Dix sous la danse

Soon after this effort, Lionel Barrymore went back to acting full-time. I wouldn't blame him. Although Stanwyck is excellent as usual, this is a slight tale, typical of the time, that she alone makes worth watching—one time only. There's something frustrating, moreover, about how her character remains faithfully committed to the lout played by Monroe Owsley for so long. I suppose we have to accept that behavior which in our day would seem masochistic was the cultural norm in 1931 for most women. On the Pre-Code front, there's a gum-chewing scene stealer, foxy Sally Blane as Molly, a newbie who can't wait to dive into the sleazy dance hall world, although Stanwyck tries to advise her (and immediately says she knows that Molly is underage).

What brings everything down is the low budget. Columbia could mount a good-looking feature from time to time, but in 1931, I suppose they weren't doing it very much. The art director does suggest the opulence of Ricardo Cortez's apartment effectively without showing its interior; we get the idea from the lobby, hallway leading up to his door and vestibule, with its snazzy Spanish California motif. But the rest of the picture is pretty threadbare, and Barrymore's direction seems perfunctory and hurried, as if pressured by budget and schedule constraints (I hasten to add that budget is not necessarily everything; take a look at the excellent, absorbing Five Star Final, which basically takes place in two newspaper offices and an apartment living room, to see how resourcefully such conditions can be handled).

As for the story itself, it looks like it was dreamed up by somebody and sketched out on the back of an envelope all in the space of one afternoon. If Barrymore felt dispirited, he sure showed 'em, going into "A Free Soul" this very year, where his performance blew everybody's minds and won him a lifetime MGM contract. The song of the title is pretty good; we hear but do not see it performed by a torchy vocalist.

... I wouldn't give you a plugged nickel for that heel husband of hers.

When we first meet Barbara O'Neill (Barbara Stanwyck) she's hustling dances at a dime a piece in a cheap Depression era dance hall. She seems to have a good enough head on her shoulders, one good enough to prevent her from descending down into prostitution or believing the lies of the customers that might want things to go further. This is not the tough hardened Stanwyck of Baby Face. However she genuinely likes Bradley Carlton (Ricardo Cortez), a wealthy businessman who just enjoys talking to her. She asks him for one favor, and that not for herself - to hire an out of work and soon to be homeless young guy who lives at the same boarding house she does, Eddie Miller (Monroe Owsley). She gets her favor.

For some reason the common sense Barbara has with men in the dance hall seems to elude her when it comes to Eddie. Beggars can't be choosers, but unfortunately so many are and Eddie is no exception. When he learns Barbara is working in a dance hall, not a dance school as she told him, he busts in and insists she quits and manages to fit a proposal somewhere in there too. The two hastily marry, and Eddie, once so grateful for a forty dollar a week job that would keep him fed and a roof over his head soon wants more than he has - more of a job, a higher class lifestyle, maybe even a higher class woman. I'll let you watch and see where all of this goes.

It was fun to see Ricardo Cortez playing a good guy for a change - not a doormat - just a good guy. I also really liked the playing of the title song in its entirety after the movie ends - it was a nice Depression era touch.

Ten Cents a Dance (1931)

*** (out of 4)

Criminally underrated drama about a woman (Barbara Stanwyck) working at a dance hall who agrees to marry a poor man (Monroe Owsley) even though she could have had a rich man (Ricardo Cortez) who was in love with her. Soon after the marriage the woman learns that her husband is a womanizer and a thief but she's forced to ask the rich man for money when her husband falls into some major trouble. I had read so many negative reviews about this thing (including one in Leonard Maltin's Classic Movie Guide) that it really took me by surprised and I'd probably go as far as to call it one of the most underrated and un-appreciated films from this era. I'm not going to say this is a lost masterpiece or some important piece of film history but it's certainly a highly entertaining gem that deserves to be re-discovered. What really caught me off guard was the performance of Stanwyck who is quite remarkable. She made a career out of playing tough women who wouldn't take any crap from anyone but here she's the complete opposite as her character is so weak and fragile that it really shocked me at how terrific the actress played it. Just take a look at the first ten minutes when she's forced to be tough inside the dance hall but then the next scene she's falling for the sad story being told to her by Owsley. The compassion Stanwyck expresses in this scene is something I've never seen from her and the eventual weakness of her character is something else I've never seen her do. She handles all of this extremely well and it really made me wish we had gotten to see more roles like this. Sure, she's a legend playing the tough girl but she really was remarkable here and sold every inch of her character. Owsley is also terrific as he too has different sides of his character and he does both of them with ease. I thought he was terrific as the sweet, friendly guy that Stanwyck marries and that sleazy side comes across without any issues. Cortez is another major plus getting to play a soft-hearted guy. Barrymore's direction is pretty straight-forward as he doesn't go for much style but instead lets the performance lead the film. I thought he did a very good job at keeping the drama going and it's a shame this turned out to be his last directorial job. The film is based on a popular song of the day and when I saw this on the credits I thought we were going to be in for a long and boring film but it was the complete opposite. This Columbia film has pretty much been forgotten, which is a real shame but hopefully more people will give it a shot. Film buffs will also notice a line that would become legendary in CASABLANCA but here it is over a decade earlier.

Fans of pre-Code films will forgive this 1931 Columbia Pictures feature directed by Lionel Barrymore (his last directorial effort) if only because it stars Barbara Stanwyck in an early role. As is the case with all stars, she is even then true in every moment, entirely believable, and far surpasses the wooden script and the rest of the cast. Most embarrassing is Monroe Owsley as her no-good husband; he is particularly bad, totally false, overacting. Ricardo Cortez has a thankless role and does his best. This is a perfect example of how a star can make something out of nothing by the sheer power of her personality.

Columbia programmer "inspired by the song by Rodgers and Hart," and in fact it's sung over the credits, including the "pansy" line, which got censored in future film renditions. But all it really inspires is the setting, a dime-a-dance hall, where Stanwyck, in an early, prototypical role, is pursued by a rich (Cortez) and poor (Owsley) guy, and in a clever reversal, the nice-seeming poor guy turns out to be a cad and the rich guy is genuine and caring. Stanwyck's facial expressions alone are touching and assured, and she even cries convincingly, unlike many more actressy actresses of the period. Owsley is callow and unlikable, but then that's what he's playing, and Cortez underplays well, with liquid eyes that are indeed the mirrors to this character's soul. It's indifferently directed by Lionel Barrymore and has little in production value, but Jo Swerling's screenplay isn't bad, and the pre-Code candor is a treat.