“Ooh, Andy Hardy’s here already!”
These are literally the words I said when the Andy Hardy DVD arrived far sooner than I’d expected. Goodness gracious, I fear this project is already driving me insane.
The 30s and 40s were truly the Golden Age of the Sequel. Critics bemoaning the current state of cinema should keep this in mind, for the very nature of the studio system and its ability to manufacture product is something that can never be repeated. Studios had actors on contract – a high-falutin’ form of indentured servitude, beholding them to whatever ridiculous whim the studio could conceive. This was the era of the true B-movie, for back then, calling something a “B-movie” wasn’t simply a way to imply lowered quality or lowbrow content. Movies were regularly shown in double features, along with junk like newsreels and duck cartoons. The B-movie was the secondary film in these screenings, usually produced on a budget, programmed in a way somewhat similar to television today.
In fact, it appears many of the series from this period are forerunners to television. The Andy Hardy series, for one, is essentially a family sitcom, and it is easier to understand its sixteen-film run in this way. After all, there are certain stock plot elements sitcoms love to explore, and these same devices were employed earlier to sustain a film series’ longevity. In a way, it should be a lot easier to create endless stories about a normal family that it is to create endless interconnected sci-fi action adventures. Expectations for a series were different in the studio system. So as long as cheap and dependable B-pictures performed adequately, there was never any need to go bigger or wilder from one sequel to another. Hell, it wasn’t until television arrived to viciously leech away movie audiences like the Blob that the trend of super-sized sequels came about.
The Andy Hardy series is best known today as the prime vehicle for film comedian Mickey Rooney, the top box office draw of 1939 and 1940 (“Spanning two decades,” as Bart Simpson once complimented). Actually, these films were what Bart was referring to, and it’s exiting now how I’m about to expend a lot of energy exploring the inspiration for a single throwaway joke on “The Simpsons.”
Born into a family of vampires - no, wait, vaudevillians, Mickey Rooney was born Joseph Yule Jr. Through a ridiculously complicated sequence of entertainment-related escapades, he took on the name Mickey Rooney, inspired the naming of a cartoon rodent, and earned the contempt of eternally-evil film studio Fox (they were evil then too, it seems). In 1937, then-sixteen-year-old Rooney appeared in The Family Affair, the first Andy Hardy picture. I now realize an error I’ve been making for most of my life, namely, Mickey Rooney and Andy Rooney are not the same person. Mickey Rooney is a lovable, humorous star of stage and screen, while Andy Rooney is that unfunny old coot they still allow on “60 Minutes,” waving his proverbial rake at the TV audience waiting for “The Amazing Race.” But apart from names, Mickey and Andy appear to have something else in common – immortality. I sense a Highlander scenario. And I apologize to Mickey Rooney, for it turns out he’s actually not hateful...except for that one appearance as Puck in 1935's A Midsummer Night’s Dream…
The good Rooney, Mickey, has continued his remarkably lengthy career into the present day as a true entertainer, performing on stage, screen, and presumably street corners. Notably, he appeared alongside everyone else in the world in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, and played the most racist Japanese stereotype in history in A Breakfast at Tiffany’s. In 1983 he won a Lifetime Achievement Academy Award, and continued to live for at least 27 more years.
Still, Rooney’s various internet bios would have me believe the Andy Hardy films remain his greatest accomplishment. This MGM series ran for sixteen films, with additional non-canon public service announcements requesting, presumably, that viewers buy war bonds. What follows is a list of that series, with the movies I can actually find in bold. Who knows, maybe if I TiVoed TCM for a year I could see some more.
1. A Family Affair (1937)
2. You're Only Young Once (1937)
3. Judge Hardy's Children (1938)
4. Love Finds Andy Hardy (1938)
5. Out West with the Hardys (1938)
6. The Hardys Ride High (1939)
7. Andy Hardy Gets Spring Fever (1939)
8. Judge Hardy and Son (1939)
9. Andy Hardy Meets Debutante (1940)
10. Andy Hardy's Private Secretary (1941)
11. Life Begins for Andy Hardy (1941)
12. The Courtship of Andy Hardy (1942)
13. Andy Hardy's Double Life (1942)
14. Andy Hardy's Blonde Trouble (1944)
15. Love Laughs at Andy Hardy (1946)
16. Andy Hardy Comes Home (1958)
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The fist, A Family Affair, was a one-off, not intended as a series. It was based on the play Skidding by Aurania Rouverol. Spell check hates her. It seems, with the advent of sound filmmaking in the 30s, the only thing Hollywood could figure out to do was to present random Broadway plays verbatim on screen. Sound really made movies rather stage bound, and frankly we’re still sort of suffering through that backlash to this day.
In the context of the overall series, A Family Affair is a bit like a TV pilot, in that it is a bit different from the films that followed. This movie is a courtroom drama, not a family sitcom in Middle America. Judge James Hardy, patriarch of the Hardy family, who something something zzzzzzz...There’s some courtroom controversy, and it all ties in with James’s family, notably young son Andy (Mickey Rooney), who is simply a member of an ensemble here and not yet the star of the show. It sounds kind of tiresome by 30s standards, making me realize that, yes, this era saw countless cinematic mediocrities, just like ours.
Depression-era audiences were surprisingly receptive of A Family Affair, so B-unit producer Lucien Hubbard then decided to pursue it as a series. The sets were still standing, and the cast remained the playthings of MGM’s Faustian contracts, so a sequel could be pumped out that very same year. There was a little recasting of some of the major family roles, and some of the more extraneous family roles were cut entirely. Of course Mickey Rooney stayed on, and the new cast that joined him in You’re Only Young Once would remain for the duration of the series.
The films were retooled and calculated to present a cornball version of 1930s Americana – a depiction of a world that never existed outside of those wispy tales grandparents tell before falling asleep. To hear them tell it, things were good up until the invention of rock ‘n’ roll, or hippies, or my birth, or whatever. Why apparently, all throughout the 30s and 40s, the world was a perfect, Edenic paradise – even Europe! Nostalgia is a screwy thing, and possibly the only reason for non-ironic appreciation of Andy Hardy films now, outside of strange Old Hollywood cultists. Of course this was escapism for 30s era audiences, who needed something to take their minds off of Depressions and Nazis.
The Bondishly titled You’re Only Young Once (or...YOYO) seems to continue the first film’s combo of family comedy and courtroom antics. This entry sees the Midwest Idaho Hardy family on a quick and easy vacation out to Catalina Island in California, because to hell with geography! Its follow-up, Judge Hardy’s Family, does sort of the same thing in the other direction, sending the family to Washington D.C. In each example, the plot is kick started by Judge Hardy’s penal priorities, and the plot then moves on to focus on Andy’s, er, dong.
As the central cast was set in stone here, I shall now relate them...
Andy Hardy (Mickey Rooney) is your standard budding teenager, in that he is indescribably horny (but in a wholesome 30s sort of way), always getting into romantic misadventures with the constant female guest stars ushered through the series. He is an irascible rapscallion, or whatever, and I’m sure his corny, horny antics came across as remarkably “edgy” at the time. He employs filthy, irritating 30s “teenspeak,” saying “buck” for “dollar,” “swell” for “adequate,” and “ain’t” for “ai not.” As played by Rooney, Andy is a ridiculously big ham, leaping and capering and bugging out for our attention at every possible moment. Since this was the big draw at the time, the fact that I find it to be the most annoying part says little for what value this series might have for me. Humor styles change over time, flailing mugging ages quickly, and I still find some of Andy’s contemporaries (the Marx brothers) very, very funny. So it’s just a matter of tastes.
Judge James Hardy (Lewis Stone) is the calm, even-tempered family head, a sane alternative to the shaved chimpanzee that is Andy Hardy, and as such he is my favorite character. The Judge is serious, yet has a wry, understated sense of humor. Even though standard plots concerned Andy’s woman troubles with ladies far out of his league (shades of Shia LeBeouf), the central relationship was always between Andy and his father. A “once-per-film” trademark sees Andy and the Judge having heart-to-heart talks about his latest trivial misadventures.
Marian Hardy (Cecilia Parker), Andy’s older sister, apparently has no notable personality.
Mrs. Emily Hardy (Fay Holden), the family mother, is walking proof that family sitcoms have never had anything interesting for the mom to do. She is also Canadian.
There’s also Aunt Milly, who’s so minor this sentence is a re-edit.
And finally there is Andy’s regular girlfriend, Polly Benedict (Ann Rutherford). Considering Andy’s man-whorish ability to cycle through anonymous girls in the pre-STD 1930s, I cannot imagine how useful Polly’s character is to the franchise. The one film I’ve seen so far, Love Finds Andy Hardy, uses the only real plot I can think of for such a character – noted in the next paragraph.
Love Finds Andy Hardy is the fourth film in the series, and, as the title indicates, Andy Hardy was truly the driving engine at this stage. The hoary, whorey old sitcom plot device I predicted with Polly is employed here – one date, two women. Maybe it was original at this stage, or...Wait, Shakespeare...Wilde...Homer...countless other writers throughout history...Nah, it wasn’t original!
Standard lengthy opening credits open the film, as they did for all movies until sometime in the 60s or so (you couldn’t walk out on the credits back then). The film proper opens in Judge Hardy’s courtroom, and it’s possible this was a stock opening. The Judge sentences a young boy to sixty days of chores, and that kid’s lucky they’re not in Texas. Retiring to his chamber, the Judge overhears a convoluted civil suit that ultimately somehow results in the Judge hiring a cook for his household. This cook storyline is given a fair amount of attention early in the film, but it ultimately comes to naught.
Following a quick scene of Emily Hardy selling off some delicious crabapple jam, we move on to the Carvel Municipal Swimming Pool, where Andy parades his freakish, shirtless body before girlfriend Polly. Polly sets up the plot by announcing to Andy she will be out of town for Christmas, and so will not be able to go to the big Christmas dance with him. Awkward, dated dialogue indicates that Andy likes to force unwanted kisses on Polly, saying “It’s good that way too,” suggesting to my modern mind that Andy Hardy is a potential rapist. Walking home together, Andy proceeds to say and do several things that mark him out as exceptionally randy – ah, the pre-Internet era.
Andy runs into his father in downtown Carvel. They have an actual “how times have changed” conversation, with Andy cruelly mocking his kindly father for growing up in an era before airplanes or cars. Children have lampooned the elderly for generations with this exact same retort, but in this one instance the criticisms are literal and not exaggerations. Technology is a big concern in this film, and it’s kind of hilarious now to see the film treat an old jalopy with the same reverence the Fast and the Furious films treat their rice rockets. Andy expresses his desire to own a jaunty jalopy of his very own, even though Dad says to wait until he’s sixteen, and so we’ve roughly pegged Andy’s age, and whoa!, they were letting little kids drive cars around recklessly without driver’s licenses back then. Just like Mexico! The big conflict for Andy, as regards this car, is he needs a whole $8 in order to afford it. Wow! Without keeping inflation in mind, I would just – I would – Wow! Eight dollars for a car!
Now, the Andy Hardy B-pictures were a means for MGM to trot out up-and-coming stars for our assessment. Why, a famous roster of stars made their way through the Andy Hardy series, with luminaries such as – You know, each source lists different stars, so let’s just go ahead and assume everyone under MGM contract (that is, basically everyone) appeared at one point or another. At any rate, Love Finds Andy Hardy serves as a major debutante ball for two notable young actresses. The first up is a young Judy Garland, eventual star of The Wizard of Oz and inadvertent gay icon. She plays 12-year-old Betty Boop - wait, Betsy Booth, Andy’s new next door neighbor. Upon learning she shall be next door to the famous Andy Hardy, she grows ecstatic, a result of the ridiculous hero worship foisted onto the undeserving Andy in these films. Again, he really was the Shia LeBeouf of the 1930s.
Back in the Hardy home, Andy’s sister Marian laments that her boyfriend Wayne has been, in the parlance of folksy old dialogue, cheating on her. As a result, she goes ahead and swears off men in order to become a “settlement worker.” I do not follow this train of logic, so I suppose it is a euphemism for a nunnery – either kind. The Judge arrives to greet his wife Emily in the kitchen, and it turns out they’re one of those creepy married couples that refers to each other as “Mother” and “Father.” Was this ever considered normal?
Soon enough the entire family is gathered in the den, when a telegram boy delivers a telegram to Emily. She instantly gets her panties in a bunch, bemoaning that newfangled demon telegram technology (a mere 70 years old at the time), easily resembling the whining from elders today about that there text messagin’ and Facebookin’ and Tweetin’. But this telegram is bad, because it announces Emily’s mother has had a stroke and is in a coma. At this stage, the Judge starts calling both his wife and his mother-in-law “Mother,” which is remarkably confusing yet somehow not used as a joke. Emily declares she shall leave Carvel to tend to her sickly mother, which is basically a way for this film’s writers to admit they have nothing for Fay Holden to do anymore. And then Andy does a forced pratfall on the staircase, because damn it, the focus is supposed to be on him!
The remaining family members, Andy, Marian and the Judge, all drink Marian’s terrible coffee for breakfast. The Judge tells Andy about the new girl Betsy next door, which makes Andy excited/horny. Andy hurriedly rushes to Betsy’s house under the pretense of “delivering preserves” (another euphemism?), only to be disappointed when Betsy proves to be twelve years old when Andy was hoping for a mature fourteen. There is actually a lot of strange ageism in this film in regards to Betsy. Frankly, all the teenaged characters here look pretty young, and for the first time in any Hollywood movie I’ve ever that’s because they are young. No actors nearing thirty attempting to play high school sophomores here! Though each actor still plays a few years younger than his true age, it’s far more effective. The veiled, possibly-unintentional sex stuff seems far creepier given this age change, but I really think I’m reading far too much into this innocent family sitcom from 1938.
Back in town, Andy’s buddy Beezy is explaining his own woman problems. You see, Beezy has been dating Cynthia Potter (Lana Turner, who’d just been purchased by MGM like so much human meat). This is noteworthy because Miss Turner would soon become one of the Beautiful People of the 1940s, a black and white Megan Fox, except Miss Turner could sing, act, and engage in genuine human conduct. For some reason I cannot figure out, Beezy will be out of town, and so he wants noted man-whore Andy to date Cynthia for him until he gets back (?!). Andy says doing so would not be “respectable” unless Beezy pays him, because male prostitution makes it far more respectable. By the way, Beezy expresses marked disinterest in Cynthia, as does Andy, all on account of her being a redhead. What freaking universe do these people live in?! A young, flowering Lana Turner is presented as an unattractive prospect to a gawky, genetic abnormality like Andy Hardy! Despite this, Andy proceeds to establish an instantly physical relationship with Cynthia, all while a wheezy Beezy watches from behind a bush...Yeah, there’s nothing creepy at all about these films!
Andy, now saddled “unhappily” with both Lana Turner and Ann Rutherford, proceeds to take Judy Garland’s Betsy on a date to the soda shop. All the while he neglects to wash the family car, rather having the neighbor’s chauffeur wash it – yeah, the standard Depression era solution. Of course Cynthia spies Andy with Betsy, so he plays it off by insulting Betsy for being young. Andy also uses this moment as an opportunity to sum up the entire plot so far to Betsy, perhaps because audiences of the 1930s wandered theaters freely, not watching a picture from the start as it the practice today. So one of Andy’s dilemmas, beyond playing Lana Turner’s gigolo, is that he cannot take her to the Christmas dance unless he has a car – Hence that $8, which Andy’s not about to consider working for. Oh Lord no!
There are a few more scenes of the family drinking Marian’s abysmal coffee, and of Andy capering like a moron for Cynthia over at the public pool. The Judge receives a letter from Emily, reporting that the coma subplot has not progressed at all.
Over at Betsy’s house, she gifts Andy a hood ornament for that car he may someday own, $8 dollars notwithstanding. Andy gone, Betsy proceeds to spend several entire minutes singing some tuneless ditty on her piano (Judy Garland, remember). It’s like a cinematic talent show. You know, tiresome and self-absorbed. A really fun musical is irreplaceable, but most musical numbers from the 30s simply involve plunking down a motionless camera while some actor belts out a dull, unmemorable tune. And this movie isn’t even a musical! I don’t see what the attraction was for audiences here, but then again I cannot determine the appeal of things like “American Idol” or “Glee” either. Anyway, this song is called “In-Between,” and it is a catalogue of Betsy’s woes as a twelve-year-old, a “tween.” If only she lived today, she could instead be the tool of the Disney Corporation.
That over, we go back to the standard plot. Andy has learned that Polly shall indeed be coming home for Christmas after all, hence his two dates. He laments in a big deal sort of way as if this were a far more revelatory plot twist than it is. Then the postman rings (once), delivering Andy a letter from Beezy, announcing he’s dumping Cynthia and leaving her to Andy. You know, because she’s a redhead, and therefore beneath his station. Andy is saddened also, because it seems no one wants Lana Turner. Andy reveals his latest woes to Betsy, and resolves to solve them on his own.
It is time for the traditional scene between Andy and his father. Andy surmises the entire storyline for the Judge, because again 1930s audiences might have been wandering around not paying attention to the intricate, intricate plot. Andy, already the potential rapist and sexual predator, also displays latent homosexuality when he asks his dad “Is there something wrong with a guy if he doesn’t want a girl kissing him all the time?” Furthermore, Andy wants to be punished, demanding “Just give me a good licking, Dad.” Whoa! The Judge proceeds to whip out his wisdom (that is, he gives Andy a Life Lesson), speaking in genuine, heartwarming terms about technology and aging and his love for his family. The Judge further expresses concern for Emily, at which Andy suggests employing a “ham.” No, actor Mickey Rooney has not suddenly become self-aware; Andy means a ham radio.
Andy takes the Judge to Jimmy, the boy from way back at the start. Jimmy mans a ham radio, in a scene meant to depict the extraordinary capabilities of this advanced new technology, what with the mere three hours it takes to send and receive a message. It’s strange, this 1930s technology porn! I cannot picture a single feature film today stalling the main plot to depict a family huddled around sending an e-mail. That sounds like an awful television commercial at best, and I’d like to think audiences have grown more sophisticated in some respects, even if we still allow Transformers movies to succeed. So anyway, Emily responds that her mother has recovered, and she (Emily) will be home for Christmas.
Soon enough the Judge has bought the car for Andy, so he is now out that whopping $8. The Judge stays at home to wait for “Mother” while Andy dons Betsy’s hood ornament. For her part, Betsy cons Cynthia out of her relationship with Andy by outright lying to her about Andy’s new car, claiming it’s an old beater. Cynthia, the high-maintenance hussy, will have none of that!
Overjoyed that he no longer has to serve as Lana Turner’s sex toy, Andy hollers in obscene joy, flailing his grotesque body all over the house in paroxysms of stuporous glee. He soon explains everything to girlfriend Polly. She is furious at Andy, because, after all, geez, it was Cynthia, and jeepers, she’s a redhead. Can you imagine anything more lowly?! Polly aptly calls Andy a “gigolo,” and reveals she too has another date for the Christmas dance – Dennis, a swinging hepcat from New York City. Andy sobs, and I’ll admit I found this part of Rooney’s performance somewhat humorous – I didn’t actually laugh or anything, but close enough.
Andy ponders his travails loudly and melodramatically, as is his wont, grindingly unaware that Betsy would make a perfectly adequate date to the Christmas dance. But Andy would never lower himself to be seen with a twelve-year-old, even if he was willing to whore it up for a redhead. Fed up at his stalling techniques, Betsy just goes right ahead and puts on her formal gown, which instantly convinces the teenaged horndog to date her anyway.
The Christmas party is the most debased shindig I can imagine happening in this version of 1930s America: a bunch of Caucasians just standing around emotionlessly as no music plays. Polly’s date Dennis quickly recognizes Betsy from New York, so he invites her to sing with him in the band. That’s right, everyone, it’s time for another stultifying Judy Garland musical! This one, “It Never Rains But What It Pours,” is more upbeat than the last, but it’s still boring. And...it...goes...on. Garland’s approach to singing seems to consist of simply being loud. And then – finally – the song ends. Applause. And as a reward to the audience for sitting through that, Betsy proceeds to – sing another song! “The Beat of My Heart,” this one is, and I have nothing more to say about bland musical numbers now. The party crowd falls into a hushed, awed reverence as Betsy and Andy proceed to lead the Grand March. Despite the awesome name, the Grand March consists of everybody simply walking slowly and silently throughout the room. Man, Americana was stilted!
Back at the Hardy home, the entire family has reunited for Christmas Eve. This scene is legitimately heartwarming, recalling It’s a Wonderful Life, while Emily and her husband embrace in a happy reunion, and Andy jumps about foolishly in the background for no good damn reason, because god forbid some of the other cast members get any attention.
The movie ends with Andy tending to his jalopy in the driveway, still mopey about Polly and Dennis. But right on cue Polly arrives to inform Andy that Dennis is in fact her cousin. This either makes things better or much, much worse. Andy opts to take the innocent interpretation, unlike me, and therefore has another one of his overacted seizures of joy. I think Andy has ADD. Andy proceeds to kiss Polly lustily, and the movie outmaneuvers those prudes at the Hays Office by cutting instead to the Judge’s lascivious leers. “The End.”
I think I’ve been a little overly harsh on this movie. It exudes gentle charms and is unpretentious. While it is not one of the masterpieces of 30s cinema, and it is rather dated, it stands as the flag bearer of a once-beloved and successful old film franchise. I do have little use for Rooney’s performance here, which really is a major impediment to enjoying the movie, since he is the intentional focus here. Andy Hardy comes across as the self-important class clown who’s been given too much attention, and no part of me wants to encourage that sort of behavior, even 72 years after the fact. The sanest response is to treat this as a product of its time, the sort of movie that most people no longer need. For it is the disposable, popcorn entertainment of another era, and obviously people loved it at the time. The film’s true achievement is to be a part of a large film franchise – “one of the most successful film franchises of all time,” some pro-Andy sites proclaim. Hell, if Mickey Rooney could be the top box office draw of 1939, the year of Gone With the Wind, that must be a legitimate assessment.
Related posts:
• No. 15 Love Laughs at Andy Hardy (1946)
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