MY MOVIE SHELF: Grand Hotel

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 121 Days to go: 85

Movie #319:  Grand Hotel

Out of the 50 films in my Best of Warner Bros. 50 Film Collection, I’d seen 31 of them before tonight. Grand Hotel wasn’t one of them. I’m not sure what I was expecting of it, either. I knew it won Best Picture at the Academy Awards that year. (It’s only win, which is odd in and of itself, but also it’s only nomination, which is downright bizarre.) I knew it was the source of Greta Garbo’s oft-quoted line, “I want to be alone.” That’s about all I knew.

As with all movies of a different era, it takes a while to get used to the ways films were made at the time. Quite often the beats of the story are off, somehow, not in a bad way just at an unfamiliar rhythm to the modern viewer. This is certainly the case with Grand Hotel, too, but it actually manages to engage its audience fairly quickly with the hustle and bustle of the opening — numerous cuts to different characters on the hotel lobby phone, frantically arranging things or rearranging things or trying to garner information of some kind, followed by an almost theatrical scene at the porter’s desk, with people once again coming and going on their own personal agendas, sometimes interacting, sometimes not, and the camera frequently changing focus from one person’s story to the next. It’s reminiscent of so many similar films and concepts — movies with large ensemble casts and a great many moving parts, like something done by Altman or even the television series Downton Abbey — and then you realize it’s these other films and shows that are actually reminiscent of Grand Hotel.

Greta Garbo gets top billing as the Russian ballerina Grusinkaya, but the role I found most fascinating was actually Ms. Flaemmchen, the stenographer, played by Joan Crawford. To be honest, having only seen Crawford before in, most prominently, The Women and Mildred Pierce — as well as, I confess, having been seriously influenced by Mommie Dearest well before I ever actually saw Crawford herself in anything — I didn’t know she could be so effervescent and playful. She’s sharp and flirtatious here, and her chemistry with John Barrymore (as Baron von Geigern) is off the charts hot. (This is no doubt why, though I would never want to deny Garbo anything, and was truly heartbroken for the heartbreak she didn’t know was upon her at the end of the film, I actually hoped the Baron and Ms. Flaemm could make things work between them. The movie doesn’t ever imply that they will once Baron falls for Grusinkaya, but a girl can still hope.) I swear to God, when Baron asks Flaemm, “I don’t suppose you’d, uh, take some dictation from me sometime, would you,” my jaw dropped to my chest and I laughed so hard I had to stop watching for a second. That’s a really dirty joke for 1932! And then he lovingly, sexily patted her ass as she walked away! I practically had to clutch my pearls, I was so shocked.

I also found it pretty funny that the Barrymore brothers, John and Lionel, are both in this film, but not as relatives or anything (Lionel plays lowly accountant Mr. Kringelein, living out his last days in luxury). I have such a hard time picturing that happening today, but maybe in 1932 there were only so many Hollywood actors, they were pretty much all in everything. Like the way there are only about two dozen British actors today.

Mr. Kringelein is a delightful character in and of himself, too. He’s uncouth and sort of a hanger-on, and yet the Baron and Flaemm can’t help but like him. And I couldn’t help but like him too, as he rails against his employer Mr. Preysing (Wallace Beery) on more than one occasion, for more than one noble cause. Plus, all Mr. Kringelein’s complaints seem so common sense in the film, and yet I guarantee he’d get a lot of argument on his opinions today. It’s quite a lot of food for thought.

In the end, Grand Hotel actually gave me a couple of legitimate “oh shit” moments, which I definitely wasn’t expecting, and I enjoyed it quite a bit. Plus I’m walking away with a whole new appreciation for Joan Crawford. I certainly wouldn’t say that “nothing ever happens,” but in the grand scheme of things, with the hustle and bustle of everyone around us, it is true, in a sense, that “people come, people go, nothing ever happens.” That’s life at the Grand Hotel.

 

MY MOVIE SHELF: Queen Christina

 

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 165  Days to go: 158

Movie #218:  Queen Christina

If ever you doubt the systematic inequality and oppression of women across time and around the world, look to the number of stories we tell about women disguising themselves as men. (I’m not talking about stories of transvestitism or transgenderism here, but strictly stories of concealing one’s identity.)  In a vast majority of cases, women masquerade as men (in fiction and in true stories of various time periods) out of fear for their safety or in a quest for greater autonomy over their lives. Comedy or drama, that need for greater freedom of movement — to live freely and unmolested according to one’s own wishes — is almost always the motivation. In the opposing scenario, when men masquerade as women, it’s often a gag or a trick. It’s played for laughs. Maybe he’s evading capture or maybe he’s trying to get into an all-female club of some sort, but it’s almost always a farce. Women sometimes get to revel in that same kind of silliness — the bizarre hilarity of what it’s like to be a man — but there’s usually an underlying factor of independence, regardless of whether the woman in question is rich or poor, worldly or innocent. She still longs for the ability to lead her own life — without fear or retribution or threat of violence.

In Queen Christina, Greta Garbo plays the title character, who, despite her position as supreme ruler of Sweden, still seeks the solace of an independent life and often dresses like a man to ride the countryside anonymously. Now, Garbo may be a slender woman with a throaty voice, but I still doubt the observational skills of anyone who would mistake her for a man. Thankfully, the masquerade doesn’t last long, for when she’s cornered into sharing a room at the inn with the Spanish envoy Antonio (John Gilbert), the jig is up as soon as she takes off her coat. He still doesn’t know she’s the Queen, however, so there are still surprises to come, but the two find much contentment and romance while snowed in at that inn, making Christina’s political obligations that much more difficult.

Almost prophetically, the closing shot of Christina somberly sailing away from her beloved Sweden to live a life of solitude foreshadows Garbo’s own eventual withdrawal from public life — which occurred not long after the untimely death of frequent costar and on-and-off paramour Gilbert, just as Christina’s self-imposed exile occurs after the untimely demise of her dear Antonio — and her oft-imitated request, “I want to be alone.” It’s an iconic image of an unwritten future, of launching into the unknown, and of finally gaining the independence and freedom (though at a very high cost) that she’d always wished for.

I was assigned the task of watching Queen Christina as part of a Women in Film class, and it’s always stuck with me — for its feminist message (one based on the real life of the actual 17th century Queen of Sweden — a woman who really did disguise herself as a man to escape her constrained existence and who eventually abdicated her thrown in order to live the life of her choosing), for its remarkable and indelible performance by Garbo, and its assertion of eternal devotion — not only to a lover, but to one’s own heart. It’s a deceptively simple film that packs a powerful punch, and I hope it remains a staple of film education and appreciation for years to come.