Bring the dead man's shoes down to the seashore, child

[sovay]

It feels somehow redundant to take a shower in the middle of a thunderstorm so sudden and extreme that our street flooded and bore a beer can before it like Ophelia along the brook, but I understand the neighbors might complain if I just stepped outside with some soap.

I still want to write about queer film for the oh God week of June remaining, but at some future date I would like to return my attention to Andre DeToth's Pitfall (1948), which I watched tonight on TCM. It begins as a semi-satirical sketch of midlife crisis that veers first into poshlost and then into film noir, actually darker than I had expected; it ends with enormous ambivalence about its allotment of justice and never loses sight of the fact that Lizabeth Scott is not the femme fatale but the sole character onscreen trying to behave decently, triangulated between three men who treat her badly in their different ways. Her fiancé got himself incarcerated embezzling funds to buy her rich gifts she didn't ask for and would never have traded for him. The private investigator who followed the money all the way to her engagement ring has begun stalking her with scarily complacent sleaze. And the insurance agent who so unexpectedly charmed her in the wake of the disaster with her fiancé—a grey flannel drone who became much more personable after she embarrassed him into buying her a drink mid-repossession of her jewelry—just didn't bother to mention his wife. It's clever to cast Scott with her cut-glass cheekbones and her unimpressed voice and her eyes that she hardly lets anyone see into in this role of romantic loser, rather than a softer, more obviously vulnerable actress; it encourages the audience into the the illusion shared by the male characters, that she must be the active agent in this thickening web of adultery and beatings and blackmail, and then jerks us up short against the reality, that she's a handsome kid who loves messing about in boats and can't even refuse to model clothes for her stalker without losing her job. As in The Blue Gardenia (1953), rape culture is accurately described long before it was scientifically named. If anyone's decoyed and doomed by love in this story, it's not the men. Scott tells us as much at the outset: "If you were a nice guy, you'd cry a little bit with me and feel sorry for a girl whose first engagement ring was given to her by a man stupid enough to embezzle—and stupid enough to get caught." It is not every Code-era movie where the DA agrees at the end.

spatch sourced me a photo of the Playland Café, which at the time of its demise in 1998 was Boston's oldest surviving gay bar. I wish I'd known. Note to self: look into Improper Bostonians: Lesbian and Gay History from the Puritans to Playland.

Comments

[cmcmck]

Now that sounds like an interesting read, especially the 17th century end which is, as you know, my historical specialism.

[thisbluespirit]

but I understand the neighbors might complain if I just stepped outside with some soap.

The temperature wouldn't be adjustable, either, and there's always the risk it would switch off at the most inconvenient moment.

The film sounds very interesting!

[asakiyume]

That sounds like an excellent movie--I enjoyed The Blue Gardenia on your recommendation and am sure I'd enjoy this, too. I'll have to look around for it.

, but I understand the neighbors might complain if I just stepped outside with some soap. I actually love this idea; it seems like it could be a great dance number in a film with dance numbers--people pouring out of their triple-deckers to shower in a summer thunderstorm. (It was quite the downpour here, too)

Does your subject line come from your listening material? It's a great line.

ETA: listening to the song now. Oh yes. Yes it is. Wow-wow-wow.

[lauradi7dw]

I don’t remember Playland, but I wasn’t the target demographic. My memories of gay bars in Boston are Saints, where I went to hear the New Harmony Sisterhood in the mid1970s, and the 1270,where I went dancing with a friend, also in that decade. Walked by Sporters on Cambridge Street dozens of times, but never had any reason to go in. There seems to be a lot of archival information online.

[alexxkay]

I had not previously encountered "poshlost" and googled it. Fascinating!

[sovay]

I had not previously encountered "poshlost" and googled it. Fascinating!

I got it from Nabokov.

(Technically I got it from a course on Nabokov I audited in college, but it's been useful ever since.)

[edit] Now I actually want someone to look at poshlost in noir. I bet it's been done. Double Indemnity?

[sovay]

Now that sounds like an interesting read, especially the 17th century end which is, as you know, my historical specialism.

If you get to it before I do, enjoy!

[sovay]

The temperature wouldn't be adjustable, either, and there's always the risk it would switch off at the most inconvenient moment.

I understand all the practical objections, but standing inside under an artificial downpour while a real one merrily batters down outside still feels silly!

The film sounds very interesting!

I really liked it! The one-line summary was "A married insurance man falls for a criminal's girlfriend," which did not sound very promising, but once again the one-line summary entirely missed the point.

[sovay]

That sounds like an excellent movie--I enjoyed The Blue Gardeniaon your recommendation

I'm really glad! I think I'd forgotten that you had actually tracked it down.

and am sure I'd enjoy this, too. I'll have to look around for it.

It's on DVD from Kino, which I hope means it's available through Netflix and/or libraries. Strictly speaking Lizabeth Scott is not the protagonist—that's Dick Powell, in his second career as hardboiled leading man instead of juvenile tenor—but I'd still classify it as feminist noir. The movie knows she's a person. It can see her even when the other characters can't.

I actually love this idea; it seems like it could be a great dance number in a film with dance numbers--people pouring out of their triple-deckers to shower in a summer thunderstorm. (It was quite the downpour here, too)

I like this image!

ETA: listening to the song now. Oh yes. Yes it is. Wow-wow-wow.

I think Stranger Fruit is a more hit-or-miss album than Devil Is Fine partly because it's twice the length and more experimental, but its strong songs are really strong.

[sovay]

My memories of gay bars in Boston are Saints, where I went to hear the New Harmony Sisterhood in the mid1970s, and the 1270,where I went dancing with a friend, also in that decade.

Nice.

There seems to be a lot of archival information online.

I'd seen a kind of masterpost of famous American gay bars with Playland identified specifically as a mid-century lesbian hangout but no further information about where in Boston, so I asked spatch to find it for me and he did. It will be relevant to something, someday, if my brain ever returns.

[ethelmay]

I remember washing my hair in a thunderstorm once when I was in college. But as far as I can recall I had clothes on. Also short hair.

[sovay]

I remember washing my hair in a thunderstorm once when I was in college. But as far as I can recall I had clothes on. Also short hair.

That's still pretty neat.

[gwynnega]

I liked Pitfall a lot, for the reasons you mention. And Raymond Burr has never been sleazier (which is saying something).

[sovay]

I liked Pitfall a lot, for the reasons you mention.

As an introduction to noir Dick Powell, it was also good, but I was really not expecting the characterization of Scott and I was really pleased by it. I am guessing now that the gender problems in Ramrod (1947) were not the fault of Andre DeToth.

And Raymond Burr has never been sleazier (which is saying something).

Seriously! Just for variety, I hope he got one movie sometime where he did not make the skin of every woman in the audience crawl.