Word: menjou
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...simple story: a provincial boy and girl fall in love despite their parents' objections and plan to elope to Paris. His father dies as they are about to leave, and the girl, not knowing why he missed the train, goes on without him-to become Adolphe Menjou's lavishly kept woman in the capital. Later they meet, there is promise of love's renewal, but circumstances and her lover's priggishness intervene. Tragedy and then a coda at once ironic and uplifting end the picture...
...kind of stability this stiff youth aspires to. In his marriage to Oona O'Neill, which produced a family of Victorian dimensions, Chaplin finally found it. On the other hand, as three decades of scandalized headlines made clear, he was a boulevardier as dandified, as natty, as Menjou is here. Chaplin invests this character with real charm and style, again hoping for understanding...
...inability to interiorize, and of treating people like chessmen, even checkers. Paths of Glory serves as an ample refutation to that. He has also been accused of not knowing how to work actors, of demeaning them and consciously turning them into furniture. The old fascist bastard Adolphe Menjou has an answer to that. He said that the only director who worked actors as sensitively as Kubrick was the director of his 1923 film. A Woman of Paris, Charles Chaplin. Kirk Douglas gives a good performance, and Ralph Meeker, waiting for the firing squad, squashes a cockroach with his thumb after...
...justification for the Tens' existences. As the members of HUAC furiously prodded the screenwriters for answers which would hardly have made any difference anyhow, they filled out their wildest, most exhibitionistic fantasies and put themselves in the movies. After setting themselves up with Robert Taylor, Gary Cooper and Adolphe Menjou (not to mention Ginger Rogers' wailing and unspeakably irrational mother), the Congressmen waited to pin the squirming red worms to the wall...
Wearing a pencil-thin Adolphe Menjou mustache, impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit and sporting a stickpin in his stylish striped cravat, Dr. Eugene Balthazar, 73, looks like Hollywood's image of a society doctor. But Balthazar's practice is not on Manhattan's Park Avenue or in some well-heeled suburb but in the decaying downtown area of Aurora, an industrial center (pop. 79,000) in northern Illinois. There, for at least 3½ days a week, Balthazar ministers to Aurora's poor-Mexicans, Appalachian whites, Indians and blacks. Indeed, anyone with real...