God's Gift to Women

Having read the 700-page biography of Barbara Stanwyck, which only goes up to 1941, I'm not inclined toward sympathy for her first husband Frank Fay, who stars in this Warners bedroom farce. He was arrogant and possibly abusive, and you can see his career in free- fall here. But he's not bad. As an irresistible Don Juan in Paris, which is itself a bit of a stretch, he has a good way with a comic line and is expert at physical comedy. You don't know why Laura La Plante, Joan Blondell, and Louise Brooks, among others, are all fighting over him, but director Michael Curtiz sustains the action nicely, and the Deco costumes and sets are a treat. There's also the nice additional pleasure of a "Show Boat" connection: Leading lady La Plante, who's charming, had recently been Magnolia in the first film version, and Charles Winninger, the stage Captain Andy who repeated his role in the 1936 version, is her dad. He's quite different here, and good.

During the 1920s, Frank Fay was the highest paid performer in vaudeville, the comedian from whom Jack Benny candidly admitted he lifted his on-stage style. By 1931 when "God's Gift to Women" was released, he had married Barbara Stanwyck and groomed her for stardom while his own career was rapidly declining. An arrogant drunk with a flair for alienating his fellow performers, Fay's downfall didn't get much sympathy though it purportedly inspired the movie, "A Star is Born." For more than a decade, he was the classic example of a "used-to-was" until the producers of the Broadway play, "Harvey," tapped him to play Elwood P. Dowd. It was among the most memorable stage performances I've ever seen, a classic of fey (sic) whimsy and superb comedy timing. Jimmy Stewart in the screen version, couldn't come close. Suddenly, a far less arrogant Frank Fay was enjoying the accolades that had eluded him since the late 1920s. Watch "God's Gift to Women," a stiff, stilted early pre-code romantic romp and you'll see both why Fay's career went downhill and conversely why he had the ideal vaguely befuddled style to play a man with a six foot tall rabbit as a pal.

Frank Fay is horribly miscast in this film, which is about a lothario who falls in love with a sweet young woman (Laura LaPlante). He has absolutely zero screen presence, so making him a descendant of Don Juan who is "god's gift to women" is laughable, and he exacerbates things with a dopey performance, slurred lines, and mispronunciations of names like Monet, Rodin, and Paleozoic. (And I say this not biased over the person he was in real life, the reading of which made me feel bad for Barbara Stanwyck). The film alludes to adultery with several married women carrying on flings with his character without being weirdly punished or judged, nice fodder for a pre-Code film, but it doesn't do nearly enough with this.

To be honest, it's only watchable for the brief appearances of Louise Brooks and Joan Blondell, who liven things up considerably just after the 40 minute mark. You see, Fay's character has been told he must avoid women because of a heart condition, and that if he wants to live, he "must follow the tranquil existence of an oyster." Blondell shows up in a tight dress to nurse him back to health. As she's changing into something more comfortable in the next room (cut to a long shot of her in long black lingerie), Louise Brooks shows up to do the same (and yes, cut, to her flaunting her legs while changing). Blondell climbs on top of him to get him to stay down in a bed a couple of times, a third girlfriend (Yola d'Avril) enters, and eventually the three women get into a giant catfight on the bed, legs a-flailing. It's damn silly but of course the best part of the film - and I say that with no offense to LaPlante, who looks cute in her smart haircut and does what she can opposite Fay, who's a limp noodle.

While Blondell was just about to go on a tear in the early 1930's, the film was made at a sad point in Brooks' career. As Kenneth Tynan described it in "Lulu in Hollywood," in 1930 Brooks had gone back to Hollywood, but when she met with Columbia executive Harry Cohn, each time he appeared naked from the waist up. He writes, "Always a plain speaker, he left her in no doubt that good parts would come her way if she responded to his advances. She rebuffed them, and the proffered contract was withdrawn." If you look at the steep dropoff in Brooks' filmography, with this dog of a film one of only three she made in 1931 (and one of the other two a short), it's clear why she went back to New York and almost completely dropped out of the business. Enjoy seeing her here, in a talkie - and notice that while some of the other women in the cast have the hairstyle she made famous, she sports a different look. Otherwise, if you're not a fan of Brooks or Blondell, this is one to skip.

"God's Gift to Women" is nowhere near a star turn for Louise Brooks. The movie belongs to Frank Fay, who was a popular Broadway star of light comedies at the time, and the first husband of Barbara Stanwyck. Casting the effeminate Fay as a Casanova was a stretch, but his delivery is quite funny in places. The plot line is pretty predictable stuff, but there's a sweet little twist in the final scenes.

Laura La Plante, a tall, rangy Missouri beauty, has the female lead. She successfully made the transfer from silents to talkies. La Plante is charming, and she is photographed to best advantage.

Tenth billing. This is what Hollywood did with Louise Brooks in the early 30s, even after she had made "Pandora's Box" and "Diary of a Lost Girl," the two German films which assured her immortality. But very few Americans had seen those movies at all in 1931, and those who had saw only heavily censored versions.

Very little has changed in Hollywood in the past nearly 80 years. Consider Adrien Brody, whose Oscar netted him Diet Coke commercials, and Halle Berry, whose Golden Boy landed her roles in screen gems such as "Gothika" and "Catwoman." Hollywood punished Louise Brooks for being an independent thinker. Yet she makes the most of her 4-5 minutes' screen time in "God's Gift to Women." As always, you simply can't take your eyes off her.

Of the six or so films Frank Fay made under his early-talkie Warner contract, half wasted time presenting him as some sort of great lover. Battling this concept takes effort and a lapse in sense, not only by the audience, but by the casts of these pictures. This is especially true of THE MATRIMONIAL BED, is less a problem in BRIGHT LIGHTS, but might have reached the ludicrous in GOD'S GIFT TO WOMEN if not for the sensational women involved. Cast as a descendant of Don Juan (annoyingly called "Toto"), it is a testament to the female talent that there is still a lot of fun to be had despite the fact that Frank Fay seldom shut's his mouth. Though the script hardly gives anyone a chance, Fay's incessant chattering "style" is only matched once, when the savvy Joan Blondell fairly bursts into the man's boudoir -- a brief example of sophisticated bedroom farce. This sequence is followed by another gem, a most unexpected three-way battle over Fay; a sexy brawl taking place atop his bed involving ALL QUIET/WESTERN FRONT'S buxom Yola D'Avril, Miss Blondell, and the legendary and stunningly gorgeous Louise Brooks. Yes, Louise was thrown to the dogs in talking pictures, but here is one time (albeit sans bangs) where she looked and sounded sensational for the few moments we were allowed to see her. Nice moments, too, by perfectly capable, delightful silent players: SUNRISE vamp Margaret Livingston, who turns up to give leading lady Laura La Plante a rough moment. La Plante is lovely, and fully up to the challenge of sound comedy. Though hams abound, Alan Mowbray (as the butler), Tyrell Davis (managing to out-fey even Frank Fay), and the fabulous if underused Charles Winninger manage quite effectively. Merely in it for Louise Brooks (and I can't say as I blame you)? Advance to the bedroom romp, but watch the women cavort throughout the opening nightclub sequence -- there are enough glimpses to satisfy. Watch for the beautiful twins from Universal's KING OF JAZZ, the "Sisters G," both of whom are coiffed in what seems to be Louise Brooks' old hairstyle.