From Great Open Spaces the Figures and Faces are Certainly Best
Murder at the Vanities (1934)
directed by Mitchell Leisen
rating: 2 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
You could argue that parading this much female flesh in front of the camera is the height of objectifying the form, but nowhere except these Pre-Code extravaganzas is the viewer as aware of what the extras in a film are up to, precisely because they're always around. In a movie like Murder at the Vanities, the star of the picture rarely stands alone in front of the camera, and so our eyes are inevitably drawn to the small gestures of the chorus girls behind him: how a brunette picks up a glass in a particular routine, or where she looks when the number is over. However much the women might be taken for granted, they are anything but anonymous.
The plot, in which a mushy European nightclub singer inspires the jealousy of a leading lady, pivots on Victor McLachlan as a well-meaning but corrupt cop. He bumbles charmingly about and makes sure to take time every few minutes to set aside his investigation in order to watch the show. We follow suit, captive to a run of musical numbers that make up Vanities' backbone. One features Duke Ellington but relegates his Orchestra to the unfortunate "Ebony Rhapsody."
"Sweet Marijuana" is the most famous cut (literally, since it was excised from most prints not long after release), but also, along with a tropical island reverie, one of the most effective. The stage is stark, full of desert moonlight and shadows. A giant cactus appears in the darkness. Naked women crouch inside the rose buds - "Ever seen a real rose, Hallie?" - but as the music calls them into flowers, drops of blood fall softly from the rafters. The stain alights on a set of shoulders, a scream shatters the easy pace, and melodrama is regrettably restored.
directed by Mitchell Leisen
rating: 2 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
You could argue that parading this much female flesh in front of the camera is the height of objectifying the form, but nowhere except these Pre-Code extravaganzas is the viewer as aware of what the extras in a film are up to, precisely because they're always around. In a movie like Murder at the Vanities, the star of the picture rarely stands alone in front of the camera, and so our eyes are inevitably drawn to the small gestures of the chorus girls behind him: how a brunette picks up a glass in a particular routine, or where she looks when the number is over. However much the women might be taken for granted, they are anything but anonymous.
The plot, in which a mushy European nightclub singer inspires the jealousy of a leading lady, pivots on Victor McLachlan as a well-meaning but corrupt cop. He bumbles charmingly about and makes sure to take time every few minutes to set aside his investigation in order to watch the show. We follow suit, captive to a run of musical numbers that make up Vanities' backbone. One features Duke Ellington but relegates his Orchestra to the unfortunate "Ebony Rhapsody."
"Sweet Marijuana" is the most famous cut (literally, since it was excised from most prints not long after release), but also, along with a tropical island reverie, one of the most effective. The stage is stark, full of desert moonlight and shadows. A giant cactus appears in the darkness. Naked women crouch inside the rose buds - "Ever seen a real rose, Hallie?" - but as the music calls them into flowers, drops of blood fall softly from the rafters. The stain alights on a set of shoulders, a scream shatters the easy pace, and melodrama is regrettably restored.
posted by NPK at 10:51 AM
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