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Saturday, December 31, 2011

William Keighley | The Man Who Came to Dinner

locked up
by Douglas Messerli

Julius J. Epstein and Philip G. Epstein (screenplay, based on the play by Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman), William Keighley (director) The Man Who Came to Dinner / 1942


Every year at Christmas time at our home we watch The Man Who Came to Dinner, the wonderful comedy by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart. Even though this film takes place at Christmas, however, the movie has very little to do with the holiday, and is almost as far removed from the happiness of the season as it could be.

    In fact, this time viewing the film I was struck at just how removed this comedy is from any joy. Although it often howlingly funny, underneath, it is more of dark comedy akin to Buñuel's  The Exterminating Angel than it is to the family farce of this play righting pair, You Can't Take It with You! The movie is so popular that I need not, I hope, repeat the plot. Although the film is filled with numerous plot complications, it actually has only one major event, repeated at the film's end: Sheridan Whiteside (inspired by Alexander Woolcott) comes to Medalia, Ohio, presumably to give a lecture, but falls on the ice-filled stoop of the Stanley family's home, whereupon a local doctor declares that he must be wheel-chair bound until he heals some days later.

     Although extremely popular in the media, having a weekly radio show, Whiteside (wonderfully played by Monte Woolley in large, campy gestures) is a tyrant who puts his own welfare over concerns for anyone else; so monstrous is his surface behavior that it is almost impossible to imagine how a sweet woman like Maggie Cutler (played against type by Bette Davis) can stand to be in his employ. As she, herself, comments: "You know, Sheridan, you have one great advantage over everyone else in the world. You've never had to meet Sheridan Whiteside." The poor Stanley family, Ernest, Daisy and their two children (the parents acted by Billie Burke and Grant Mitchell) are horrified by the situation, as Whiteside threatens to sue them, and insists upon taking over their library, living room, and front entrance, while they are assigned a back stairs and confined to their own bedrooms.

     In short, the Stanley family is locked away in their own house, just as Whiteside is locked up in a small hick town which he has not even wanted to visit ('I simply will not sit down to dinner with midwestern barbarians. I think too highly of my digestive system.") The house, in fact, has become a kind of penitentiary, reiterated by the behavior of the completely flustered Nurse Preen (Mary Wickes) and the Stanley children, who, each for their own reasons desire to leave home, the daughter being in love with a union agitator whom her businessman father detests, and the would-be photographer son desiring new scenes and subjects for his art.

      The theme of imprisonment is played out again and again in this work. Whiteside, it is suggested, is fascinated by criminal activity, and invites several inmates from a nearby penitentiary for lunch—much to the horror, of course, of the locked-away Stanleys. Throughout the movie, Whiteside is sent presents—penguins, an octopus, and a mummy case—the first two contained in crates while the latter is itself a kind of coffin.

     Meanwhile, Maggie becomes involved with the local editor of the town newspaper, the affable Bertram H. Jefferson (Richard Travis), and for the first time after years of exciting travel, suddenly seeks to settle down into this small town and marry, another kind of imprisonment—at least to Whiteside's way of thinking. Jefferson has also written "the great American play," which helps Whiteside lure Lorraine Sheldon (Ann Sheridan) from vacationing in Florida to Ohio, hoping she will bollix up Maggie's plans. By the end of the film, having caused a series of disastrous situations, he must also lock away Lorraine and ship her off in a plane.

     Finally, the Stanley home has itself another kind of prisoner, Harriet, an aunt who, as a young woman, killed—like Lizzie Borden—her mother and father. She is also imprisoned in the family secrecy of her past.

     When the penguins escape their crate, they are quickly rounded up and impounded once more by the doctor and nurse. When the children both bolt the home, Ernest Stanley quickly tracks them and returns them home. Suddenly one can comprehend, perhaps, Harriet's childhood actions, and may help explain her strange behavior.

     Only two people, it appears, can come and go at will, but both these, like Sheridan Whiteside, are so self-centered that they cannot escape themselves. Carlton Beverly (based on Noël Coward, performed by Reginald Gardiner) drops by to see Whiteside, but talks of hardly anyone but himself:

                           I have very little time, and so the conversation will entirely
                           be about me and I shall love it.


Banjo (inspired by Harpo Marx, wonderfully played by Jimmy Durante) can barely sit still for more than a moment, "Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go, and still have the feeling that you wanted to stay," imitating the "I must be going" phrase of Groucho in Animal Crackers. Both visitors conspire to help Maggie to escape Whiteside's grasp so that she might enter matrimonial bonds.

     Even the two servants, cook and butler, hoping to escape the Stanley household by taking up service in Whiteside's home, remain locked away, as Whiteside, finally leaving the Stanley mansion, once again falls on the ice. Like the figures in The Exterminating Angel, no one in this work can leave his self-imposed entrapment.

     With such a marvelous cast, however, who cares? Even though director William Keighley has done little to transfer this stage-bound work into film, we might wish to watch these poor trapped beings play out their destinies again and again.


Los Angeles, December 18, 2011
Reprinted from American Cultural Treastures (December 2011).




Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Vicente Minnelli | Meet Me in St. Louis




















shadows
by Douglas Messerli

Irving Brecher and Fred F. Finlehoff (screenplay, based on the stories by Sally Benson), Vicente Minnelli (director) Meet Me in St. Louis / 1944

 As anyone who has seen the great Vicente Minnelli musical knows, Meet Me in St. Louis, based on Sally Benson’s beloved tales of the American belle epoch life in the Missouri river city, is a beautiful paean to American family life, as lively and enduring of a picture of Americana as any book or film before or after it. And even I, who love to point out different perspectives of cinema and literary texts, concur. For years I have loved this film for those very reasons.

     The last few times I have watched this chestnut of a film, however, something else—a darker under image—has begun to seep through its lovely Technicolor tableaus; like shadows on a mid-summer day, in which this film begins, the gentle nostalgic view of American city life, reveals more substance but also more troubling issues upon each viewing.

     The film is split into four seasons, beginning in the Summer of 1903 and ending in the Spring of 1904, with the opening of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition World’s Fair. Each season features a major celebration, most including music and dance.

    In the first summer of the Smith family, sisters Esther (Judy Garland) and Rose (Lucille Bremer) throw a party in honor of their brother, Lon, Jr. (Henry H. Daniels, Jr.), inviting friends and the “new” boy next door, John Truett (Tom Drake), with whom Esther is secretly in love. The party is exuberance personified, as the party-goers dance a kind of frontier square dance, “Skip to My Lou,” and Esther and her younger sister ‘Tootie’ (the talented child actor, Margaret O’Brien) dance the famed late 19th century cake-walk “Under the Bamboo Tree.” Both are joyous examples of the kind of entertainment young people of 1903 clearly enjoyed. But already here, in these early scenes, we sense something more sinister behind the merriment. The “Skip to My Lou” dance was born in the frontier necessity for a way for men and women to innocently meet by “stealing partners,” a man standing in the center while the others circled while clapping hands until they reached the line “I’ll get another one prettier than you,” at which point the dancer in the center choses a girl, who now must wait out her turn in the center of the group. It was a perfect ice-breaker and way to meet new friends; one might almost describe it as an early kind of speed-dating.

      The second song, although written by Blacks (the lyrics by J. Rosamund Johnson and his  renowned poet brother, James Weldon Johnson), was originally sung in a Black version of a Ministrel Show, A Trip to Coontown, all of which hints of stereotypical racial attitudes and St. Louis city housing covenants that would not be struck down until 1948.

     Throughout this first summer, moreover, the sisters are constantly plotting events, covered by small lies. The most innocent of these is Esther’s hiding of John Truett’s hat at the party, and her plea that he help her put out the lights since she is afraid of mice. Somewhat more serious is their plot to have dinner an hour earlier than usual so that Rose can have a long distance telephone conversation with her boyfriend away from the family. This entails the girl’s encouraging their maid Katie (Marjorie Main) to lie:

                               Esther: Oh, Katie, they were just little white lies.
                               Katie: A lie’s a lie. Dressin’ it in white don’t help it. And just why
                                  was I lying this time?

The lie, it soon appears, has not been necessary, since everyone in the family except the father (Leon Ames) knows that Rose is expecting a call. When, after refusing the early meal, the father discovers that he is the only who has not been told, he is justifiably hurt: “When was I voted out of this family.”

     These are all small events, nearly painless incidents that occur perhaps in every family. But far darker images of life lie in the imagination of the youngest member of the Smith family, Tootie, who lives a private life of dying dolls that might be more at home in the Addams family. Joining the iceman on his rounds, Tootie notes of the doll in her arms:

                 'Tootie' Smith: Poor Margeretha, I've never seen her look so pale.
                 Mr. Neely the Iceman: The sun oughta do her some good.
                 'Tootie' Smith: I suspect she won't live through the night, she has
                             four fatal diseases.
                 Mr. Neely the Iceman: And it only takes one.
                 'Tootie' Smith: But she's going to have a beautiful funeral,
                            in a cigar box my Papa gave me, all wrapped up in silver paper.
                 Mr. Neely the Iceman: That's the way to go, if you have to go.
                 'Tootie' Smith: Oh, she has to go.

     Throughout the film Tootie and her slightly older sister, Agnes, conjure up a world of horror and terrorism. One of the most disturbing family discussions occurs in the Fall sequence of the film as the girls, dressed up as ghouls Halloween, speak with Katie:

                 Agnes Smith: Katie, where's my cat?
                 Katie the Maid: I don't know... a little while ago, she got in
                        my way and I kicked her  down the cellar steps. I could hear
                        her spine hitting on every step.
                Agnes Smith: Oh, if you killed her, I'll kill you! I'll stab you
                        to death in your sleep, then I'll tie your body to two
                        wild horses until you're pulled apart.
                Katie the Maid: Oh, won't that be terrible, now? There's your cat.

A few minutes later, the girls describe why they are going to “trick” (as in “trick or treat”) an elderly neighbor man:

                'Tootie' Smith: We'll fix him fine. It'll serve him right for poisoning cats... He buys
                        meat and then he buys poison and then he puts them all together.
                 Agnes Smith: And then he burns the cats at midnight in his furnace. You could smell
                        the smoke...
                 'Tootie' Smith: ...and Mr. Braukoff was beating his wife with a red hot poker... and
                 Mr. Braukoff has empty whiskey bottles in his cellar.

     Tootie, not allowed to get near the Halloween bonfire because of her age, is the only one who will “fix” Mr. Braukoff by throwing flower into his face. For her the scene is one of true horror—she is a true believer in the myths about him that she and Agnes have recounted—while we perceive him as a rather sweet man with a friendly dog.

     Perhaps it is almost inevitable that these to fantasists later that night decide to throw a dummy on the tracks, almost causing the trolley to go. John Truett, who has witnessed the event, hides them in a nearby alley, but Tootie escapes, claiming John has tried to “kill” her. Indeed, she needs stitches. Esther, shocked by Tootie’s claim, runs next door, slugging and kicking the man she proclaims to love in revenge, a strange version of what one might describe as “domestic violence.”

      Of course, once she discovers the truth, she returns with apologies that end in a kiss. But the shadows of events remain. There is a dark world in this paradisiacal St. Louis that no one, except perhaps for Tootie, is really talking about.

     Further darkness descends soon after, as the father announces his plan to move his family to New York. Just as the family has not consulted him about Rose’s plans, he has not talked about the consequences of such a move with anyone, and the rest of the family is horrified by the impending transition in their lives, Tootie, once again, expressing it most bluntly:

                   'Tootie' Smith: It'll take me at least a week to dig up all my dolls in the
                           cemetery.

     Although they ultimately accommodate themselves to their new fate, by the Winter sequence new worries and fears have beset them. Rose has no a date to the annual Christmas dance and must go with her brother Lon. At the last moment before the dance, John Truett arrives to tell Esther that his tuxedo is still at the cleaners. Their Grandfather (Harry Davenport) dapperly becomes John’s replacement. He is a man who, throughout the film, wears many hats, and has a large hat collection. But the truth remains: the family is escorting one another to the ball, seemingly isolated from the community they love.

     This time, like their two younger sisters, it is Rose and Esther who have plotted to “fix” their foe, the New Yorker Lucille Ballard (June Lockhart), who has stolen away Rose’s boyfriend Warren Shelffield (Robert Sully); they have filled out her dance card with the most ugly and obnoxious males in attendance. When Lucille, however, turns out to be an utterly sweet woman who suggests that Rose pair off with Warren, and she with Lon, Esther is forced, under the vigilant eye of her grandfather, to take over the dance partners they had assigned to Lucille. The long sequence of dancers with these monsters is certainly comical, but also painful to watch as we recall that this is her last night in St. Louis. Through the miracle of movies, John Truett shows ups for the last dance, as tears rush to Esther’s (and our) eyes.

     The two talk of marriage, he even willing to give up his college education. But both know it is the wrong decision and despair of ever seeing each other again. Upon returning home, Esther finds Tootie still awake, and to comfort her sings one of the most sad-hearted Christmas song ever created, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” The haunting ballad, written by Hugh Martin, was originally even bleaker than it is in the movie, Garland arguing for changes for fear if she sang it people might think she was a monster. Today, it is one Garland’s most profoundly sung songs, assured to bring tears to everyone’s eyes. And the scene after, in which Tootie runs out into the snow to destroy her beloved snow people so that “no one else can have them,” truly dramatizes the darker world the Smiths are now inhabiting. As Esther rushes out to retrieve her young sister, the father is forced to reevaluate how his plans are effecting his family, and determines to remain in their beloved St. Louis. Christmas morning has arrived, and the family seems once again blessed, Warren Sheffield even rushing in the middle of their celebration to announce that he and Rose are going to be married, as if it were a challenge instead of a proposal.

     But the very last scene of the film reveals other shadows that we have sensed all along. This is a story of a world already lost. In a short time the two elder daughters will be married and have left home. But even more importantly, the whole world it has pictured will have died. From the very beginning of the film, Minnelli and his writers have subtly interwoven themes of decay and death into the very structure of the work. Obviously, Tootie has been obsessed with the subject, but even the young Esther has reminded her suitor, by her choice of perfume, of his grandmother. At another point, her grandfather describes her as "the very image" of her dead grandmother. Esther, in turn, describes her older sister as becoming “an old maid.” Underlying the joyful festivities of family life is the very quickness of the seasons. By the time Spring arrives all the women family members move outside the home dressed in white; only the mother has a touch of lavender in her apparel. The men are dressed in beige and gray. The lovely colors of that first Summer scene have seemingly been washed away. One might almost describe them as already being ghosts, far more ghoulish, in a sense, that the young Agnes and Tootie dressed for Halloween.

      The family is on its way to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, the World’s Fair, a wondrous event that  also, eventually, is lit up in white. As the family gathers after a day of enjoying the experience of the whole world having come to small town America, they are filled with joy and love. But the scene, in contrast to almost all others, is played out, at first in the dark. As Dave Kehr recently wrote in an astute review of the new DVD version of this classic film in The New York Times:

                                  Minnelli begins with a sun-filled, back-lot exterior—the Smith
                                  house, standing at the crest of its own little hill—but concludes
                                  with a darkened, soundstage interior, dressed to represent the
                                  fair's opening night. The progress is not one of growth and ex-
                                  pansion, but of the increasing darkness and confinement.


     Two small events occur that perhaps express yet deeper shadows creeping over their lives. As they move toward the restaurant where they plan to have dinner, they each move in different directions, until the father calls them together to lead them off. They have become lost in their own hometown. A moment later, after the fairgound buildings become awash in light, Tootie asks the crucial question: “They won’t ever tear it down, will they?” The grandfather blusteringly answers: “Well they better not!” The film’s weak ending, echoing Judy’s Garland’s phrase “There’s no place like home” from The Wizard of Oz, cannot possibly erase the doubts the two events have created. In reality, only two of the St. Louis World’s Fair 1,500 buildings actually survived: the St. Louis Museum of Art and a building now on the campus of Washington University, Brookings Hall. The others, made of plaster of Paris and other cheap materials, were only meant to last a year or two. The same year’s summer Olympic Games would forever change the size and look of the city; St. Louis was no longer a small hometown.

    The era, of course, did quickly pass. Ten years later any younger male of this story would probably have been drafted into World War I. Those who returned came back to a different universe.

    As for Tootie? Sally Benson, upon whom she was based, never got visit the St. Louis World’s Fair, her father having moved the family to New York City.

    Despite its glories, it was perhaps a society too based on myths, small lies, and impermanent values to last.

Los Angeles, Christmas Day, 2011
Reprinted from American Cultural Treasures (January 2012)

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Akira Kurosawa | Ikiru (To Live)



















the mummy
by Douglas Messerli

Shinobu Hashimoto, Akira Kurosawa, and Hideo Oguni (screenplay), Akira Kurosawa (director) Ikiru (To Live) / 1952

It may seem strange that on Christmas Eve I sit writing about a film in which the major character, Kanji Watanabi (Takashi Shimura) discovers that he has stomach cancer and is about to die. In fact, the film ends in his death and funeral and much of the movie is concerned with Kanji's learning how to die. It some respects, however, I cannot imagine a more appropriate work to mull over on the holiday, for Kurosawa's moving and brilliantly conceived film is really about a rebirth, about a man who suddenly comes to life.

     As his female assistant, Toyo (Miki Odagiri) tells Kanji later in the film— after admitting that she has created imaginary names for each of her co-workers—she has dubbed her boss, "The Mummy." Through voiceover and brief snippets of past history, the director lets us know that Kanji, who works at a government agency, may have begun his life with the energy and belief of possible change, but after his wife died, gradually let himself fall into the bureaucratic mindset of nearly all the post-World War II governmental agencies of Japan. Partly, in an attempt to support and educate his beloved son, he has allowed himself to become one of the living dead.

     It is only the discovery that he has stomach cancer with a short time to live that suddenly wakes him up and forces him to face his previously empty life. This very subject, obviously, could be played out with lugubrious pathos, allowing the audience immense pity and sorrow. There is certainly, at least for this viewer, plenty of room for tears, but Kurosawa punctuates his fable with humor, which only adds to the poignancy of events. Even the way Kanji discovers his illness shares something with black comedy, as another patient, eager to gossip about doctors, reveals that when a patient has just a short time to live, they will announce that he only has an ulcer, and send him on his way without really declaring his condition. The nasty patient goes on, however, to list the symptoms of stomach cancer, as we observe, one by one, Kanji ticking them off. By the time he enters the doctor's office, to be told precisely what his fellow patient has predicted, Kanji has been able to self-diagnose: one year to live at most.

     Falling into despair (he later describes the experience as like the feeling of "being drowned"), Kanji returns home, refusing even to turn on the lights. His son and his wife return, confused to find the house open and no lights on, presuming that the father has forgotten to lock up and is unexpectedly late from the office. Their discussion, that of any young couple, is about the future, particularly her desire to be able to move into a modern house, away from her father-in-law. The son reveals that soon his father will be soon retiring and they can draw on his pension and the money he has saved. When they discover the father in the house the whole time, obviously overhearing their greedy conversation, the two are a bit chastened, but still resolved.

    So, it becomes clear, after all his sacrifices—years of simple, repetitive existence—he does not even matter, so it appears, to his loved ones. That discovery and Kanji's inability to sleep send him onto a wild night trip that might be described as the Japanese version of Stephen Dedalus' Nighttown journey. Certainly it is as breathtaking and hallucinatory as Joyce's fiction. Meeting a young novelist (Yûnosuke Itō) in a bar, Kanji tells his story. The sympathetic writer, who recognizes "How tragic that man can never realize how beautiful life is until he is face to face with death," becomes determined to take his new-found friend on an all-night spree through Tokyo.

     The journey includes numerous seedy, red-light neighborhoods, some filled with geisha, others with Western-style prostitutes, and a number of clubs, some obviously gay, others simple strip-clubs or pick up bars. The dizzying night trip sickens and yet enlivens Kanji, who has been completely unaware of the existence of such an incredible world. At a bar where more traditional Japanese songs are sung, Kanji sings an older song of carpe diem:


                              Life is so short
                              Fall in love, dear maiden
                              While your lips are still red
                              And before you are cold.
                              For there will be no tomorrow.

One might describe this as the film's theme song.

     The fact that he has not returned to his office, after years of not missing a single day, and that he has returned home with new, white, hat, distresses both his family and employees. One young woman, Toyo, bored with her job, wants to move on to another, but needs Kanji's stamp of approval before she can do so. She seeks him out on the street, determining that she get his stamp of approval, he taking her into his home to sign the documents. Her appearance in the house, and a later friendship between them, convinces Kanji's children that he has, shockingly, taken up with a mistress who is siphoning money from Kanji's account.

     Even that innocent friendship is stolen away from him, as the young girl, unable to explain Kanji's attentions, demands her freedom.

     Slowly, Kanji becomes aware of a group of neighborhood women seeking to have a nearby lot filled with sewage water cleaned up and turned into a children's playground. Kanji's own office, when approached earlier, had shuffled the woman to another office, who, in turn, did the same, each office following the same pattern. Well experienced with the system in which he has worked, Kanji takes on their cause, patiently waiting outside the various government offices through which the plea must pass, cajoling officials, refusing to be sent away.

     The accomplishment of the park might have been a joyful ending to Kurasowa's otherwise bleak work. But here again, the director shifts the tale to another perspective, where we must move beyond Kanji's death. The funeral party for Kanji is attended even by high government figures, who boast of their achievements in creating the local park. But as they leave, the lower officials begin to discuss the strange series of events leading up to Kanji's death and his own advocacy of the park, allowing both the family and the viewers to recognize that it has been Kanji, alone, who is responsible for this now important public facility, that for the first time in years Kanji ceased being passive and forcibly made something come into existence.


     We never know whether the family, son and daughter-in-law and Kanji's brother, truly come to perceive their father and brother's achievement, but we do comprehend the grace in Kanji's end: observed swinging through the night on a children's swing in the new park, Kanji sings, as the snow falls, his song of "seizing the day." In the morning he is discovered frozen to death.


Los Angeles, December 24, 2011
 

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Elia Kazan | Baby Doll

waking up
by Douglas Messerli

Tennessee Williams (screenplay), Elia Kazan (director) Baby Doll / 1956

Archie Lee Meighan (Karl Malden), owner of a failed cotton gin and a collapsing antebellum mansion, "Tiger Tail," is also encumbered with a wife, Baby Doll (Carroll Baker), who behaves according to her name. In an early scene we are told that the next day she will turn twenty, but this sexy blonde seems, in demeanor, more like she was ten. Archie has been married to her for two years, but has still not had sex with his wife, having made a ridiculous bargain with her father that he will not touch her until she turns twenty.

     As the movie begins we see this poor loser of a man crouching down to peer through a hole in the wall where he sleeping wife lies, dressed in what is now called a "baby doll dress," the kind of dress worn by dolls, lying in a crib sucking her thumb. Frustrated with the narrowness of view he attempts to enlarge the peep hole, only to have the wall crumble, awakening the sleeping girl who immediately sets the tone for the movie-long treatment of Archie:

               Baby Doll: Archie Lee! You're a mess. Do you know what they call such
                                 people? Peepin' Toms!
               Archie: Hey, there's no need for a woman that sleeps in a baby's crib to
                            stay away from her husband...
               Baby Doll: No, I'm gonna plug up the hole in that wall with chewin' gum.

     The hilarity of this scene, of the situation of its characters, and, as we later perceive, the numerous absurdities of Kazan's film encourages one to break out in a hoot, which is what I certain Williams' must have done after finishing the script. What he had concocted was a highly sexually suggestive movie that involved nothing more than a kiss and a slap.

     Yet the moral enforcers of the day were outraged. The Roman Catholic Church through a sermon by Cardinal John Spellman described the movie as "revolting" and "morally repellant," concluding: " "In soliciture for the welfare of souls entrused to my care and the welfare of my count, I exhort Catholic people to refrain from patronizing this film under pain of sin" Time magazine described the work as "just possibly the dirtiest American-made motion picture that has ever been legally exhibited," while at the same time, admitting "Baby Doll is an almost puritanically moral work of art." Huh?

     What Baby Doll really is perhaps depends on your own imagination or maybe lack of imagination. For in truth, while the film is forthrightly sexual, it portrays no sex, and, despite the pretense of the young virginal heroine, she has long been of marrying age. Perhaps the most perverse aspect of the film is that Baby Doll has been matrimonially joined to such a human lump.

     Malden plays Archie as a bigoted, insensitive and violent brute right out of a Faulkner novel. In fact, like Abner Snopes, Archie, angry that Sicilian business man Silva Vacarro (Eli Wallach) has built a modern cotton gin—taking away almost all of Archie's former business—burns down Vacarro's operation.

     It is Vacarro's retaliation for that burning (he has found the kerosene can with which Archie has started the fire) that becomes the center of the film, and that apparently leads some people she perceive the metaphorical rape as a real one.

     Perhaps the disapproving audiences of this film were convinced of the work's raw sexuality through the consummate acting of  Wallach and Baker. Like a strutting cock Wallach enters the Meighan home as if he owned it, acting the role of a southern gentleman to Baker's pouting household incompetence. If it is outrageous that a twenty year old should still behave like a baby, it is even more absurd that the Brooklyn born Wallach should have been chosen to play the Sicilian southerner, but that—along with Madden's northern-bred growls (Madden was born in Chicago to a Serbian- and Czech-born father and mother)—that grounds this film in the theater of the ridiculous. Baker, imitating another southern character type, the permanently virgin wife, and Wallach race through the now-empty mansion—the furniture having been recently repossessed—as if they were playing a children's game like "hide and seek." Except, in this case, we know the stakes for both are much higher than simply being "found." It is clear that both Wallach and Baker enjoyed their scenes, he advancing only to retreat, she running away while trying to lure him closer and closer.    

     The revelation of her and Archie's relationship—which further encourages Vacarro to move in on his prey—is one of the most humorous comic scenes of Williams' numerous comic writings:


                  Baby Doll: I told my Daddy that I wasn't ready for marriage. My
                                     Daddy told Archie Lee that I wasn't ready for it and
                                     Archie Lee promised my Daddy that he would wait
                                     till I was ready.
                  Silva: Then the marriage was postponed?
                  Baby Doll: Oh no, not the weddin', we had the weddin', my Daddy
                                     gave me away.
                  Silva: But you said Archie Lee waited?
                  Baby Doll: Yeah, after the weddin'....he waited.
                  Silva: For what?
                  Baby Doll: For me to be ready for marriage.
                  Silva: How long did he have to wait?
                  Baby Doll: Oh he's still waitin'. We had an agreement though, I
                                     mean, I told him, that on my twentieth birthday, I'd
                                     be ready.
                  Silva: That's tomorrow?
                  Baby Doll: uh-huh.
                  Silva: Then uh, will you be ready?
                  Baby Doll: Well, that all depends.
                  Silva: What on?
                  Baby Doll: Whether or not the furniture comes back—I guess...
                  Silva: Your husband sweats more than any man I know, and now
                            I understand why.



     Ultimately, dressed only in a negligee, she locks herself away in the attic, trying to "give up" the game. But Vacarro will not leave, threatening to break down the door (and, presumably, rape her) if she does not come out and sign a piece of paper that Archie was responsible for the fire. Her virginity is kept intact. And Silva, exhausted from his game of seduction, falls to sleep in her crib, Baby Doll, singing him a lullaby and stroking his hair.

      Returning home to find Silva in his house, Archie can only suspect the worst, and attempts to fight him. But Silva returns the threat by revealing that he knows Archie has been responsible for the fire, while, nonetheless, suggesting that they make an arrangement. He will send customers to Archie's gin for a percentage of the profits and regular visitations to the house; in short, he proposes a sort of three-way relationship, which he describes as "the Good Neighbor Policy."

      Baby Doll invites him to supper and three sit down to eat a pot of collard greens which Baby Doll's Aunt Rose (played with delightful lunacy by Mildred Dunnock) has forgotten to cook. In his fury Archie turns on Rose, threatening to send her away, while with obvious relish Silva and Baby Doll slurp up bites of the green mess:


                    Baby Doll: Colored folks call this pot liquor.
                    Silva: I love pot liquor...Crazy 'bout pot liquor....


Archie, also crazed by the now public seduction of his wife, hurls a piece of glass from a nearby chandelier at them, claiming that he will handle "the situation" by calling up his friends.

   

                     Silva: What situation? What situation do you mean?
                     Archie: Situation which I come home to find her under my
                                  roof. Oh, look her now, oh, I'm not such a marble-
                                  missin' old fool that I couldn't size it up. I sized it
                                  up the minute I seen you was still on this place
                                  and her, her—with that sly smile on her? And you
                                  with yours on you.! I know how to wipe off
                                  both those sly...

Silva denies any sexual activity, and shuts Archie up with the revelation that Baby Doll has signed a confession of Archie's guilt.

     Driven into even greater fury he slaps (off-camera) Baby Doll and sets out to find the suddenly missing Silva and shoot him. Silva has retreated to a nearby pecan tree, as Baby Doll, enraged by the slap insists it will be the last time Archie lays a hand on her, as she calls the police. As Archie storms through the house in search of Silva, Baby Doll sneaks into the pecan tree as well, while Archie, finally breaking down with remorse, calls out her name in a manner similar to Marlon Brando's scream for Stella in Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire. Soon after, Silva drives off, promising he will be back the next day.

      The police arrive to haul Archie off, putting him into handcuffs, while he asks "...What happens tomorrow?" The policeman's ambiguous answer—"Well, the town marshall has no control over tomorrow"—is paralleled by Baby Doll's own fears for her future, saying to her aunt:


                    He's comin' back tomorrow with more cotton...We got nothin' to do
                    but wait for tomorrow and see if we're remembered or forgotten.

 Either way it will be a strange new world into which she and her aunt are about to embark, a world which suddenly requires her to wake up as a adult.

Los Angeles, December 13, 2011