Howard Hawks’ Twentieth Century is a film about doors. People opening and closing doors, going out and coming in through them, tearing them open and entering uninvited, and slamming them shut and leaving in a huff. All things considered, it’s a marvel that the hinges didn’t break. In the film’s limited settings (almost entirely backstage, on-stage, or on a train), these doors become dramatic set piecesÑthe center of all actionÑand invaluable portals for the characters to step through. And in passing, they become a different person. The doorway possesses magical qualitiesÑit transforms, mutates, contorts, fabricatesÑit signals the end of one performance and the start of another, in a never-ending daisy-chain of facades and theatrical routines (both on- and off-stage).
John Barrymore is the director and Carole Lombard is the lingerie-model-turned-protégé. As she rises to the top, he falls to the bottomÑand somewhere in between they unknowingly want to meet, all the while pretending that they hate each other’s guts. ButÑmaybe they actually do. Who really knows, in this comedy of hammy-insincerity and permanent role-playing. “You horrible fake!” Lombard yells at BarrymoreÑthe irony is that, yes, he is a fake, but so is she. And instead of being horrible, he’s absolutely marvelous! Whether imitating Sagittarius the Archer, chalking up the stage with criss-crossing directional arrows, or excitedly improvising his vision of an extravagant Passion Play (complete with live camels and desert sand on-stage), Barrymore is at his peak as an actor. Between his eccentrically expressive eyes and Beethoven-esque hairdo, his hamminess has no equalÑunless it is Lombard, herself. “Am I a fake?” she inquires. The answerÑan undeniably and enthusiastic “Yes!” “I despise temperament,” she says, yet her polar reactions are the definition of “the temperamental diva.” Her “bad” acting is so convincing that, at first, one feels as though they are watching an untrained actress, while her excited reaction to Barrymore’s Passion Play is so believable that not only is Barrymore fooledÑbut so are we.
“You’ve always misunderstood me,” says Barrymore to Lombard. WellÑno, she hasn’t. Together, they are the apex of multiplicity. Like a child on a merry-go-round, we marvel at their circular movement in-and-out of character (never in any one role long enough to entertain any “true” persona) and never stop to think about the engineer in the center, making it all go round. In this case, however, there are any number of engineersÑBarrymore, Lombard, Hawks, writers Ben Hect and Charles MacArthurÑand together, they so perfectly create a seamless illusion of never-ending theatricality and performance.
by Cullen Gallagher | Source: 35mm Print
17 Sep 2008 12:05 AM | Submit Comment
