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Reviews
Broken Lullaby (1932)
Extraordinarily moving plea for pacifism and forgiveness
Sandwiched as it is between his more usual fair (i.e. saucy operetta), Lubitsch's "Broken Lullaby" has not only been eclipsed, it has been forgotten. This is a crime.
While the subject matter is entirely serious, there are several "Lubitsch touches" that reveal the scope of the message behind "Broken Lullaby," particularly the sequence wherein the wives of the town open their windows to call to the neighbors, passing along a chain of gossip that follows the hero and heroine on their way home. Another brilliant community sequence involves the town elders gathered together to drink beer and pass judgment, which stops cold once Barrymore (who has made the Ftrench soldier a sort of surrogate son) joins them.
The plot of "Broken Lullaby" is doubly suspenseful: for the first half of the film, you wonder how Paul will reveal his secret to the Holderlin family; when he opts to follow a non-confrontational line of masquerade, the new suspense sets in as you wonder when he'll tell them the truth (or will they find out on their own?).
Phillips Holmes is strikingly handsome, and while his performance may seem too old school for modern eyes, he is completely honest as the soldier who is near-to-bursting with guilt (although remorse is a better way to put it). Lionel Barrymore should have received his Oscar nod for this film, and his speech to his peers at the inn is delivered with all the fire of a later Capra idealist. Only Nancy Carroll (so good in the same year's "Hot Saturday) seems out of place as Elsa: she is too American for this tale.
Brilliant details such as a glimpse of a military parade as seen from behind a soldier who has lost one leg, Barrymore adjusting the clock in his dead son's immaculately kept room (shrine?), and the many battle montages overlapping the opening church service culminate in the most understated, moving, and beautiful final moments of any film, one in which dialog is jettisoned in favor of two instruments joining to play one gorgeous song.
"Broken Lullaby" deserves restoration and a release on DVD immediately, not only for Lubitsch fans interested in seeing another side of the master's art, but also for those who embrace the ethos of acceptance and love.
Safety in Numbers (1930)
Behold Buddy Rogers
"Safety In Numbers" makes you wonder if Buddy Rogers' career would have gained more momentum had it been filmed in, say, 1934-5, after the clunkiness of early sound-on-film technology had been ironed out. This was clearly meant to be a showcase for Rogers, and he certainly makes the most of his musical opportunities, singing in every number except "You Appeal To Me." Come to think of it, NOBODY sings "You Appeal To Me," because Carole Lombard could not sing, choosing instead to speak the lyrics over the orchestral accompaniment. But Rogers zips through his songs, even playing the drums and piano at one point, not to mention a wicked trombone solo during "The Pick-Up." The only problem seems to be whether or not Rogers is meant to be a libertine or a sweet guy - clearly his uncle imagines him to be a jazz-and-sex crazed rogue, but Rogers' sweet pan and wholesome, charming personality suggest nothing more decadent than a high school football captain slightly intoxicated on grandma's elderberry wine.
Regardless, the film is a risqué romp through an early Depression garden of opportunities to see young women in their underthings for extended periods of time (Rogers ingenuously asks one of the girls what a bra is - she answers: "A ping-pong net." He deadpans: "I love ping-pong.") It's difficult to tell Carole Lombard and Josephine Dunn apart in long shot, but up close (and when they opens their mouths), it's clear that Lombard had an edge on Dunn in terms of comedy and timing. Both Dunn and Crawford were forgotten by the mid-thirties; the former's blandness and the latter's staginess probably did nothing to contribute to their longevity.
Credit goes to George Marion Jr.'s lyrics - he is one of the more obscure Tin Pan Alley lyricists, but I always find his words snappy, literate, and loaded with internal rhymes and fresh ideas (ridiculous as "A Bee in Your Boudoir" might be, it's a clever song that sticks in your head).
If you can find the film, give it a whirl, for the sake of Buddy Rogers, a half dozen great songs, and a look at the "naughty" musical cinema of the Depression before the Code crackdown in mid-1934.