George Cukor (Pride pt. XVIII)

The Women

The Philadelphia Story

Greetings and saluGAYtions, my dear, sweet, fruity readers. I hope you’re staying happy and hydrated during this hot and steamy time, especially because my Pride Month movie lineup continues to heat up each week. Last week’s exploration of pre-Code filmmaker and lesbian icon Dorothy Arzner proved how rich and fascinating and quirky the films of this era were, and I wanted to keep this pleasantly-surprising vibe going by exploring some more old Hollywood films directed by queer people. Just as Dorothy Arzner’s impressive resumé went largely unappreciated, the subject of tonight’s double feature also failed to gain the respect, appreciation, and auteur-status he certainly earned over his five-decade-spanning career, even though François Truffaut once asserted that “He is an extraordinary director, who out of five films will make one masterpiece, three that are good, and one that is interesting”: this is George Cukor. Born to Hungarian-Jewish immigrants in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, George Cukor fell in love with the theater at a young age, and often skipped class to attend matinees. He appeared in several amateur plays, recitals, he worked as a supernumerary for the Metropolitan Opera, and as a stage manager for the travelling troupe known as the Knickerbocker Players. In 1925, he formed the C. F. and Z. production company, with whom Bette Davis allegedly performed for a year before she was fired. When Hollywood began to recruit New York talent for the talkies, George jumped at the opportunity, and in December of 1928 he signed a contract with Paramount Studios. By the early 30s he had some impressive directing jobs under his belt, but due to some creative differences with the folks at Paramount, Cukor decided to move to RKO Studios to work with his old theater buddy, David O. Selznik. Cukor had a unique ability to coax great performances from actresses and he quickly became labeled as a “woman's director”, a title he allegedly resented. It was also an open secret that George Cukor was gay, and though he was generally pretty discreet about his sexual orientation (he “never carried it as a pin on his lapel”, to quote Joseph L. Mankiewicz) he became known as a bon vivant whose lavish home was the site of weekly parties attended by closeted celebrities, and the attractive young men they met in bars and gyms and brought with them. By the mid-30s, Cukor was not only established as a distinguished director, but also socially as an unofficial head of Hollywood’s gay subculture. Regular attendees of Cukor’s large and intimate soirees included actor-turned-interior designer William Haines and his partner, writer W. Somerset Maugham, director James Vincent, screenwriter Rowland Leigh, costume designers Orry-Kelly and Robert Le Maire, director James Whale, costume designer Edith Head, and actors Cary Grant, John Darrow, Anderson Lawler, Grady Sutton, Robert Seiter, Tom Douglas, Katharine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Joan Crawford, Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart, Claudette Colbert, Marlene Dietrich, Laurence Olivier, Vivien Leigh, Richard Cromwell, Stanley Holloway, Judy Garland, Gene Tierney, Noël Coward, Cole Porter, and Norma Shearer—he also entertained literary figures like Sinclair Lewis, Theodore Dreiser, Hugh Walpole, Aldous Huxley, and Ferenc Molnár. George Cukor seemed to be mostly beloved, depending on who you asked, like the second wife and widow of studio mogul Sam Goldwyn, Frances, who long considered Cukor to be the love of her life, though their relationship remained platonic. (According to biographer A. Scott Berg, Frances even arranged for her burial plot to be next to Cukor’s.) Regardless of the studio, Cukor directed several hit films—including tonight’s two features, as well as What Price Hollywood?, Little Women, Romeo and Juliet, Gaslight, Adam’s Rib, A Star is Born, and My Fair Lady, for which he won the Academy Award for Best Director. He was also hired to direct Gone With the Wind before the book was even published, spending two years conducting screen tests—all the while offering his insights and creative eye to other projects like The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and even The Wizard of Oz (which he actually made crucial contributions to: like eliminating Judy Garland's blonde wig, adjusting her makeup and costume, encouraging her to act in a more natural manner, also softening the Scarecrow's makeup, changing Margaret Hamilton’s hairstyle, and suggesting that the studio cast Jack Haley as the Tin Man.) Cukor spent hours coaching Vivien Leigh and Olivia de Havilland on GWTW, but Clark Gable resisted Cukor’s direction—particularly in regards to fine-tuning his Southern accent. George Cukor was ultimately fired from GWTW, and some behind-the-scenes accounts declare that there was no tension between Cukor and Gable, but others say that Gable was uncomfortable. In his autobiography Point to Point Navigation, Gore Vidal went so far to say that Gable demanded that Cukor be fired because, allegedly, the young Gable had been a male hustler and Cukor had been one of his johns. This was confirmed by Hollywood biographer E.J. Fleming, who recounted that, during a particularly difficult scene, Gable allegedly erupted and screamed: “I can't go on with this picture. I won't be directed by a fairy. I have to work with a real man.” Tensions continued to rise between Cukor and RKO, and even though they were old friends, Selznik had no problem relieving Cukor of his duties, with Selznik writing in a confidential memo in 1938: “I think the biggest black mark against our management to date is the Cukor situation and we can no longer be sentimental about it...We are a business concern and not patrons of the arts.” Dramatic as that was, with Cukor off Gone With the Wind, his schedule was free to work on another legendary project and tonight’s first film, The Women.

Based on Clare Boothe Luce’s 1936 play of the same name, with a screenplay by Anita Loos and Jane Murfin, The Women (1939) is a casually revolutionary film that stars 130 women and zero men. Men are referenced in this story, of course, but there are zero male faces, voices, or even silhouettes of men and/or boys. Not only does this make for an intriguing experiment, but the final result is actually far more thrilling, layered, and compelling than I’d anticipated. The film features a myriad of icons, stars, even one of the real-life society gossips in Hollywood at the time, Miss Hedda Hopper, and nearly every top tier actress that MGM had to offer—not all of which I have the space to list here. The Women follows the lives and relationships and drama of a group of rich, Manhattan socialites, mostly centered upon Mary Haines (Norma Shearer) who becomes embroiled in a toxic situation when the grapevine begins sending reports that her husband is cheating on her with a perfume counter saleswoman named Crystal Allen (Joan Crawford.) But before Mary learns of this, all of her friends and frenemies discuss it at length, at a speed that can only be described as breakneck. Specifically the way Rosalind Russell as Sylvia Fowler articulated and alleged and asseverated was exhilarating, it made my already-overstimulated head spin—but every single line was hilarious. In fact, the entire film is far funnier than I even expected, with a refreshing self-awareness and a meta-critique on the frustrations of femininity, represented by this microcosm of a frenetic friend group. Every member of this group of gal pals—Phyllis Povah, Joan Fontaine, Mary Boland, Paulette Goddard, and even Mary’s daughter (played by Virginia Weilder)—is graced with a sharp tongue, a perceptive eye, and an unapologetic yet well-informed bitchiness that I found to be intoxicating. Just as noir films have their own specific vocabularies, The Women possessed a lexicon of clever turns-of-phrase and loopholes to get around the intensely strict censors—such as the word “beezle”, a surrogate for the word “bitch.” The Women is also a fascinating case study of class, sex, loyalty, the fluctuating yet static ideals of modern femininity, and the pitfalls of trying to keep up with the perpetual Joneses. And while this film captures a rather specific and outdated moment in time—culturally, politically, and fashionably—I was shocked by how timeless The Women’s social commentary was. The anger and injustice that comes with being a woman, a girl, a wife, a mother, etc., never ceases, it just evolves and morphs over time since our patriarchal society hasn’t evolved at all—and that feminine rage in this film is as large of a character as Norma Shearer. When Norma Shearer’s Mary comes to the heartbreaking realization that her husband is, indeed, cheating on her, her mother explains how this is a tale as old as time, how he’s not tired of Mary, but tired of himself, “…A man has only one escape from himself, to see a different self in the mirror of some woman’s eyes.” And when Mary pushes back, insisting, “Mother, it’s one thing when you speak of your generation but this is now, Stephen and I are equals”, I thought, wow this movie is more than just an all-girl gimmick but an actual feminist masterpiece. And while I do stand by the fact that this film is feminist, and it is a masterpiece, The Women also falls into the expected tropes and easy lessons-learned and man-worshipping that plagued a lot of art in the early to mid 20th century. It is both impressively unconcerned with being proper, ladylike, and dulcet, and yet completely confined to the stuffy standards and stereotypes of its time. Because of this, there’s nothing too unexpected about the plot of The Women, but there are a lot of pleasant surprises in the execution of each character, their motivations, and most importantly, their connection(s) to one another. I could sing the praises of Rosalind Russell all day, because to me, she stole the whole show, but every member of this all female ensemble was stunning in more ways than one. Norma Shearer was sympathetic and a natural at saying a lot by saying and doing very little, Joan Crawford’s thin brows are just as powerful and intimidating as her full-force brows (for real, do you think she shaved or glued them down?), Joan Fontaine was effortlessly lovable and sweet, and Mary Boland made me laugh out loud with her terrible French. The fashion was even more to-die-for than I thought it would be—particularly in the random short segment of a fashion show that’s filmed in color. And there are some really beautiful but devastating lines sprinkled throughout this film like, “a woman’s compromised the day she’s born”, “I'm an old maid, a frozen asset”, “living alone has its compensations. Heaven knows it's marvelous being able to spread out in bed like a swastika”, but then there are some vague-but-stupid lines like, “No pride at all. That’s a luxury a woman in love can’t afford.” There’s so much more I could say about The Women—like the fact that F. Scott Fitzgerald helped write the script and the fact that Pauline Goddard had a permanent scar from the scene in which Rosalind Russell bit her—but for now I’ll just say that it’s impossible to be bored by this film and its brazen, witty, cuntiness. There’s just an exciting, unrelenting energy bustling beneath this film, so much so that I already knew going into my next feature that it couldn’t possibly keep up with the vibe, and I was correct.

The Women was a commercial success that resulted in positive reviews, a musical comedy remake called The Opposite Sex, a 2008 remake, but somehow zero awards. Cukor’s follow up to this film, however, would be his most successful and beloved project, this is the 1940 film The Philadelphia Story. Katharine Hepburn had just come off a run of films that flopped, putting her on a lit of other actors labeled “box office poison”, and she was determined to climb her way out of this. The Philadelphia Story was a play at first, one that Hepburn starred in then bought the rights to, cleverly guaranteeing herself a role in the film adaptation—which would be her comeback. The Philadelphia Story opens on an enraged Katharine Hepburn, as she carries all of Cary Grant’s belongings out to the curb of their home. She bends his golf clubs in half, he wants to punch her but shoves her instead, and the presumed couple go their blissfully separate ways. Two years later, we are properly acquainted with Tracy Lord (Hepburn), the eldest daughter in a wealthy Philadelphia Main Line family of socialites, who’s about to get remarried to George Kittredge (John Howard), a wealthy up-and-comer in the political world. The couple are set to marry at the Lord residence, and Tracy, her mother, and her little sister Dinah (Virginia Weilder, once again) are all making preparations. Dinah is actually, mostly talking shit about her sister Tracy, and how she never should’ve divorced her ex, C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant), another uber-rich Philly socialite. Meanwhile, at Spy Magazine, a wannabe serious writer who’s forced to be a tabloid reporter named Macaulay “Mike” Connor (Jimmy Stewart) is making plans with his photographer, Liz Imbrie (Ruth Hussey) to resign. Before he can quit, though, his boss gives him the assignment of the year: to get into Tracy Lord’s wedding, learn all the secrets of this socialite family, and write a helluva story. Mike feels very much above this task, though, and how the hell is he supposed to gain entry to this wedding, anyway? Cue Cary Grant as C.K. Dexter Haven, who, for the past two years has been working for Spy down in South America, and is now going to help these glorified papparazzos get access to the ultimate Philly goddess. As slimy as this is, everyone but Tracy pretty much is pleased to see Dexter’s handsome, tanned face, but when Tracy tells him she wants him out, he says, “Of course, but first can I interest you in some blackmail?” Apparently, Tracy’s father’s been having an affair with a dancer up in New York, and in exchange for pulling this story from Spy Magazine, Tracy must let her ex-husband, a bug-eyed, gangly, Scooby-Doo-voiced reporter and his photographer into her home on the eve of her wedding. The hijinks that ensue in this movie reach sitcom-levels of ridiculous, especially when Tracy’s Uncle Willie (Roland Young) pretends to be the absent Mr. Lord, up until Mr. Lord (John Halliday) actually shows up, in the flesh. Even more ridiculous is the disjointed love web they try to tangle in this film, between Tracy, her fiancé, her ex-husband, and this lanky, exophthalmic dude who’s waistline is even more concerning than hers. You can put two people’s faces an inch apart from one another, but you can’t force chemistry in the way they tried with Katharine and Jimmy. It’s all a chorus of chaos and no character is truly, truly innocent, which does make for an interesting dynamic among this ensemble—one that’s been emulated in an infinite number of romantic comedies since. And while I won’t blame the entirety of my lukewarm reception of this film on Jimmy Stewart—who, I’m so sorry, I have never found to be attractive or funny—I wasn’t blown away by this film like everyone told me I’d be. George Cukor made so many dazzling and iconic movies, I’m a little confused why The Philadelphia Story is the one that gets the majority of the love. I mean, the film was nominated for SIX Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Supporting Actress, and Best Screenplay—and it won Best Picture and Best Actor (Jimmy Stewart), but I’m not sure if I saw the vision. I bet in 1940, this was the funniest shit anyone had ever seen, but especially after watching The Women, I’m super confused why The Philadelphia Story is considered to be thee quintessential Cukor. The best, most believable moments of this film occur when everyone clearly cannot hide their love for the chiseled Cary Grant, and when Jimmy Stewart explains to Katharine Hepburn how he has to write for a gossip rag because writing what he’s passionate about doesn’t pay the bills—the first time I’ve ever related to Jimmy Stewart. I will say, Jimmy Stewart pretty much invented reaction-based comedy, and Jim from The Office would be nothing without the disbelieving glances that Jimmy popularized. I love when Cary Grant is funny instead of just smoldering, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Katharine Hepburn in such a silly role, and she excelled—particularly with her performance of a hangover. The Philadelphia Story made me laugh, it made me smile, it made me a bit nonplussed with its pacing and decision-making, but I was entertained enough. Both of tonight’s films were wildly entertaining, and even though they’re centered upon heterosexual relationships, if you watch this double feature I assure you, you will not be able to deny their queerness. Happy Pride Month to George Cukor, to Katharine Hepburn, and especially to Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart, the original twinks of the silver screen! Talk to you next week!