Film Review--Baby Face (1933)

While the self-imposed morality monitor eventually known as the Hayes Office was put into place in the mid-20s after a series of embarrassing Hollywood scandals, there were no rules for enforcement of these principles until 1934. Until this time, filmmakers made what seemed sometimes like a dedicated effort to make salacious, lurid films for the sheer joy of doing so (and thank god for that). Like movies in general, some were better than others, but the issue escalated over the years until, finally, a provision was written into the code that forced all films to be screened for objectionable content before they could be released. One of the final films to be made before this enforcement, and one that likely had a lot to do with the decision to begin enforcement, was 1933’s Baby Face, the disturbed brainchild of Darryl Zanuck, studio head of Warner at the time, starring the stellar Barbara Stanwyck.

Unlike many of these “pre-Code” films, Baby Face actually had morality cuts imposed upon it before its initial release, and this was the only version available for over seventy years, until recently when an unaltered version appeared at the Library of Congress archives. This version, along with its excised counterpart, is included in Volume 1 of the “Forbidden Hollywood” series from TCM. Unlike many of these “raunchy” early films, Baby Face, in many ways, lives up to its hype as a truly lurid picture.

Stanwyck (arguably, at least by me, the finest actress in the history of film) plays Lily Powers, who waits serves drinks (and herself) to customers at her father’s speakeasy. Nicknamed “the darling of the night shift,” Lily has been pimped by her father since she was fourteen and sees no way out until her friend, an old German cobbler, gives her a copy of Nietzsche’s Will to Power (I’m not kidding) and shows her passages to encourage her to move to the big city, exploit herself, exert her power, and turn men into slaves over which she is master. While I’m not sure this was Nietzsche’s intent, the quotes are direct misinterpretations and Lily doesn’t really know any better. So, when her father dies in a still explosion, she moves to Manhattan with her maid to start a new life. By taking Nietzsche’s advice and screwing everybody, she gets a job at a bank and works her way up the ladder until she’s married to the bank president, leaving a trail of broken and, sometimes, dead men in her wake (there is an amusing repeating crane shot which shows her rise floor by floor up the ultra-phallic skyscraper each time she makes a conquest). While, in the end, there is an attempt to give something of a moral spin on the issue, it is fairly lame and out of place; definitely the worst part of the film.

The strength of Baby Face is based almost entirely on the strength of Stanwyck’s performance. It’s easy to see Stanwyck do well when given a superior production to work with, a la Double Indemnity, but Baby Face is pretty dubious material, which she makes rise to her level. Also of note is Theresa Harris, who plays Chico, Lily’s African-American maid. While her role is not large, she is ever-present as Lily’s only friend and the only constant in her life. As Lily’s life gets more opulent, so does Chico’s and, adding a creepy slant to the proceedings, facilitates Lily’s actions in strange ways (for example, when they are trying to get to New York by hopping a train car, Lily has to “persuade” the official that catches them to not throw them off. Chico fades off into the corner of the car, looking on, watching, serenading the two with the strains of “The St. Louis Blues,” a decidedly dirty song).

Don’t get me wrong, Chico’s treatment carries no evidence of racial equality. Additionally, Lily’s empowerment through sex carries no feminism. Indeed, both of these issues are presented solely to carry the plot along. Chico following after Lily’s heels may not necessarily be offensive, but it is certainly regressive, and Lily’s use of her charms is only evidence that this is the only power she has. There are no politics here, and what there is can be looked at as fairly disgusting; this is bawdy cinema, designed entirely to shock and titillate. On this level, with Stanwyck’s sultry and surprising sensitive performance, Baby Face works (better than many, as will be evidenced in a review of Jean Harlow’s Red Headed Woman, also on the TCM "Forbidden Hollywood" collection, coming soon).