Early Lubitsch musical with great performances and terrible sexism. 

So says Lora Nixon (Fay Wray), a mediocre actress who must stay in work whilst her musician husband Donald Ogden (Philips Holmes) struggles to write his next masterpiece. The couple’s marriage has been tested by the rich producer Robert Courtland (William Powell) who is in love with Lora and wants her for himself. The drama is off-set by the comedic Dot and Dash (Helen Kane and Richard “Skeets” Gallagher”), Lora’s sister and brother-in-law. Of course, all ends happily. 

Lora is sweet and demure, but very capable in the kitchen. Donald is a passionate musician and ultimately dumb. Dot boop-boop-i-doops through her songs, and Dash wise-cracks through everything. 

With its unlikeable characters, banal plot, and lackluster score, Pointed Heels is tedious and forgettable. 

The one glimmer of redemption is in the wonderful backstage shots. A variety of unusual angles and dynamic composition help to create the excitement of the backstage world before, and during, a show. 

At the Paramount Theatre in Atlanta, Georgia, the film was used to help promote the theatre’s ninth birthday. As reported in Motion Picture News (Jan 18, 1930) women were employed to hang cut-out letters outside the theatre, purposefully misspelling words to great effect. Meanwhile in Kentucky, promotions included a giant glittering red shoe on the marquis and elaborate storefront display.

Popular actor Helen Kane, famous for being (the possible) inspiration for the cartoon character Betty Boop, was featured heavily in advertisements for the film.

Music from the film, penned by Paramount’s prolific music department and generally well-received by the critics, was aired on radio on the Publix-Paramount Hour.

Historian Richard Barrios describes Pointed Heels as “Paramount’s disappointing holiday attraction for 1929,” however the film played to sold-out houses around the country, even breaking attendance records. According to The Film Daily, the picture bought in $94,000 in Brooklyn - where the previous record had been $89,000. 

Overall the critics lamented the weak script but found Pointed Heels enjoyable. Several reviewers praised the film’s freshness and unique charm. As film blogger Nora Fiore (The Nitrate Diva) note, for audiences in late 1929, the film was a welcome break from the “shock of the Great Depression.”

Pointed Heels was based on a short story by Charles William Brackett, who went on to become one of Hollywood’s most prolific screenwriters. In an infamous partnership with Billy Wilder, Brackett co-wrote Ninotchka (1939), The Lost Weekend (1945), A Foreign Affair (1948), and Sunset Boulevard (1950). As a producer, Brackett worked on Titantic (1953), The King and I (1956), and State Fair (1962).

The screenplay was written by Florence Ryerson, a prolific writer who worked in Hollywood for almost forty years. In addition to penning novels and several Broadway plays, Ryerson wrote or contributed to over 40 screenplays including Everybody Sing (1938) and, most famously, The Wizard of Oz (1939). A collection of Ryerson’s papers is held at the New York Public Library.

Director Edward Sutherland received good reviews, as did Fay Wray, Skeets Gallagher and Helen Kane. Born into a theatrical family, Edward Sutherland started out as an actor in silent comedies before becoming a director. His directing credits include Close Harmony (1929), The Dance of Life (1929), Paramount on Parade (1930), Poppy (1936), The Boys from Syracuse (1940), Dixie (1943) and Abie’s Irish Rose (1946). 

Fay Wray was referred to as a young Gloria Swanson. Despite appearing in over 100 films in a career spanning some sixty years, Canadian-born Wray is best remembered for her appearance as Ann Darrow in the 1933 classic King Kong. 

Richard "Skeets" Gallagher started out in vaudeville and performed several times on Broadway. After being signed to Paramount, Gallagher appeared in over 60 films in a career spanning nearly four decades.

Pointed Heels is mercifully only an hour long. Perhaps the Technicolor ballet will make for interesting viewing, but you’ll be dragging your heels to get to the end. ​

A glorious revue preceded by a terrible movie. 

Date of Release: Dec 7, 1929
Studio: Paramount
Director: Millard Webb
Screenplay: J. P. McEvoy, Millard Webb
Composers: Irving Berlin, Walter Donaldson, Larry Spier, Dave Stampner
Musical Director: Frank Tours
Choreographer: Ted Shawn and John W. Harkrider, Florenz Ziegfeld Jr.,
Leading Actors: Mary Eaton (Gloria Hughes), Eddie Cantor, Helen Morgan, Rudy Vallee,
Dan Healy (Miller), Kaye Renard ('Mooney'), Edward Crandall (Buddy), Gloria Shea (Barbara) (as Olive Shea), Sarah Edwards (Mrs. Hughes), Singing and Dancing Chorus of Seventy-Five Glorified Beauties
 
Glorifying the American Girl opens with a montage of women parading over a map of America. This is replaced by women sadly doing domestic chores and working, who morph into women in gorgeous costumes parading on a stage. These images are overlaid crowds of people walking, and cars going by. The incongruous images set the tone for a film riddled with clichés, a terrible script, and lavish revue scenes.
 
At the company picnic, we meet Gloria (Mary Eaton), Buddy (Edward Crandall) and their third wheel Barbara (Gloria Shea). Buddy is madly in love with Gloria, but she has dreams of being on the stage. Barbara is in love with Buddy, but is always left behind. Gloria dances for the crowd, and Miller (Dan Healy) asks her to be his partner in his act, “Miller and Mooney”. Gloria agrees and jumps on the next train.
 
At the theatre, Gloria is miserable. She misses Buddy, she’s sick of life on the road, the greasy food, and Miller’s unwanted advances. With encouragement from her pushy mother (Sarah Edwards), Gloria signs a contract with Miller agreeing to split everything they earn fifty/fifty. Of course, Gloria is unaware that an agent for Ziegfeld himself has taken interest, and in agreeing to the contract, her chances of stardom are jeopardized. 
 
Miller and Mooney make their way to New York, where Gloria is happily reunited with Buddy. In the chaos at the train station, Barbara is left behind and hit by a truck. Realizing that Gloria is still focused on her stardom, Buddy returns miserably to his apartment. He learns of Barbara’s accident, and rushes to her side at the hospital where he promises to never leave her again.
 
Meanwhile, Gloria has finally landed the starring role in the Ziegfeld Follies. At her opening night, she is a triumph. The radiance of the night is dimmed when she receives a telegram from Buddy informing her that he and Barbara have married. Gloria realizes she has sacrificed love to be a star, and the curtain closes.

The critics found Glorifying the American Girl to be sloppy and tedious. They hated the quick transitions between color and black and white, dismissed the music as boring or old, and lampooned the cast as “amateurish”.
 
Watching the copy available on YouTube (presented without the color sequences), I generally tend to agree. The script is trite, with one cliché after another – complete with a love song in a row boat, a car accident that leaves the victim in hospital with her head wrapped in white gauze, and a talented store clerk who dreams of nothing but stardom.
 
A few performances stand out from the drudgery. Mary Eaton gives a solid performance as Gloria, and her dancing throughout the film is wonderful. A real-life Follies girl, Eaton was was one of seven siblings in show business.

The dancing was choreographed by Ted Shawn, a highly influential and respected dancer and choreographer who founded Jacob's Pillow. He appeared in a few early films including Dances of the Ages (1913) and Intolerance: Love’s Struggle Throughout the Ages (1916), though the vast majority of his work was on the stage. A wonderful biography can be found at Jacob’s Pillow. 
 
When we first meet Sarah Edwards, playing Gloria’s mother Mrs. Hughes, she has a great comedic moment playing with her faulty reading glasses. Even with the scandalous exclamation of “dammit!” the shtick grows old when it repeats itself several times throughout the film. Born in Wales, Edwards became known for playing motherly type roles.
 
Gloria Shea, who at this time was appearing under the name Olive Shea, is delightful as Barbara. We barely hear her speak until her delirious calls for Buddy from her hospital bed, but her facial expressions do much to convey the desire of the oft-ignored Barbara. Shea appeared in over forty films including The Night Mayor (1932), Women Won’t Tell (1932), Dance, Girl, Dance (1933), and The Last Days of Pompeii (1935). A car accident reportedly shortened her career, though she lived until she was 85.
 
Edward Crandall is forgettable as Buddy, but Dan Healy plays an excellent womanizing villain. His awful nature is furthered when he cheats two African American porters out of their tip by tossing a coin and claiming “Alright boys, double or nothing for your tip. Looks like it’s nothing.” Crandall and Healy both found more work on Broadway than in Hollywood.

The highlight of the film is the Ziegfeld Revue, “Glorifying the American Girl.” Outside the theatre, real-life radio host Norman Brokenshire announces the arriving celebrities, including cameo appearances from Flo Ziegfeld and his wife Billie Burke (famed Broadway actress who is perhaps best remembered as Glinda in The Wizard of Oz), and the President of Paramount Studios, Adolph Zukor.
 
Clever edits between shots of the program, the audience, and the stage help to create the illusion of being at the theatre.
 
The footage of the revue numbers is so different to the rest of the film, I wonder if it wasn’t filmed at the theatre itself, though film historian Edwin M. Bradley states the revue was filmed “on a massive replica of the New Amsterdam Theatre”. The numbers without Mary Eaton are filmed in long shorts, giving us a view of the whole stage and proscenium arch. When the camera zooms in for tighter shots, it pans awkwardly along the stage. The first scene, a Garden of Eden tableau, does read better in color (also available on YouTube), with the pre-Code near-nudity and beautiful bodies clearly on display, though this doesn't account for the unimaginative shots. 
 
In contrast, the numbers featuring Mary Eaton, an art-nouveau “Swan Lake” ballet, and “There Must Be Somebody Waiting for Me in Loveland,” are beautifully filmed, and it’s a pity the Technicolor footage is not publicly available. There are a variety of camera angles, including a great shot from the top of the proscenium looking down on the stage, and snappy edits that show off Eaton’s wonderful dancing, and the stunning Follies revue costumes.
 
Three extra scenes featuring Eddie Cantor, Rudy Valley (still no more likeable than his appearance in his film of the same name), and Helen Morgan, are also filmed differently from the rest of the film.  Eddie Cantor’s tailor shop sketch, also featuring Louis Sorin (Mother's Boy and Lucky in Love) was hailed by several critics claimed as the saving grace of the film, and still holds up today. According to Bradley, these literal inserts were taken from shorts filmed by Robert Florey to try and boost publicity for the film.  

Big names and publicity, which included tie-ins with local jewelry stores and beauty parlors, could not save the film. Glorifying the American Girl opened to scathing reviews, and played to mediocre houses. Mary Eaton did not find any more roles available to her, and she eventually became an alcoholic. She died from severe cirrhosis in her mid-forties.
 
Glorifying the American Girl is available to watch on YouTube. Skip to the last thirty minutes for the glorious revue.

Date of Release: Nov 30, 1929
Studio: Paramount Famous Lasky Corp
Director: Robert Florey
Screenplay: Gene Markey
Music: Jay Gorney, Dick Howard, Cole Porter
Leading Actors: Gertrude Lawrence (Georgie), Charles Ruggles (Zizi), Walter Petrie (Tony), Gladys DuBois (Suzanne), Arthur Treacher (Harry), Joe King (Jack)    
 
Initially titled The Gay Lady, The Battle of Paris was filmed in New York at Paramount’s studio in Astoria. Given the wealth of talent involved, it is surprising that the film was poorly received by the critics, and ignored by audiences.
 
The much derided screenplay, described in the various trade magazines as “hokum” and “tripe,” was written by Gene Markey. Markey was a prolific writer, and wrote popular novels about the jazz age. He was well-liked in Hollywood, and later worked as a producer. He also wrote several other musicals in 1929 including Syncopation, Mother’s Boy, Close Harmony. and Lucky in Love.
 
The film was edited by Emma Hill, who was one of many female editors working in Hollywood during early talkie era. An excellent history of female editors can be found here. Hill edited at least eight films in a career that spanned silent and talkie films.
 
The story followed Georgie (Gertrude Lawrence), an English street singer who falls in love with Tony (Walter Petrie), an American artist. Tony is sent away to war, and whilst on leave is seduced by Suzanne (Gladys DuBois). Meanwhile, Georgie becomes a nurse, and looks after three men, her “three musketeers,” Zizi (Charles Ruggles), Harry (Arthur Treacher), and Jack (Joe King). She enlists the men to help her win back Tony, but is kidnapped and led through the underground of Paris. On the last day of the war, Georgie is rescued by the three musketeers, and happily reunited with Tony.

Date of Release: Oct 12, 1929
Studio: Harold Lloyd Corp (distributed by Paramount Famous Lasky Corp)
Director: Clyde Bruckman
Screenplay: Clyde Bruckman, Lex Neal, Felix Adler, Paul Girard Smith
Music: Lynn Cowan, Paul Titsworth
Leading Actors: Harold Lloyd (Harold Bledsoe), Barbara Kent (Billie Lee), Noah Young (Clancy), Charles Middleton (John Thorne), William Walling (Captain Walton), James Wang (Doctor Gow), Douglas Haig (Roy)
 
Harold Lloyd was a gifted comedic actor who after starting in early silent comedies, went on to become one of the most successful and most highly paid silent film stars of his day. He specialized in situational comedy that placed him in dangerous situations, and performed most of his own stunts. He often produced in own films, and Welcome Danger was his first talkie.  
 
Like Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd believed comedies were best served silent and, furthermore, did not believe the talkie phenomenon would last. As such, Welcome Danger was originally made as a silent film. The original version was screened to test audiences, who found the film too long and Lloyd set about trimming it down. Whilst editing, Lloyd came to realize that sound pictures were inescapable. He scrapped most of the silent version, and re-made a talkie version.

Welcome Danger was the first talkie to release a coordinated press book to industry players. Paramount’s advertising manager Russell Holman sent out letters to theatre managers requesting their ideas, which were compiled into a comprehensive publication. As reported in Exhibitors Herald World (Oct 26, 1929), the press book covered “every conceivable angle of exploitation, including newspaper layouts, tieups, lobby displays and ballyhoos.” The Managers’ Round Table Club, which had a regular feature in Motion Picture News promoting club activities, proudly claimed that of the fifty-one managers selected for inclusion out of thousands of submissions, thirty-one were members of the club.  
 
While theatre managers were being wooed with a comprehensive press book, audiences were being drawn to the theatre by Harold Lloyd’s name and distinctive man-with-glasses image. In Philadelphia, Harold Lloyd look-a-likes drove around the city in “old collegiate cars,” while in New York the Rivoli Theatre was decorated with life-size cardboard cutouts of Harold Lloyd in various states – clowning, pensive, fighting, and scared.
 
In a later publicity stunt, and act of charity, children from the San Francisco Protestant Orphanage were treated to a screening. As reported by Exhibitors Herald World (Dec 28, 1929), “Enroute to the theatre the children were amazed and amused at the spectacle of a headless man threading his way among the crowd. A placard on his back read: “I laughed my head off at Harold Lloyd in Welcome Danger.”" 

Why Bring That Up? was among the first films to be featured in a national newspaper campaign orchestrated by Paramount. In a time when people of color were rarely featured in film trade magazines, it is insulting and infuriating to see that most of the trade magazines running full-page spreads featuring Moran and Mack in blackface.
 
The film opened at the Rialto in New York on October 4, 1929 (though the west coast premier appears to have taken place at the Paramount Theatre in Los Angeles a week earlier). The New York premier had the usual invited audience screening, followed by an experimental marathon where the theatre remained open throughout the night for late night viewings. The experiment was deemed a success, and plans were made to repeat it. 
 
The opening audience numbers were strong, however the film’s popularity quickly dropped and it closed less than a month later.
 
Why Bring That Up? is a backstage comedy that tells the story of vaudeville act Mack and Moran. After starting out in Ohio, the duo eventually make it big in New York. Moran’s attention is consumed by Betty (Evelyn Brent), a conniving woman out to trick gullible men out of their money. Moran and Mack fight over Betty, and Betty’s boyfriend knocks Moran out with a lamp. Betty and her boyfriend skip town, and Moran is left in a coma in hospital. Mack comes to his side and, using a line from the act, successfully re-awakens his friend. The pair are friends once again and all ends happily.
 
The film received mixed reviews. Several critics praised the “refreshing” comedy and the high quality of the sound recording.  Motion Picture News stated of the comedy sequences, “Every one is a natural” and noted that the sound recording “set a new standard for Paramount that has rarely been excelled by any picture.” The Educational Screen thought the film was a “delightful presentation for the millions…[and] human and appealing.”
 
The Film Daily was less enthusiastic, describing Why Bring That Up? as “Just another backstage story with Moran and Mack doing their blackface vaude stuff…” Screenland also felt the movie was redundant, given the plethora of recordings available of essentially the same material, and wondered why Paramount hadn’t just made “a series of short subjects” instead. Variety also gave a lukewarm review, stating that the final scene “amounts to the biggest punch in the picture – a picture with few real punches.”

Several critics commended director George Abbott for his attention to detail and realistic portrayal of backstage life. Abbott went onto become one of the most successful and prolific directors of his time. When he died at the age of 107, he had over 100 Broadway credits (including Damn Yankees, Wonderful Town, The Pajama Game, Flora and the Red Menace, and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum), and over forty film credits (including All Quiet on the Western Front, and film versions of his musicals) to his name. Over the course of his career, Abbott won 7 Tony Awards, the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, and an Oscar nomination.

The supporting cast also received positive notices. Bert Swor was a minstrel performer who replaced Moran in The Two Crows after Moran quit the act due to a pay dispute with Mack. 
Monte Collins and Charles Hall made regular appearances in high profile comedies with Buster Keaton, the Three Stooges, and Laurel and Hardy. Lawrence Leslie was a stage and screen actor who appeared in several Broadway plays, and several contemporary sources described him as a brilliant actor. He tragically died less than a year after the film's release at the age of 22, possibly from influenza. 

A few reviews made mention of the spectacular and showy dance numbers. Given the prominence of chorus girls in some of the advertising, it is surprising that the dancers, and choreography, were uncredited. Several trade magazines stated that the dancers were from Albertina Rasch ballet, a dance corps known for its classically trained and highly disciplined dancers. The ballet had also appeared in the 1929 musicals Devil-May-Care, and The Hollywood Revue of 1929, and the 1930 musical Sally.  

Variety (Oct 9, 1929) however asserted that Earl Lindsey "was recognizable" as the choreographer. Lindsey was a prominent Broadway choreographer, producer and director who worked on many stage shows throughout the 1920s including Gay Paree (1925), Artists and Models (1927), Luana (1930) and Ballyhoo of 1930 (1930). In Hollywood, Lindsey’s credits included The Dance of Life (1929), Sweetie (1929), Happy Days (1930), and Her Golden Calf (1930).
 
While it was not unusual for choreographers to be uncredited at this time, the snub remains in place today on IMDb where the role of choreographer is listed under “Other crew." A petition was launched on Change.org at the beginning of 2016 requesting IMDb give choreographers their own category, and their due credit.

Apart from the chorus girls, the only woman in Why Bring That Up? was Evelyn Brent playing the conniving Betty. The critics agreed she gave a decent performance. Brent started out as a stage actress and became a prominent silent film star noted for her strong acting abilities, beauty, and infamous scowl. She appeared in Paramount’s first talkie, Interference (1928), along with appearances in over 100 more films, though mostly in small secondary roles. She worked consistently as an actor, and then as an agent, until her death in 1975. A biography of her life, Evelyn Brent: The Life and Films of Hollywood’s Lady Crook by Lynn Kears was published in 2009. 
 
The score featured three songs, “The Early Bird,” “Do I Know What I’m Doing?” and “Shoo Shoo, Bogey Boo.” The tunes were composed by Paramount staff writers Richard Whiting, Sam Coslow, and Leo Robin who had contributed songs to other 1929 musicals
Sweetie, Broadway Scandals, The Dance of Life, The Time, the Place, and the Girl, and Syncopation.
 
Why Bring That Up? is not currently available to watch or buy commercially. The sound reels are held at the UCLA Film and Television Archive, and the film was screened in its entirety at the Syracuse Cinefest in 2013. Film historian Richard Barrios and critic Leonard Maltin both agreed that the film displays George Abbott's talents as a director, and provides an interesting look at backstage life. 
 
As Barrios wrote in his festival note, ​the film

Magic, betrayal, and love in vaudeville. 

​Date of Release: September 21, 1929
Studio: Paramount
Director: Lothar Mendes
Screenplay: E. Lloyd Sheldon, Richard H. Digges Jr.
Music: Lou Davis, J. Fred Coots, Sam Coslow, Larry Spier
Leading Actors: Charles "Buddy" Rogers (Carlee Thorpe), Nancy Carroll (Claire Jernigan), June Collyer (Hilda Schmittlap), Regis Toomey (Eric Schmittlap), Knute Erickson (Mr. Jacob Schmittlap), Kay Francis (Zelda Paxton), Eugenie Besserer (Mrs. Jacob Schmittlap), Maude Turner Gordon (Queen of Dalmatia), William Austin (Mr. Z), Emilie Melville (Mother Fay), Frances Raymond (Mrs. Y), Catherine Wallace (Mrs. Z), J. E. Nash (Mr. X), William McLaughlin (Mr. Y), Eddie Kane (Gus Bloomberg), Michael Visaroff (Equerry), Paul Lucas (Count Fortuny), Richard Cramer (Magus), Bessie Lyle (Consuelo), Col. G. L. McDonnell (Jarman), Lillian Roth (Herself, a singer), Harriet Spiker (Midget), Anna Magruder (Fat lady), Albert Wolfe (Giant)

Brief and beautiful. 

​Date of Release: April 17, 1929
Studio: Sono-Art Productions
Director: Fred Newmeyer
Screenplay: George J. Crone, Frances Agnew, Eddie Dowling
Music: Eddie Dowling, James F. Hanley, Jean Herbert, Andrew B. Sterling
Leading Actors: Eddie Dowling (Rainbow Ryan), Frankie Darrow (Billy Ryan), Sam Hardy (Doc Hardy), Lloyd Ingraham (Colonel Lane), Marian Nixon (Mary Lane), George Hayes (Bill)

Originally slated to open at the George M. Cohan Theatre on April 11, The Rainbow Man officially opened at the Selwyn Theatre on April 16. The New York premier was a gala event attended by leading man Eddie Dowling, and the former New York Governor Al Smith (who was the Democratic presidential nominee in 1928).
 
The Film Daily (April 12, 1929) predicted The Rainbow Man would do extremely well, stating “It reeks of big money.” The prediction proved correct, and within days of the successful opening, Paramount announced it would be releasing the film. It was subsequently advertised as a Paramount production, and turned out to be a hot ticket for the studio.

​Nineteenth century drama-western-musical set in New Mexico. Sounds fun, no? 

​Date of Release: Feb 23, 1929
Studio: Paramount
Director: Victor Fleming
Screenplay: John Farrow, Keene Thompson, Julian Johnson
Music: Al Bryan, Richard Whiting, Harry Warren
Leading Actors: Gary Cooper (Sam Lash), Lupe Velez (Lola Salazar), Louis Wolheim (Gullion), Constantine Romanoff (Rube Thatcher), Michael Vavitch (Don Solomon Salazar), Ann Brody (Duenna), Russ Colombo (Ambrosia Guiterrez), Augustina Lopez (Louisa), George Rigas (Black Wolf)    

If I was granted one film to be restored in all its talking and singing glory from 1929, this would be it. A nineteenth century drama-western-musical set in New Mexico, directed by the guy who later directed The Wizard of Oz  and Gone with the Wind (1939), Victor Fleming, and written by the guy who penned Around the World in Eighty Days (1956), John Farrow. The lead actors were a real-life couple in the middle of a tempestuous love affair, Gary Cooper and Lupe Velez. The film contained “the most masculine of choruses,” histrionic singing, chest heaving acrobatics, and plenty of risqué-as-possible “love making.” Drama, Spanish-style music, beautiful scenery, period costumes, nudity… The Wolf Song had it all.
 
Set in the 1840s, The Wolf Song told the story of Sam Lash (Gary Cooper), a Kentuckian rancher who falls in love with Lola Salazar (Lupe Velez), the beautiful daughter of a Spanish aristocrat. The pair quickly marries but the pull of the frontier is too much for the rugged Sam, who abandons his wife for the wilderness. Sam realizes he can’t live without Lola, and on the way back to her is shot by “Indians”. Desperate to be with his love, Sam drags himself all the way to Lola’s doorstep, and she takes him into her loving embrace.

The film was based on Harvey Fergusson’s novel Wolf Song, originally published in 1927. The novel was a best-seller and is now considered to be one of the most important works of “mountain man fiction.”  Little was reportedly changed from the book, though New West states that the film switches Lola for Sam in a nude bathing scene. 
 
According to film historian John Howard Reed, The Wolf Song started production as a silent film, and, part-way through, the decision was made to add synchronized sound and songs. Both a silent and talkie version was released.

The Wolf Song opened at the Embassy Theatre in New York and played to average houses for about a month, a short run by 1929 standards. According to Motion Picture News (March 9, 1929), the box office was affected by rain and snow storms which hit the city during the run. It had better houses around the country, but not by much.
 
Not only did audiences stay away, the critics absolutely loathed it. They panned the direction, story, acting, and, above all, Lupe Velez’s chest-heaving singing. Cine-Mundial put it most succinctly, stating The Wolf Song was “una mala pelicula” (a bad movie). The prudish Educational Screen (April 1929) described The Wolf Song as “thoroughly unwholesome, with love-making and sex-suggestion made as strong as censors or decency could permit.”
 
Victor Fleming was harshly criticized for his direction. Mordaunt Hall wrote in the New York Times that Fleming

Cooper’s co-star Lupe Velez was not so fortunate. She appeared in over forty films, often playing fiery Latina characters. Despite the awful stereotyping of Velez as “the little Mexican,” or the “Mexican spitfire,” she was noted for her versatility and skills as a comedic actress. Velez tragically committed suicide at age 36.
 
With a few exceptions, Velez was not well received in The Wolf Song. The Film Daily and New York Times both stated that whenever Lola sang, the film dragged or came to a complete stop. The critics thought Velez was attractive, but relentlessly mocked her singing. Frequent mention was made of her “respiratory acrobatics” and the fact that she sang between her teeth. One or two critics were kinder, stating Velez was beautiful and charming, with a “pleasantly surprising” voice. The Exhibitors Herald World (March 23, 1929) described her as "a robust comedienne, [and] a gal with a lot of zip and uh-huh…” 

Velez's stunning costumes were designed by Edith Head. As quoted in Jay Jorgensen’s book Edith Head: The Fifty-Year Career of Hollywood’s Greatest Costume Designers, the wedding dress in The Wolf Song so large one critic lamented, “if there hadn’t been so much dress, there could have been more scene.” Edith Head worked on over 1000 (yes 1000!) films and was one of the most highly regarded costume designers in Hollywood. She was nominated thirty-five times for an Academy Award, winning for The Heiress (1949), Samson and Delilah (1949), All About Eve (1961), A Place in the Sun (1951), Roman Holiday (1953), Sabrina (1954), The Facts of Life (1960), and The Sting (1974). 
 
Several reviewers gave positive notices to bad guy Louis Wolheim. Russian-born Wolheim started out as a mechanical engineer, and thanks to a connection with Lionel Barrymore, went on to work as an actor on stage and screen. Famous for having a rough-looking face, owing to a badly broken nose from an old football injury, he often played thugs and rogue characters. Wolheim appeared in over fifty films including All Quiet on the Western Front (1930), and The Sin Ship (1931).
 
“Singing Romeo” Russ Colombo (sometimes spelt Columbo) also appeared in The Wolf Song. Colombo was a child prodigy, excelling as a violinist and singer. Along with several film appearances, he toured with Gus Arnheim and his Ambassadors, and hosted his own radio show. He was killed at the age of 26 in a tragic gun accident, and the family kept it secret from his mother until she died ten years later. A sad and touching biography can be found here. A YouTube video containing three minutes of sound from reel 2 claims that Colombo provided the singing voice for Gary Cooper. There is no evidence to support this claim, and given that Colombo was a named character in the film, also unlikely.

A couple-swapping comedy featuring a concert pianist. 

Date of Release: June 29, 1929
Studio: Paramount Famous Lasky Corp
Director: Victor Schertzinger
Screenplay: Louise Long, Melville Baker, Richard H. Digges Jr.
Music: Leo Robin, Victor Schertzinger
Leading Actors: Adolphe Menjou (Paul de Remy), Fay Compton (Marie de Remy), Miriam Seegar (Delphine Martin), John Miljan (Dr. Martin), Joan Standing (Miss Weller), Robert Wayne (Levisohn), Russ Powell (Joe), Billie Bennett (Jane), Jacques Vanaire (Valet) 

​Fashions in Love was the film version of Hermann Bahr’s highly acclaimed play The Concert. The play opened on Broadway in 1910 and played 264 performances.
 
As described by Variety, the plot centered around a “temperamental musician, the idol of women who gets way with anything but depends on his wife for everything.” The pianist organizes a “private concert,” or weekend away, with his new girlfriend, only to discover his wife, and girlfriend’s husband, are along for the ride. To the surprise of the pianist, the jilted pair declare their love. Eventually all return happily to their spouses.
 
The storyline received mixed reviews, but the critics loved Fashions in Love. The Educational Screen (September 1929) called it “A worthy screening of the stage original,” while Motion Picture News stated, it “brings the laughs in good measure."
 
The reviewers unanimously agreed that Adolphe Manjou had triumphed in his first talkie. The Film Daily stated “Menjou scores a personal triumph, and comes through… with flying colors and lots to spare.” The Educational Screen and Picture Play Magazine both declared the performance to be one his best.
 
Menjou started out as an extra and went on to become a highly celebrated dapper leading man of silent and sound films. He appeared in nearly 150 films and in 1931 was nominated for an Academy Award (Best Actor in a Leading Role) for The Front Page (1931). His autobiography, It Took Nine Tailors, was published in 1948. Manjou's film credits include A Farewell to Arms (1932), Gold Diggers of 1935 (1935), The Goldwyn Follies (1938), and Pollyanna (1960).

The other leads, Fay Compton, Miriam Seegar, and John Miljan, generally received positive reviews. English-born Fay Compton came from a theatrical family and was herself a prominent stage and screen actress. She performed in both contemporary and classic plays and appeared in over 80 films and television shows. Compton’s screen credits include Strauss’ Great Waltz (1934), The Life and Adventures if Nicholas Nickleby (1947), Laughter in Paradise (1951), Othello (1952), various series featuring plays for television, and I Start Counting (1970).
 
English-born Miriam Seegar started out as a stage actress and appeared in 17 Hollywood films. She retired in 1933 after marriage. She was one of the last surviving silent film stars when she died at the age of 103 in 2011.
 
John Miljan was a highly prolific actor with a successful career playing villains. He appeared in over 200 films and television shows, and his credits include Innocents of Paris (1929), Untamed (1929), Devil-May-Care (1929), Show Girl in Hollywood (1930), The Ghost Walks (1934), and The Ten Commandments (1956).
 
Director Victor Schertzinger also received critical praise. He was a multi-talented and highly prolific musician, composer, director and writer. After an illustrious start as a child prodigy on the violin, Schertzinger went on to become an influential Hollywood player. Reportedly one of the first people to compose a score for film, he also wrote dozens of songs including “Tangerine,” “Dream Lover,” “Paris,” and “Marquita.” Schertzinger directed 90 films including Paramount on Parade (1930), The Mikado (1939), and Road to Zanzibar (1941).
 
Unusually for this period the leading script writer was a woman, Louise Long. She wrote 18 screenplays between 1926 and 1933, and appeared in three films. Unfortunately, there is scant information about her currently available.
 
The critics did not mention the music, except for the fact that it was poorly recorded. Fashions in Love featured two songs, “Delphine” and “I Still Believe in You” by Schertzinger and Leo Robin.
 
Fashions in Love opened to strong houses, but the numbers quickly dwindled.
 
Although not lost, the reels currently held at UCLA are significantly damaged and not watchable.