Two different stories of differing moods with completely different casts show the shallowness of both the stage in New York and the cinema in Los Angeles and indicate that in this dog-eat-dog world, only the top breeds will come out on top, and not necessarily with their souls intact. The first part focuses on Broadway leading lady Marsha Hunt who is the daughter of a famous character actor (Edward G. Robinson), showing her rise from wide-eyed ingenue to much hated diva. Her ego gets the best of her as she goes from much praised newcomer to over-the-top critically maligned star. It starts with her dead body being found (surrounded by her pet cockatoos) and the questioning of various suspects in her supposed murder. A melodramatic monologue by Robinson clears everything up with a couple of surprises and an interesting twist. Hunt doesn't really get the opportunity to make a well rounded character here, yet Robinson gives many layers in his performance as the father who basically fueled her ego and helped turn her into the monster she became. Some great shots of Broadway theater marquees of the time adds a realistic touch to this expose on the backstage drama on the great white way.
Then comes the Hollywood segment, a deliciously funny comedy about writing agent Eddie Albert's involvement with a mysterious writer who has written something he considers just dreadful but sends out as a gag to a Hollywood studio head that ends up as the most anticipated new movie since "Gone With the Wind". Albert is seen talking to this helium voiced writer on the phone, making it obvious to the audience what is going on, and when the writer (Jenny Hecht) does appear, the set is staged for a lampoon of Hollywood ego that will keep you in stitches. Of the supporting cast in both parts, the only actor I recognized was portly Jody Gilbert in a very funny performance as Hecht's mother. Critics of the time found Hecht to be like fingernails down a chalkboard, but I found her acting style appropriate for the character she was playing, filled with witty observations about the ridiculousness of movie making that hold true to this day.
Ironically, Hecht is the daughter of the film's writer and director (Ben Hecht) who utilized his knowledge and wry wit to lampoon an industry he loved but couldn't deny the truth about. He takes extremism to its heights in making fun of every image of actor, writer, director and producer, as well as the hangers on who have no real liking of the Broadway and Hollywood types other than to be a part of its supposed glory. It's the type of thing that future comedy writers like Woody Allen, Mel Brooks and Neil Simon specialized in, but had only been attacked with dramatic tones before with subtlety in "All About Eve" (for the stage) and "Sunset Blvd." (for the screen). For me, the two different segments contrast each other in moods, but together make a satisfying double bill of two soul destroying industries where one's inner strength must overcome one's desire to be immortal.
Then comes the Hollywood segment, a deliciously funny comedy about writing agent Eddie Albert's involvement with a mysterious writer who has written something he considers just dreadful but sends out as a gag to a Hollywood studio head that ends up as the most anticipated new movie since "Gone With the Wind". Albert is seen talking to this helium voiced writer on the phone, making it obvious to the audience what is going on, and when the writer (Jenny Hecht) does appear, the set is staged for a lampoon of Hollywood ego that will keep you in stitches. Of the supporting cast in both parts, the only actor I recognized was portly Jody Gilbert in a very funny performance as Hecht's mother. Critics of the time found Hecht to be like fingernails down a chalkboard, but I found her acting style appropriate for the character she was playing, filled with witty observations about the ridiculousness of movie making that hold true to this day.
Ironically, Hecht is the daughter of the film's writer and director (Ben Hecht) who utilized his knowledge and wry wit to lampoon an industry he loved but couldn't deny the truth about. He takes extremism to its heights in making fun of every image of actor, writer, director and producer, as well as the hangers on who have no real liking of the Broadway and Hollywood types other than to be a part of its supposed glory. It's the type of thing that future comedy writers like Woody Allen, Mel Brooks and Neil Simon specialized in, but had only been attacked with dramatic tones before with subtlety in "All About Eve" (for the stage) and "Sunset Blvd." (for the screen). For me, the two different segments contrast each other in moods, but together make a satisfying double bill of two soul destroying industries where one's inner strength must overcome one's desire to be immortal.