Kid Galahad

Kid Galahadⁱ is remarkable on a number of distinct counts.

First off (at least inasmuch as the sensibilities of its period were concerned), the neat depictionⁱⁱ of a "no fault divorce", an entirely novel concept : "Sorry Nicky, I fell for someone else. See ya around." It's unfortunately dolloped in a thick saucing of cuckiness, but that's as spurious there as ever, and washes off just as easily, too.

Secondly, the ready alliances with natural enemies along gender lines : Nick will shake hands with some turkey mobster before he'll shake down either sister or slavegirl into some semblance of comprehension of their place & role in lifeⁱⁱⁱ ; the spurned lover will shake hands with some country bumpkin (magically uploaded with urbanity for no apparent reason other than "she needed some"^iv) before she'll be straight with any man. It's odd, really, but then again it's also perverse in exactly the way of mankind, so not necessarily surprising.

Finally, it's one of the few (indeed very few) instances where typically American summaries of high culture for a mass audience work well enough. The Faustian character, "tragically" dead upon fulfillment of his life's promise ; the kitsch-Galahad, breaking betrayal through keeping faith ; the man trying to be a man and dying alone with it, for the dumb broads gather 'round the cuck in their flight from reason to simplicity^v -- they all work, well enough, certainly in proportion to the means available within the very limited (if abundantly over-supplied) receiver.

Post-finally, the recording of a shockingly inept Bogart's early days is just as remarkable for the film historian. This production rather convinced me that most of that man's craft and facility at his art he owes, if indirectly, to the Lolita he accreted later in life. I suspect that the only reason Bogart ever became a great actor was because a teenaged Bacall asked him "Daddy, daddy... how does acting go ?" and he went "Uhm... I... I..." then picking up a book and reading from there "I tell you, cunny, like this and the other. Hmm... Like this and the other, huh!"

Life, you know. That necessarily unfortunate pile-up of inconvenient inadvertencies.

1. the 1937 one, not the Elvis 1962 vehicle. By Michael Curtiz, with Edward G. Robinson, Bette Davis, Humphrey Bogart. [↩]
2. In this it mirrors the much less remarkable attempt at a cuck's view of a shrew in Tuesday After Xmas. [↩]
3. No, I don't mean the sister's to stay a child, god help us. [↩]
4. I can't be arsed to search through Trilema for the scribble of some typically Argentine wall reading "donde hay necesidad nace un derecho". The attitude (for an idea it isn't) is common enough among the unwashed and in filthy environments generally, for it's as naturally arising as flies and their maggots. [↩]
5. Really, why's the lesbian lover-sister couple gathered at Nick's death-table ? "Because he's dieing" you say ? No, that can't be it. That'd be about him, not about themselves, and we know the socialist state's imperative is self-actualization, not self-sacrifice. In no case may they recognize their role in life, god forbid, what'd then be left for politruks and bureaucrats ?!?

   They're there because they're saying good-bye. And why are they saying good-bye ? Why, because they've found an even softer meal ticket than the 30s cuck : the 50s ox! If Nick hadn't the decency to die, they'd have left just as well. Right ? Well...

   Wouldn't you rather die Turkey Moron's death in there than any other available alternative ? Go go go Casa de Filme Unu, you've made the scum more appealing than anyone else ever managed! [↩]