Wise: Howdy, Werth.
Werth: Hello, Wise. You look exhausted. And what's with all the bags?
Wise: It was Fashion Week here in New York last week, and I've been inspired to live with a greater sense of style. So, I've been out shopping, trying to discover my very own je ne se quoi.
Werth: And what have you found?
Wise: That fashion is probably best left to the professionals and the teenage gazelles that inspire them. Still, it's nice to look good, and when I can't afford the latest from Lanvin, I like to return to one of the style icons of the Silver Screen: William Powell in The Thin Man.
Werth: You've sung the stylish praises of Nick and Nora Charles once before.
Wise: Which is part of the pleasure of MGM's greatest detective duo: there's always another sequel to enjoy. After the Thin Man (1936) begins a few days after the events of the first film as Nick (Powell) and Nora (the ever delightful Myrna Loy) alight from the train in their hometown of San Francisco, anxious to begin celebrating New Year's Eve.
But first they have to overcome two obstacles: the crowd of unruly uninvited guests already jammed into their home and a last-minute invitation to dinner from Nora's strident Aunt Katherine (Jessie Ralph). Once there, they discover that Nora's cousin Selma (Elissa Landi) is miserable because her two-timing husband has been missing for days. Even her childhood sweetheart David Graham (Jimmy Stewart) can't seem to cheer her up.
Werth: Maybe she should try jumping off a bridge and being saved by an angel.
Wise: Escaping Selma's tears (and Aunt Katherine's stultifying guests) Nick and Nora head to a nightclub where they find Selma's ne'er do well husband Robert (Alan Marshall) making time with a two-bit nightclub singer (Dorothy McNulty who later took the name Penny Singleton and provided the voice for Jane Jetson). Robert recently convinced David to pay him off for leaving Selma, and when he turns up with a bullet in his back, Selma is the number one suspect, and Nick and Nora begin to investigate.
Their search turns up an assortment of petty thieves, gangster lowlifes, stereotyped evil Asians, and a load of slapstick provided by Powell's tippling and their loyal dog Asta's not-so-loyal doggie wife.
Werth: That bitch.
Wise: As in the first film, the clues don't exactly lead up to the final revelation, but who really cares when the detectives are as charming as these?
Not exactly a matinee idol, Powell and his tailor managed to transform him into one of the most debonair figures in Hollywood history: handsome, elegant, and charming no matter how much hooch he's poured down his gullet. His trademark pencil mustache and swank double breasted suits with sharp lapels make him the epitome of style no matter the era. And Myrna Loy, who began her career as little more than a pretty face, livens her beauty with crack comic timing, making her the fantasy wife of millions of moviegoers. (She also gets to wear a jaw-dropping sequined gown that reveals plenty of décolletage and almost all of her back.) Their pairing makes the perfect fashion statement, whatever the season.
Werth: The fashion statement of Todd Haynes' Velvet Goldmine (1998) would be a tad more overstated than Mr. Powell's. Set in the wild era of 70's glam-rock and after, Goldmine follows reporter Arthur Stuart (Christian Bale) as he tries to find out whatever happened to his rock idol, Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) ten years after his 1974 feathery, faked assassination. The film becomes a glittery trip down memory lane as Stuart interviews an old manager (Michael Feast) and Slade's sycophantic ex-wife Mandy (Toni Collette) about the time they spent with the ego-maniacal performer.
Wise: So, sort of a disco-era Citizen Kane, only this time Rosebud's a Moog synthesizer.
Werth: The timeline gets all jumbled as flashbacks collide and Stuart's own personal memories become intertwined with the saga of Brian Slade. The film's exploration of "otherness" and adoration is a mass of intense visual design, erotica, and fashion.
Sandy Powell's Oscar-nominated costumes bring the age back to vivid life with platform shoes and boots, boas, neckscarves, tight jeans, velvet jackets, and glitter adorning nearly every character, with the exception of when Ewan McGregor bares it all (and I mean all) on stage as the savage Curt Wild.
Wise: That's one rock show I'd pay to see.
Werth: Slade's show costumes are inspired constructions reminiscent of the creations from David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust period. Bowie himself pulled his support of the film when he realized Haynes was basing it on unauthorized bios of Bowie, but the resemblances to infamous performers like Iggy Pop, Lou Reed and even Kurt Cobain are unmistakeable.
Goldmine feels like an extended music video at times, but then, looking back, perhaps that's the best way to depict that era. Haynes' focus on fashion goes beyond simple replication and celebrates the sense of identity, sexuality, and freedom that clothing can bring. So even if I wouldn't be caught dead in sequin-studded tights with thigh-high purple platform boots and a Louis XIV velvet jacket—
Wise: You wouldn't?
Werth: Maybe for next week's Film Gab.
Werth: Cheerio, Wise.
Wise: Pip, pip, Werth.
Werth: It's good to see you already in your tweeds and mackintosh, ready to celebrate the birthday of one of Great Britain's greatest sons: Sir Winston Churchill.
Wise: Oh, actually I was inspired to get my Saville kit on because of my new Dame Judy Dench eau de cologne. It's smells of violets and withering sarcasm.
Werth: Whatever your reason, a celebration of British film is always in order. The Revolutionary War may have separated our two nations politically, but nothing could sever us cinematically.
Wise: Except possibly a second Brüno movie.
Werth: Nothing is more British than "Boy Wonder" director, Alfred Hitchcock and his film, The Lady Vanishes (1938). His second-to-last film shot in England before he came to our jolly shores is not as spine-tingling as some of his later knife-wielding fare, but what Lady lacks in scares, it makes up for in pure, English charm. Young playgirl Iris (Margaret Lockwood) is headed back to England to wed her dull as dishwater fiancé, when she befriends sweet little old lady Miss Froy (Dame May Whitty) on the train.
Wise: Because air travel just isn't suitable for afgans, kittens and knitting.
Werth: After a cup of tea in the dining car with her chatty new travel companion, Iris passes out—and when she awakens she discovers Miss Froy is missing. And when I say "missing" I mean nobody on the train remembers her ever being there.
The only person who semi-believes that Iris' Miss Froy ever existed is folkdance enthusiast and romantic lead, Gilbert (Vanessa and Lynn's papa, Michael Redgrave.)
Wise: I guess he boned up his investigative skills while dancing the mazurka.
Werth: As Iris and Gilbert endeavor to find out what became of Miss Froy they find themselves entangled in a web of lies and intrigue that only the great Hitchcock himself could untangle. Film theorists have suggested the film is actually Hitchcock's wake-up call to England to stop appeasing Hitler and get ready for war.
But Hitch was never asked that question, so we are left to wonder if the camaraderie of all the English train passengers against the Italian and vaguely Teutonic villains (including a magician, a surgeon, a nun in heels and a highly-coiffed wife of the Minister of Propaganda) was political rhetoric or just good clean fun. But however you watch The Lady Vanishes, you are sure to walk away pleased by its generous helpings of Anglo appeal and who-dunnit-ry.
Wise: Sometimes a film that seems veddy, veddy British on the surface, is actually an American film in disguise. Emma (1996), despite the Jane Austen source material and the cast jam-packed with Shakeaspearian thespians, stars Los Angeles-born Gwyneth Paltrow as the titular misguided matchmaker and was written and directed by Douglas McGrath who cuts his teeth behind the scenes at Saturday Night Live.
Werth: What? Roseanne Roseannadanna wasn't the cinematographer?
Wise: Originally conceived as a contemporary version of the Austen classic, McGrath decided to make a period film after learning that Amy Heckerling's Clueless was already in production. Still, the finished film feels very modern. Paltrow's Emma, displaying a creditable English accent, spars both verbally and physically (they are both, somewhat surprisingly, ardent archers) with Mr. Knightly (Jeremy Northam).
She also has a giddy flirtation with Ewan McGregor's Frank Churchill and is pursued by a very persistent Alan Cumming as Mr. Elton.
Werth: I can tell you right now who would I would rather take to the Cock & Bull.
Wise: Although there are moments that feel more like a Laura Ashley catalog than like a faithful adaptation of Jane Austen, the film is generally a pleasure, particularly Paltrow's chemistry with Northam who displays a sly wit along with Knightly's requisite bluster.
Toni Collette, who's great is just about everything she does, has a lot of fun as Harriet Smith, Emma's moony and readily manipulated friend.
Werth: Nothing's better than being moony and readily manipulated.
Wise: Much of credit for the film's freshness goes to McGrath's energetic direction. Obviously not bogged down by reverence for lugubrious period detail, McGrath manages the action with alacrity and wit, emphasizing the humor of the characters rather than replicating 19th Century manners.
Werth: I think we should watch our proper manners, and thank all our Film Gab readers terribly, terribly much for reading and whatnot.
Wise: And bid them to return next week for crumpets and gab.
Werth: Indubitably.
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