Grand Hotel (Edmund Goulding, 1932)

In 1938, F. Scott Fitzgerald was tasked by MGM to write a screenplay for Joan Crawford. The film, Infidelity, never got made (although you can read the screenplay here). But Fitzgerald screened Chained (Clarence Brown, 1934) in order to gain a deeper understanding of Crawford on the screen and jotted down these notes:

"Why do her lips have to be glistening wet?... Don't like her smiling to herself--or such hammy gestures that most actresses get away with....Cynical accepting smile has gotten a little tired....She cannot fake her bluff, or pretend to.... Her smile brighter in outdoor situation than in drawing rooms...Outdoor girl better....Hearty laughter rather good....A sad smile not bad, but the serious expression best....Absolutely necessary that she feel her lines. Must be serious from first. So much better when she is serious. Must have direct, consuming purpose in mind at all points of the story--never anything vague or blurred. Must be driven."

Ever perceptive, Fitzgerald is anticipating the hard-as-nails Crawford of the post-WWII years, the Crawford MGM would not allow to blossom, especially in the wake of the lukewarm critical and box office reception of Rain (Lewis Milestone, 1932). Apart from maybe The Women (George Cukor, 1939), Rain was the only time in the 1930s that Crawford approached the kind of character Fitzgerald called for in his notes. Audiences of the time did not want to witness Crawford as the trashy, fiery Sadie Thompson and so for the rest of the decade, she evinced a coquettishness that cloaked her more independent instincts. But give or take the 1947 Possessed, it's her greatest performance. 

When taking those notes, Fitzgerald may as well have been watching Grand Hotel, a far less inventive film than Rain. As the plainspoken stenographess Flaemmchen, Crawford coos and giggles and flirts, frustrating the de facto Fitzgeralds in her fan base who know she's capable of embodying a self-actualized character. Then again, she doesn't fare any worse than the other stars on display here. The purpose of so many MGM properties of this ilk is to place John Barrymore, Lionel Barrymore, Wallace Beery into the film as one would set a diamond into a ring rather than string a pearl into a necklace. So the narrative has a lumpy frontality to it with forward motion halted by sloppy matches, jarring inserts, and an interminable scene in which Lionel Barrymore returns to his room drunk, shot in one lazy take. I do, however, still admire a moment when Crawford's cutesy demeanor contrasts with her blithely ordering absinthe (blech!).

Much more fascinating, and elegant, is the newsreel of the Hollywood premiere of Grand Hotel at Grauman's Chinese Theatre. Dozens of stars step up to sign their names in a oversized hotel register (does this register still exist?!?!). Crawford is there with a "nice sunburn." So are Mayer and his friend "Eddie" Goulding. And I'm in awe of the mahvelous accent of New York gal Lilyan Tashman who would be dead in two years of cancer at the age of 37.

Fittingly, Grand Hotel is the only film to date to have taken the Best Picture statue without being nominated in any other category. And this in a year going up against titles directed by Frank Borzage, John Ford, Ernst Lubitsch (two of his were nominated), King Vidor, and Josef von Sternberg. And yet the thing still has a hold on moviegoers. Leonard Maltin gives it four stars, the only Crawford film to receive that honor. Do you think this is Crawford's only four-star film?

Grade: C+ (docked a notch for overshadowing Rain)