Greta Garbo. The Swedish Sphinx. One of the greatest stars of classic Hollywood. And someone whose career I have almost entirely missed out on. Despite starring in such 1930s hits as Queen Christina, Camille, and Ninotchka, Garbo is one of those stars who has eluded me in my consumption of classic cinema. The 1930s especially has been a weak spot for me, I’ll admit, but it’s no excuse to have overlooked this titan of a Hollywood figure.
So why then, in my interest in finally watching a Garbo film, did I choose Grand Hotel, which isn’t so much her own movie as it is arguably the first ensemble film of the sound era, in which Garbo co-stars with Joan Crawford, Wallace Beery, and John and Lionel Barrymore? Maybe it’s because it’s the source of her most famous quote (“I want to be alone”), or because I could get a hold of it easier than some of her other films (which are also on my list to see). But regardless, I don’t see how it shouldn’t be a good representation of her and her talents -it was her only movie to win Best Picture, while at the same time holding the distinction of being the only recipient of that award to earn no other nominations. That in itself is interesting.
Bookended by a disfigured war veteran (Lewis Stone) proclaiming that the Grand Hotel Berlin is merely “people coming, going; nothing ever happens”, the film proves otherwise with an interconnected series of bizarre and dramatic plots following an eclectic collection of characters, each of whom is fairly interesting and each of whom (likely due to their actors’ star power) has about equal screen-time. In this respect it’s not unlike an Altman or a Soderbergh movie or even something like Magnolia. The tone is pure Pre-Code classic Hollywood though, and delightful for it. The comedy is sharp and the drama quite melodramatic, it’s liberating as usual getting to see filming choices and script references filmmakers wouldn’t be able to get away with just three years later. For instance, there’s some pretty strong innuendo in the scenes between John Barrymore and Crawford, who in her piercing eyes, full lips, and decadent poise, is stunningly alluring. Lionel Barrymore’s unrepentant gambler and drunk is one of the films’ most likeable, sympathetic characters, his vices never a point of critique.
What makes the movie work is its characters and honestly, the star power behind them. The younger Barrymore is the fallen aristocrat, a thief and con artist, while the elder Barrymore is the downtrodden but jovial bookkeeper, whose former boss, Beery’s industrial tycoon, is likewise at the hotel, with his new stenographer and aspiring actress, Crawford; all of whom play characters of complicated German names like Kringelein and Flaemmchen (the film is adapted from a play that was originally an Austrian novel by Vicki Baum). Top-billed of this all-star cast is Garbo as an unsuccessful Russian dancer, introduced last and with the weakest connection to the other characters. But in spite of a lacklustre Russian accent, her performance is definitely the most engaging. Where some of the other plotlines hinge on the comedy in their situations, there’s a heavy dose of melancholy to hers. As much as that line came to be a cliché staple of her career and perceived public persona, it does speak to genuine anguish. This is a character who openly contemplates suicide after all, and Garbo really sells it. She’s passionate but not explosively so; rather delicately nuanced, acting with restraint, yet conveying depth in a way incomparable to any other actress I’ve encountered from this period. I can see why she had such a reputation as a dramatic star. This script suits those talents modestly as while suicide is avoided, hers is ultimately a tragic story –the last we see of her, she’s leaving the hotel for Vienna, in the belief and renewed happiness of a romance on the way with the Baron she doesn’t know to be dead. I’m not sure whether director Edmund Goulding was aiming for comic irony or pathos in this scene, coming as it does in a line-up of main character exits, but it’s terribly sad to me.
The rest of the cast are great in less morose roles. Crawford, still early in her career, is wonderfully sharp and seductive, radiating a resonant power over every scene despite being at a status disadvantage in all of them. Beery, who won an Oscar that same year for The Champ, makes for a great comic villain, mean and rough and a bit slimy. If there’s a weak link in the cast it might be John Barrymore, who should be the most fun of the ensemble given how bizarre the idea of a baron turned thief is. I like a lot of aspects of the character, his gradual empathy yet unwavering con man tactics and Barrymore certainly has his moments. But I can’t help thinking this acclaimed Shakespearean actor was miscast and that someone like William Powell or Douglas Fairbanks Jr. would have been better. Lionel Barrymore on the other hand is terrific. His perennial status as a Christmas villain thanks to It’s a Wonderful Life has diluted the fact that this Barrymore was really good at playing warm eccentrics, such as in David Copperfield and You Can’t Take It With You. He’s such a character in Grand Hotel too, but also the only one with a sadness to almost match Garbo. His terminal illness and solemn acceptance of it endears us to him; and he’s also just so friendly, to the point it’s rather disappointing that he and Crawford, who have great chemistry, don’t meet until the end, united by their affections for the deceased Baron. Ultimately, they leave the hotel together to find a cure for his unnamed disease and I really want to see that movie!
Because these people exist in a world that is entrancing in scope, with the one outside perhaps even more so. The action never leaves the titular hotel, so you get the sense of it being this eternal stopping ground for fascinating characters and adventures, like Rick’s Café Americain or the Shanghai Express, the boat from The Lady Eve, the train station from Brief Encounter, or of course the Grand Hotel’s direct descendant, The Grand Budapest Hotel. It’s a place where a dying accountant can befriend a broke baron, and a depressed ballerina can spend some much needed time alone. We don’t meet much of the actual staff of the Grand Hotel in any significant sense, giving the place even more of an air of mystique, nor do we get a full sense of its proportions. Unusual for the time, the lobby featured a 360 degree desk, allowing the camera and characters greater freedom of movement and makes the hotel itself feel less like a set and more like a lived-in space.
The intersecting stories create this impression as much as the production design though. Each episode is smart if not always interesting, each beat and plot turn satisfactory. It’s very organic, the manner in which the characters cross paths, with again only Garbo never really interacting with anyone but the younger Barrymore. Speaking of, I admire the choice to kill off the only romantic lead near the end (neither Beery nor Lionel Barrymore were thought of as leading man material -exemplified through John Barrymore being the primary love interest of both Garbo and Crawford), and killing him off under amusing circumstances at that. Indeed the film’s light-hearted tone gives so many moments played for sincerity the atmosphere of comedy, though of a subtle variety.
But I think Grand Hotel more fits a genre unique to its time. The dramatic and comedic elements compliment and cancel each other out. This was a movie sold on its celebrity power, its two rising starlets, even its two Barrymores -the first and one of the only times the siblings would act opposite each other. It was a hype movie and won over audiences because of that hype. Understanding that, I can see why it only received one Oscar nomination, but also why it won -the Academy Awards historically having been a popularity contest. It’s a perfectly fine old Hollywood yarn, made enjoyable by its performances and situational stylishness. Garbo especially stands out resplendently, and I can just imagine what she’s like when she doesn’t have to share the screen with four other heavyweights.
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