MAE WEST IN HOLLYWOOD, 1932–1943, various directors/Indicator This is a treat: a six-disc, ten-film limited edition Blu-ray box set dedicated to the remarkable Mae West. To modern eyes, Mae West suggests a broad and camp parody of the femme fatale. Her massively exaggerated drawl, the jutting false eyelashes (now firmly back in favour in Essex and other regions of the UK), skin-tight dresses and — most of all — her exaggerated hips (the latter, in fact, were padded; West was always a construct, something she was fully aware of). But in West’s case, no modern reinterpretation of carnality coded for 1930s and 1940s audiences is necessary: what we see is what we get, and West is essentially indicating ‘Don’t take this slyly ravenous man eater seriously — I don’t.’ While the metaphorical discussion about horseracing (and who’s in the saddle) between Bogart and Bacall in Howard Hawks The Big Sleep seems to be there for modern audience to say ‘How the hell did they get that past the censor?’ but it’s perfectly clear (in that case) that the director and actors were enjoying the subterfuge whereby a discussion of sexual intercourse might be readable by the sophisticated viewer — but not by the dim-witted censors of the day. However, while it is not surprising that Mae West is something of a favourite today among gay audiences with her awareness of and enthusiastic celebration of camp (something she virtually invented), the reasons for her following among feminist viewers is also easy to discern. The standard male prerogative of the movies — the sexual advance which overcomes initial feminine resistance — is turned on its head; it is West who makes the running when it comes to getting her conquests into bed and her frank physical appraisal of her possible paramours is also specifically masculine (it’s particularly fun to see her seducing a young Cary Grant in Lowell Sherman’s She Done him Wrong (1933), given that the urbane male actor will from this film onwards generally be the instigator in scenes of seduction).
West’s attitude to sex itself in her films is a surprisingly modern one in an era in which sexual repression was the order of the day. The actress’s mastery of the double entendre and her knowing self-caricature initially served her well for the stage and films, and there is no question that she enjoyed something of an auteur status, being largely responsible for the screenplays of many of the films she worked on (and frequently voicing dissatisfaction with the contribution of others). After the exuberant stage show Diamond Lil in 1928 which established her take-no-prisoners sexual persona, more commercial success was to follow in the decade of the 1930s.
West carefully stage-managed her appearances in films – particularly her first scenes, and the initial shots of her in She Done him Wrong, brandishing a parasol and effortlessly gleaning the attention of both men and women, while prompting such comments as: ‘A fine woman!’ – to which the reply is: ‘One of the finest women that ever walked the streets.’ Similarly, in I’m No Angel (directed by Wesley Ruggles in 1933), she has been displaying her ample charms outside a showman’s tent, striding, hand on hip, in front of a group of ogling men and making the sly comment to them: ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Hilarious though this is — particularly in West’s dry delivery — it is also good example of how West was learning to circumvent censorship restrictions; there is actually nothing in the line which can be identified as censorable but despite that, every savvy viewer of the film knows exactly what thoughts she is referring to. The same film also contains two of her most justifiably famous lines. She asks a further question of her male audience after saucily adjusting her gown: ‘Am I making myself clear, boys?’ This is followed by her quietly amused verdict on her observers: ‘Suckers!’ In fact, though we know she’s talking about the unsophisticated audience enthralled by her appeal, we also are the suckers, reeled in by West and loving every minute of being suborned by her.
West’s reign as the Queen of the sex comedy lasted relatively briefly. It was sadly inevitable that a woman who traded in an unabashed approach to the erotic would become the target of the morality police, and The Motion Picture Production Code, devised in order to whip a debauched Hollywood into shape, was brought to bear on her films. For some time, West was immune to their sorties, not least because her films were so financially successful, and she was granted a little leeway in that she was a home-grown temptress, not one of the more dangerous foreign varieties such as Greta Garbo or Marlene Dietrich. She Done Him Wrong had largely escaped censorship attention, but some sequences involving white slavery had been nervously removed. But in April 1934, a powerful collaboration between the Roman Catholic Church and laymen similarly concerned with what they saw as the moral decay of America formed the Legion of Decency. The organisation’s Orwellian name may be discredited today, but it wielded considerable power in its heyday and had Hollywood on the ropes. One of the group’s first targets was the ‘depraved’ film output of the actress Mae West, and the motion picture industry, suffering failing box office receipts, was in no mood to take on a powerful religious organisation; religion may still be utterly woven into the fabric of American life (the UK being notably more secular), but its decision-influencing power at all levels of society in the 1930s was formidable. Easier by far to kowtow to the Legion of Decency and remove any risky adult content from Hollywood films. West’s new film in 1930, was originally to be called It Ain’t No Sin, but this title was laundered to become the more anodyne Belle of the Nineties. Audiences were surprised to see a strangely incongruous pietistic element creeping into Mae West’s shamelessly enjoyable and raunchy films, such as a large black choir singing morally uplifting spirituals. But it wasn’t just the fact that Mae West was now ‘doing God’; her unblushing sexual remarks were no longer to be seen in the films, and she was even obliged to make disapproving moralistic comments on precisely the kind of behaviour that audiences once would have loved to see her indulging. From this period on, the sexual aspect of her films becomes hard to watch in these defanged versions. The line that perhaps most depressingly encapsulates the new attitude being forced on West is the one she has utter with unconvincing sincerity when speaking to a sardonic girl in al dance hall; West says: ‘Any time you take religion for a joke, the laugh’s on you.’ On hearing this, Mae West at the time must have thought: ‘Mae, what they done to you?’ It was the kind of hypocritical line which in her earlier films would have been uttered by the unsympathetic, moralistic characters – precisely the kind of attitude that she herself was there to puncture. The star’s days box office success were numbered, as there was simply no congruence between the po-faced religiosity and a woman who had made no secret of the fact that she liked sex. West, realising that the jig was up, transferred her earlier screen persona back to the stage where there were fewer restrictions. There were various attempts by directors to lure her back to the cinema, notably from a filmmaker who made no secret of his admiration for large-breasted, broad-hipped women, Federico Fellini, but a Fellini/film was not to happen. When she was finally tempted back to the cinema (in something like her dotage), the result was one of the great cinematic débacles, Mike Sarne’s Myra Breckenridge.
CENSOR, Prano Bailey-Bond, director/Second Sight A personal note here. At a variety of meals organised by my colleague Kim Newman (with whom I have recorded many Blu-ray commentaries), I’ve got to know the director Prano Bailey-Bond, and was aware that she was working on what was to be her magnum opus, Censor, dealing with issues about which we often conversed – from the state of the British horror film to the legacy of censorship. And now that her remarkable film has appeared, it’s terrific to report that all the auguries for the success of that film proved to be fully justified – the reception of this atmospheric, unsettling tale other of a troubled, conflicted woman working for a thinly disguised BBFC — and cutting horror films — is both intelligent and disturbing (as it should be). Apart from the visuals (which often echo the stylish Italian horror films with which the director is very familiar) there is an examination of the limits of personal freedom – not to mention a remarkable central performance by Niamh Algar. Those of us who know Bailey-Bond were expecting great things – and we were not disappointed.
WILD STRAWBERRIES, Ingmar Bergman/BFI BLU-RAY It was something of an irony that two of the titans of European art cinema, Ingmar Bergman and Michelangelo Antonioni, both died on the same day. Bergman predeceased his Italian colleague by several hours, and for those few hours at least, Antonioni was the greatest director in the world. The latter’s reputation has been in flux of late, with his later films enduring a not always generous re-evaluation (although early classics such as La Notte remain untouchable). Bergman, however, remains utterly unassailable, with an unbroken flow of achievement throughout a very long career — as is evidenced by the BFI’s very welcome current reissue of his films, beautifully remastered in sparkling blue ray transfers. Perhaps such films as It Rains on Love are of more interest to the Bergman aficionado, but there are some of his most considerable achievements here, notably the matchless Wild Strawberries. Apart from Bergman’s nonpareil direction, anyone interested in the art of great film acting will find a slew of astonishing performances here, notably Victor Sjostrom as the troubled, ageing protagonist looking back at his life.
SHOCK, Mario Bava, director/Arrow Blu-ray Those who admire the visually stunning cinema work of the late Italian director Mario Bava owe a debt of gratitude to the Blu-ray label Arrow Films. The company has done some spectacular work in restoring several of the director’s films in impeccable new transfers, now looking better than they have ever done. And the work of the company on Bava’s behalf is not over; they have now performed some surgery on the director’s final — somewhat neglected – film. The hypnotic black and white cult classic Black Sunday (La Maschera del Demonio, 1960) established Bava’s reputation, with an iconic performance by Barbara Steele as the vengeful witch who possesses the body of the young daughter of a 19th century nobleman. A stellar career followed with many highlights, leading up to his final film, Shock (1977) in which the director’s acute sense of space is much in evidence, even if his eye-jolting colour schemes are more subdued than usual. Grisly frissons abound in this tale of a young woman pushed over the brink of sanity by a traumatic reconstruction of her past; a giant glass hand, for instance, adds to the edginess of the décor – particularly when it moves with no human agency. It has, however, to be observed that much of the film was directed by Bava’s son, Lamberto. Restored in high definition for the first time, Bava’s final film is a fitting swan song.
THE PARTY AND THE GUESTS, Jan Němec, director/Second Run During the course of what appears to be a highly enjoyable upscale party, the guests spend a lot of time telling each other what fun they’re having. But when one unhappy guest leaves, he finds himself pursued by the other guests with tracker dogs. As this synopsis suggests, there is an edgy political allegory at work here, and the film was unsurprisingly denounced at the Czech National Assembly, its reputation only being established after the Prague Spring. And with the current suppression of dissent in both China and Russia, the message of Jan Němec’s celebrated film remains as topical as ever. It’s presented here from a new 4K restoration by the Czech National Film Archive, and also features Jiří Trnka’s animated short film The Hand (1965), another political allegory.
UNIVERSAL SILENTS: 20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA, Stuart Paton, director/Eureka
For the spectacular silent version of 20,000 Leagues directed by Stuart Paton (and largely written, uncredited, by the director), an interesting decision was made: the film combined the plots of both the Jules Verne novel whose title it bears and the sequel, The Mysterious Island. The very distinctive Nemo in this film is played by Allen Holubar, but the physical appearance of the actor may come as something of a surprise to modern viewers. The nationality of the hero/villain is now largely established in the public consciousness as Anglo-Saxon; Nemo’s best-known iterations in the world of film are those played by the English James Mason in Fleischer’s version for Disney along with the white-haired Nemo played by Herbert Lom in the Enfield film of Mysterious Island. However, his depiction as East Indian – as in Stuart Paton’s silent version – is the one favoured by the cognoscenti. The artificially darkened skin of Holubar in the 1916 film may not conform to modern mores, but there is no denying that the actor makes an imposing figure with his strange costume and flashing eyes. Nemo’s agenda is the same in the film as in the original Verne novel: utilising his formidable submarine, he is on a mission to send to the bottom of the sea any warships that cross his path, whatever country’s flag they fly. A fascinating curio.
Forthcoming from Severin: CALIGULA THE UNTOLD STORY Only legendary maestro di sleaze Joe D’Amato could outdo the original Malcom McDowell-starring Caligula for twisted sex, maniacal violence, and eye-popping perversion: David Brandon stars as the insane young emperor whose love of brutality and degradation is surpassed only by his hunger for enslaved virgins, cruel vengeance, extreme acts of ‘horseplay’ and beyond. Laura Gemser, Gabriele Tinti, Charles Borromell and future director Michele Soavi star in this epic of orgiastic excess written by D’Amato and Luigi Montefiori/George Eastman with a lavish score by Carlo Maria Cordio, presented in both the explicit Italian version and U.S. Release scanned in 2K from their original negatives



