A couple of months ago, I wrote about some common absurdities that one finds in many older movies (and several of you added your own comments). Even when watching a classic, it’s not too hard to see something which isn’t quite right. Indeed, suspension of disbelief is required – one is compelled to "accept" certain absurdities – to enjoy a lot of studio era films (even whole genres, like musicals). Out of necessity, studio systems were developed, formulas and cliches that worked – e.g. that the public wanted or demanded and was willing to pay for time and time again – were found, and film-makers could become lazy.

Character actors thrived in this environment. If a director needed some filler, a funny bit to add to his picture to allow his main storyline time to develop, he could insert a sequence featuring a flibbertigibbet, a fuss-budget, a flustered or befuddled fool for no other reason, besides maybe comic relief. While there were certainly valid reasons for Franklin Pangborn, Eugene Pallette, Donald Meek, Allen Jenkins and Edward Brophy, Nat Pendleton and Guinn Big Boy Williams, Ned Sparks, Eric Blore and Edward Everett Horton, Willie Best, or even Frank McHugh, S.Z. Sakall, Alan Hale, and Reginald Owen to appear in genres other than (screwball) comedies, many of these stereotyped roles and their situations were contrived (and continued) because of their public appeal. Whether it was their peculiar mannerisms, distinguishing voices, uniquely amusing visages, street slang dialect, or physical presence and ability to play a lovable (or dim-witted) lug, each of these actors earned their distinct and singular "type".

Though my previous article mentioned the overwhelming presence of cigarettes in old movies, the fact that so many lead actors smoked onscreen (and off; even Ronald Reagan used to appear in Chesterfield ads), I failed to mention the use of alcohol and the many myths derived from its use. It’s amazing what we’re asked to believe about this fermented elixir in movies, particularly Westerns, as if whiskey is some sort of miracle drug that cures everything: it’s the anesthesia used when someone has to cauterize an open wound, and the hero needs it for courage. It’s used to revive a person that’s passed out or was knocked out in a fight (unless of course a bucket of water is handy to be poured over their head instead), even if it was alcohol induced! Booze not only heals, but it’s necessary after a long day’s work or a particularly trying situation – e.g. "I need a drink" – and I’ve even seen it given to pregnant women who are feeling badly!

This seems an apt place to segue into heretical territory … given the vastness of movie opinion found on the Internet, it’s easy to find bombastic reviews of nearly any film, actor, director, or writer etc. While there may be an historical critical consensus about a given picture or artist that’s favorable, not everyone must agree with the assessment (and that’s the way it’s supposed to be, at least in our great country). Heresy such as "Garbo was a bad actress", "I don’t care how good it is, I don’t like black-and-white movies", "TCM shouldn’t show silent films" and more is readily expressed by those who fail to appreciate Charlie Chaplin’s comic genius. One can also find countless comparisons – between today’s movies (or actors, directors, etc.) and those from the studio era – which are written without context (perhaps because the writer lacked any historical points of reference?).

Here’s a little heresy of my own which I think is especially applicable today: while I know that a lot of time, money and effort is spent on the lighting, art direction and set decoration, costume design & sound, and the entire experience may not even work if any of these is not in sync with the rest of the film, what I really care about is the story, whether it’s interesting and truthful, and whether the actors make it believable. I’m not even bothered by those painted on bookcases one sees in so many black-and-white B movies if I’m engaged in its plot. That’s not to say that I can’t appreciate a good costume drama when I see it but, if the story doesn’t interest me, I don’t much care whether the sets etc. are historically accurate or not. Though I can recognize it when I see it, great acting in character sketches are less enthralling unless they’re biographies of real people that fascinate me; for the most part, I find plot-less stories boring. That’s not to say that a movie has to be full of action, but a drama like The Big Knife (1955), which recently aired on TCM, is suffocating like so many plays which are adapted for the screen (though Long Day’s Journey Into Night (1962) and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) do not suffer similarly, perhaps because of their directors’ and editors’ choices).

Lastly, one of the things that is always puzzling to me whenever an old movie I’m watching features a woman giving birth to a baby – why is an endless supply of hot water and fresh blankets always required?