That’s a wrap for the 2019 TCM Classic Film Festival, the largest confluence of hardcore classic movie buffs held each year in the heart of Hollywood. This year’s fest marked the tenth anniversary of the beloved festival, whose precarious origins have blossomed into a well-oiled machine with no signs of slowing down. Passes for this year’s edition sold out at a record pace, and film lovers converged on a few blocks surrounding Hollywood Blvd. to lap up some of the best films the industry had ever produced.
The four-day festival kicked off with a windy red carpet procession leading into Grauman’s hallowed Chinese Theatre where the thirtieth anniversary of When Harry Met Sally was screened with director and stars present. Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan seemed barely to have aged in the intervening three decades, and Mr. Crystal would return to the famous courtyard the following morning to imprint his foot and handprints into fresh cement.
To commemorate the importance of the fest’s tenth anniversary milestone (as well as the TCM cable channel’s 25th anniversary occurring that very weekend), entrepreneurial legend and philanthropist Ted Turner (sporting a fun Singin’ in the Rain tie) made his way gruffly yet gingerly up the carpet accompanied by his charming granddaughter. Without Ted Turner there would be no Turner Classic Movies (much less this festival) and there was a touching respect (as well as in-theater tribute) for the reclusive powerhouse in what could well be one of his final public appearances.
The red carpet procession was a bit of a muted affair this year, with few legit cinematic superstars in attendance. The dedicated and enthusiastic TCM cable hosts walking the carpet included Ben Mankiewicz, Alicia Malone (she of the impeccable ’40s hair), Illeana Douglas, and the Czar of Noir, Eddie Mueller.
A trio of lovely Supporting Actress Oscar nominees also strolled the carpet, including Ronee Blakely (Nashville ‘75), Christine Lahti (Swing Shift ‘84), and disturbingly happy Patty McCormack (The Bad Seed ‘56)
Midway through the fest Miss McCormack would sit beside the pool oasis of the Roosevelt Hotel and regale the gathered fest pass-holders with tales of her breakthrough role of evil little Rhoda, pig-tailed killer of numerous unfortunates. McCormack fine tuned her iconic The Bad Seed performance for ten months on Broadway, before being summoned to Hollywood to commit this diabolically twisted character to film. “People were afraid of me. I enjoyed it very much!” enthused McCormack with a devilish twinkle in her eye. While her career may not have progressed as she might have hoped (although she did film a segment of Don Quixote for Orson Welles), her bloodthirsty little murderous Rhoda truly remains the bad seed of the ages.
For the first time in my ten years attending the fest, I did not end up seeing a single film inside of Hollywood’s ultimate film palace, Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. I attribute this primarily to the unfortunate TCM fest trend of scheduling big-budget, fairly recent Hollywood hits in this indelible venue. To each his own I suppose, but my desire to see such dubious ‘classics’ as Steel Magnolias, Working Girl, Hello Dolly!, Sleepless in Seattle, The Shawshank Redemption or When Harry Met Sally was seriously lacking, hence I found myself gravitating (as usual) to decades-old masterworks, particularly little-seen pre-Code gems from the early thirties.
After the Thursday night opening events, the festival really kicks into gear the following morning for three intense viewing-packed days. I somehow was able to squeeze in a total of eighteen films this year, helped in no small part by the refreshingly brisk running times of those early pre-Code wonders. Night World, Vanity Street (both 1932), and Blood Money (1933) all clocked in at about an hour, and while none were out-and-out classics, they all had refreshingly sordid and solid charms, the likes of which would soon be snuffed out by Will Hayes’ dispiriting Production Code.
Perhaps my favorite of this pre-Code trio was 1932’s Night World, a sexy, violent drama unspooling over the course of a long evening at Boris Karloff’s New York City speakeasy. Karloff’s devoted daughter Sara introduced the opening night film, and as always during her festival visits to honor her father, she shared many fascinating insights into this iconic acting legend. (“Frankenstein was his 81st film, and no one saw the previous 80.”)
Screened from a pristine 35mm print (always a rare treat these days), Night World speeds merrily along (clocking in at 58 minutes) with drunks, bootleggers, showgirls (and even one lisping patron hitting on anything in pants at the club’s men’s room) battling it out over the course of one long, debauched evening.
The performances are a delight throughout, not only from Karloff, but also by charming, naturalistic Mae Clarke, Lew Ayres, George Raft, and the distinguished Clarence Muse as the film’s moral center (a rare and quite moving role for a black performer at the time). Throw in a wonderfully twisted dance number choreographed by the mighty Busby Berkeley (“Who’s Your Little Who-Zis?”), and here we had (despite Harry and Sally at the big gala downstairs) the perfect opening night film for TCM Fest 2019.
To honor the recent passing of the great Agnès Varda, I opted to follow up Night World with her husband Jacques Demy’s luminous The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. The lush Palme d’Or winning bittersweet love story features a 21-year-old Catherine Deneuve in her breakthrough role, even if her own voice is not heard within the film (all movie dialogue was sung, with Danielle Licari providing Deneuve’s voice). Though at heart it is a story of class struggle, Demy directs with a confident, light touch that made the film a huge international success in 1964. Propelled by (also recently departed this year) Michel Legrand’s swooning, iconic score, with brightly painted sets and picturesque cinematography, the film is an operatic meld of music and emotion.
Occasionally during the film Deneuve will turn her direct gaze to the camera, breaking the fourth wall, and connecting in a visceral, surprising way with the audience. At these times it seems her subsequent screen persona is fully formed, a stoic yet deeply emotional, unsmiling wealth of feeling beneath the calmest of surfaces. Seen (and heard) on the big screen in such optimal conditions, Demy’s heartfelt masterpiece made for a fantastic opening night offering.
