Monday, Nov. 05, 1934
The New Pictures
Marie Galante (Fox). One of the most exciting ways to tell a big story is to set in motion a little one which, as it develops, opens one window of the theme after another until from its narrow confines one sees the interplay of mighty offstage forces. This is the adventurous and highly successful technique Author Reginald Berkley and Director Henry King have used in presenting the adventures of Marie Galante (Ketti Gallian), a French girl shanghaied by the captain of a tramp steamer to whom she was delivering a telegram. Reaching Panama, she is filled with only one idea--the determination to get home again--and through her tiny, personal crisis, as she seeks help from one man after another in the Canal Zone, is gradually revealed the gargantuan plot of a munitions firm to start a war by blowing up the U. S. Navy as it passes through the Canal.
One by one the disguises are removed from the kindly or officious or indifferent people who surround Marie, and she learns that Tenoki, the Japanese importer (Leslie Fenton) and Crawbett (Spencer Tracy), the U. S. student of tropical diseases, and Ratcliff (Robert Loraine), the genial English visitor, are secret service agents of their respective countries, bent on forestalling the enemy to world peace, Brogard (Siegfried Rumann). The picture winds up to a climax which, played in the power house of a dam, with the turbines screaming and plenty of dynamite on hand, is as thrilling as anything brought to the screen this year.
Difficulties beset the makers of Marie Galante. Germany objected to the villain being a Teuton, so he is left without nationality, though strongly accented and with a Prussian haircut. The Japanese Ambassador notified all Japanese actors in Hollywood not to play the part of Tenoki, who is suspected of being the villain through most of the piece. When Leslie Fenton was cast for this part, Japan's Los Angeles Consul demanded changes, sent to Fox studios a censor who was won over, stayed to coach Fenton in Japanese mannerisms. The U. S. Navy demanded changes which would clear it of any appearance of negligence. The Government of Panama objected to the undignified manner in which the script portrayed Panamanian natives and the Canal Zone authorities protested against the presence of motion picture cameras in fortified zones. Arrangements satisfactory to all parties, however, were made in the script before production; no scenes had to be reshot.
This is Ketti Gallian's first feature cinema. Producer Winfield Sheehan signed her in London, where, playing in The Ace, she had been enough of a success to start two fashion fads: red hair ribbons and black silk stockings. Previously she had been a chanteuse in French cafes, had made French shorts. While in The Ace, she used to fly to Paris every week-end to see the races at Longchamps. Her first Hollywood contract contained a clause making it compulsory for her to speak perfect English in 100 days. Before the time expired, studio officials made her stop using slang, which she learned from Maurice Chevalier. Ignoring the current vogue for inaccessibility in imported film players, Ketti Gallian appeared at parties all dressed up, gave interviews with zest. She managed to keep her weight down riding a bicycle and swimming. Less sexy than many importations, she has a quick charm and an informal blonde beauty. She has gone back to France, will return for another picture.
Loyalties (Associated Talking Pictures). That the defects in this serious, painstaking adaptation of John Galsworthy's play are so obvious is partly because they are on the surface. Directed by Basil Dean, one of the backers of this British company which is planning wide-scale distribution in the U. S., the story moves slowly. Its static quality is increased by the fact that it is chopped into four major scenes in which the principal characters stand still and talk. Their talk is enough to make Loyalties an interesting picture which, because of its theme, may attain as much notice from the public as more pretentious importations.
Ferdinand de Levis (Basil Rathbone) is a hypersensitive Jew who feels the veiled disdain of London socialites who pretend to accept him. He accuses a fellow member of a house party of robbing him. As the evidence gathers against Captain Dancy (Miles Mander), his friends assemble to defend him. The conflicting ties of race and honor that force de Levis to maintain his accusation compel Dancy to take his denial into court. There the racial solidarity that has formed to protect him ends by destroying Dancy, in a scene whose theatrical effectiveness does not mar its honesty.
Good shot: a spectator in court wondering why Dancy's counsel has not challenged two Jews on the jury.
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