were as sharp and snappy as it becomes when its stars are actually on screen. Worst among the unnecessary additions are James Stewart (in what might be one of his worst performances) and Elissa Landi being "dramatic", and a "funny" subplot about the troubles of a dog marriage. The film also suffers a bit from the fact that our heroes' flirting needs to be quite a bit less risqué than before, for the good pre-code times are over, and even quipping alcoholics now have to be more responsible. Still, whenever Powell and Loy are together, the film regains the magic of the first part, there's just a lot of feet-dragging and filler surrounding them.

Another Thin Man (1939): The third film finds the series on surer footing again; while the puritanical streak of code filmmaking isn't going away - though the film skirts that line more than once - and there's a sad tendency to make the alcoholic partying couple of the first film more responsible, Another Thin Man knows much better what to do with the things it still is allowed to do. Returning director W.S. Van Dyke also finds an actual interest in the mystery plot this time around, actually connecting Nora and Nick with it in a way that doesn't leaves it as filler coming between the audience and the good stuff but an intrinsic part of the film that's worthwhile in its own right. I also found myself much less annoyed by Asta's dog shenanigans this time around; the mutt still feels like the smuggest show-off of a dog imaginable, but at least her scenes stay short and actually belong into the movie I was watching.

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