Wednesday, February 27, 2013


As you all know, my posts have been infrequent here and after much thought about the current state of things as far as my desire to jump back on the Old-Hollywood-blogging-community bandwagon goes...well, it doesn't go (meaning no offense to those of you on the bandwagon, of course). Anyway, the point of this post is just to say that I've come to the conclusion that this period in my life as a writer has come to an abrupt end and therefore In the Mood shall serve only as an archive of past writings (most likely to shame me on to bigger and better things). For those of you who would like to continue reading my nonsensical, pretentious (sometimes Hollywood-related) ramblings, I suggest ye go see But It Was.

Natalie (or Mrs. Granger, whatever)

Thursday, January 31, 2013

Goodbye, Sis

"Patty Andrews, Last Surviving Member of Andrews Sister Trio, Dies at 94.

And Natalie cried about it.

When I heard this morning that Patty Andrews had died it affected me like I wouldn't have expected it to. In the back of my mind I knew she was still alive, I remember learning that when I was really into the Sisters' music, but I hadn't thought about it in a while. Even if I had thought about it recently I never would have thought that her passing would make me so sad, but I'm am honestly near tears. Patty was a part of something worth remembering, she was one of the Andrews Sisters; she was a household name during WWII, she's part of our history. 

Patricia Marie Andrews was the youngest sister, the blonde sister, and the funny sister. She lead the trio, and if she doesn't make you smile I honestly do not understand how. I adore Patty and both of the other sisters, and I have for more than two years; as a matter of fact, they are the reason I like the 1940s at all and I'll be forever grateful to them for beginning that love of mine. But Patty has always been my personal favorite and I am so sad that she's gone now.
Rest in peace, Patty. I love you.

Monday, January 14, 2013

One Sunday Afternoon

I honestly believe the most entertaining way to spend an Sunday afternoon, after two [or five] hours of church, is to lay around lazily and watch movies, whilst mending articles of clothing (+1 entertainment point if the movies are good, +2 if you do the mending by hand); and t'was exactly what I did today. I watched The Naked Jungle, 1954 (which isn't as sordid as it sounds) and The Wicked Lady, 1945 (which is just as sordid as it sounds); and pricked my fingers a few more times than was comfortable. 

On the subject of films, I think 2013 is just my year for finding new favorite things in it. Right before the end of last year, for example, I realized how absolutely fabulous old British films are (especially the 1940s Gainsborough melodramas, but more on that momentarily); still before the end of the last year I found Stewart Granger (and fell hopelessly in love, let's be real); this week I found Eleanor Parker (Ellie, oh heavens, where has she been all this time, that's what I want to know); and I'm positive there will be more. 

Speaking of Eleanor Parker, she must be the loveliest girl ever to walk the face of the planet, and, my goodness, can she act. She was the star of The Naked Jungle, which as far as I could tell is a sort of romantic twist on a story I read in school a while back, "Leiningen Versus the Ants" by Carl Stephenson, although it took me the whole movie to realize that. (Natalie, his name is Leiningen. Get with it, lassie). The movie was mostly jungles and marrying people you've never met who live in jungles and killer ants who also live in said jungles and ... I rather enjoyed it. Charleston Heston got less unattractive as the movie progressed and Ellie just kept getting prettier. 

[my GIF]

Then there was The Wicked Lady, one of the many costume melodramas made at Gainsborough studios in England during the forties. They all, as far as I've seen, star variations of the same cast: Patricia Roc, James Mason, Margaret Lockwood, Phyllis Calvert, and Stewart Granger. Oh, and Jean Kent always seems to be hanging about. The Wicked Lady got Mason, Roc, and Lockwood. 

Watching classic English films is such an experience, because if there was any production code then it was quite lenient. Thus from the depths of British film greatness spring lines like "Go get my son some food, you cheap slut." [quote via Madonna of the Seven Moons, thank you very much], and movies like Madonna of the Seven Moons in general. It's things like that, that make these films so, shall we say, appealing to me. Because I find it hysterical, and The Wicked Lady was no exception. 

For your entertainment (or shock and horror, take your pick) a brief summary of Miss Margaret Lockwood's character's activities in The Wicked Lady, she: stole her friend's fiance, fell in love with someone else on her wedding night, got bored of her husband, became a highwayman (because obviously that's what a person ought to do when they're bored), cheated on her husband with another highwayman, murdered a carriage driver, murdered the butler who found out about the highwayman deal, found out the highwayman lover was cheating on her, turned her highwayman lover in to the police to be hung, re-found the person she fell in love with on her wedding night (he's now engaged to the friend she stole a man from before), makes the wedding-night guy fall in love with her again, murders her highwayman lover who didn't actually die when he was hung, attempts to murder her husband to get him out of the way too, *spoilers* gets shot herself and dies alone. *end spoilers* The End. Quite a pleasant film, no? Shhh, I watch great movies. I liked it quite a lot, but like I say I do have a taste for this sort of thing. My only regret is that Stewart Granger wasn't in this one as he almost was. He was supposed to play James Mason's role and all the time I could hear Jimmy's [Jimmy Granger's] voice in my head saying all of James Mason's lines. I guess it was all for the best though, Jimmy Granger went off and made Caravan instead, which I'm not complaining about because that movie is horrifying and awesome. Caravan is my favorite guilty pleasure, although...I feel no guilt whatsoever over the amount of pleasure I get from watching it.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

James Stewart...Granger...Stewart Granger

Coming out of the corner where I've been hiding from this blog to say: Oh my gosh, Stewart Granger.

I never thought I was the kind of person who got easily obsessed with actors or actresses... apparently, that isn't true, because I've seen 14 of Stewart Granger's movies since last Saturday. Oh my gosh, that sounds horrible. Really, who the heck is Stewart Granger, though? I had never even heard of him before last Saturday. But there I was, watching Fanny by Gaslight (1945) because I adore Phyllis Calvert to pieces, and suddenly onto the screen walked this fantastically handsome human being. I liked him from that very first scene, then I watched Madonna of the Seven Moons (1945) and that was it, finis, kissed my heart goodbye. 

[My GIF]
Now, you may or may not be wondering what on earth is so great about Stewart Granger that I should, I don't know, force myself to find time to watch 14 movies in seven days. He's quite perfect, I can't explain it. He has such a fantastic humor, but he can make your heart ache. There's rakish glint in his brown eyes, but at the same time there's something so fantastically decent about him. I love him because he can be a perfectly charming British gentleman or a reckless gypsy and either way he's fantastic. Anyone who says they only put him in films because he was good-looking needs to go watch Captain Boycott or Love Story, then get back to me with that statement, really.

The best Stewart Granger is gypsy Stewart Granger... or hobo Stewart Granger... or drunk Stewart Granger... or Irish Stewart Granger... or...
He has quite definitely the best face ever. His laugh is my favorite thing in the whole world. His voice in general is perfection (when that man says "ruggedness", heaven help us). I find his hair ridiculously attractive. He has an absolutely adorable smile. He's really the only good thing in The Lamp Still Burns and The Little Hut. And I'm dying to read his autobiography (Christmas present to myself, me thinks). 

I'm trying to convince myself that a week isn't enough time to call someone your favorite actor. But fourteen performances are living in the back of my mind screaming "He's great and you know it. Admit it. You know it's true, he's the best." Really though, look at him: 

Favorite. Picture. Ever.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Hello, Goodbye, It's Limerick Time

Hello Folks,

I'm "In the Mood" once again, for today only. The lovely gals at True Classics, in honor of their blog-anniversary are hosting a limerick contest; and being the competitive, poetry-lover that I am I decided to take a chance and join up. Without any a-do, my entries:

Oh to dance with the skill of dear Mr. Astaire,
Or to do it all backwards like the girl of that pair.
To tap, tap with your feet
As you waltz down the street,
But you can't and it's really not fair. 

(Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers)

Once was a Lady named Eve
With many a trick up her sleeve.
The sucker did fall,
When he heard her sweet call,
And then, of his senses, took leave.

(The Lady Eve, 1941)

When Miss Rita has scenes
On our big silver screens,
The fellas get jealous
Of her partners so zealous,
And the girls wish that they had her genes.

(Rita Hayworth)

So, there we go. Here's hoping something good comes of these attempts. And happy, happy anniversary to True Classics' girls, may your continuing blogging days be filled with brilliance and good times.

Until Later On~