“You’re nothing but a railroad tramp.”

On the outskirts of town sits an empty saloon. The roulette wheel is ready for the hundreds of customers saloon owner, Vienna (Joan Crawford) knows will arrive with the new railroad. Local cattle ranchers–spearheaded by McIvers (Ward Bond) and the fanatical, repressed Emma (Mercedes McCambridge) oppose the railroad as they see it as a threat to their way of life. Emma’s hatred of Vienna is deeper than just a difference of opinion. Vienna is involved with the Dancing Kid (Scott Brady) one of four hard luck ne’er do wells mining for silver at a secret location just outside of town. Emma loves the Dancing Kid, but since she’s so repressed, she can’t admit it. She’s a bundle of hate and hysterical neuroses with the end result directed at Vienna.

A mysterious stranger known as Johnny Guitar (Sterling Hayden) arrives at the saloon. He doesn’t pack a gun–just a guitar–and he’s employed by Vienna to play music. It’s immediately obvious to the Dancing Kid that Johnny Guitar is a rival for Vienna’s affections. While Johnny Guitar uses mellow phrases to seem unthreatening, his words also reveal an unbending tenacity. It’s clear that Johnny Guitar and Vienna have a passionate history together. The murder of Emma’s brother during a stagecoach hold-up causes the locals to invade the saloon and order Vienna, the Dancing Kid and his band out of town–or else. Vienna refuses to leave, and Johnny Guitar decides to stay with her.

Women are the power centres in this fascinating western, and Vienna and Emma are complete opposites. Both women control a large number of men–Vienna controls through loyalty from her employees and discarded lovers, and Emma controls her posse through a misguided sense of duty and righteousness. Vienna has her pick of men, and the film’s sparkling dialogue hints at the long line of men in her past. In some scenes, Vienna dresses in men’s clothing–including packing a gun, and in other scenes, she wears flowing gowns. Emma, on the other hand, dressed in drab black, looks like a demented witch in some scenes, and she practically gasps with desire when the Dancing Kid playfully grabs her for a dance.

One of my favourite scenes in the film takes place between Johnny and Vienna as he drinks and begins to feel sorry for himself. Although the scene begins with a bittersweet tenderness, it soon explodes into angry regret. Johnny asks Vienna “how many men did you forget?” and she responds “as many women as you’ve remembered.” Vienna isn’t shy about the hints she throws out regarding other men–for example, she got her tip about the new railroad through “exchanging ‘confidences’ ” with a railroad engineer.

Johnny Guitar, from director Nicholas Ray, is a thematically rich film, and the film’s spectacular cinematography is perfect for this genre. The outside scenes emphasize the wide open spaces–the action is set against red mountains dynamited for the imminent railroad, wide sunsets, and magnificent vistas. Joan Crawford fans won’t want to miss this one.

“I have such a nasty imagination.”

Currently, Female on the Beach is not available commercially, and it’s very difficult to find a copy. For Joan Crawford fans like me, that’s a shame. Let’s face it, she’s everyone’s favourite screen bitch, and in Female on the Beach, Joan has her mellow, melting moments when she casts those huge eyes at the camera, and then she also has her tough, “don’t screw with me” moments too.

Lynn Markham (Joan Crawford), the wealthy widow of a Las Vegas gambler returns to her gorgeous beach house. She’s seeking solitude and privacy, but it seems that the previous tenant, Eloise Crandall, another older wealthy widow, had an ‘open door’ policy with the local beach bum, hunk Drummond Hall (Jeff Chandler). Lynn thinks that Mrs. Crandall simply moved out, but she died, under mysterious circumstances, the very night before Lynn returns to take possession of her home.

Beautiful real estate agent, Amy Rawlinson (Jan Sterling) tries to hide the nitty gritty details about the tragic death of Mrs. Crandall from Lynn, but it takes just a few minutes for no-nonsense, self-assured Lynn to icily cut through the lies. Lynn also tries to keep Drummond at a distance, and that’s not so easy. He waltzes in and out of the house at all hours (he has a key), and he thinks it’s ‘neighbourly’ to wake her up with offers of coffee and breakfast. Gigolo Drummond tries too hard to ingratiate himself with Lynn, and she doesn’t buy his lavish complements and cheesy pick-up lines: “There must be some way I can amuse you” and “You’re cold. Let me warm you.” Lynn always has a sharp retort for his clumsy advances, finally telling him, “You must come with the house. Like the plumbing.”

Meanwhile Lt. Galley (Charles Drake) isn’t so sure that the death of Mrs. Crandall was an accident–especially when he discovers that toy boy Drummond and his con artist “aunt and uncle” were slowly bleeding money from Mrs. Crandall….

Joan Crawford was 50 years old when she made this film, and she looks great. And it seems that she wants her audience to know that she looks great too. Scenes are staged to show off her body; she slips out of bed with her nightgown up around her hips. She makes a grand entrance which shows off her slim, trim figure in dark, form-fitting trousers, and in several languorous moments, we get full view of those long, long legs. This isn’t Joan’s best film, but it’s a lot of fun for her many fans.

“This was before Prozac.”

Based on the best seller by Christina Crawford, the film version of Mommie Dearest casts Faye Dunaway as the neurotic, deeply troubled Joan Crawford. The film doesn’t cover much of Joan’s career, but instead follows the book’s premise, showing life through the eyes of Joan’s adopted daughter, Christine.

The film includes some excellent scenes of the children being trouped out for official (and completely fake) photographs. In real life, Joan actually adopted four children, but only two appear in the film. Faye Dunaway is incredible in this role, and at times I had to remind myself that this was Faye Dunaway playing Joan Crawford, and not the ‘real’ thing. Could anyone have possibly played a better Joan Crawford? I doubt it. This is great fun for fans of Joan (it’s almost as good as watching one of her wonderful films), and those who love Camp won’t be disappointed either. Joan, who always portrayed tough, indestructible women, is shown here in a way the cameras didn’t get to see–the obsessive cleaner, the consummate perfectionist, the “control freak” and the dreadful mother. This is hardly a flattering portrait of Joan Crawford, but somehow I don’t think Crawford fans have too much of a problem seeing her this way. I didn’t particularly enjoy the book Mommie Dearest for many reasons, but I did enjoy the film.

This Special Collector’s Edition is worth every penny. Watch Mommie Dearest all the way through and then watch it with the witty and wise commentary by John Waters. Since John Waters is my guru on many matters, I also wanted to get his interpretation of events. His analysis of both the film–and the relationship between Christine and Joan–were perfect. It’s interesting to see which scenes and which lines he considers ‘over the top’ (keep in mind that this is coming from the director of “Pink Flamingos”). He has plenty of comments to make about Faye Dunaway’s outfits, her eyebrows and those infamous wire hangers. He argues that the part of Joan Crawford was the “first drag queen role played by a woman.” He points out that many things Christina suffered through were “normal” events for the times, but at the same time, he states that Joan should never have considered motherhood. He argues that Joan Crawford gave Christine “more than most mothers and made her pay for it more than most mothers.”

DVD extras include “Life with Joan”, “The Revival of Joan” and “Joan Lives on”, a photo gallery and the original theatrical trailer.

“I’m a cheap little dancer in a nightclub, and you thought you could have me on your own terms.”

Bonnie (Joan Crawford) and Rodney (William Bakewell) are brought up in luxury by their millionaire father, Stanley Jordan (William Holden), and the film begins with the Jordan family romping on the family yacht. Bonnie is the life and soul of the party–she has a fiance, Robert Townsend (Lester Vail) who claims to adore her, and she’s surrounded by high society friends. When the stock market crash ruins the Jordan family, however, their fortune and their friends rapidly disappear. Bonnie–the tougher of the Jordan siblings–realizes that the only solution is to get a job, but Rodney is horrified at the idea. Pride, Bonnie’s dominant characteristic, dictates how she copes with the loss of her fortune, and also how she manages to survive in various difficult situations.

Thanks to a newspaper editor who stayed loyal to the Jordans, Bonnie is given a job as a reporter, but her stories are relegated to the home and garden section of the paper. The only thing that Rodney’s an expert in is alcohol, and so he drifts towards bootlegging and is given a job by ruthless bootlegger Jake Luva (Clark Gable). Luva intends to use Rodney’s “blueblood” connections to wheedle his moonshine into the homes of the wealthy boozers in town.

In order to break the story on rival bootleggers, Bonnie goes undercover in Luva’s nightclub as a dancer, but Luva’s not an idiot, and while he’s attracted to his new leggy dancer, he’s all business. This pre-code film directed by Harry Beaumont is a great find for Crawford fans–she doesn’t exhibit that trademark mean streak so often capitalized on by her many film roles. In Dance, Fools, Dance she develops a brittle hard-as-nails veneer to survive, and she’s still got the wild-eyed Joan Crawford look. One scene shows Crawford dancing, and in another scene she plays a jazzed up version of the Moonlight Sonata on the piano, and since this is a pre-code film, several scenes involve undies. Pre-code fans should find this film well worth watching.

The way you look at me, you’d think I was some sort of tramp.”

Jessie Cassidy (Joan Crawford) works long hours at a sweatshop only to dutifully hand over her pitiful wages to her long-suffering mother each week. Jessie’s the sole wage earner of the family, and she’s stuck in a squalid tenement apartment supporting her weasely brother and lazy armchair philosopher father. To Jessie, there is no hope for the future–just more drudgery and endless poverty. There’s only one ray of hope in Jessie’s life, and that’s found in the occasional night out with her beau Eddie (Alan Curtis). Eddie’s a small time fight promoter, but to Jessie he represents freedom. Desperate to escape, Jessie marries Eddie, but she only trades one squalid lifestyle for another.

Jessie comes to the attention of eccentric millionaire John L. Hennessey (Spencer Tracy). He recognizes Jessie’s good qualities–her work ethic and her loyalty, and he imagines he can buy that for himself. Eddie, on the other hand, realizes that Jessie is his last valuable asset, and he’s willing to trade her in to Hennessey as long as he gets a share of the profits.

Mannequin examines the way in which money taints love. Both poverty and extreme wealth are shown to be inhibitors in relationships. On one hand, the day-to-day worry of exactly how you’re going to put food on the table destroys a romance, but wealth also colours a relationship. In Hennessey’s case, how can he know that he’s loved for his character–especially when he showers his beloved with endless gifts–mink coats and gee-gaws? This dilemma is at the heart of this simple, but enjoyable, little rags-to-riches Joan Crawford vehicle directed by Frank Borgaze.