Looking at the industry’s tense relationship with homosexuality during the golden age.
The Archivist — Welcome to the Archive. As home video formats have evolved over the years, a multitude of films have found themselves in danger of being forgotten forever due to their niche appeal. Thankfully, Warner Bros. established the Archive Collection, a Manufacture-On-Demand DVD operation devoted to thousands of idiosyncratic and ephemeral works of cinema. The Archive has expanded to include a streaming service, revivals of out-of-print DVDs, and Blu-ray discs (which, unlike the DVDs, are factory pressed rather than burned). Join us as we explore this treasure trove of cinematic discovery!
Movie history has never been short on the number of films throughout the years which could be pointed to as true game changers in the way the world understands homosexuality. From Myra Breckinridge’s title character to Philadelphia’s Andrew Beckett, film has offered up a host of storytelling voices, with goals of trying to get a handle on a side of human life still alien for many. While the last few years have brought forth such thoughtful portraits of the gay world through the poetry of Moonlight and Call Me By Your Name, there’s no disguising the number of films that came before which sought to bury what were felt to be the dark side of the LGBTQ world; echoing the negative real-world stigma attached to members of the community.
The most common practice of this was in the hiding and reshaping of gay and lesbian characters in films to fit the confines of censor boards and conservative America as a whole. In this edition of The Archivist, we explore two such examples of the kind of golden age Hollywood rug-sweeping where a character’s true essence was either locked firmly in the closet or re-written altogether. In William Wyler’s These Three and Michael Curtiz’s Young Man with a Horn, we see films and characters adhering to their eras, while skillfully hinting at how the general public would later have to acknowledge homosexuality and be forced to make sense of it as a part of daily life.
Young Man with a Horn
In this early 50s melodrama, an aspiring trumpet player named Rick Martin (Kirk Douglas) travels to New York City with hopes of becoming a top musician. In spite of facing one hard-luck obstacle after another, success finally comes his way. Yet a stormy marriage to the beautiful but distant Amy (Lauren Bacall), the affections of big-band singer Jo (Doris Day) and an increasing drinking habit all signal a severe downfall for Rick.
On the surface, Young Man with a Horn isn’t the most memorable of movies. It’s plotting is conventional as are the emotional beats driven by the movie’s general love triangle set-up. In fact, were it not for its trio of high-profile stars, and the rumors concerning Douglas and Bacall’s dislike of Day, the film boasts very little interest among average classic movie fans. Yet the fascination of Young Man with a Horn lies squarely with the lesbian underpinnings of Bacall’s Amy. Cold, but alluring, Amy lets Rick fall in love with her knowing there isn’t one part of her that loves him back. “Only people who respect themselves can ever give love fully and freely,” she states. “I don’t happen to respect myself.” When the two marry, it’s clear by the shutting down on Amy’s part that this is a union she felt she couldn’t avoid and hates it almost as much as she hates society’s reason for making her enter into it. There’s a sense of longing for an existence in a different world and a different time where her true nature would be allowed to run free. Yet Amy is stuck in the current present, hating herself and any man who dares to get close to her. “Why did you marry me,” Rick asks at one point. “How do you know about anything for sure until you try it,” she responds.
These Three
Based on Lillian Hellman’s acclaimed stage work, best friends Martha (Miriam Hopkins) and Karen (Merle Oberon) decide to open up a girls school in a small town. Along the way, Karen develops feelings for the good-natured town doctor Joseph (Joel McCrea), even though Martha is also secretly in love with him. When a devious student (an excellent, Oscar-nominated Bonita Granville) spreads a malicious lie about Martha and Joseph, it threatens to destroy them all.
It’s hard to fathom of any individual remotely familiar with Hellman’s play who couldn’t look at These Three the way the studio had intended them to. In Hellman’s daring original work, Martha’s love wasn’t for Joe, but for Karen; a secret she’d kept hidden throughout their friendship. The film version does a tidy job of switching things up in terms of narrative, but it’s all but impossible not to look at Martha and sense the feelings of repression, guilt and desire Hellman gave her; all of which Hopkins brilliantly brings to life. Because of this, any scene featuring Martha with either Karen or Joe is spilling over with romantic subtext. The same goes for the dialogue, most of it retained from the play itself and with it the original context. “Whatever went on in your school may possibly be your business,” says Alma Kruger’s wealthy benefactor. “It becomes a great deal more than that when children are involved.” It’s the character of Martha who remains the most watchable figure of These Three in spite of and because of the scripts drastic changes. “I’ve always loved him,” she confesses to Karen in the film’s climax. “He never knew about it; he never even thought about me.” While Hellman’s play would eventually be remade as 1961’s The Children’s Hour starring Shirley Maclaine and Audrey Hepburn, which kept its lesbian theme in tact, These Three remains a true example of Hollywood’s conflicted relationship with art and then-current social norms.
