Thanks to the wonder of Netflix, last night we watched Ball of Fire, a 1941 Howard Hawks movie I’d always heard about, but never seen. A young Gary Cooper, looking suave and luscious, and Barbara Stanwyck with her fabulous gams uncovered pretty much the entire running time. The plot is some gibberish about a professor studying slang. Hey bopa ree bop! Slide, jackson and make a mook with the cardpass! Don’t be a log, put the clutch in!
Some of that was actually in the movie, some I just made up, all of it sounds like most of the dialogue, painfully delivered by a roster of MGM character actors who deserved better trying to sound hep and coming up pretty short. Like George Bush discussing the interwebs. It was amazing, though, to see Babs rise above the material and prove there was no movie she couldn’t survive. This is just one more reason R Man is so suspicous of letting me loose on the Netflix queue.