Katharine Hepburn: Without Love (1945)

Without Love was originally a stage production about an American diplomat who comes to Washington, D.C. to persuade Ireland--neutral during WWII--to join the Allies by allowing English ships into Irish ports. The diplomat goes "undercover" as an Irish butler while staying with a wealthy American widow--Hepburn--who discovers his identity and offers to enter into a platonic marriage.

The film is one of Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy's more obscure collaborations. It lacks, well, a lot. But a "big time" director like George Cukor, Elia Kazan, or George Stevens is noticeably absent, and is the first thing that springs to mind when watching Without Love. Instead, it's helmed by competent journeyman Harold S. Bucquet ("It's Booo-kaaaay!" as TV's Hyacinth would affirm), whose final film this was, as he would die in February 1946. Bucquet, best known for the Dr. Kildare series that starred Lew Ayres, is a strange choice for a Tracy-Hepburn vehicle. It's uncertain whether Bucquet was finally getting the chance to take on A-List projects or if he merely impressed Kate enough for her to bring him in for her next project with "Spen-suh."

The movie itself is one of those affairs where everything seems to be ideal for a decent motion picture: we have a game cast with Hepburn and Tracy, a knockout crew of second bananas (Lucille Ball and Keenan Wynn), and a situation that could provide some on screen fireworks with that patented Tracy-Hepburn chemistry, but it just doesn't come together in this film. It's a huge wasted opportunity to establish Tracy-Hepburn after the triumph of 1942's Woman of the Year. Audiences wouldn't get that until 1949, with Adam's Rib.

Despite the hackneyed and contrived plot, Kate felt a degree of loyalty to playwright Philip Barry and engaged on a stage production. She wanted Spencer for the diplomat part, but the producers feared Tracy's binge drinking would put the kibbosh on the play. Instead, they cast the "blandly debonair" Elliott Nugent as the diplomat. When Nugent's drinking started in earnest (Ha!), Without Love suffered.

By 1945, MGM was looking for another smash follow-up to 1942's Woman of the Year and so Without Love's narrative was altered: the Irish political angle was jettisoned and was substituted with the post-war housing shortage, which is as dated an issue as the previous plot. In the final film, Tracy would play scientist Pat Jamieson, who's looking for a place to stay in Washington, D.C. and Kate would play a widow, Jamie Rowan, providing him room and board and the two later agree to marry with the agreement that their relationship remain platonic; hence the title, "Without Love." Hepburn ends up assisting him in his kooky experiments in what is supposed to be cute, funny, and downright wacky. Unfortunately, they're nowhere near being amusing. Oh, we do get one seen-in-many-a-Kate-Hepburn montage: that of her sneezing inside of a glass helmet and attempting to wipe her nose, only the helmet gets in the way.

As to Kate's performance, watching her in Without Love playing her character, the widowed Jamie Rowan, is like witnessing Alice Adams' life ten years later; only she's widowed, creepy, and depressed. Kate haters will cheerfully point to her role here in order to make note of all the acting mannerisms that she's infamous for among her detractors. It's strange how a performer's lesser proclivities stand out when the film they're in is disappointing. Hepburn's performance betrays the screenplays stage--and stagey--origin. It probably didn't help matters any that Spencer Tracy's performance was inconsistent; sometimes he's engaged and interested, other times he's just not interested, what with the lame dialogue and fall-flat one liners he's given to spit out, all done in an offhanded and bored manner. There's also that damned dog that gobbles up valuable screen time; the mutt, named "Diz", is no Asta.

One thing I despise about many post-World War II films--specifically 1945-49--is the mawkish, cutesy, and regressive themes that took root in Hollywood. It's like everyone wanted to get back to "normal" and make sweet-saccharine-natured Americana. How could that even be possible after the horrific events of 1939-45? Thank goodness for Film Noir and B-Movies that dealt with the dirty underbelly of American life. The sanitized fantasy world of post-WWII films is discussed at length in Joseph C. Goulden's 1976 book, The Best Years: 1945-1950. In the chapter "The Movies Flicker Out", Goulden rips into the lifeless and empty offerings that Hollywood gushed forth in the years immediately following the war. Unfortunately, Without Love must be added to that long list of awkwardly-staged failures prevalent in the motion picture industry during the immediate post-war years.

I'll give Without Love another chance. Maybe when I'm in a big post-war mood where I want a "slice of life" after World War II movie, but then I'll probably just put on The Best Years of Our Lives instead.

In Memoriam: Tony Curtis

Tony Curtis, 1925-2010

I first became aware of Tony Curtis in 1997, when I became obsessed with his 1957 movie, Sweet Smell of Success. It had everything going for it, and Tony Curtis-as-Sidney Falco was a wonderful performance. Why he wasn't nominated for a Best Actor Oscar is beyond my ability to comprehend. As I mentioned in a previous post, I watched Sweet Smell of Success every Friday night for fifteen consecutive weeks. Curtis became a hero to my pal and I, and we would quote Sidney Falco and Burt Lancaster's J.J. Hunsecker's lines constantly. Curtis became an icon of cool with us and anything he did on screen, regardless of quality, was fine with us. Curtis had made his reputaion in Sweet Smell of Success and he would always be press agent Sidney Falco to us. "A cookie full of arsenic", indeed.

I had seen Tony's breakthrough--at least as a serious actor and not mere teen idol--in The Defiant Ones, where his bigoted character John "Joker" Jackson was thrust into "equal" terms with Sidney Poitier's character, Noah Cullen. The immortal scene of Curtis and Poitier reaching out to one another while trying to escape is one of the greatest moments in cinematic history.

In 1998, I stumbled upon the 1971-72 British TV show, The Persuaders!, which I'd never heard of before. It had the future James Bond, Roger Moore, and Curtis partnered up as international playboys solving crimes in the French Riviera and throughout England. It became my all-time favorite TV show--it still is. It was a shock seeing him in middle age, though his boundless, acrobatic energy made that program the great fun it is.

Tony Curtis, 1925-2010

Distractions, Distractions--and the Warner Archive

Mike Hammer must've spent hours marvelling over his wall-mounted, reel-to-reel answering machine in Kiss Me Deadly (1955)! I've been distracted as well, though not by gadgets. Seems I've spent the last few weeks in a big comic book mood and have neglected my blogging. I'm patiently waiting for the weather to cool down, the days to get shorter, and my attention span to grow longer as Fall--Florida has a Fall, of sorts--comes and Summer (and hurricane season) finally goes away.

I'm quite enamored with the Warner Brothers. Archive! I'm quite pleased that they've released The Ex-Mrs. Bradford, which is an entry in my beloved Husbands and Wives Detectives genre, and it gives me hope to think that they'll give the "Fast" series the same treatment. They've also been introducing me to several films I've never heard of. That, coupled with their frequent sales has been great.

Okay, I promise to get back into the swing of things and get those posts that've been sitting in virtual storage...

Hepburn: The Power of Four

As soon as I saw these four statuettes standing side by side, I knew who their owner was... Katharine Hepburn, of course. These four symbols of career triumph--though meaning seemingly little to Kate--are on display at the Smithsonian. Her first Oscar, won for 1933's Morning Glory, is located on the far right. It's constructed of tin-plated bronze, whereas begininng in 1945, the Oscar was made of Britannia, a (mostly) tin alloy. Like the beat-up looking Holy Grail in that Indiana Jones movie, that first award is the one that holds the most fascination and the fact that it's all timeworn drives home the realization that it's the real thing. It was thought lost in the September 1938 New England Hurricane, but was later found intact. This Oscar had...adventures.

Whether one agrees with the movies Kate won her Oscars for--and I could and will go on about it in the future--it's still a staggering sight to see those Academy Awards all lined in a row.