Let’s Be An Old Timey Movie

I’m a villain who gets to cry “seize them!”

The the Max Factor pancake makeup.

I'm the fat society matron insulted by a gum-snapping shopgoil.

I am the sexpot blonde that gives all the menfolk that "take me now look "

I'm the stern and quiet teacher that breaks down into hysterical madness and kills herself because people have come too close to discovering her terrifying secret... of being a lesbian with no fashion sense.

I'm the best friend who maybe drinks a little too much but is a decent sort of fellow, anyway!

I'm the ancient middle east populated almost entirely with american crackers.

I’m a pair of those weird early 1930s mens swimsuits 🩱 with the horizontal cutouts at the sides.

I'm the rattan suitcase containing a couple flimsy items of clothing, nylons, a hairbrush and a hand mirror, and a stack of incriminating letters tied with a string.

I'm the chemistry between characters that wasn't supposed to be there, I overwhelms every scene but end in a situation worse than death... married to the least charismatic opposite sex.

I'm the young gas pump jockey with VPL.

I'm the bondage.... yeah, sure, honey, you're being "tortured" by it.

I'm the guy that can't keep his shirt on in any fight.

I'm the coded gay character. I'm the heroine's BFF who is really artistic and says a lot of funny wisecracks. I don't seem to have a love life.

I'm the supposedly "adorable" kid sister.

I'm the Mid Atlantic Accent. In start contrast to the thick blue collar accent of whatever city we are in.

I'm the independent, strong, single female... but all indicators scream lesbian rather than frau. I also part-time as that nun you're supposed to hate.

I'm junior home from college, arriving in a convertible on a sunny winter day, with his pals, making a ruckus, wearing raccoon coats.

I'm every bitchy catty woman.. that paved the way for fags and every sultry ingenue for hags.

I'm junior's "college buddy"

We're secretly doing it

I'm the Automat.

I'm also a taxi with a cavernous passenger space.

I'm the negros at the shoeshine stands at the station and in side important office buildings.

I'm every important black film now deemed politically incorrect despite they were breaking the tropes of their day.

I'm the better sense of fashion, where even the hillbillies seem too formal for today.

I'm the teenage girl free to go over the rainbow without helicoptering parents or social services being called.

I'm the teenage wife of an older man that has to wait until she turns 21 to finally get laid

I’m the city street sign—often 42nd Street in NYC—shown in a close up before all the action begins.

I'm the criminal acting like I'm on pcp but all I had was a hit of weed.

I'm the 2 hr +++ film that could have been resolved by a twenty minute quickie.

I'm the femme fatale.

I'm the liquor in the pickles that will leave you pickled and win first prize at every fair.

[quote]I’m the icy blonde

Cliché much?

[quote]who has a quarrel with her lover

Cliché much?

[quote]and as she leaves, she says, “I’ll send for my things.”

Cliché much?

I'm the frequent use of stallions and horses in place of sexual awakenings.

I'm the isolated or stranded nuclear family that will discover they already possessed all the things they needed all along... the oldest will find a love interest but the rest of kids will be condemned to incest.

Let's hear *yours*, r31.

I’m the utter illogic of noir shadow.

I'm the sociopath that mysteriously appears or invites an unsuspecting child into their clutches, they will wreak havoc on a family and disrupt their lives, destroying their connection to society in multiple ways and only after the last semblance of stability has been shattered... they will leave as quickly as they came.

I'm the guy who addresses all females as "sister"

I'm the young man with pomaded hair lighting his pipe in a department store.

I'm the old and unkempt man that breaks into your home to slip your children a little something special, if they wake up during it, he makes them promise, it'll be our little secret.

I'm every twink in a jacket that swears he's not a fag but surrounds himself with men and has daddy issues.

^ leather jacket

I'm the gigantic wood-framed radio in the living room.

I'm the diner waitress who's as quick with a wisecrack as she is with your coffee refill. My name is Dot.

I'm the apple pie that has not been fucked.

I'm the soda fountain at the drugstore staffed by an actual soda jerk.

I'm the night that single humble working gals don't accept dates so I can process my hair and do my nails and mend my clothes and put some order in my studio apartment.

I'm a day at the race track. For some reason, many of the shots are in fast motion.

r45, I'm a pre-famous James Dean at the soda fountain!

I'm the line, "Why, I oughtta bust you right in the bazoo!"

I'm a big galoot

R31, the whole point of these “Let’s Be…” threads is about the cliche.

I’m an earnest, modern thinking daughter making a point: “Mother, it’s the 1930s!”

I'm the smelling salts that every woman from young ingenues to housewives to crusty old matrons must sniff daily because of their constant fainting.

I'm a kid in overalls at the kitchen table: "Playin' cowboys and Indians sure gives a fella an appetite!"

I'm Jane Wyman, still in my 30s but looking 50 and playing a woman with grown kids. I turned frau-y pretty early.

I'm EVERY director that Miss Crawford ever had, doing the old 5am walk of shame back to his wife & kids after late night "script readings" over Pepsi Colas at Joan's place!

I'm the fast talking precode dame that told it like it was and had a sly insult for everyone.

Before the censorship took over and made us pretend to be virtuous Pollyannas.

I'm the school pennants on the wall of the teenage boy's bedroom.

R34, you're not worth the effort.

I'm the hanky panky and shenanigans!

I'm the cleavage that gets the wide lens treatment

I’m the film credits shown at the [italic]beginning[/italic] of the movie.

I'm the kid hawking the evening paper downtown in a big city: "Extra, extra, read all about it!"

I'm the trope where if a guy has muscles or girl has big tits.. they're borderline retarded and speak like a child

I'm the horror that is children. . . every child is a terrifying nightmare of innocence; innocence being the inability to tell right from wrong.

I'm the rise of teen films and of them looking for sex, sex, sex but only remembered by the biggest whores of this era as clean family films in their adult lives.

I'm the brylcreem in the male lead's hair

I'm the ubiquitous and reliable train travel.

I'm the square.

I'm the smiles without a conveniently placed prescription medication or branded merch placed in the background.

I'm the square and simple design sofa, nevertheless high luxury, with fringe piping at the seams.

Or I'm the film noire moderne chinoiserie - the lampshades, or a wall treatment.

I'm the Fenton Gone with the Wind lamp. My color may signify a character's morality.

I'm front porches for the homespun characters, and back patios with white wrought iron furniture for the swells.

I'm the friendly family pittbull. I babysit children and I am not a killer.

I'm father's cardigan, if he's middle-class.

I'm Junior's chemistry experiments.

I'm father's pipe and slippers, to go with the cardigan

I'm the salty Irish cook who works for the really rich family. I'm the negro cook and maid who works for the middle class family and my cooking is better.

I'm the phonograph ready for the teen party. The two siblings have 8 records between them but their friends will bring theirs, too.

I'm the preteen boy telling his older sister, "Aw, you're fulla PRUNES!"

I'm...

"Why, you...!"

&

"What the...?"

I'm a Los Angeles city park after dark. Nothing good is going to come of this.

Why I oughtta.......!!!!!

I'm Claudette Colbert's short & curly poodle do with short bangs that I wore onscreen for THIRTY PLUS FUCKING YEARS. Claudette never even once considered changing me during all those decades. I made her look like a middle aged old bitty, even when she was still a young woman.

I'm Jane Wyman's equally ugly poodle 'do!

I’m the Art Deco furniture and the bar in the living room that has crystal glasses and a seltzer siphon.

I’m the hooker with a heart of gold. When I’m first introduced, I’m a tough talker. But as the story progresses, my softer side is revealed.

The fact that OP calls this type of film an "Old Timey Movie" makes me not want to read on.

I'm the telephone, hurriedly picked up so the doomed dame can cry, "Operator, get me the police!"

Followed by either a closeup of a male hand pushing down the receiver lever, cutting off the call... or the realization that the phone lines have been cut. If the latter, the dame will cry, "Hello! HELLO!" into the dead handset.

I'm the suitcase the female lead packs when she is leaving her man in anger. I am about the size of a briefcase and I can only fit one nightgown and two handkerchiefs.

R90 see R9

I’m the masculine swashbuckler, swinging in on ropes to save the female lead and having 10 minute sword duels.

In real life, I’m paying Scotty Bowers to find me willing young men.

I'm a "nightclub hostess" (read: hooker)

I’m the back screen projections meant to convince the audience that the characters are in a moving automobile.

"Say, listen!", spoken repeatedly in every 30s film.

and I’m just the dame to do it!

I used to be watchable on Saturday or Sunday afternoon (in black and white). Those were the days.

I'm a nightclub where everyone is in formalwear drinking champagne from coupe style glasses.

I'm the melodrama. See humorous attached vid.

I'm the gladiolas.

I'm on the level! I'm swell, brother or sister!

I'm the well written witty lines that are delivered way too fast. I'm recited with no feeling or acting beyond annoyance. When the scene is more tender I'm over the top.

I’m the lamp in the middle of the table with a hidden microphone—-used in very early ‘30s movies. Unfortunately, I picked up other unwelcome noises.

I’m the tomboy.

I’m the War.

I'm the late edition newspaper.

I'm the milkman

I'm the postman. I always ring twice.

I'm the boss' vinegary wife, the only person on earth who can cut through his bluster and pomposity with one well-directed remark.

I'm the blackface scene.

I'm the going out there a nobody but coming back a star!

R36 what movie are you referring to? It sounds great.

I'm the brisk running time, usually 80 to 120 minutes as opposed to the ridiculously long running times of current films where dumb comic book movies are 3 fucking hours long for some idiotic reason.

For R28 : I'm guessing you've only watched old spectacle films like Gone With The Wind or Ben Hur. The studio bosses were quite strict about running times for the vast majority of their films only allowing longer running times for a handful of spectacles.

[quote]I'm the salty Irish cook who works for the really rich family. I'm the negro cook and maid who works for the middle class family and my cooking is better.

White domestics were a Northern thing. Even today the black population there is pretty sparse (currently 7% in all of New England), so most of the cooks, housekeepers, butlers, chauffeurs, gardeners, etc. were made up of European immigrants. For instance, lots of Irish maids in Massachusetts. Also, I don't think many Yankees felt comfortable having black servants.

The majority of African-Americans live in the Southern states, so tons of black domestics there after the Civil War and through the 1970s.

I'm the tinkle-tinkle as the coins fall into the payphone.

We're the lush coordinated palettes of early Technicolor.

I’m the hardened old broad who knows everything but won’t ever squeal to the cops.

“I don’t know nuthin’, ya hear!”

I'm the woman who screams when startled.

I’m the money shot.

OP, I always wondered how they were sending for their things.

I'm Lt Uhura's ear piece!

I'm the woman getting slapped.

Im the succulent roast of something served to upper middle class family by the maid.

I'm the hard-charging girl reporter bustling into the newsroom to announce "Six dead brides! What a scoop!"

I'm the bartender who looks like a grizzled ex-boxer who says, "What'll ya have, Mac?"

I'm the brothers, one a cop or judge, one a crook. I star James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart and/or Spencer Tracy.

I'm the lattice covered walls of the society lady's morning room.

I’m the bub whom strangers are always bugging for a light or the whereabouts of some dame.

I'm the leading lady, who goes to sleep wearing red lipstick and false eyelashes

I’m the smoking in bed.

I’m the doctor telling his patient’s family and friends her true diagnosis but not her.

I watched Dark Victory today!

I’m the surrey with the fringe on top. (Also, I just trimmed my fringe).

I’m Margaret O’Brien cutely chewing the scenery.

I'm the wavishing Kay Fwancis, stawwing in pwogwammer after pwogwammer for Warner Bros.

I'm being served breakfast in bed.

I'm Guinn "Big Boy" Williams. I'm in every other film made during the 30s and 40s.

I’m the Film Noir sunlight filtered through Venetian blinds lighting Miss Joan Crawford just so and concealing her middle-aged neck.

I'm the character addressing a 50-year-old Joan as "young lady"

I'm the pointy circle-stiched bra that resembles a nuclear weapon.

I'm the hyped-up reporter wearing a visor at the "city desk" getting the big scoop while on his candlestick telephone!

I'm the nellie flibbertigibbet department store "floor walker" with a carnation in my lapel.

Gay representation!

I'm the book that opens the movie. My pages somehow flip by themselves as they show the title and credits.

I'm the woman in medieval England who is inexplicably wearing a bullet bra and Revlon Cherries in the Snow lipstick.

I'm the unofficial gay scene, amazed by how straight people are oblivious to me.

I’m the pills hidden within Judy Garland’s elaborate dresses.

I'm Ramon Novarro, enjoying filming the scene at r145!

I am the gin and regret on the casting couch.

I'm the charming little Cape Cod starter house. Interiors seem to have the volumes of Mount Vernon mansion.

I'm Mata Hari with Ramon Novarro and Greta Garbo, the Moment By Moment of yesteryear

R143 That reminds me of the calendars with one day per page. The passage of time is indicated by pages being torn off, one at a time.

I'm the pencil thin eyebrows.

I'm color by TECHNICOLOR.

I'm the servant carrying a big tray full of delicious food and nourishing hot tea. I'm going to noisily drop the tray after discovering a dead body in the drawing room.

I’m the wise-cracking coworker, asking “What’s the matter with her? She got a hangover?”

I’m the old lech, always looking at pretty girls, raising my eyebrows and making lewd comments. I’m a comic trope that will die out as women’s lib takes hold.

I'm the letter opener that will be used to garrote the sexy (and effeminate) cad.

I’m the hat department in every department store (and decorative hat pins as accessories).

By 1970, we will be out of style so much that a character in a Broadway musical derisively asks, “Does anyone still wear a hat?”

I’m the Production Code, I attempt to dilute every book or screenplay brought to the screen.

I'm the fancy apartments and houses that appear to have 18-foot ceilings. We actually have no ceilings, as we are sets.

I'm the non-stop smoking both onscreen and off and I will kill most of the actors you see smoking.

I’m the nacreous layer of permacum.

I’m the cigarette girl strolling through the nightclub with a full tray of smokes. Later on, I’m the Mickey Finn that gets slipped into the protagonist’s drink at the bar.

I’m the intelligent plot, clever dialogue, and interesting, complex characters.

I'm a star with tremendous charisma. Part of that charisma is the mystery -- what am I really like? Hollywood publicists will let a few anodyne bits of gossip slip, and the fraus eat it up, but no one in the audience knows my kooky political opinions, my sexual kinks, or what I look like naked or shitfaced drunk.

Seeing me is a privilege they must pay for, and they're happy to do it. I seem somehow more than an ordinary human.

The closest I'll ever come to social media is a few late-in-life appearances on Carson or Cavett.

I’m Lucille Ball, pre-“Lucy” persona.

I'm the full belted peignoir set, worn by all women with kitten heels and full face of makeup, even when lounging around at home.

I'm the middle aged actor and the barely legal girl who plays his love interest

I'm the blaring orchestral musical transitions.

I'm the plane on the Tarmac with propellers spinning.

I'm Hoagy Carmichael, doin' a few songs

I’m the gay who must tragically die before the end of the movie.

Next decade, I’ll be the villain. Then the clown. Someday, I’ll be allowed to be human.

Wow. The posters on this thread are quite . . . limited.

I'm the jerky flickering of a film shot at 18 frames per second.

I'm the star waking up in a hospital bed after nearly dying -- drowning, car accident, attempted murder. The doctor, in the hallway, says somberly that the hero can go in to see her, but only for a few moments.

Hat in hand, he approaches the bed. Her face, bathed in a halo of light, is perfectly made up, down to the false eyelashes, and her hair is freshly styled. Perhaps, for versimilitude, one lock tumbles slightly out of place.

R173, goody gumdrops! You're here to show us how it's done, right? Let's see the scintillating brilliance you're going to add to the discussion!

R172, I'm your cousin, the coded gay man who doesn't have to die. You'll know me by my cynicism and bitchiness. I may be played by Clifton Webb or George Sanders, among other specialists.

I’m the drunk/crooked Irish cop

I’m the wealthy dowager with the lorgnette and/or pearl necklace.

And I’m the pie tin full of shaving cream destined to smack her right in the puss.

I’m the no-good hooligan in bare feet with one strap of my overalls hanging down revealing my smooth, bare chest and its burgeoning muscles.

I run around causing trouble for townsfolk and stirrings in young gayling viewers who subconsciously determine they just might be the one pal who could steer me away from this life of crime.

I’m ‘Oh yeahhh?!”

I’m “We’ll just see about that!”

I’m the meaty male rump enhanced by them high-waisted trousers.

We’re spatterdash

And we're all of us proud to

Be nodded or bowed to

By Bustopher Jones in white

BUSTOPHER JONES IN WHITE!!!

Bustopher Jones in white spats!

I'm the JUST MARRIED card in the rear window at the Happy Ending.

I’m the cigarette that’s extinguished after two puffs.

I'm the daughter, or the sister. All hell will break loose if I'm both.

I’m “coytons”

I'm the try-out in New Haven.

I'm addressing a female character as "Toots"

I'm the 17-year-old "kid sister" wistfully asking, "Gee, when am I gonna get to wear lipstick?"

I’m the hissy audio track.

I’m the telegram that arrives. The guy delivering always says, “Sign here.” He then has to wait while the Mrs. of the house digs through her purse to find a nickel tip. He then hops on his bike and pedals away.

In rich houses, the black maid puts the telegram on a silver tray and walks it to the recipient.

In war movies, a telegram always means bad news. “Your son has been reported missing.”

In comedies, a telegram is always read in full. “Arriving Tuesday. Stop. 10:15 train. Stop. Love Mother. Stop.”

It’s amazing how many people in old timey days spent money to send a telegram.

I am going home to mother! After my surly acting husband has threatened to "pop me right in the kisser!"

I’m the shot glass of orange juice served on ice that comes with r136’s breakfast in bed tray.

I'm the redcap at the station.

I'm the elevator operator.

I'm the cigarette girl at the nightclub.

I'm the G-man in a fedora.

I'm the gas station attendant: "Fill'er up, mister?"

I'm cups of coffee or tea. Never mugs. Always cups that look like they hold 5-6 oz. max.

You wonder how people stayed caffeinated, but then you remember that during this era doctors handed out benzedrine like candy.

We were teacup cradlers, not mug cradlers!

I'm the supposedly packed suitcase that the icy blonde has filled with all her worldly belongings as she makes a run for the last train outta town. I'm featherlight and tossed about with a careless ease.

Has anyone mentioned the pencil and rotary dial?

[quote] I'm cups of coffee or tea. Never mugs. Always cups that look like they hold 5-6 oz. max.

Cups and saucers are pure ELEGANZA.

r112 children films with a magical or enigmatic lead. From Santa to Willy Wonka to even Mary Poppins.

I'm the well behaved children that have delayed their terrible twos until thirteen.

Hairy pussy

I'm the pep in your step, the wonder product of the ages, buy now because you know you want it... what is it? heck, if I know but you know you do!

The cliches never get old. They are timeless.

I’m the mickey

We're the extras decked out for a street scene in suit, tie and hat.

I'm the clang, clang, clang of the trolley and the ding, ding, of the bell.

[quote]OP, I always wondered how they were sending for their things.

r121, me too. And I always wondered where they were going. Did they live in the same town as their parents? Did they have a single girlfriend they could go and stay with? Did they have to go to a local hotel?

R210 People in the 30s, 40s and 50s wore suits, ties, hats when out in public...it's not a "movie thing".

I'm the shocking racial slurs that go flying from the pre-code scripts.

[quote]I'm the salty Irish cook who works for the really rich family.

That's so true; they all employ the irish cook, whoever thinks is a terrible cook, but she's a terror so no one says anything. Junior finally pipes up & says "why can't we hire a black gal like the Judsons?" Mother just gives him a stern look & tells him it's time to go to school.

I was thinking of the old trope of the servant just dedicated to the family, especially the children, instead of some overworked person who's sick of their slobby ways.

Write this down

I'll give you some ground rules

Plenty of conflict

But nice guys don't break the law

Girl meets boy

She gives herself completely

And though she loves him

She keeps one foot on the floor

No one dies except the best friend

No one ever mentions communists

No one takes a black friend to a restaurant

"I'm free, white and 21!"

I’m the fresh-faced MGM ingenue. I’ve made a career playing the perfect All-American good girl. Off camera I fuck virtually anything with a dick.

[Quote]I'm the middle aged actor and the barely legal girl who plays his love interest

R168, it's supposed to be an old-timey movie. 😉That's as true today as it was 75 years ago.

I'm Kitty Carlisle, and gentlemen, you cannot have a true old-time movie without me. I'll sing Where Do They Come From (And Where Do They Go) for you. But you'll have to supply the dancers.

Please.

I'm the spinning newspaper headline.

R114 But the black population of Boston is twice that. It's the northern states (like Vermont and Maine) that bring the percentage down because they don't have large black populations.

I’m the train going into a tunnel. You know what I’m supposed to mean…