Objectively reassessing the artistic contributions of a marginalized group has always been a difficult task. Inevitably, the question arises of whether we are studying the work because an individual of marginalized status produced it or because the work’s quality transcends that of its time. Either answer is a sufficient reason for a work’s review; but problems arise when they become confused.
This month the Gene Siskel Film Center at 164 N. State St. offers a chance to ponder this issue by screening six rare films by Dorothy Arzner, “the only woman director in the American film industry for nearly two decades,” according to the Film Center’s Gazette. Arzner worked as a script girl and editor in the early 1920’s before she began directing for Paramount Pictures in 1927. The six films in the series were produced between the pre-Code, early sound years between 1929 and 1932.
As the only established female director in the Hollywood of her day and a rumored lesbian, Arzner was subjected to both positive and negative labeling. She was adamantly opposed to any labels or classifications, preferring instead to be thought of as a normal, working director.
The question of critical motivation clearly relates to her gender issues and her sexuality. As an ultra-anomaly in both respects for 1920s-30s Hollywood, it’s incredibly difficult to distinguish her identity simply as a director from that of “the first woman director.” The first two films in the series, “Sarah and Son” and “Anybody’s Woman,” can be used to examine the crux of this difficulty and to measure the achievements of Arzner the filmmaker.
In “Anybody’s Woman,” (1930) a former burlesque dancer named Pansy marries her drunk, divorced lawyer. Determined to make good, Pansy rescues her husband from alcoholism and debt despite the cruel treatment his friends and family give her.
“Sarah and Son,” (1930) Arzner’s biggest commercial hit, tells the story of Sarah, an ambitious immigrant who loses her infant son when her selfish husband deceptively joins the Marines and gives their baby to a rich family. Years later, Sarah returns to New York as an opera star with her heart set on reuniting with her son.
While both of these films have strong female leads, the supporting characters are equally interesting. Arzner’s strength comes in the contrast she elucidates by the film’s end. In “Anybody’s Woman,” the “loud and novel” Pansy is first contrasted against her safe and suspicious sister-in-law, Kitty. As Pansy drinks high balls and applies green nail polish, Kitty stiffly smirks, “Is it money you want?” Pansy is also contrasted with her husband’s ex-wife, “anybody’s woman.” His ex belongs to whichever man has or is willing to buy what she wants.
Arzner also suggests a number or interesting ideas regarding the plight of women in 1930, mainly in “Sarah and Son.” The film begins with Sarah rehearsing a tap dance act with her partner, Jim, who lazily sleeps on the bed. As Sarah protests to Jim’s laziness, he asks, “Don’t you like me a little bit?” Sarah replies, “Sure, but I like you more when you work.” Two scenes later, Sarah and Jim are married with a child — and Jim still sleeps on the bed. This implication that a male work partner inevitably becomes a lover is a bold and telling comment on the society and lifestyles that surrounded Arzner.
Like other films of their time, “Sarah and Son” and “Anybody’s Woman” are full of static shots and dialogue. Because synchronized sound was still a new concept in 1930, audio equipment could not accommodate a moving camera. Arzner’s films do not expand the form of cinema or demonstrate a distinct visual style. They are social melodramas with strong female characters, necessary counterweights to the male-dominated monster and gangster genres that were tops in those days.
These films are historically important, but not timeless. Arzner’s use of film as a medium to tell stories about strong women, a group underrepresented in early Hollywood, anticipates the way independent directors would use film to represent marginalized groups in the 1980s and 90s. Her stories and use of characters are insightful and effective, and there’s no question she deserves the critical attention she’s received.
It is a shame that an artist can be sensationalized and popularized because of a scandal or novelty in his or her life. Similarly, when we confuse artistic transcendence with a historic first, we blur a major distinction between art and history. Dorothy Arzner’s unique fame should owe more to her talent and perseverance as a director in a business that thrives on notoriety.
Communication sophomore Oscar Boyson is a writer for PLAY. He can be reached at [email protected]
