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L-R: Legs, profile, comeback.
I like WWII home front movies as much as the next girl, but I have to say that Since You Went Away left me a little cold. I know what you're thinking: Claudette Colbert, and yeah, meh, but her plus Joseph Cotten as a relentless masher made me pine for the telegraph boy.

The film starts on the day Colbert has seen her husband off to the war and is the part I like the best; her interior monologue and the interiors of her home are beautifully done. The family decides to take in a boarder to meet the expenses of maintaining a home after the breadwinner has gone. Enter Monty Woolley, a crotchety retired colonel, whose itinerant grandson (Robert Walker) becomes  the doomed love interest of Colbert's eldest daughter, Jennifer Jones. For my part, the more sweet and affecting relationship was that between the recently un-retired Shirley Temple and Monty Woolley.  Woolley is a mean mofo who is inexplicably angry at the feckless Walker for going into the wrong branch of service, which he comes to realize is STUPID, but far too late.

I get how and why this picture would be really moving for a contemporary audience (1944) , honest, but Mrs. Miniver, for Pete's sake, or The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), or even The More The Merrier (1943) convey the sacrifice, pain, and patriotism of the families and friends of servicemen left behind. 



 
 
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If we are to believe the credits, this picture has everything: it was produced by Mary Pickford and Buddy Rogers (who I keep wanting to call Buddy Guy, which is so wrong), written by Leo Rosten (of all people) directed by Douglas Sirk, and starred Claudette Colbert, Don Ameche, Robert Cummings, and Hazel Brooks, with a little help from Raymond Burr, George Coulouris, and Keye Luke.

Sleep, My Love is really just Gaslight with a couple of Jews and a Chinese wedding. You see everything coming for miles and miles, and for 97 minutes no one calls anyone anything cleverer than "four eyes." There's some gunplay, some sensational if improbable sleepwear, and one good long fall from a skylight, but for what? Robert Cummings comforting Colbert with the world's least satisfying, counter-climactic line: "In a little while, you'll be out of this house forever." The End. "Well, I've got a big day tomorrow, so...." Silly  movie.


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Meh.
Now about Claudette Colbert. I just don't see what the big fuss is about her. I couldn't care less that she's being gaslighted by Don Ameche in this picture and it would have been just fine with me if she and Joel McCrea had never got back together in Palm Beach Story. (Honestly, don't you think he'd have waaaay more fun with the Princess Centimilla?) Her comedy is mannered and self-conscious; her dramatic work is all practiced intensity and zero investment. Yappy lap dog? Probably. Rude to the key grips? Wouldn't be a bit surprised.


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I *said* come HITHER.
What I did get from Sleep, My Love is a good long gander at Hazel Brooks. And, wow, I can't remember having ever been so bored by someone so hot.

While I was waiting for Hazel's turn to stop speaking, I trolled the Internet for a little background about her and learned that she was married for quite some time to Cedric Gibbons -- Art Director of Every Awesome Movie Ever -- and designer of the Oscar statuette. They married when she was 19 and he was 51 and stayed together until his death. Gibbons had previously been married to Dolores Del Rio (also dishy and leggy), which surprised me somewhat, because I had just assumed he was gay. Just goes to show that when one assumes...

But the most important takeaway from Sleep, My Love is that thanks to Raymond Burr playing a bit part as a cop, I can now link Kevin Bacon to both Mary Pickford and Brak from Space Ghost in only three degrees. (For those of you playing at home, John Candy is the second link.)