The Language of Love

Sugarpuss O'Shea (Barbara Stanwyck) demonstrates the
definition of  "yum-yum" for Professor Bertram Potts
(Gary Cooper) in "Ball of Fire."

Ball of Fire (1941, Samuel Goldwyn)

Starring Gary Cooper, Barbara Stanwyck, Dana Andrews,

Henry Travers, Dan Duryea, S.Z. Sakall,

Oskar Homolka, Richard Haydn

Screenplay by Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder

Directed by Howard Hawks

“A little sun in my hair and you

had to water your neck.” — Sugarpuss O’Shea

With a story that resembles a modern (for 1941) reworking of the Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs fairy tale, Ball of Fire is a fine example of the screwball romantic comedies that were so popular in the 1930s and early ‘40s. It’s also a huge ball of fun.

Screwball comedies featured absurd tales of men and women from different worlds who meet, fall in love, are separated by a misunderstanding before reuniting for the big kiss at the fadeout. But no worlds are more dissimilar than the ones in this film. Professor Bertram Potts (Gary Cooper) is one of eight academics who have been cloistered for eight years as they assemble a new encyclopedia. Sugarpuss O’Shea (Barbara Stanwyck) is the gorgeous showgirl moll of gangster Joe Lilac (Dana Andrews).

Their worlds collide when Potts, out on the town doing field research for his article on slang, catches a show featuring Sugarpuss, who sings “Drum Boogie,” a song jam-packed with slang. Potts shyly goes to her dressing room and tries to interview her, but she gives him the bum’s rush — but not before he gives her his address. When Sugarpuss learns that the DA who’s working to bring down Lilac wants to subpoena her, guess where she goes to hide out.

She shakes up the dusty atmosphere of the academics’ house when the spends several days with them, but Potts is shaken the most, despite his vain attempts to resist Sugarpuss’ charms. Eventually, he can’t hold out any longer, especially when Sugarpuss demonstrates what “yum-yum” is (yum-yum = kisses). It all makes Potts’ fall much harder when he finds out about Joe Lilac. But his joy is boundless when he realizes Sugarpuss truly loves him.

What makes the tried-and-true formula work are wonderful performances and a great Brackett and Wilder script. Cooper is a treat as the man whose life had been focused entirely on study until he meets the woman who unlocks his hidden passion. Stanwyck’s Sugarpuss is sassy, sexy, and downright alluring, and one of her best roles. A marvelous conglomeration of veteran character actors ensures the other academics are more than caricatures and are a big part of the laughs the film generates in bushels.

The “modern” slang might be dated, but the laughs and good feelings produced by Ball of Fire still resonate several generations later.

Romance at the Road House

Jefty (Richard Widmark), center, makes a point with
Pete (Cornell Wilde) as Lily (Ida Lupino)
looks on in "Road House."

 Road House (1948, Twentieth Century-Fox)

Starring Ida Lupino, Cornell Wilde,

Richard Widmark, Celeste Holm
Screenplay Edward Chodorov

Directed by Jean Negulesco

“She reminds me of the first woman

that ever slapped my face.” — a patron of Jefty’s Road House 

When I took geometry so long ago that it must have been Pythagoras himself who instructed me, I learned about equilateral, isosceles, and scalene triangles. However, I’ve had no need for them since I left the class. The one I’m most familiar with is the eternal triangle, which powers Road House, an undeservingly obscure, but powerful movie from the height of the film noir period.

Longtime friends Pete (Cornell Wilde) and Jefty (Richard Widmark) make up two sides of the triangle, while Lily (Ida Lupino) beautifully fills out the third. Jefty owns the establishment of the title, an entertainment center near the Canadian border that features bowling, pool, a bar, and a rotating selection of chanteuses. Pete, the brains of the outfit, runs the popular and successful joint. All is well until Jefty returns from Chicago with Lily, a haughty, hard-boiled, smoky-voiced singer who is to be the main attraction.

Pete and Lily are at odds from start, as seeing Jefty bring a string of women to the place makes him cynical about her. The ice between them begins to thaw when Lily knocks everyone dead with her heartfelt torch songs. For Jefty’s part, he has delusions that Lily’s in love with him, despite her constant attempts to avoid his touch. Pete and Lily melt the rest of the ice and turn the heat up to 600 degrees while Jefty is on a hunting trip.

The trouble begins when Jefty returns with a moose and a marriage license with Lily listed as the bride. After Pete tells his friend of many years that Lily and he have fallen in love, and it is they who will be married, Jefty loses all reason and sets out to torture the lovers for their betrayal. A showdown between them in the last scene leaves no one untouched.

Road House features one of Wilde’s best performances, and Widmark proves he was no one-hit wonder after his debut in Kiss of Death in 1947. But this is Lupino’s show, and she grabs it with both hands. Her portrayal of a woman who has developed a hard shell because of the rough deal she’s gotten from life, but whose vulnerability isn’t completely hidden behind it, is marvelous and real. Lupino’s singing is just as effective and affecting as her acting. The sadness and longing Lupino as Lily puts into songs of unrequited love makes it clear Lily believes her personal fate always will mirror her tunes. It’s that much sweeter when Lily finds in Pete what she’s long sought, and that much more painful when Jefty tries to take it away.

For me, Road House offers double the pleasure. As a huge fan of film noir, I find it’s a fine representative of the genre. As an incurable romantic, I find the passion between Pete and Lily highly moving.