Red Hollywood Page #6

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Me neither.

But I'm giving

folks what they want.

My way of

thinking, folks ought

to have what they want.

So long as

they can pay for it.

NARRATOR:
Hollywood movies of

the early '30s didn't hide the

material side of seduction,

and folks usually

got what they paid for.

Future Communist John Howard

Lawson made the connections

between sex and class

particularly clear

when he adapted

his play Success Story

to the screen.

Oh...

I thought I smelled perfume.

What's your job here?

Well, I'm sort of

a combination office boy,

statistician and bootblack.

Why, you want a shine?

(CHUCKLING)

You're very amusing.

Same to you.

Anyway I'm glad of

a chance to have had

a good whiff of that stuff.

So you like me?

I don't know,

ain't had time to dislike you.

But that lavender

water sure gets my nanny.

Take a good whiff.

What do you call it?

Fivre d'amour.

Do you use it all over you?

Well, not exactly, I...

I use other things.

(CHUCKLING)

I can just see you in a hot

bath of this amour stuff.

That's indecent.

Yeah, I heard worse.

Tell me worse.

I've been sitting up here

trying to think up catchwords

for the luxury trade.

Trying to sell cream to dolls

that rub it on themselves.

Suddenly, I look up

and you're standing there...

I mean, glamor,

This beauty they get

up for 14 bucks a pot.

You're a part of that, see?

It's the stuff that

makes poets go cuckoo.

(LAUGHING) Go on,

you're cuckoo yourself.

Aw, you don't know

what I'm talking about.

You're...

You're not so much...

But you look like you

stepped out of

a little pot of gold.

And when I seen you,

I seen the whole game.

Aw, you're too

dumb to get the idea.

Oh, I'm dumb, am I?

Yeah.

You're just a pink piece

of fluff for the luxury trade.

You know, I could use you.

What for?

Oh, just to crack

the whip over you.

Because you're so wild,

because you want to punch

people and call them

names and walk over them.

I could teach

you a few things.

And if I wanted to,

I could make you

jump through hoops.

You wanna try?

(CHUCKLING)

I'm joking.

Give me my handkerchief.

No.

I want it.

I need it.

If I had a million dollars...

I'd buy you.

You wouldn't get me.

Want to bet?

I had a good laugh today.

What?

I just got an inside tip that

Wellburn and Hayes are

going into receivership.

Who are they?

Well, a year ago they

were our biggest competitors,

now, they're sunk.

(LAUGHING)

What a scream.

NARRATOR:
In most films of

the '30s, women were prizes,

trophies, as they say today.

MAN:
Good morning.

NARRATOR:
But in one

film, women became

subjects in the full sense.

Robert Rossen's

community of bar girls know

that they are exploited

by their gangster boss.

But they have few illusions

about the alternatives they

face in Depression America.

I don't really look old, do I?

What does he expect a girl

to look like at six in

the morning after dragging

a lot of heavy-weight shoe

salesmen around

the dance floor all night,

like a debutante?

I bet if he saw me when

I just come to work

and my make-up was fresh...

Oh, let's skip it, Estelle,

and go to bed.

We're all fagged out.

Well...

Let him fire me,

what do I care?

I don't want any part of

his clip joints anyway.

And if you do, you're crazy.

Might as well put

a gun in our hands

and send us out on stick-ups.

Well, what are

you going to do?

You heard what he said,

it's Vanning or nothing.

Well, this isn't the only

way to make a living.

Do you know a better one?

Well, of course, I can always

go back into vaudeville.

Oh, stop kidding

yourself, Estelle.

Your dancing days are over.

You'd have to have

counterweights to keep

your arches from falling.

Well, then, I'll get

a job in a factory,

behind a counter, any place.

At twelve

and a half a week?

That's enough for me.

For cigarettes? Mmm-mmm.

We've all tried this

twelve and a half

a week stuff, it's no good!

Living in furnished

rooms, walking to work,

going hungry a couple of days

a week so you can have some

clothes to put on your back.

I've had enough of that

for the rest of my life,

and so have you.

Goodbye, Graham...

I'll be seeing you.

NARRATOR:
The class barriers

that separate a working girl

from an upwardly

mobile prosecutor

do not melt in a final clinch.

Instead there is

a tacit reassertion

of group identity,

an affirmation

of class solidarity

and sisterhood which is almost

unique in Hollywood cinema.

(MEN CHATTERING IN BACKGROUND)

(DOOR SHUTS)

Well, welcome

to Chickpease Manor.

My name is Dorothy Spencer,

call me Dotty.

I'm Alice Fisher.

I see we're

going to be roommates.

I hope I don't crowd you.

Oh, you won't.

They stack us end to end

in this boarding house

until we can stand

up practically nowhere.

I just know

I'm going to love it here.

Well, take a good look

because I have a feeling you

won't be with us very long.

Why do you say that?

Sorority.

Are you a sorority girl?

Me?

No, I haven't got it

or a million dollars.

So what does

a sorority want with

little Dorothy Spencer?

They probably won't

be rushing me

off my feet either.

Well if they don't,

they're slug-nutty!

You're a date

getter or I'll eat my hat.

A date getter?

Sure, every sorority has to

have a few, you know,

to sort of drag the men in.

Look you take

the top drawer with me.

Thanks.

Of course, you can be

ugly if your father

or grandfather stole

a million dollars and kept it.

You know that still gets you

in any sorority on the hill.

So, do re mi

is the first, last,

and perpetual consideration.

You don't seem

to like sororities.

No, for me

it's all hooey.

(KNOCKING AT DOOR)

Do you, Janie,

take this man to love, honor

and live happily ever after,

and no fair

getting a divorce?

I do.

Do you, Tom, take this

woman to love, honor

and sell a million cars so

long as you both shall live?

I do.

I now pronounce you

a lovely couple!

Boy!

(BABBLING)

Janie!

What do you think?

I was promoted!

I'm the junior, junior,

executive, executive

sales manager, assistant!

I gotta sell a million,

gotta sell a million...

Yay, Pop!

Janie, what do you think?

I've got great news for you,

I'm bringing the boss

home to dinner! Yeah!

Hello? No! Okay, okay,

I'll take care of it.

(CHILDREN BABBLING)

Now, stop it.

Janie!

What do you think?

I've been promoted again!

I'm the assistant,

assistant president!

I gotta sell a million of 'em,

I gotta sell a million of 'em,

I gotta sell a million of 'em,

I gotta sell a million of 'em!

CHILDREN:
Yay, Pops!

Won't you have another

cup of tea, Mrs. Burton?

My husband works for

your husband, Mrs. Burton,

so I'm terribly

anxious to make a good

impression, Mrs. Burton.

Don't you think

I'm charming, Mrs. Burton?

If I can influence

my husband in any way,

I shall influence

my husband in any way.

Oh, thank you, Mrs. Burton.

You're so sweet, Mrs. Burton.

Janie!

What do you think?

I got promoted again!

Now I'm the president!

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