The Silver Cord (1933): Come to Mama

Ah, motherhood. From Madame X to Stella Dallas, Marmee March to Mrs. Judge Hardy (her movie husband, Lewis Stone, even called her “Mother”), the institution of motherhood in Hollywood during the golden age could verge on the sanctimonious and saccharine. That, however, was just one end of the maternal meter. If one goes to the other extreme, they find silly, self serving women, Mommies Dearest to the nth degree. The cinematic grandmaMA to these characters (or even great-grandmaMA, as our subject is an early talkie) would have to be Mother Phelps in RKO’s The Silver Cord (1933).

Based on a play which had a successful run on Broadway in 1926, The Silver Cord is the story of a woman who, by all outward appearances, adores her two grown sons (Joel McCrea and Eric Linden). But as we begin to realize, barely before Mrs. Phelps (her first name is never mentioned) gets her coat off in her first scene, this woman is a manipulative, conniving, self centered barracuda, who, upon meeting her new daughter-in-law (Irene Dunne) for the first time, marks her line in the sand as to where her son’s loyalties should lie! Also present is her younger son’s fiancee (Frances Dee). Matriarch Phelps is ready to devour Dunne, limbs and all, as the main course and finish off Dee, as the lighter, easier to digest dessert, albeit under the guise of sugar-laden maternal concern for her ”big young things.” Dunne’s character, Christina, is a scientist; bright, modern and intelligent and has no intention of giving up her new husband (McCrea) to “another woman” as she calls his mother.


The Silver Cord is a Freudian film fantasy. There is no end to Mrs. Phelps’ mouth kissing both her sons, cleaving them to her ample bosom and having them lay their heads in her always waiting lap. She even admits romantic attachment for them (though verbally falling short of declaring lust) after she discovered her marriage to their father was a loveless one. No woman will ever be good enough for them because no woman is her.

The entire cast is spot on in their portrayal of various members or potential members of this very dysfunctional tribe, headed by Mama Smother Me Not performed with great relish by stage veteran Laura Hope Crews. Crews played the role in the stage version and was a natural when the story came to the screen. Best known as the fluttery spinster Aunt Pittypat Hamilton in the epic Gone with the Wind, Crews channels the same fidgety anxiousness displayed in her Pittypat for Mrs. Phelps, only tempering her flamboyance with a steely resolve to have her own way regarding her offspring.

The apples of her eye, David and Robert, are played by handsome up and comer Joel McCrea and Eric Linden, respectively. The major lack of continuity in character seems to lie with McCrea, whose David makes light of his mother’s fussy cuddling and (wo)man-handling him in the film’s first half, yet defends her against his bride (unfounded, of course) in the second. Linden’s Robert is a spineless “effete” rounder who has no problem being tied tightly with his mothers apron strings. These mama’s boys are whooped! The lovely Frances Dee is splendid as his fiancee, Hester, whose defiance of her would-be viper-in-law brings cheers from the audience. She has one of the best lines in the picture. When asked what she will do by Robert after they have broken their engagement, Dee replies: “Marry an orphan.“ She and McCrea (pictured together below) would become romantically involved off screen during the making of the film, marry and remain so for 57 years until McCrea’s death in 1990.



Star billing went to the sublime Irene Dunne. As Christina, she gives as good as she gets, better in most cases, when going rounds with the monstrous dowager. The role was considered for both Katharine Hepburn and Ann Harding before RKO cast Dunne. Not the mega star she would be later in the decade, Dunne’s grace and sophistication shone through in this pre-code soaper. She would have several collaborations with the film’s director John Cromwell including 1946’s Anna and the King of Siam.

The Silver Cord is very much a filmed play, with lengthy stretches of dialogue by both Hope Crews and Dunne, but it packs quite a wallop in its 74 minute time frame. It would make a great double feature with Craig’s Wife.

REVIEW: Anna and the King of Siam (1946)

Much ado has been made through the years about The King and I (1956), Rodgers and Hammerstein's massively popular musical starring Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr, and rightfully so. It's a classic in the genre and made a star of Brynner. It's appeal, however, has overshadowed what some consider (this blogger included) its superior dramatic precursor, Anna and the King of Siam.

The story is the same in both. It is based on Margaret Landon's 1944 novel about a widowed Englishwoman (Irene Dunne) who, along with her young son, goes to Siam (now Thailand) in 1862 to teach the children of the country's king (Brit Rex Harrison). Initially, a clash of wills causes sparks between the independent minded teacher and the iron-fisted monarch, but as they begin to see the fine qualities in one another, they form a deep bond that lasts until the final credits.

Many fine performances are given in a cast that is headed by the incomparable Irene Dunne. As Anna, she is flawless. With her usual confidence and charisma, she creates a character, like several in her illustrious career, which was redone by another actress, not once but twice on film (and once on television in a short lived series). Her Anna is more than a match for the irascible king and turns his way of thinking around to hers in most cases. As King Mongkut, Harrison made his American film debut. He is more convincing as the Asian ruler compared to Brynner, who comes off as some Mongolian warrior. Third billed is Linda Darnell as Tuptim, new arrival to the king's sorority, aka his harem. She is exotically beautiful but doesn't have much else to do, until being burned at the stake for being unfaithful to his majesty. Ironically, Darnell was actually killed in a fire in 1965 at the age of 41.

Providing a more substantial and touching performance is veteran Gale Sondergaard as Lady Thiang, first wife of the Mongkut and mother to his heir. She has been replaced regularly for younger wives and has been relegated to tasting her husband's food in case of poisoning. Sondergaard is always a treat and her gentle portrayal of a loving mother who wants Anna to guide her son to success as a ruler is a highlight in the film. Also giving a memorable turn is Lee J. Cobb, bare-chested and bronzed skin, as the Prime Minister of Siam. Like the king, he has reservations about the strong willed English lady at first but shows great respect for her strength and intellect as he grows to know and understand her.

Cinematographer Arthur Miller worked his magic and the visually stunning black and white film received two Oscars for Cinematography and Art Direction. Anna's splendid European hoop skirts are a great contrast to the spare and exotic, though opulent, attire of everyone at the Siamese court. Bernard Herrmann offers an outstanding score which elicits a perfect musical backdrop with Oriental flair. On every level Anna and the King of Siam is a quality production that deserves to be remembered at least equally with its musical counterpart.

The Awful Truth: Grant, Dunne and a Dog Named Smith

"The Road to Reno is paved with suspicions" ~ Cary Grant as Jerry Warriner

I saw My Favorite Wife (1940) with Cary Grant and Irene Dunne, years before I saw The Awful Truth, the classic comedy the star duo made together three years earlier. I remember thinking, how could the 1937 movie be better than Wife. When I eventually saw The Awful Truth, I realized, as good as My Favorite Wife was, the stars' original venture was that much better. The witty sophistication that sparkles throughout the film never lets up, but moves seamlessly from scene to scene, gag to gag and isn't afraid to let its guard down on occasion to let slapstick make a cameo appearance.

Cary Grant and Irene Dunne are an ideal screwball team (this blogger prefers Grant's pairing with Miss Dunne to similar screen outings with Katherine Hepburn any day). Grant, at his most dapper, is in top form in The Awful Truth. It was one of the first films he made as an independent, non-studio bound actor and along with Topper (1937) and Bringing Up Baby (1938), pushed him to super stardom. In retrospect, Dunne is an actress who has been underrated and underappreciated by many and completely forgotten by even more. She is an absolute comic treasure in The Awful Truth, her facial expressions and timing are perfection. She had just finished her first big comedy Theodora Goes Wild the previous year and like Grant, was hitting her stride with this film.

The film begins with Jerry Warriner (Grant) at a New York City spa getting a tan underneath a sun lamp (for those of a certain youthful age, these were the precursors to tanning beds) as evidence to his wife, Lucy (Dunne), of his recent solo trip to Florida, which he never actually made. He arrives at his swank abode just minutes before Lucy appears, still dressed in her shimmering evening gown from the night before, accompanied by her handsome and debonair singing teacher (Alexander D'arcy). The situation is wrought with innuendo and doubt, on both sides as Lucy reads the stamp on one of the oranges Jerry brought her back from his Florida "trip" that reads ~ ORANGE GROWERS ASSOCIATION, CALIFORNIA. Words are exchanged and they decide to divorce, though the shenanigans each gets involved with to thwart the others potential post marital plans, proves their love for one another is as strong as ever.

Ralph Bellamy plays the rich rube from Oklahoma with whom Lucy gets involved, only to make Jerry jealous. The nightclub scene where the three of them accidentally meet up is a hoot, with a special nod going to Grant's date, Dixie Belle Lee (Joyce Compton), who performs a tacky and risque singing number at the club with hilarious reactions from Grant, Dunne and Bellamy. Joyce Compton, with her scatter brained persona and sweet-as-sugah-southun accent, is always a delight to watch. Molly Lamont plays Jerry's rebound main squeeze, a madcap heiress (didn't every 30's screwball comedy have to have one?) who's not only not madcap, she hardly ever smiles!

The couple's beloved dog, Mr. Smith (aka Asta of the Thin Man series fame) shares some of the films key comedic moments. The custody of Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith's piano duet with Jerry and Mr. Smith plays hide and seek with a hat are absolute classic bits of classic comedy. One of the funniest laugh out loud scenes involves Jerry bursting into Lucy's singing recital, expecting her to be in a clinch with her music teacher. Instead he's greeted with the stares of a room full of attendees and he begins wreaking havoc with a chair and side table while his wife not only holds her composure to finish her song but gets a little laugh at his antics while still on key.

The film's director, Leo McCarey, who produced My Favorite Wife, won an Academy Award and six other nominations were garnered including Best Picture, Best Actress for Dunne and Best Supporting Actor for Bellamy. Fun from beginning to end.