THE STRAWBERRY BLONDE: Blu-ray (Warner Bros., 1941) Warner Archive

James Cagney rewrote his brand as Warner Bros.’ favorite sadist, in director, Raoul Walsh’s The Strawberry Blonde (1941), a glowing and bittersweet piece of turn-of-the-century Americana for which Cagney played an empathetic heel instead. Only a decade earlier, Cagney’s ascendance to top-tier status at the studio had been solidified by a streak of electrifying performances as a ruthless cutthroat. But with this movie, Cagney would graciously step away from the ‘gangster’ persona inculcated by the studio that, at a diminutive 5-feet, 4-inches, had made him everybody’s favorite pint-sized thug du jour. This was not entirely to Cagney’s or the studio’s liking. Hollywood’s self-governing code of censorship had pretty much stamped out the sort of unrepentant psychos Cagney extoled in movies like The Public Enemy (1931), and, The Picture Snatcher (1933). And Cagney, a trained dancer, had already proven he could hoof as well as play the hood in the studio’s lavishly appointed super-kitsch musical, Footlight Parade (1933).  So, clearly, there was a lot more to the Cagney enigma than had first graced the movie screen.

For decades, rumors and apocryphal Hollywood lore has abounded, Cagney never quite warmed to being typecast as the studio’s dynamo tough guy. If not, there is little to deny the moniker helped catapult Cagney into the stratosphere as an A-list leading man with a decided bargaining chip at the studio for landing him quality fare. And with Hollywood’s code of censorship steadily chiseling away at the kind of heavies he was used to playing, the 1940’s for Cagney would provide a far more diverse spate of projects, among them – The Strawberry Blonde. Herein, Cagney is Biff Grimes, a likeably gruff, short-fused dentist in hot pursuit of Virginia Brush (Rita Hayworth) the eponymous catch of the neighborhood whom Cagney doesn’t get, but keeps close to his heart’s desire. Biff’s competition, Greek barber, Nicholas Pappalis (George Tobias) does not fair much better. Instead, ruthless and arrogant, Hugo Barnsfeld (Jack Carson, in a defining role) gets the girl. Framing Biff for his own political graft, Hugo’s fleeting deception eventually catches up to him as Biff plots a dark revenge eight years later. Ever-loyal gal/pal, Amy Lind (Olivia de Havilland) brings up the rear as the one worth the having, and, in fact, the life partner with whom Cagney’s Biff ultimately winds up.

While Footlight Parade had only alluded to Cagney’s diversity, The Strawberry Blonde marked a genuine turning point for Cagney to play more genteel parts, if never entirely to shed all his petty larcenies. Here, Cagney draws out our sympathy for Biff’s folly and plight. If life rarely affords us what we desire, though usually what we deserve, then Cagney’s Biff must be doing something right because he ultimately walks away with Olivia de Havilland – the studio’s resident ‘good girl’, occasionally of the defiant ilk (though not here), and chronic trophy for he-hunk, Errol Flynn – another successful bit of typecasting de Havilland positively abhorred and would eventually break free from in a highly publicized court battle against Warner Bros. just two years later. A bit about that: the De Havilland Law, as it came to be known, would ultimately forbid a studio from enforcing their ‘exclusive personal services’ contract beyond its 7-year term.

Until its instatement, studio bosses could extend a performer’s contract, arguably, in perpetuity via long-term suspensions, thus denying them work elsewhere. At the time, de Havilland’s victory over Jack L. Warner was perceived as professional suicide. Indeed, Jack tried to blackball de Havilland. Mercifully, she found work as a freelancer, first – at Paramount, where she ultimately won an Oscar for To Each His Own (1946). Three years later, de Havilland would mark the Oscar podium again for her performance in The Heiress (1949). Viewing The Strawberry Blonde today, two realities come immediately to mind: first, just how underutilized Olivia de Havilland was at Warner Bros., and second, how fortunate for the star that her real-life temperament did not mirror that of the demure ‘sweet Polly Pure-breds’ she was forced to play in movies like this. Though, as Amy Lind, de Havilland performs the function of ‘second string’ gal on the side exceedingly well – superbly, actually – what a shame it would have been, never to have known the ‘other’ Olivia de Havilland, steadily marching away from this hermetically sealed screen persona into several decades of incredibly distinct work throughout the 1940s, 50’s and 60’s.  

The Strawberry Blonde also benefits from the formidable talents of Jack Carson and Rita Hayworth – each, then, on the edge of discovering their places in the cinema firmament. In Carson’s case, the Canuck-born charmer, frequently to suffer typecasting as the slippery brute (to quote a line from Mildred Pierce, “…with (him) it’s a disease!”) meant he would never quite be considered leading man material. And while Warner Bros. intermittently offered Carson the opportunity to play comedy too, for which he justly excelled in pictures like Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) and It’s A Great Feeling (1949), Carson today is perhaps best remembered for two acidic supporting performances: as bitter Hollywood publicist, Matt Libby in 1954’s remake of A Star is Born, and, as the unloved elder brother, Gooper Pollitt in 1958’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.  It can justly be stated, Carson came to showbiz ‘by accident’ – as, in one of his first stage roles as Hercules, he took an unexpected – and unrehearsed – tumble, pulling down half the set with him. From this inauspicious debut, Carson and friend, Dave Willock formed a lucrative Vaudeville comedy act, paving the way for Carson’s ‘guest’ appearances on the radio, and then, a steady string of cameos and bit parts in the movies. Despite his popularity, Carson’s participation in The Strawberry Blonde was hardly assured. Indeed, Cagney preferred Brian Donlevy or Lloyd Nolen – each, more appropriately nearer Cagney’s diminutive height.  In the mid-fifties, Carson’s craft crossed the medium into television. He would remain a fixture there until his sudden collapse on stage in 1962, leading to a diagnosis of stomach cancer. It claimed him barely a year later. He was only 52.

As for Rita Hayworth…well, The Strawberry Blonde brought her to the attention of Columbia president, Harry Cohn for whom she had previously appeared in 1939’s Only Angels Have Wings while on a loan out from 2oth Century-Fox. In one of his few career misfires, Fox’s Darryl F. Zanuck could not see Hayworth’s value and let her studio contract lapse. Born Margarita Carmen Cansino, Hayworth’s native Spanish exoticism earned her precious little notoriety during her early days in films. Instead, the Americanization of those dark and flashing good looks became her calling card as Columbia’s resident femme fatale, reaching its zenith in 1946’s Gilda. Like Carson, Hayworth was not the first choice to play Virginia Bush – Warner hoping to use the picture as a springboard to further promote starlet, Ann Sheridan. Hayworth consented to having her dark tresses dyed auburn and also sang in her own voice – something she would never do again for the remainder of her career. For her efforts she was paid $450 a week, a paltry sum compared to that of her male costars.  

In hindsight, Hayworth’s performance in The Strawberry Blonde harks to the operatic nature of both her later career and life – tragically to spiral into a series of highly publicized, but flawed, and eventually failed marriages to everyone from Orson Welles to Prince Aly Khan – though never to find either true love or happiness. Career-wise: after a legendary run at Columbia, Hayworth bucked her boss’ interference in her private life and paid for it dearly as her looks began to fade and her popularity on the screen faltered. There was no love lost between Harry Cohn and Rita Hayworth. Ailing health and mental concerns forced Hayworth off the screen for good by the mid-seventies. Diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, ex-husband, Orson Welles kept the torch lit for Hayworth in her diminishing years, commenting in an interview “she was one of the dearest and sweetest women that ever lived.”  After a decade’s long struggle with her illness, Rita Hayworth lapsed into a semi-coma and died on May 14, 1987 – age, 68.

Director, Raoul Walsh’s career was in need of new direction in 1941. Like Cagney, he had spent much of his tenure in service of the hard-hitting crime drama, only just to have completed High Sierra (1941).  The Strawberry Blonde is based on James Hagan’s 1933 Broadway play, One Sunday Afternoon, made into a movie that same year over at Paramount. The first adaptation, alas, had not been a hit, and, in recrafting the play for this remake, Jack Warner cautioned Walsh and a passionate, William Cagney (James’ brother, who served as co-producer herein) to tread lightly.  Jack also put the studio’s reigning producer, Hal B. Wallis on the payroll. The first draft of the screenplay by Stephen Morehouse Avery was marked as a dud. So, Warner called in his golden boys – Julius and Phillip Epstein, who promptly relocated the picture’s action from the play’s midwestern setting to the hustle and bustle of turn-of-the-century New York. As Cagney had yet to commit to the project, Wallis briefly toyed with the idea of John Garfield to star. Instead, Harry Warner came to Cagney with an offer for ten percent of the picture’s gross – a sweetheart’s deal for its time. The shooting of The Strawberry Blonde did not go smoothly, thanks to constant bickering between Walsh and producer, Wallis – the two coming in conflict over Walsh’s desire for more close-ups, while Wallis believed the gorgeousness of the period sets needed further exposure. Nevertheless, Jack Warner sensed The Strawberry Blonde was on the cusp of becoming a box office smash and was not disappointed when receipts began pouring in. Likewise, Raoul Walsh would forever regard The Strawberry Blonde as his favorite movie.

The Strawberry Blonde’s uniqueness, when assessed against similarly themed/retro-fitted excursions into nostalgic Americana can best be summarized by Walsh’s exquisitely paced mise-en-scène and the Epstein’s excellently evolved screenplay, mixing genres to, in tandem, extol bouncy wit and heartbreakingly tender melodrama. Walsh seems particularly engaged in his direction, what with Cagney, de Havilland, Carson and Hayworth perfectly pitched in their respective roles. Hayworth’s outer radiance is perfectly contrasted against de Havilland’s more introspective charm. De Havilland here takes on a sort of ‘Eve Arden-esque’ persona as she aims high for durable and haywire antics to truly add dimension to Amy, in totem to expose the character’s susceptibility beneath her proto-feminist conceit. Viewed today, The Strawberry Blonde retains much of its fanciful charm, chiefly because it aspires to offer the first-time viewer so much more than just another nostalgic trip down ‘memory lane’.

The Warner Archive (WAC) has another winner in hi-def. The Strawberry Blonde on Blu-ray is a vision to behold. James Wong Howe’s deep-focus cinematography always offers something fascinating and, in this remastering effort, fine detail really comes to the forefront of a handsome-looking 1080p B&W transfer. Grayscale is gorgeous. Sharpness could not be better. Age-related artifacts have been eradicated. The DTS 2.0 mono is wonderfully nuanced with Heinz Roemheld’s evocative underscore advancing to the forefront. Dialogue is crisp and SFX have been nicely integrated. Hiss and pop are not an issue. There are no extras. Bottom line: a vintage slice of Warner-styled Americana gets its due on Blu. While some may merely find this one quaint and quirky, a second glance reveals renewable joys to be unearthed elsewhere. The Blu-ray is perfect. Enough said.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

0