By Lowell Sherman, 1933.
Starring Noah Beery, Cary Grant, Rochelle Hudson, David Landau, Owen Moore, Raffaela Ottiano, Dewey Robinson, Gilbert Roland, Mae West.
Rating: 9/10, 6.5/10.
Until recently, I thought that John Waters was an utterly bizarre freak, coming from nowhere and leading, in all likelihood, to nowhere in particular. But then I came across Russ Meyer (and his fabulous film Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!) and I was like, "Oh! John Waters makes sense now! He watched Russ Meyer movies." A second later, though, it occurred to me to wonder where on earth Russ Meyer got it from. Then one day my mother brought home two Mae West movies (this one and My Little Chickadee), and now I know. If only I knew where Mae West came from...
So half of Mae West can be described as a less-violent version of Varla from Faster, Pussycat, while the other half reminded me of no one more than Groucho Marx. She didn’t talk as much, and tended not to make witty comments so much as witty responses (whereas Groucho does both), and was a world apart from Groucho in terms of sexiness, but nevertheless—very Grouchoesque.
The plot of the film—which, incidentally, boasts a screenplay by Mae herself—is so utterly insignificant that I don’t even know if I should bother discussing it. In fact, I don’t even remember enough about it to relate it, except that it involved several men fighting over Mae, some murders, counterfeiting money, and prostitution, though they never mention prostitution by name. Really it’s just an excuse for Mae to be devastatingly sexy and witty. It’s interesting to observe that, in 1933, a 40-year-old Mae West could be considered a sex object. An older, full-bodied, intelligent and strong woman would most likely be thought of as hideous and irritating these days. I’m reminded of that quote from Elizabeth Hurley, saying that Marilyn Monroe was fat and ugly. Like Monroe, Mae West is neither, but certainly would be thought of as such by today’s standards.
I like to write longer reviews, but She Done Him Wrong is really stumping me, as evidenced by the fact that I started this review nearly a month ago. It’s a great film, and admirably short—about 60 minutes. That hour is jam-packed full of the best Mae West had to offer, including her singing, which I haven’t even mentioned yet—her rendition of "Frankie and Johnny" makes the film worth it on its own. Sure, the plot has more loopholes than a thing that has many of them, and if you’re looking for realism in your acting and dialogue, look elsewhere. Nevertheless, I wish movies like this were still being made today.