Film Review--Red-Headed Woman

Some time ago, I reviewed Baby Face, the first, and best, of the films in TCM’s "Forbidden Hollywood Collection." In it, Barbara Stanwyck takes an objectionable character doing awful things and gives her heart and a reason for existence, even if that reason is also objectionable. It is a good film that has been given life that could not be expected as a result of it’s listing among Hollywood’s “Pre-Code” sensations. It is mostly remembered for this distinction, but also stands as a fine early example of the work of one of the greatest performers in Hollywood history. It may be remembered for the wrong reasons, but at least it’s remembered. 1932’s Red-Headed Woman is the flip side of this coin. It is remembered for the same basic reason as Baby Face: the salacious material that helped solidify the enforcement of the Production Code. Unfortunately, Baby Face and Red-Headed Woman are equated because of this, although the quality difference between the two pictures is vast to say the least

Jean Harlow stars as Lil Andrews, a red headed girl from the wrong side of the tracks who sets her sights on fortune, regardless of the people she has to destroy to get it. She’s a secretary at some firm and sets her sights to bed the son of the company president (played by Chester Morris, in as wooden a performance as you could imagine) who can’t resist, obviously, because of Jean Harlow’s flouncing sex appeal. He leaves his fiancé and she gets her man, but her white trash ways bomb with her new high society peers and she is disgraced. Does she go back to her bootlegger boyfriend? Nope. She sets her sights higher, for some reason, and beds a coal tycoon. All the while, Lil is sleeping with the chauffer (Charles Boyer, in a bit role here, but one of the top romantic leads of 30s and 40s French cinema), I guess to satisfy her base sexual desires, or so the film would have you believe. When the tycoon is shown photos of Lil’s lowbrow misdeeds, he kicks her to the curb. Everybody thinks she’s gone now, too, until they’re at a horse race and see her with a new sugar daddy and the chauffer, looking to be doing quite well for themselves putting a wreath around their winning horse.

That she never gets her comeuppance is the hallmark here, and it doesn’t go much farther than that. The script was written by Anita Loos, one of the foremost early female screenwriters who wrote, most famously, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (interestingly, Harlow’s first line in Red-Headed Woman), but she was a replacement who clearly didn’t have much to work with. The characters are as shallow as they could possibly be, and there is no motivation for anybody to do anything they do. Why, when Lil is rejected by high society, does she look to even higher society? I can’t say. For “a girl from the wrong side of the tracks,” she doesn’t have very good street smarts. The entire motivation for the production and enjoyment of this film lies in its transgressions. That only goes so far, especially with a modern audience.

It doesn’t help that Jean Harlow is so poor in the role. Barbara Stanwyck, in Baby Face, give depth to a shallow character that only she, one of the great film actors, can give. Harlow, on the other hand, sucks all life from Lil, leaving her a shell of a character. This, and that Harlow has a voice like a modem, make the experience of Red-Headed Woman difficult, to say the least, especially where Stanwyck and Baby Face were a joy to watch. The only worthy aspect of this movie is Una Merkel, who plays Lil’s stodgy friend Sal and was Harlow’s sidekick in a number of films. I don’t know her story, but there’s something about her interesting enough that I will soon know a lot more.

Ultimately, Red-Headed Woman is worth watching for its historical association with the Production Code, but is a poor film at best. That it is coupled with Baby Face does that film a disservice, but that is the problem with the “Pre-Code” designation. When you are talking about strong, sexual women playing strong, sexual roles, quality goes out the window. All that can be looked at is the strong sexuality. Apparently, skill, humanity, and production value mean very little when you speak of the films made between 1930 and 1934.