First up was Wake Up and Live (1937), a fast-talking, fast-moving, altogether delightful musical comedy which solidified Alice Faye's status as one of the top stars at 20th Century-Fox - this despite the fact that she was third-billed. Top billing went to non-actors Walter Winchell and Ben Bernie, which is reasonable considering they are given so much screen time and because it was around their real-life, playful, over-the-airwaves feud that the screenplay was constructed. (One barb, from Bernie to Winchell: "You're one in a million, and that's one too many.") Winchell, of course, was the pre-eminent gossip columnist of the era and also had a radio show, while Bernie was a big-band leader.
Even with Winchell, Bernie and Faye on hand, Wake Up and Live is really Jack Haley's picture. He does a fine job as a singer with a severe case of "mike fright," so nervous of singing into a microphone that he takes a job instead as an usher at a broadcasting company. During one Ben Bernie broadcast, Haley finds an empty studio and sings along with the music, assuming the mike is dead. It isn't. His voice (actually Buddy Clark's, who dubbed Haley's songs) goes out over the air and stuns the nation, but no one knows who the mysterious, beautiful voice belongs to. Winchell and Bernie dub him the "Phantom Troubadour" and start an exhaustive battle to be the first to find him. Meanwhile, Haley meets Alice Faye, a motivational broadcaster/singer at the network who agrees to help him conquer his mike fright. When she figures out that he is the Phantom Troubadour, the plot takes even more entertaining turns.
Wake Up and Live is full of little touches and a general attitude that reflect the romantic radio era very well indeed, even as the movie also satirizes it. The art deco sets and sleek architecture are simply amazing. The supporting cast is full of popular players including Patsy Kelly and Ned Sparks, who's as wry as ever. His deadpan delivery makes any line funny, especially lines like: "Your luck changed when you met me, beaverpuss." And: "He's so two-faced the barber's gotta shave him twice." Also on hand are the Condos brothers, a specialty dance team who perform some impressive tap routines, including one while sitting in chairs.
As for that lovely canary Alice Faye, she sings only two of the Mack Gordon/Harry Revel songs - the title track and "There's a Lull in My Life" - and for her fans there's perhaps not quite enough of her in this picture overall. But then again, she flashes her winning smile so much that only those with hearts of stone could possibly fail to be charmed. Faye's appeal remains timeless.
Next on my schedule was Only Yesterday (1933), a weepie which is essentially an early version of Letter From an Unknown Woman (1948). The story is very similar to that later Max Ophuls masterpiece.
An excellent opening sequence soberly depicts the effects of the stock market crash on Park Avenue types who have lost everything. One such investor, John Boles, is on the verge of suicide when he receives a thick envelope in the mail. He opens it to discover a very long letter from a woman in his past. As he reads, we flash back to their story, really her story... Margaret Sullavan in her screen debut plays the girl who falls head over heels for Boles just before he goes off to fight WWI. In a bold, pre-Code plot development, she and Boles go off into the woods during a party and have sex - a point made clear afterwards when we see him re-tie her belt with the line, "I thought I put you back together."
Sure enough, she becomes pregnant, is ostracized by her small-town family, moves to New York City to live with her "modern" Aunt Julia (a wonderful Billie Burke), gets a job, and anxiously awaits Boles' return from the war. When the day comes, he doesn't remember her and she tearfully decides to raise her son alone. This, of course, is the moment so common to these kinds of melodramas, where a character could easily say or do something to fix the problem but decides not to. Here, Sullavan actually says to her Aunt Julia: "One thing I'm not going to do is tell him who I am or that he's the father of my son." Over time, Sullavan raises her boy and even crosses paths with Boles, who eventually tries to seduce her anew.
It's compelling stuff and beautifully acted by Sullavan, who makes the most of what is quite a plum role with which to make a debut. The part calls for innocent charm, naivete, evolving maturity, anger, disappointment, determination, joy, leadership and a whole slew of other emotions. She's simply an instant natural on screen, as warm and affecting as in her more famous later pictures.
Director John Stahl heightens many scenes with well-chosen camera setups. The sequences of Sullavan and Boles falling in love are especially memorable for their gorgeous compositions and lighting. Only Yesterday drags a bit in the middle, but it's very well done overall and worth seeing if one ever gets the chance.
Finally there was Café Metropole (1937), a just-OK comedy with Adolphe Menjou as a Parisian club owner who gets Tyrone Power to pose as a Russian prince, in order to woo Loretta Young and swindle her rich father out of thousands of dollars. Gregory Ratoff plays a waiter who reveals himself to be a real Russian prince. In addition to his acting, Ratoff was also a writer, producer and director of many other movies, and he is credited with the story on this one. But the only reason to watch Café Metropole is for the chance to see Power and Young in the third of five movies they made together for Fox. Young was a top star and Power was on the way up, and they are near the peaks of their beauty and glamour here - and that's saying something!
by Jeremy Arnold
