Bachelor Apartment

John Howard Lawson, later one of the blacklisted Hollywood Ten, composed this screenplay which is ostensibly quite the reverse from his normal proletarian bent, but is actually deeply altered by wordsmith J. Walter Ruben to a suave and somewhat risqué (pre-Code) comedy. Fortunately, some sense of Lawson's customary concerns remains, and is dealt with nicely by Irene Dunne, co-starring with the elegant Lowell Sherman, who also directs with his usual flare in this tale of a Park Avenue man about town struggling with a raft of nubile and aggressive young creatures. An early sound film, it forms the first arrangement of what has become a basic cinema plot device, as we know it, that of the carefree unmarried man being chastened from his rollicking ways by exposure to feelings of romantic love. Cinematography by the brilliant Lee Tover is of particular value here and one should advert to the art direction of Max Ree, who garnered an Academy Award for his characteristic talent during this same year (1931) as a result of his work with CIMARRON. Although Mae Murray's flamboyance is transcendental, the acting is generally quite good, with a particularly strong and stage-accented performance from the lovely Dunne as an older sister attempting to shepherd a wayward sibling while standing her own ground against a playboy's blandishments. One of the final pieces of Sherman's tragically shortened directorial career, the film offers many admirable passages, none less so than the opening scene, with that eternal butler Charles Coleman patiently dealing with an importunate telephone and doorbell, setting the pace in a picture that never pushes too hard or tries too strenuously for its effects.

I watched this on TCM for one reason: curiosity about Mae Murray. I had never seen her in a talkie, heard she was exceptionally bad and was expecting her to have a high-pitched or grating voice with a common accent. What a surprise to hear something more like a cross between Billie Burke and Myrna Loy but deeper. She still had "it" in the Thirties, with a fine figure, and I am not alone in wondering why she fizzled out so quickly. Over the top? Yes. Even obnoxious (particularly when she bursts into kooky peals of laughter) - but entertaining. When she's on screen you don't look at anyone else.

The second surprise was the direction by Lowell Sherman and the story by John Howard Lawson. There is a naturalness to the dialogue and a lifelike quality to the characters' frequent and casual banter that brings you inside the world of young ladies struggling in New York City during the early Depression years. Some exteriors are actual location shots of New York City streets and the interiors are depicted in detail, particularly clutter on tables (the aftermath of a wild party in the titular penthouse and breakfast paraphernalia in the humble flat inhabited by Dunne and her sister). Surely the leftwing Lawson was responsible for the haves-vs-have-nots element of the story. It's a witty and somewhat farcical tale about a Park Avenue business executive consumed with the pursuit and avoidance of an army of attractive young women until he meets Miss Right (Irene Dunne - no one ever righter). The supporting cast is mostly excellent, particularly Noel Francis as one of Sherman's pickups. She registered very strongly in a very brief scene as the prostitute in I AM A FUGITIVE FROM A CHAIN GANG.

At first sight one cannot accept the puffy and dissipated Sherman as a desirable ladies' man. Only in his mid-40s when he directed and starred in this film, he looks 10 years older and occasionally slurs his speech but nevertheless manages to be charming and totally in control in the kind of role Robert Montgomery was born to play. I see from IMDb that Sherman was a director of some note and consider it a sad loss for cinema that he died so young, though seeing him here and in WHAT PRICE Hollywood it's obvious he was far from robust. I intend to look for other films he directed based on my happy experience with BACHELOR APARTMENT.

We open on an bachelor apartment. We know this, because the place is trashed and littered with glasses, champagne bottles, cigarette butts, and something that looks like cigarettes all over the place, from the night before. We also know this, because this is aptly named "Bachelor Apartment." The bachelor in question is Lowell Sherman, whose other screen credits include What Price Hollywood?, the original "A Star is Born" movie, and his silent movies where he usually played the villain with the pencil-thin mustache. Here, he tries to stop playing the game, after finding it very tiresome having to keep track of who comes and goes through his revolving door. But it seems he decided just this morning. It makes the viewer wonder if this decision is one he makes all the time. But, in the meantime, the, er, um, ladies, yes well, they don't know of his conversion to sainthood and still show up unannounced, notably Mae Murray, in an unforgettable and saucy role, who can be seen in one scene in a see-through nightgown. Really! You can see.... Her husband suspects she's cheating and it's driving him crazy, He's going to find the @#$*& or die trying. Meanwhile, through a series of events, Irene Dunne enters the picture as a stenographer who doesn't like fast workers for bosses. He dares her to take this well-paying job, which she does. Will she fall for his charming ways? Will Irene's clean reputation rub off on him and make him see the light? Only I know, and you've got to see this very well-written and racy Pre-Code movie to find out.

I didn't expect much from this film when I first saw it, not knowing who Lowell Sherman was and figuring it would be extremely dated.

I found out the film provided some good laughs, some clever sarcastic dialog, realistic characters and a certain charm at the same time.

Sherman might have been a bit too old to be playing the role of playboy but he carried it off, being enjoyable to watch. It was fun seeing such a young Irene Dunne, too, complete with the early '30s short hairstyle. Unlike most of the women pictured in this film, Dunne played her typical high-principled character, reflecting the classy lady she was off screen, too.

Lowell Sherman plays wealthy businessman and playboy Wayne Carter who is juggling lots of women. He's not just NOT the marrying kind, he actively uses them and loses them. The easier they are to get the quicker he loses them as it seems the chase is 90% of the thrill for him. Then he meets a woman he cannot get - stenographer Helene Andrews (Irene Dunne). He can't tempt her with nice things, and he can't sweet talk her with his obvious come-ons. So he hires her as an executive secretary at his firm, and even that takes some talking for her to believe that this is anything but what it looks like - a long con attempt to get into her pants.

But then Carter starts to truly fall for Helene. The problem is that he, as part of his long con, has been extremely open about his love life and so any abrupt change in him would be eyed very suspiciously by Helene. The most complicating factor is an old flame of Carter's (Mae Murray) who married a rich man in his circle but who has decided that she wants to stay married to the rich guy but pick up her sex life with Carter where they left off before the marriage. And she's not averse to showing up unannounced at his penthouse, undressing, and jumping into his bed to wait for him. Complications ensue.

Subplots involve Dunne's showbiz sister (Claudia Dell) who, unlike Dunne's character, doesn't have a problem with sleeping her way to the top. Sherman had a breezy delivery of lines and a rapid-fire, almost overlapping way of doing dialog that seems very modern. You also get the feeling he ad libs constantly. The real curiosity here is Murray who was 45+ but is dressed like a woman in her 20s with an odd baby-talk way of speaking. It really is outrageous. Purnell Pratt plays Murray's husband who has murderous intent if he ever finds out who it is that his wife is seeing behind his back.

This was Irene Dunne's third feature film role, and it's not often you would see her pop up in a pre-code film, even with her usual virtuous persona.