Journal Entry for January 15, The Third in Maybe a Series Discusses -- Among Other Things -- Two Films From the Thirties

The terrible Barthelmess and the brilliant Bette in the Cabin in the Cotton

Okay don’t look at me like that, I told you from the beginning (Sunday) that this wasn’t going to be a daily thing. That should have been clear. Plus it’s not like I didn’t write at all yesterday. In fact I composed a poem and put in a solid hour on the latest never-to-be-published novel.

I had my annual physical yesterday as I do every year. I’m as fit as a fiddle — whatever the hell that means. I had my prostate thoroughly examined, I mean that finger was really doing some serious digging in there. Most of my prostate exams have been done by women as I have a female doctor (same one for over 30 years) and the nurse practitioners are almost exclusively female. Frankly I don’t care who sticks their fingers up there as long as they don’t find anything untoward. Some people get in and out pretty quick which suits me fine. After the prostate exam came the thrill of the testicular exam (mind you, I did not study for either of these exams). Some nurses actually pass on this particular exam, most do it and get it over with pretty quickly. But I was dealing with Nurse Thorough yesterday and she took her sweet time. I stood there and took it. It is a weird feeling to have someone fiddling about with your testes in a non sexual way and by the way the only ways to do in sexual way are very, very softly. At least she didn’t give the area a pinch.

I’ve been given to understand that some men don’t cotton to the idea of a woman giving them a physical. How 19th century of them. These women are professionals so what does it matter? An unenlightened man might find himself thinking that it'd be different if the woman is attractive. It’s not and shame on you for thinking that way. Standing there wearing nothing but one of those backless gowns and your socks while being probed is not going to turn a man on — well, not a normal man, anyway. When I went to physical therapy a couple of years ago and had the area around my knee rubbed, well that could have been different if the therapist had looked like Samantha Robbie. She didn’t, it didn’t and if she did it would have been wrong to enjoy it too much, in other words in such a way as that enjoyment was obvious to others. Nuff said.

Last night I visited my good friend of nine months, the Criterion Channel (you should def check it out, great films galore — plus extras, so many extras!) where I watched The Cabin in the Cotton (1932) directed by Michael Curtiz. It was my second viewing and I enjoyed it as much as one could given that the film starred Richard Barthelmess was one of the worst actors to ever trod the boards. (He likely stomped on 'em.) It’s amazing he had a film career at all, let alone that he starred in a few features. Dull as dishwater with a stilted voice and an awkward posture. Did he have a steel rod up his spine? Was his voice put through a machine that neutralized emotion? Did he know where the bodies were buried, hence is getting 80 film credits (to be fair the vast majority of his roles were during the silent era when his flavorless voice could not be heard, but how did he get roles once people could hear him?). The only way to offset having some stiff like Barthelmess as a leading man is to have a legend (in this case a legend-to-be) opposite him. Enter Bette Davis. The then rising star played a rich planter’s daughter who tried to use her feminine wiles to seduce Barthelmess’ Marvin Blake (she succeeded in the short run as one black out scene indicated in a classic pre code scene). It took all of Davis’ acting chops to pull of the role as — by her own admission — she was a virgin at the time. Davis delivered one line that I dearly loved: "I’d like to kiss you but I just washed my hair.” I loved the line so much that I paused the movie and posted it on Twitter -- to defeating silence. (My Twitter followers are too sophisticated to engage in such nonsense as re-tweeting, liking or reading my tweets.)  Come to find out that not only did I like the line but Ms. Davis herself cited it as the favorite of her long and illustrious film career. Great minds.

The Cabin in the Cotton is more that just about Bette Davis trying to bed someone who resembled a bed post, it was a then-timely story of the relationship between planters and sharecroppers in the South. Some relationship. Planters raked in all the dough while the workers did all the work. The film tries to present a balanced picture of the two sides but in its objectivity it makes clear that sharecroppers received the very shortest end of the stick and any chicanery and thieving on the part of said workers was understandable if not entirely justified. It’s a movie with a heart and a brain — all it lacked was a leading man with same.

Last week I watched another film on The Criterion Channel from the Thirties that had a social message. This was Black Legion (1937) starring Humphrey Bogart. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: disgruntled workers blame immigrants for all their woes and shadowy organizers of the All American groups stir up hatred and make bank in the process. So yeah, this movie speaks to today maybe more than it does to 83 years ago.

I was surprised at how brutally honest the film was (especially as it was made after the production code was in full force) and how unflinchingly it exposed xenophobia and the “legitimate” forces that rile it up. For a modern version of Black Legion just turn on the news.

Okay so that’s it for me today. Now remember, don’t go expecting me to write everyday and especially don’t expect  to post something everyday. Hell, this whole thing could fizzle out anytime. But for the time being I’m enjoying sharing my thoughts, of which I have many. I think.