“To fulfill a dream, to be allowed to sweat over lonely labor, to be given a chance to create, is the meat and potatoes of life. The money is the gravy.” — Bette Davis
In our house, we have “cut the cable” and now only use an antenna for local TV and our internet for streaming movies and shows from different platforms. There were too many channels with nothing we liked to justify paying for them all.
One of the services we kept has a fair amount of older movies—the real oldies, not “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” or “Ghostbusters.” I’m talking about classic old movies. Black-and-white films have a certain weight to them that all the Technicolor and CGI effects cannot possibly match.
Creating a movie isn’t all technology, especially in older films. I watched one that involved a husband plotting the death of his wife in a staged car accident, and the scene where it happened looked like someone had filmed two Matchbox cars crashing off a homemade cliff with a guardrail that I’m half convinced the prop department constructed from popsicle sticks.
While it was not an example of perfect special effects, it was an example of the time. It wasn’t about the action but the drama leading up to it. The foreshadowing, the slow burn of the character arc, and the writing that revealed a depth beyond the dialogue. These qualities are found even in the corny B movies that Hollywood cranked out by the dozen.
Bette Davis is known for classics like “Now, Voyager” and “Jezebel” and, of course, the iconic “All About Eve” but she was equally good in some lesser-known movies. Besides her talent, I enjoy the settings, the clothes, and the jewelry. Part of what’s good about these older films is their watchability. Once is not enough; you must see them more than a few times. There is so much to notice—the furnishings, the cars, the hairstyles and clothes. Also, why does everyone carry gorgeous gold or silver cases with cigarettes? Someone walks into a scene and invariably is asked, “Would you like a cigarette?” That was the hospitable way to be back then, and of course, a well-mannered gentleman always lit a lady’s cigarette; it was the polite thing to do.
Next up was a drink, usually a coma-inducing pour of scotch with a squirt of soda from one of those air-powered shooters that sat on a bar cart, surrounded by decanters, an ice bucket, and bottles of mixers. Every properly furnished home had to have a bar area, preferably one a host or hostess could wheel around. The rooms in these homes appear to be massive, which is true of all movie sets; all the furniture is big, and there’s so much of it.
It’s not unusual that movie sets and plots are not at all like real life, but it’s a kick to glimpse a bit of what movie audiences in the 1930s and 1940s saw. Back then, it was about spending a day in the theater, watching a double feature, a couple of cartoons, and a few newsreels. Especially during the hot summers, a movie house was a great place to cool off; it was the first version of “Netflix and Chill.” Today, I find most of these gems at home when I’m bored and googling film noir sites.
So much of the movie business now is about blockbuster budgets in the millions, star salaries to match, and product placement and marketing campaigns to go along with all the hype. I will be skipping all that this summer and continuing to dig up old movie treasures. I just wish more cinemas or drive-ins showed these classics so I could really experience how the films were meant to be presented. Where are the movie nights in the park or the theaters that show Joan Crawford in her big-shouldered outfits, John Wayne flying missions in World War II, and Spencer Tracy…well..just being his amazing self? A summer blockbuster doesn’t have to have a fighter pilot on a mission to save the world. Sometimes, a few parlor scenes of women in fur coats, men in neckties and three-piece suits, and some juicy drama with a side of whiskey and tobacco are all it takes to spend a sultry summer night lost in someone else’s story.
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.
