Word: cagney
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...ostentatiously spurned liquor and lechery, do anything ignoble? Unfortunately, Lindy has been as mistaken in his analysis of the public temper as he was in his estimation of Roosevelt's naivete; the people are, in fact, damn sick and tired of these Clean Cut Young Men; Mr. James Cagney has been substituted as a somewhat bawdier idol, and even the self-conscious college rake with a girl on his arm, a flask on his hip, and a vacuum in his head is held to be preferable to young Master Purity. Roosevelt's rebuke to Lindbergh--even though it does smack...
...James Cagney's latest tough boy spiel, now on the University sheet under the cognomen of "Lady Killer," is the fastest moving and most entertaining film released since "Bomb Shell." Like that Harlow epic, it is no esthete's reward, not yet a De Mille nogrom of the conventions; it is purely and simply a play-up to the inimitable James. Cagney twists his mat face into all sorts of hyena snarls; e bungs the ladies in the snout, and telescopes their jaws as the occasion requires; he enters the picture as a tough usher, graduates to the jewel thief...
Lady Killer (Warner Brothers) illustrates its makers' theory that a James Cagney picture requires less plot than movement. Starting out as a routine record of the rise of Dan Quigley (James Cagney) in crookdom. Lady Killer abruptly shifts its ground, loses itself in aimless mockery of actors, film directors, newspaper critics. In Hollywood hiding from New York police, Quigley gets a film bit as an Indian chief, becomes a star by subscribing to a stamp-bureau which sends him fan mail from all over the world. Tired of bashing his ladies on the chin. Cagney in this picture drags...
Chaster Kent James Cagney Nan Joan Blondell Bea Ruby Keeler Scotty Dick Powell Francis Frank McHugh Mr. Gould Guy Kibbee Vivian Claire Dodd...
...Footlight Parade" seems to suffer from a comparison with "Forty Second Street," or the golddigger balderdash. The plot is thin, the songs are only fair. Ruby Keeler, Joan Blondell, and James Cagney are adequate in their parts. But they show a superior attitude to all the implausible nonsense: It is not in good taste, nor is it just to the public if great artists are insincere. What deserve praise are the photography and the ensemble dances on such a large scale that, were he living, Ziegfeld would feel like a cheapskate if he saw them...