The 1930s was the decade that motorised travel took a big step forward in terms of mechanical efficiency and, more importantly for us, style...
1933 Rolls Royce Phantom
In the United States, the era of Prohibition ended in 1933, which left just enough time for us to picture Feds (or crooks) standing on these running boards, machine guns in hand, spraying lead as the car screeches round a tight corner...
1932 Duesenberg
But would it be a Dodge, a Buick, a Packard, a Plymouth, a Deusenberg or maybe even a Lincoln, if you had your choice of classic Americana?
1938 Buick
There's no denying that besides the increasing stylishness of the cars themselves, one of the added pleasures of motoring in 1930s had to be the comparative emptiness of the roads. A modest Ford might only cost around $500, but a Cadillac might set you back six times that amount. That said, for much of the decade, your Pound Sterling would buy you no less than five US Dollars. That being the case, why not invest in something beautiful and Italian?
1936 Bugatti type-57SC Atlantic
But surely, the Talbot-Lago of 1938 (or thereabouts) expresses up the ultimate in Thirties motoring style:
Or could it be the spaceship-like Phantom Corsair?
Custom made for heinz food heir, Rust Heinz this sleek wonder also made a film appearance in 1938s The Young in Heart (starring Paulette Goddard and Douglas Fairbanks jr). How flattered Heinz would have been to hear his beauty referred to as the 'Flying Wombat' we'll never know (he died in a car accident in 1939).
Of course, style can overwhelm function when over-indulged (the front bumper of the Bugatti Royale might well have arrived at its destination before the rear one had even left home), but wouldn't you just love, just once, to ride in one of these all the way to that Movie premiere, or dinner in Monte Carlo?
Excess in times of shortage and austerity - deplorable, isn't it? And yet, at least with respect to Hollywoood, the deprived and poverty-stricken audiences of the depressed 1930s seemed to adore excess...
There probably could only ever be one Busby Berkeley. His kaleidoscopic fantasy dance scenes lit up the era and warmed the cockles of many a blighted heart. Berkeley dealt in Escapism with a capital 'E'. Although presented as though part of a genuine Broadway musical show, Berkeley's visions were quite impossible to stage. Apart from the expense, the geometric patterns and kaleidoscopic imagery could never have been appreciated by an audience tethered to conventional theatre seats - note how the camera soars into the roof of the auditorium.
It was, of course, all about dreams and indulgence. In the following clip, from 1934s Dames (PC? What's that?) we have Ruby Keeler and the multi-talented Dick Powell (later to play Philip Marlowe in Murder, My Sweet) leading us into a typical Berkeleyscape of wonders. I know you're a busy person, but take ten minutes out of your workaday life to immerse yourself in this. You'll feel younger and happier, (even) more innocent...
Berkeley's set pieces became such an archetype for the Golden Age that they have occasionally been parodied ( 'honoured' might be more apt a description). As done brilliantly by the Coen brothers in 1998sThe Big Lebowski. This is Berkeley shot through a harsher, wryer but somehow still respectful lens...
But let's close with more of the real thing, shall we? Is it wonderfully ludicrous or ludicrously wonderful? I'll leave that for you to answer. Indulge!
"I wanted to make people happy, if only for an hour" Busby Berkeley.
"It is always the dress, it is never, never the girl. I'm just a good clothes hanger."
Lisa Fonssagrives on the Mae West Lips sofa - designed by Salvador Dali
You, of course, are young enough to believe that the age of the supermodel began with Kate Moss...or Cindy Crawford..? ...or Twiggy..? ...the Shrimp..?
Wrong, wrong, all wrong....
Lisa at Paddington in 1951 - photo by Toni Frissell
Widely recognised as the first "supermodel" (although of course the term post-dates her career) is a remarkable woman named Lisa Fonssagrives.
Born, Lisa Birgitta Bernstone in Sweden in 1911, her career as one of the western world's top models spanned three decades (1930s - 1950s).
The multi-talented Miss Bernstone trained as a dancer, then worked as a dance teacher with the man who was to become her first husband - Fernand Fonssagrives.
In 1936, she was spotted in a Paris elevator, invited to model hats and, before you could say 'Philip Treacy', her sculptured looks were in Vogue magazine and a new life as a model beckoned.
On the Eiffel Tower - Photographed by Erwin Blumenfeld in 1939
Since she also worked with some of the most noted photographers of the 20th century, such as Richard Avedon and Man Ray, the word 'muse' has inevitably be appended to the name Fonssagrives. Her second husband, Irving Penn, was a gifted photographer and, not surprisingly, took some of the most striking images of her.
This photograph, by husband Irving Penn, recently sold at Christie's for $352,000
With all due respect to the supermodels of the current generation, Fonssagrives was a woman of many talents - besides being a dancer and dance teacher, she was also a photographer, a fashion designer and, ultimately, a sculptor (or sculptress, for the more traditional out there).
Perhaps it's just the filtering effect of looking at the past through the wrong end of a telescope (the distance "edits" out all but the most striking details), but it seems that so many of the "stars" of the 1930s were blessed with more than one talent (James Cagney, for instance).
But, if you think Lisa Fonssagrives (May 4, 1911 to February 4), 1992 sounds a fascinating woman, wait till you read the stories of two other top models of the age - the Princess and the Spy.
Depending on who you believe, Jimmy Cagney was only 5ft 5ins (1m 65)... or maybe 5ft 6in (1m 68). Cagney himself once claimed to be 5ft 8in (but that wasn't fooling anybody). As the saying goes, 'a good little 'un will always beat a bad big 'un' and the young James had a reputation as a fearsome 'street fighter' and amateur boxer. Whilst his screen reputation these days stands on his roles as a gangster, it should not be forgotten that Jimmy was also a fine tap dancer. Not only did he begin his stage career in vaudeville, he went on to be a dance teacher and choreographer.
Jimmy's appearance in 1933's Footlight Parade was billed in the trailer as 'the surprise sensation of the year'. These two extracts show why but, be warned - the first clip is very much 'of its time', making utterly shameless use of just about every racial stereotype going:
It's interesting to speculate what part Jimmy's boxing and dancing training might have played in giving him that peculiarly menacing, always-on-his-toes, always-teetering-on-the-brink screen gangster presence. Whatever it was, early movies like The Public Enemy (1931), and Angels with Dirty Faces(1937), are amongst the most-enduring images of Hollywood cinema. And, okay, I know White Heat was a 1949 production, so way outside the "legitimate" bounds of this blog but, hey, aren't gangster movies all about breaking the rules? So let's end with the James Cagney gangster moment - as Arthur "Cody" Jarrett:
Nostalgia, as the very first post in this blog suggests, is a recipe blending one part love, one part loss, one part romance, one part melancholy. Nostalgia - at least as we commonly think of it today - then strains that mixture through unashamedly rose-tinted glasses. What remains is a delicious cocktail of indulgence and escapism.
Now, it could be argued that this is a kind of lie about the world - a pretty, slightly sad picture of the world as it never was.
And it's true that when we look at the 1930s on these pages, we choose to ignore the ugly facts of the period. In our 1930s, there are no children without shoes, no queues for soup or bread, no rise of Fascism, no gangsters (except for Jimmy Cagney and George Raft). The Great Depression will be as invisible across these pages as Messrs Mussolini and Hitler. But nostalgia, as we have come to know it, is not merely escapism, it's a kind of longing; a longing linked to the very human desire to find something better. Look in this woman's eyes:
Migrant Mother - photograph by Dorothea Lange.
Dorothea Lange's iconic 1936 photograph of Florence Owens Thompson, seems to project more than weariness and despair. As her children hide their faces, doesn't it seem to you that there is a kind of wry wistfulness in the mother's expression? To me, it's almost as if she is looking out towards some better place - somewhere she can see but does not know how to reach. It may be a place from which her poverty has exiled her. But might it not also be a place she dreams of reaching in the future?
When we indulge in nostalgia in its truest, narrowest sense, we wrap ourselves in the beauty of the place or the person we are missing. For the most part, we would not deny their flaws, or forget the conflicts and the shortcomings that make place or person, three-dimensional - real rather than ideal. In our nostalgic moments, we simply choose to set these aspects aside awhile. It is, of course, our duty not to forget the hardships and horrors of the 1930s. But, remembering in some corner of our minds, those harsh truths, we may yet and profitably, dream of the 1930s as a "better place" and bring with us some of that betterness to the lives we are living, here and now.
Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers - only speak those five words and you have captured the essence of nostalgia for the Thirties. Grace, style, panache, flair, wit all combined with breath-taking dance-technique and wildly inventive choreography.
Fred and Ginger were first united on-screen in 1933's Flying Down to Rio. (As the poster makes clear, the star name was Dolores del Rio). We could walk you through the plot but, let's face it, the plot doesn't really matter. What matters is this:
That, incidentally, is the couple's first on-screen dance.
The pairing really took flight in their next film, The Gay Divorcee. As the poster reveals, this time Fred and Ginger have top billing. Why? You, know why... Incidentally, notes on an early audition for Mr Astaire read: 'Can't sing, can't act. Balding. Can dance, a little.' Judge for yourself:
Probably the one film everybody thinks of when the names Astaire and Rogers are mentioned is the 1935 screwball comedy musical Top Hat.
This 1930s classic no doubt deserves a page all to itself. Just let us know and we'll see what we can do... For now, how else could we finish but with Fred and Ginger where we best loved them - Cheek to Cheek:
(The Spanish lesson comes free of charge.) We should not, of course, ignore the key role of Irving Berlin's wonderful music, nor the immense orchestration carried out by a team under the leadership of Max Steiner.
The 1930s - often known as 'The Golden Age of Hollywood' - saw the introduction of sound and later colour in film. The decade opened with Jean Harlow (the 'Blonde Bombshell') appearing in her first starring role in Howard Hughes's Hell's Angels
A year later, in Frank Capra's aptly titled Platinum Blonde, Harlow was already looking like Hollywood's hottest new property.
As steamy off-screen as on it, JH was apparently the target of one of the 1930s smartest put-downs. Introduced to the Countess of Oxford (and wife of the British Prime Minister), Margot Asquith, Jean repeatedly addressed her as 'Margott'. The Countess, aware of Jean's reputation, allegedly replied: "No, dear. The 't' is silent...as in 'Harlow'." Whether or not that story is true, JH's private (and not so private) life was packed with scandal and no little misery. When her second husband, MGM producer Paul Bern was found shot dead at their home, rumour spread that Jean had pulled the trigger. The death was officially recorded as suicide. Jean moved on to a much talked about affair with World Heavyweight Boxing Champion, Max Baer. Guess she liked 'em big and beefy?
Despite such turbulence, Jean's on-screen jinks with Clark Gable proved a major (and repeatable) hit.
Jean Harlow died aged 26, from kidney failure. Spencer Tracy, another of her co-stars wrote in his diary. "Jean Harlow died today. Grand gal." Slinky, clinging satin was Jean's style, and there's plenty in evidence in this compilation of images:
Born in Laurenço Marques, Mozambique, Al Bowlly has a strong claim to be the first internationally renowned 'pop star'. After a very patchy early career (involving fights, womanising, drink and, well, almost everything the stars of today get up to...except Al at that point wasn't yet a star), Al was rescued from busking to cinema and theatre queues in London and given the chance to sing for two of the best big bands in the city, including a recording contract with Ray Noble's orchestra.
Al's sweet voice, clear diction, good looks and irrepressible charm enabled him to become one of the very first band singers to be famous in his own right. Around the dance halls of the UK, fans would often quit dancing and press twelve deep at the stage to listen and (in the case of the girls) to look at the charismatic crooner. The advent of 'crooning' as a style of singing - which required the thoughtful and skilled utilisation of the relatively new microphone technology, is often credited to Al (though others like Bing Crosby were to gain even greater fame for it).
In 1934, Al went with Lew Stone's band to America, where at first his career seemed set to reach even greater heights. But by 1937, Al had returned to the UK and things were looking far from rosy. The whisper was that he had fled the wrath of a gangster whose 'moll' had proved too tempting to the crooner's wandering eye. Audiences in the UK had found other heroes in his absence. Worst of all, Al's voice was in trouble and he needed surgery on his vocal chords.
Although Al struggled on, his career never again reached the heights of the early thirties. He died in the Blitz in 1941.
Nostalgia (from the Greeknostos'return home' + algos'pain') We are all lost, all in some way or other exiled from that place we would most intuitively call 'home'. What's more, it really doesn't matter if the place from which we feel we have been banished is a land, and a time, we never actually experienced. This feeling may be a delusion (with any luck, a harmless one), it may be something mystical (as when we visit a place for the first time, yet immediately feel at home), or it may be an actual memory. This blog will welcome you back to the 1930s - and it doesn't matter at all if you've never "been" there before. And if you are one of those few who grew up there - welcome home.
