#two-strip technicolor

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

The Mystery of the Wax Museum

Sometimes being lost can alter perceptions of not just a film’s quality, but also its content. Michael Curtiz’ THE MYSTERY OF THE WAX MUSEUM (1932, Criterion Channel, TCM) was not available at all until 1972 and not in a decent print until 2021, and though the restoration reveals Ray Renahan’s wonderful camera work, the film as whole isn’t quite the horror classic people who hadn’t seen it thought it was. Lionel Atwill stars as a wax sculptor driven mad when his business partner burns down his museum for the insurance money, leaving Atwill scarred and unable to sculpt any longer. He rebuilds his collection by stealing bodies from the morgue and even killing people who resemble his most famous works so he can cover the bodies with wax. Part of the problem is that the film is rather unfocused. Atwill isn’t on screen that much, nor is nominal leading lady Fay Wray, who seems to have been born for two-strip Technicolor. In their place, the film focuses on Glenda Farrell as a reporter who keeps digging up stories that lead to the wax museum. Only they take a while to get there. Art designer Anton Grot created some interesting expressionistic sets, particularly the city morgue and a skewed staircase leading to a bootlegger’s basement, but there aren’t nearly enough of them. And though Wray has a romantic interest in Atwill’s innocent assistant (Allen Vincent), and Farrell is courted by a wealthy murder suspect (Gavin Gordon, Edward Everett Horton’s main squeeze off-screen), neither plays a terribly important role in solving the mystery. Still, Farrell is a joy to watch, and her scenes are the film’s highlights, though that tends to make it more a newspaper comedy than a horror film.

[maudeboggins]

Billie Dove in The Black Pirate (1926)

[darchildre]

You wanted more random screenshots of interiors from Dr Mabuse, der Spieler, right? The plot is good, but I keep getting distracted by the sets and the lighting.

THIS ROOM! God, I love it so much you get a detail shot:

I want that painting so bad, you guys.

Nothing important is even happening in this little vestibule, we just lit it like that just because, Fritz Lang, what even are you?

The Excelsior Hotel: voted "most likely to be haunted by a hallway ghost" 5 years running.

Just as color film peaked in 1933 with two-strip Technicolor, weird creepy interior sets peaked in the 1920s and we should bring it back.

[grishamanimationstudios102]

The Ghost's Bully (1934). Fanmade cartoon idea. Shot in two-strip Technicolor. Summary: A ghost comes across a bully, who wants to make ectoplasm out of him. It's up to the ghost to outsmart his opponent through a string of gags in a boxing match.

[abjectionporn-blog]

The Saddest Music in The World (2003)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Lilian Bond (The Old Dark House)—no propaganda submitted

Fay Wray (King Kong)— the original scream queen!! she started acting in silent comedies as a teenager and got her first big break when erich von stroheim cast her as the lead in the wedding march. her career started to take off starring in silent movies at paramount, and she survived the transition to sound smoothly - josef von sternberg’s weird proto-noir thunderbolt was one of her first sound films. she began to make horror movies in the early 1930s, such as doctor x and mystery of the wax museum, both filmed in beautiful two-strip technicolor (which looked like this if you're curious. i just think it's neat!), as well as the vampire bat, the most dangerous game, and of course the boy himself, king kong. a little on how she worked with her most famous costar: “Although Kong appeared huge, the full figure was a model covered with rabbit hair, standing only 18 inches tall, that was filmed one frame at a time by stop-motion photography artist Willis O'Brien and his crew. The 5ft 3in Wray only knew one part of the ape's body when she was grasped in an articulated 8ft long hand. Hence the title of her 1989 autobiography, On The Other Hand. ‘I would stand on the floor,’ she recalled, ‘and they would bring this arm down and cinch it around my waist, then pull me up in the air. Every time I moved, one of the fingers would loosen, so it would look like I was trying to get away. Actually, I was trying not to slip through his hand.’” (link)

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Fay Wray:

Actress prominently known for starring in horror, she was one of cinema's original "scream queens". She knocks it out of the park whenever she's with the horror genre, bringing a depth and likability to characters that would other be flat and boring characters.

An early scream queen, name me another woman who could look so beautiful while so disheveled and scared for her life

She was name-dropped not once but TWICE in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. She's arguably the original Scream Queen.

[rogerdeakinsdp]

Academy Award Winners for Best Cinematography: 2005 — Robert Richardson, ASC The Aviator (2004) Directed by Martin Scorsese Aspect Ratio: 2.39 : 1

“Prior to my involvement, Marty designed a color timeline that influenced every creative department. He wanted the progression from a two-color palette to a three-strip palette to approximate the technological advances of the film industry at that time, but more importantly, he felt it would mirror the characters’ emotional evolution. The first act, which covers Hughes’s early career in Hollywood, was supposed to have Technicolor’s two-color look. With the second act, which begins after Hughes sets a speed record flying across the continental United States [in 1937] and goes with Katharine Hepburn to Connecticut, we transition to that vibrant, three-strip look that most of us associate with the glorious Technicolor years. Then, when Hughes almost dies crashing the XF-11, we were going to cut into a more contemporary look without either Technicolor process applied.”  — Robert Richardson for American Cinematographer, January 2005

[anotherbluesunday]

✨Moodboard Teaser: In Technicolor✨

With the release of the first chapter coming in hot with its expected release being this Friday at the latest or sooner (possibly as early as tomorrow) I wanted to take the time to acquaint everyone with the primary couples in this story. Usually I cap it at two couples and have auxilary couples and characters on the fringes. But because this is a crossover between two of my favorite shows, I have expanded it to three—possibly four—couples with auxilaries (secondary) on the fringes. These couples will include original characters i.e. Wynn Galpin who is Tyler Galpin’s younger sister. There is a crossover couple that joins the Wednesday group with the Riverdale group. This couple is where I expect to receive the most backlash but idc. Their my crossover otp and I hope you all trust me enough to keep reading and join me/the characters on this journey. I have also switched some things up with one of the Riverdale characters because the ship only got screen time in the last season and it did more for their character than their actual failed relationships did the entire season. Fight me. But don’t. Or do.

Anyway, here are the couples moodboards, as promised. The visuals were inspired by Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juilet because these past few months since January I have been on a 90’s and 2000’s kick and I am dying for how that movie captured the beauty, grit, grime, and excitement of LA. So enjoy and let me know what you think! 💜

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We open with our crossover couple who are the star-crossed lovers—Cheryl Blossom, the queen of the Palisades and star tennis player and Pugsley “Lee” Addams, the king of Elysian Heights and leader of his grunge sleeze band Texca. Born second generation to a working class defense attorny and day-time caregiver to the elderly, Lee Addams has just wants to make it through his senior year of high school and hangout with his friends on the weekend. But when he and his twin sister Wednesday step a little too far over the line at their old school their parents pull some strings to have their three children—Wednesday, Pugsley, and Pubert “Bertie” attend Morticia’s former high school. There, Lee unwittingly comes face to face with the campus queen, the indomitable and untouchable Cheryl Blossom. Born into privilege with the face of an angel and the bite of a viper, she has everything and anything. Influence thanks to her parents name. Adoration by way of her beauty. And power because of her abilities to manipulate others. But what happens when a hurricane meets an immoveable force? Will they fold? Destroy one another? What happens when the pretty vicious face isn’t all it seems to be and the cutting confidence is stripped away? Who are the real people that lie beneath it all?

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Next are our second pair of the four star-crossed lovers. While it is never a good idea to fall for your twin flame, for Tyler and Wednesday it isn’t so simple. Twin flames and soulmates fused into one as if it were a sick joke, their story begins at a party—the raven haired twin sister with her face painted like a Catrina (see: Dia de los Muertos symbols and iconography) and the Galpin golden boy dressed like Sir Lancelot with the sacred heart etched into his chest plate. Like her brothers, Wednesday grew up living a modest life where nothing was taken for granted and family sits at the heart of all major decisions. For Tyler, he has forgotten the importance of family and community after starting university where his life has evolved into an endless stream of parties and hookup’s. Never struggling but also never being challenged to be better or grow, he’s hit a wall. A mid-life crisis of sorts but at the already chaotic age of 18 with his 19th birthday right around the corner. But from the moment he lays eyes on Wednesday she is all he can think of. All he breathes and dreams of—a beautiful stranger that won’t free him. Yet when this silver tongued Casanova tries to approach the dark beauty he’s shot down. Challenged to question who he is and what he truly is doing with his life that matters. What is in store for the idealistic social revolutionist and her troubled admirer? Where will they land when the walls of his kingdom come crumbling down?

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The youngest of three siblings each yet one is protected and coddled like a greenhouse flower while the other has flourished amidst hardship and bouts of poverty. Wynn Galpin is caught in a never-ending loop of compassions to her twin older siblings, Tyler and Enid. Both are straight A students. Both star athletes with Tyler winning championship after championship for swim and Enid earning a full-ride scholarship to UCLA for volleyball. Both are charming and charismatic. Both are perfect and Wynn can never compare despite how she tries. She doesn’t have the passion for swim or volleyball so she chooses cheer. “That’s not a real sport” she’s told. Her siblings get A’s but she can hardly scrape by with B’s while battling her depression and anxiety. At all times, her mind is screaming for her to just run off and disappear. And after the loss of her friend and pseudo-sister Polly, the darkness has become more persuasive. More invasive and vicious. But it is during a spiral that forces her out of the gym during cheer practice that she runs into the new kid. The brainiac junior in her senior level AP classes. Pubert “Bertie” Addams. A carefree class clown with a heart of gold and the virgin Guadalupe drawn in vibrant neons on the bottom of his skateboard. Where will this new path take them when the class clown and the beauty queen who seems to always be in tears meet to form an oddball friendship? And what happens when their hearts begin to long for more than just friendship but their worlds couldn’t be more different? How will things turn out for the greenhouse flower and her sidewalk dandelion?

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What’s the worst that could happen when you fall in love with your best friend? What happens when you think they love someone else? When you think they could never see you the way you see them in return? Do you stand there and wait for them to turn around? Or do you walk away while piecing together your heart that will never know real closure? Reggie has asked himself these questions nearly every day for the past six years since his family moved to the fringes of the Palisades and enrolled him in the affluent junior high nearby. Archie Andrews was his first friend at his new school all those years ago. The first one to get up during lunch time and sit down next to him. The one who didn’t care that his parents weren’t from money and had only recently come into their fortune. The one who didn’t care that he didn’t have the newest clothes, phone, or hairstyle. Like a guardian angel come to save him from perpetual solitude, Archie befriended Reggie with a bright smile and a silly joke. And since that day, Reggie has kept his love for the redhaired boy wonder to himself. Has been the picture of what a bestfriend should be. Has supported Archie and defended him. Joined their high school swim team with him just so that they could live out Archie’s dream of being the one’s to break Tyler, the former captain’s, record and win more championships than him and his team did. Reggie has lived a beautiful but painful lie for nearly a decade and the cracks have begun to show. The devotion now agony. The love a barbed dagger twisted liettle by little every time he has to play third wheel on Archie’s dates with his girlfriend Veronica. But one night their eyes meet across a sea of moving bodies at a house party. Archie kissing Veronica but can’t stop looking at Reggie. There’s a spark. A sadness. Hope. But is there truth? Is there a willingness to be honest? To accept this attraction that has been there waiting from the start? Does Archie know what real love could be like if he just turned around? Or will the lovefool angel look away once again and leave the poor friend and saint in the dark?

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Stay tuned for more because this is only the beginning. Next will be the auxiliary couples, characters, and family boards for the three main ones at play. But the next next post that will be following this one will be the official titlecard for Chapter One. Can’t wait to see you all again there. 💜

[sionisjaune]

Lewis/Nico post Qatar... loosely set in this universe.

Lewis’s hands are shaking on the ride to the garage. Technicolor images flash on the LED screens posted along the track, the bright spot of his helmet and the smallness of his body swimming in a sea of gravel. The car’s mangled carcass lies behind him like a shipwreck.

He procures his phone from the trainer he’s trialing this week, and unlocks it with shaky hands. Can you come here, he texts. I’m in the garage. He can hardly type the words, but he needs something he can throw himself at—something sturdy enough to bear the weight of what he’s feeling. It’s not quite guilt, and it’s not quite anger, and it slips through his mind’s fingers when he tries to examine it. It’s just a ball of horrible dark matter coagulating in the pit of his stomach and leaping at the back of his throat. 

Lewis locks himself in his driver’s room and waits. James looked like he had words for Lewis when he shoved through the front of the garage, but that’s a confrontation for later. Bono was cool and appraising, watching Lewis with his arms folded across his chest, a screen full of data reflected in the lenses of his glasses. Lewis will talk to him first, to get the objective measure of the fuckup.

A purposeful knock sounds at the door. Lewis leaps up from the massage table where he was sitting with his nails dug into his thighs. The door folds inwards on Nico, the planes of his cheeks bright with an oily sheen. He slips inside efficiently and shuts the door behind him. 

“You’re here,” says Lewis, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. 

Nico's face twists in on itself. “Of course I’m here.” He ruffles his hair, thick with styling balm and unruly in the damp heat. “We have thirty minutes.”

Lewis nods, jerky and tight. “That’s enough,” he says, reaching for the hem of his fireproof shirt and stripping it off. Nico’s lips part, and then his expression shutters, folding into a perfectly blank emotion. 

“No,” says Nico. “We don’t fuck when we’re mad at each other.”

Lewis pushes the rest of his race suit down his hips and steps out of the puddle of Nomex it makes on the floor. He’s standing in his fireproof pants now, meshy leggings that cling to the insides of his thighs, damp with cold sweat. “I’m not mad at you,” he says. 

Nico seems to waver in front of the door. Lewis knows what he’s seeing. Another crash from another time. The sensation of spinning out of control. Gravel raining down on his body inside the cockpit, chunks of carbon flying overhead. They didn’t fuck after that one, because Nico was engaged and expecting, and Lewis hated the sight of him barefaced more than he did covered in race gear and in front of Lewis on track. 

“Help me feel better,” Lewis says. “It’s not—” He doesn’t know how to put it into words—the distinction between then and now. It’s so obvious, and at the same time utterly out of reach. 

Nico pinches the bridge of his nose. Lewis imagines that he’s recontextualizing, trying to place himself in the present. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” His hands go to the first button that’s actually fastened on his shirt, halfway down his chest. Fondness bubbles above the frustration churning impotently in Lewis’s chest, but only for a second. “Let’s do it,” says Nico, peeling off his shirt. 

Lewis surges forwards and plants his mouth on Nico for a long, hard kiss. His body knows what it’s going to get soon. He can push aside everything else, cram it into a shoebox for later, because something good is coming now.

-

The massage table isn’t nearly large enough for two grown men, but Nico pulled Lewis on top of him and is rubbing the space between his shoulders with cool hands. Lewis can smell the sweat drying on Nico's collarbone, in the ends of his hair. 

“It was at least half my fault,” says Lewis, into Nico’s neck. He can admit it to himself because it feels outside of him. There’s no need to hold onto it so desperately. 

“A small misjudgement,” says Nico, resting his heavy hand on the back of Lewis’s neck. 

“We did talk about it before the start,” says Lewis. “He knew where I might be. The chance I had.” 

Nico exhales beside Lewis’s ear. His bare chest deflates beneath Lewis. “You were selfish. George was selfish. Racing drivers are selfish. That’s the price you pay for the success you have. It’s not a big problem.” 

“I think I’m going to apologize to him,” says Lewis. 

“That’s a big gesture,” says Nico, laughing gently. “Do you remember when Toto asked you to apologize to me, and you point blank refused?" His fingertips find the edge of Lewis's hairline, where the hair is buzzed short. "Honestly, I was so relieved, because I didn’t want to apologize either. You were just as ugly as me, back then.”

Lewis breathes a small laugh, his lips brushing the side of Nico’s neck. Then comes another knock at the door. 

“Lewis,” says Rosa, clearing her throat from the other side of the door. “We want you on the Sky broadcast in ten minutes. Think about what you want to say, and if I don’t like it, I’m giving you bullet points.” 

Nico snorts beneath Lewis. 

“Sounds good,” Lewis calls. There’s no way Rosa didn’t see Nico walk through the garage and into Lewis’s driver’s room. Lewis was biting his fist while Nico was here, too, but it’s still possible someone heard something. He listens carefully for the sound of Rosa’s footsteps receding before pushing himself off of Nico. Nico groans theatrically before sitting up himself. He’s still wearing his socks and his thick, silver watch—absolutely ridiculous. 

While Lewis fetches a pair of cargo pants and a Mercedes tee from the small dresser in the corner, Nico slides off of the massage table and bends to collect his clothing. 

“How am I supposed to make my escape?” he says. 

Lewis pulls the shirt over his head and scrapes his braids into a low bun, looping the elastic twice. “I think Toto is the only one who would say something.” 

“Lucky me,” says Nico, buttoning his fly. Lewis navigates around the massage table to smooth Nico’s hair down for him. Nico tilts his cheek into Lewis’s palm when Lewis is finished, making a squashed, happy face. Lewis flicks another errant strand of hair behind Nico’s ear. 

“I’ll see you on the plane,” says Nico, pulling away. He finishes buttoning his shirt and lingers at the threshold with his hand around the doorknob.

“Yeah,” says Lewis, his chest full of something new.

[nitrateglow]

Spooky Season 2024: 2-5

Mystery of the Wax Museum (dir. Michael Curtiz, 1933)

Bodies are disappearing from the morgue and it's up to lady reporter Florence Dempsey (Glenda Farrell) to crack the case! Her investigation leads her to a new wax exhibit, opened by artist Ivan Igor (Lionel Atwill). She notices that some of the figures on display resemble the missing corpses. And soon, Igor is eyeing up Florence's beautiful roommate Charlotte (Fay Wray), who happens to resemble a wax Marie Antoinette he lost in a fire long ago...

Mystery of the Wax Museum is overshadowed by its '50s remake, House of Wax, but the two films are distinct enough to be enjoyed on their own terms, even if I do think the later version is stronger. Mystery is set in the (then) present and has a pulpy detective feel to it. The characters make wisecracks and dirty jokes-- very typical of the pre-code era. There are even allusions to other horror movies of the time, like Frankenstein.

What strikes most viewers about the film today is its use of two-strip Technicolor, a color process that captured images with green and red dyes. The result is a muted but not unpleasant color range. I often associate this process with late-era silent films like The Black Pirate, which have a watercolor illustration look to them. Here, the colors are somehow both muted and a touch garish, suiting the pulpy tone of the story well.

House of Wax (dir. Andre de Toth, 1953)

It's the Gay Nineties in New York City, but nastiness is running amok. Wax sculptor Henry Jarrod (Vincent Price) is hoping to secure lucrative patronage for his beautiful but failing museum, but his impatient business partner burns the place down with Jarrod inside, intent on collecting the insurance money. However, Jarrod survives, reappearing injured but alive over a year later. He opens a new exhibit, this one focused on the cruelty of humanity rather than its beauty. At the same time, corpses start disappearing from the city morgue... and many of the wax exhibits resemble the deceased!

What an enjoyable movie! House of Wax is great, unpretentious old-school horror at its most crowdpleasing. The story is packed with skillful suspense and just the right amount of campy humor-- enough to keep things fun, but not enough to deflate the threat of the villains.

This is a rare remake that improves upon its predecessor. As entertaining as Mystery is, it lacks the remake's tighter, more focused script and more memorable characters of this version. And of course, this movie has Vincent Price in the role that made him the horror icon he remains today.

I forgot how great a villain Jarrod is, a disturbed but poignant figure. He's so charming that part of you kind of wants him to get away with his nefarious deeds. That first sequence where he speaks to the figures like old friends does such a great job making your sympathy for him linger on just a bit, even after he starts killing people.

I don't want to forget Phyllis Kirk as the heroine Sue Allen though. Kirk's character is smart and persevering. While not the wisecracker Glenda Farrell's reporter was in the original, she has her own sweet charm and quiet resolve that make her very endearing.

Frankenstein (dir. J. Searle Dawley, 1910)

This twelve-minute silent film is the earliest cinematic adaptation of Mary Shelley's classic novel. Like all the other movie Frankensteins, it has little to do with the book whatsoever.

The film has a lot of interesting elements to it despite the limitations of the one-reeler format. The director plays up the psychological duality of Frankenstein and his creation, and the use of mirrors throughout is clever, both in extending the stagey spaces we see onscreen and highlighting the aforementioned duality.

Also the creation scene is AWESOME. If I remember correctly, they set a dummy on fire, then played the footage in reverse, making it appear as though the creature were emerging from the Promethean fire. A super old-school effect, but a cool one!

Cape Fear (dir. J. Lee Thompson, 1962)

Attorney Sam Bowden (Gregory Peck) is stalked by Max Cady (Robert Mitchum), a rapist he helped put away eight years ago. Now free, Cady is set on avenging himself by targeting Bowden's wife and teenage daughter. Cady initially wages psychological warfare, the kind that cannot get him charged for any crime. Terrified for his family, Bowden and his wife conspire to set a trap for the ex-con, but will Cady bite? And if he does, will they survive?

I hadn't seen this film in a while, so I forgot how intense it is! You can definitely tell this was influenced by Hitchcock's brand of thriller filmmaking, though it does lack Hitch's dark humor. Still, there is a lot going on here beyond mere suspense. Gregory Peck isn't just playing yet another noble father figure-- he's increasingly willing to play dirty to protect his loved ones. The ending even has him echoing Cady's desire for sadistic revenge.

Mitchum is certainly best in show here. Cady is one of the great movie villains, boasting a potent blend of intelligence and savagery that makes him feel genuinely threatening. That scene with him attacking Polly Bergen on the boat never fails to give me chills. It goes to show you don't need explicit violence to keep an audience suspended in dread.

As enjoyable as the Scorsese remake is, this one is far more sinister to me. The setting feels more grounded and the stark black-and-white cinematography gives the story a southern gothic vibe. It would make a great double feature with another gothic Mitchum movie, The Night of the Hunter.

[tina-aumont]

Arabian Nights

Arabian Nights is a 1942 adventure film directed by John Rawlins and starring Jon Hall, Maria Montez, Sabu and Leif Erikson. The film is derived from The Book of One Thousand and One Nights but owes more to the imagination of Universal Pictures than the original Arabian stories. Unlike other films in the genre (The Thief of Bagdad), it features no monsters or supernatural elements.

This is the first feature film that Universal made using the three-strip Technicolor film process, although producer Walter Wanger had worked on two earlier Technicolor films for other studios: The Trail of the Lonesome Pine (1936) at Paramount and the 1937 Walter Wanger's Vogues of 1938 for United Artists.

Plot (it may contain spoilers)

In ancient Persia, the young women of a royal harem read the story of Sherazade, unfolding the film's story. Sherazade, a dancer in a wandering circus, captures the attention of Kamar, the brother of the caliph, Haroun al-Rashid. Kamar's infatuation influences his attempts to seize the throne from Haroun and make Sherazade his queen. His revolt fails, and he is sentenced to slow death by exposure, but Kamar's men storm the palace and free their leader. Wounded and forced to flee, Haroun chances upon Sherazade's circus and is spotted by the young acrobat Ali Ben Ali. Aware of Haroun's identity, Ali hides him in the circus. Later, upon awakening from his injuries, Haroun beholds Sherazade and falls in love with her.

Meanwhile, Kamar assumes the throne, but Sherazade is not to be found. He orders the captain of his guard to find her, but a scheming grand vizier, Nadan, approaches the captain with the order to make Sherazade 'disappear.' After finding them, the captain sells the troupe into slavery. When the captain is found out, Nadan murders him in order to conceal his treachery. Haroun, Sherazade, and the acrobats escape the slave pens, but are found by Kamar's army and taken to a tent city in the desert. Kamar reunites with Sherazade and proposes, but she has fallen in love with Haroun instead. Nadan, recognizing the caliph, uses this knowledge to blackmail Sherazade into helping him remove Kamar from the throne, in return for safe conduct for Haroun out of the caliphate. In secret, however, he plans to have Haroun killed once he has crossed the border.

Upon learning of this insidious scheme, Ali and his fellow performers rescue Haroun, who then decides to free Sherazade with the help of the acrobats. But Haroun and the others are quickly captured, and Sherazade finally learns his true identity. Kamar engages Haroun in a swordfight, while the acrobats set fire to the tents; and the arrival of the caliph's loyal troops, summoned by Ali, triggers a massive battle. In the end, as Kamar prepares to deliver the deathstroke to Haroun, Nadan assassinates Kamar. But as he prepares to do in Haroun, Ahmad and Ali interfere, forcing him to flee. Nadan is stopped by a thrown spear and dies inside a burning tent, leaving Haroun, Sherazade, and their loyal friends to celebrate victory.

Cast

Jon Hall – Haroun-Al-Raschid

Maria Montez – Sherazade

Sabu – Ali Ben Ali

Leif Erikson – Kamar

Billy Gilbert – Ahmad

Edgar Barrier – Nadan

Richard Lane – Corporal

Turhan Bey – Captain of the Guard

John Qualen – Aladdin

Shemp Howard – Sinbad

William 'Wee Willie' Davis – Valda

Thomas Gomez – Hakim

Jeni Le Gon – Dresser / Dancer's Maid

Robert Greig – Eunuch

Charles Coleman – Eunuch

Emory Parnell – Harem Sentry

Harry Cording – Blacksmith

Robin Raymond – Slave Girl

Carmen D'Antonio – Harem Girl

The film was released on 25th December 1942.

Photos from ebay and text from wikipedia.

[howardhawkshollywood]

Olive Borden models in a publicity still for Fig Leaves (1926). The film featured a two strip technicolor fashion show.

[shipwreckinabottle]

leather and darkness

(Read on ao3 here!)

Rating: Mature Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationship: Bruce Wayne/Harley Quinn Word Count: 4389 Summary: the few times they kissed.

a re-write of a one-shot i wrote back in 2016 after watching suicide squad (and their 5 second scene together). was thinking of this pairing recently and decided to completely rewrite this entire story 8 years later 😂

(short preview below)

The first time they kissed, Harley would argue it was nothing more than an accident, really.

They were scuffling in the mud, and she was kicking and screaming and biting and basically doing all she could to escape. She was coated in mud and dirt, slippery like an eel, but he still managed a decent grip on her, and they were struggling and rolling and falling across one another like a bunch of drunks on a Gotham’s night out with nothing to lose.

She’d tried to kick him in the family jewels at one point in their struggle—more than tried, actually—and yeah, yeah, she knew it wasn’t the most ladylike thing to do, but it wasn’t like she could even remember the last time anyone had called her a lady, so that was fair game. Plus, whatever padding the Bats used down there was rock solid, and had probably hurt her more than it did him.

So, she tried head-butting him instead, because that always worked, aiming straight for his nose where she knew all the cracky cartilages were. But somehow he saw that coming as well and swung out of the way, all too easily and all too smugly, if she might add. Some echolocation bat-sy cheating bullshit.

So unfair!

But if Harley was known for one thing, it was that she didn’t give up easily, even in the face of overwhelming batversity. So she waited, bidding her time, waiting for the perfect opportunity and—there!

She flung mud at his eyes, causing him to flinch backwards while she barreled into him at full speed, sending the two of them smashing into a dumpster and—for the briefest second, before the squelch of going headfirst into a dirty dumpster completely engulfed her—she felt his lips pressed up against hers.

Things stopped for a moment. Soft. And she wasn’t referring to the oily takeout containers and chili oil wontons she was now knee deep in. But his lips. They were soft. Fluffy. Kinda like marshmallows. Which was definitely an out-of-pocket thing to think about—of all people—the Batman’s lips, because surely, soft—he wasn’t.

She blinked, a double-take, really, and that second’s distraction was all he needed—rude!—before her world spun, the colorful lights around whirling into technicolor detail; it was beautiful for a brief second, like streaks of comets passing in the night, except it was just the neon signs of strip clubs and poker bars and whatever shady establishments all over Gotham city zooming by and…

Oh.

It wasn’t the lights that were zooming by.

She realized half a second before a puddle of mud caked her right in the face that she was the one being swung out of the dumpster, her face oof-ing into the dirty alleyway as the Bats finally got a good grip on her, pinning her down and cuffing her hands tight behind her.

Ye-ouch.

As she laid there in the mud, the fight gone out of her, she couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t at all like when she kissed her puddin’. With Bats there was no visible fireworks, no loud explosions, no butterflies in her stomach or down between her… well, if she had to be completely honest, she did feel a little ol’ something when he’d pinned her to the ground, but that was definitely more on her than on him, really.

She licked her lips. Thought reaaaaal hard about what it’d tasted like. Leather and darkness, she thought, though not to be confused with that one time she’d made out with that dominatrix mourning their dog recently passing of old age (that was certainly a different kind of leather and darkness).

It was weird, and a little conflicting.

Conflicting not entirely because she’d kissed him, but because she realized she didn’t find it completely unpleasant at all.

[darchildre]

I have realized that there is a downside to this film festival.

So, silent movies were almost all scored when they were made, right? I had assumed that the live music accompanying the films this weekend would be based on those scores.

Tonight's film was Earth, and was accompanied by a guy on the piano and a woman playing bass clarinet and soprano sax. The piano player wrote a whole new score for the film, parts of which were improvised, and which incorporated several Ukrainian folk songs and ended with a riff on "Bella ciao". It was fantastic.

And the thing is, about halfway through the film I realized two things: 1) I was going to want to watch it again after reading a lot about it and a lot about the historical context, because the film was gorgeous but I don't know enough about Ukrainian or Soviet history and I'm sure I missed a lot. And 2) this accompaniment was a once only, never to be heard again experience, and I'm never going to be able to rewatch the movie without wishing it had this music.

This weekend, I am attending a silent film festival (with live musical accompaniment!) at a local art museum I've never been to before.

A) I am excited! I haven't seen any of the films before and there's a cool mix of genres (though no horror, alas). I've never seen a silent movie with live music at all, and my only experience seeing one in a theater was actually in a college lecture hall, which doesn't count.

B) I am incapable of going to a movie showing any less than half an hour before it starts, which means I am currently the only one here who isn't working on the festival. They are all very nice and keep saying "hi" to me and kindly overlooking the extreme awkwardness of my just lurking in the theater already, but man, I feel so weird about it. The early bird's lot is not necessarily a happy one.

My mom's joining me for the first film tomorrow, so at least I won't be the first one here on my own.

[anhed-nia]

A while ago I was trying to figure out what makes radishes hot; like obviously the quality of heat is different from what's produced by the capsaicin in peppers, so there's gotta be a name for the thing in radishes, right? So I looked it up and got about as far as the fact that they have something called glucosinate which breaks down into a few different things, one of which is, uh...I mean my point is that this turned out to not be a topic for laypeople, there's no one convenient word that casually communicates why radishes are hot. I had a flashback to this moment when I watched a Technicolor version of FOREVER AMBER, the Preminger adaption of the often-banned novel about a polygamous social survivalist with a lot of great outfits. There's several different generations of Technicolor, and I thought I could look up which one this was, hoping that describing it would be as relatively simple as just saying "two-strip process", but like...fuck, Technicolor is complicated, I could not easily summarize what I read about it. Even though the process in this movie is relatively primitive, it can really make things come alive, it has an uncanny 3Dness that I really appreciate even though (because?) it's not very natural.

PS Why does this look exactly like a porno compilation sleeve?

[tomdirensselaer]

Whoopee! (1930) - Produced by Samuel Goldwin & Florenz Ziegfeld Jr. Choreographed by Busby Berkeley. Two strip Technicolor III process.

Ethel Shutta leads off the dance numbers. Goldwyn Girls include many uncredited future stars: Paulette Goddard, Betty Grable, Marian Marsh, Ann Sothern and Barbara Weeks.