It’s his birthday today. One of my favorite actors.
From Who the Hell’s in It: Conversations with Hollywood’s Legendary Actors
He was different from most of the great stars of the golden age in that he often played villains — even late in his career — comically in Mister Roberts, with unsentimental pathos in Love Me or Leave Me, with complicated and disturbing psychopathic ambivalence in White Heat. His essential persona was as fixed in the public’s consciousness as Bogart’s or Cooper’s or Gable’s but — being a more resourceful and versatile actor — he could express ambiguities in a character even if they weren’t written into the script or featured by the direction. Because he was innately so sympathetic, his heavies created an intriguing, even alarming, tension in the audience. As a result, White Heat, as an example, contains a decidedly subversive duality: in the glare of Cagney’s personality — though his character is in no way sentimentalized — the advanced, somewhat inhuman technology of the police and the undercover-informer cop become morally reprehensible. As a result, I remember [Orson] Welles and I hissing the law and rooting for Cagney like schoolboys. That rarest of actors — who could totally transcend their vehicles — and in common with a number of other stars in the movies’ greatest period, he was indisputably one of a kind.
My friend Dan Callahan, over the last couple of years, wrote two books, and I interviewed him about them both: The Art of American Screen Acting, 1912-1960 and The Art of American Screen Acting 1960 to Today
Excerpt from The Art of American Screen Acting, 1912-1960:
Cagney is the first major male talking picture star. He moved beautifully, and he could have pranced and crawled and excelled in silent movies as well (he made an empathetic success playing Lon Chaney in Man of a Thousand Faces [1957]). But talking is what he does best, rat-a-tat-tat like gunfire, faster sometimes than bullets. He played gangsters and tabloid reporters and con men who looked down on “book learning” as just another racket. He stood for the low-down side of life, and the world was his personal playground, a stage where he could trip down the stairs or dance out a door. Proudly born in the gutter and hyper-alert, his characters seemed to feel more sensations per minute than some people feel their whole lives, and Cagney offered that alertness to us as a goad.
Excerpt from The Art of American Screen Acting, 1912-1960:
When Blondell tries to kiss him towards the end of Blonde Crazy and Cagney just closes his eyes and tries to avoid all the emotion this gesture brings up in him, we are seeing a man who has mastered his expression of feelings in order to express the uncontrollable feelings in the character he is playing. Look at the way he tenderly grabs on to the fur trim on Blondell’s coat in the last scene and see the far more empathetic precursor to Brando’s supposedly groundbreaking interactions with women in the early 1950s.
Speaking of Joan Blondell, she and Cagney came up together, through vaudeville, and then arriving at Warner Brothers at the same time. They did maybe 10 movies together? 11? They’re so similar, they’re so so good together.
She got her start making a series of movies with James Cagney, crazy movies, fun movies, and they are terrific together. Kindred spirits. There are moments where they almost look the same. They’re the same height, same coloring, they play off each other beautifully. They get a real kick out of each other’s presence and it reads onscreen.
Excerpt from The Art of American Screen Acting, 1912-1960:
All of his early 1930s performances are jam-packed with grace notes and jolts of pleasure. He moved faster and thought faster than anybody else, and he wasn’t afraid of following his most daring instincts for fun. Look at the way he picks up Blondell’s underwear in Blonde Crazy, holding it against himself and becoming a hot girl for a couple of seconds, his unabashed femininity completing and sealing his greatness as a performer. Look at the semi-alarmed but intrigued way he reacts to a gay tailor measuring him for clothes in The Public Enemy.
Excerpt from The Art of American Screen Acting, 1912-1960:
His best director of this time was Raoul Walsh, who brought out a rare delicacy and shy decency in Cagney in The Strawberry Blonde (1941), where his outer energy, humor, and toughness is balanced by a sense of restrained grievance and loss. Walsh also gave Cagney ample room to be the psychotic Cody Jarrett in White Heat (1949), a tough guy who is so in love with his mother that he sounds like an animal caught in a trap when he is told of her death.
More on that famous scene in White Heat, one of his most extraordinary moments as an actor:
Legend has it that although, of course the scene was planned and it was written that Cody flips out at getting the news, nobody – probably including Cagney – knew exactly how it would go. You’re only going to do the scene once, probably, and so you have to be ready for it. (This reminds me of Sally Fields’ memory of filming the scene in Norma Rae where Norma Rae is dragged out of the factory by the cops. The only thing director Martin Ritt said to her was, “Do not – under any circumstances – let the cops put you into that car.” But of course the scene required her to be put into the car. No matter. Martin Ritt’s gentle reminder of her objective as a character upped the stakes for Fields in playing it.)
So Cagney wanted to make sure the cameras kept rolling no matter what, because on some level he knew where he was going to go emotionally, and he knew it was going to be unpredictable and enormous. Cagney knew his “instrument” and its openness, understood what was required and knew he needed to be free to “go there”. In Cagney on Cagney, Cagney spoke of that scene:
“I didn’t have to psych myself up for the scene in which I go berserk on learning of my mother’s death. You don’t psych yourself up for those things. You do them. I knew what deranged people sounded like. As a youngster I had visited Ward’s Island. A pal’s uncle was in the hospital for the insane. My God, what an education that was. The shrieks. The screams of those people under restraint. I remembered those cries. I saw that they fit the scene. I called on my memory to do as required. No need to ‘psych up.’”
In the scene, Cody sits in the cafeteria, and he gets the news. There’s a stunned disoriented moment. Then the event starts. Cagney’s astonishing reaction goes from disbelief through sorrow, grief, and finally, complete hysteria — and it is among the most chilling sequences in movies. There is no limit to where it is going to go because there is no limit to where Cagney can go. Cagney is truly awe-inspiring. Watch, in particular, the actors around him. And before they shot the scene, Cagney said to Raoul Walsh: “Just follow me.”
He knew.
And finally a really interesting point from Dan about Cagney:
As far as male movie stars of the classic Hollywood period go, Cagney’s only real rival is Cary Grant, who did almost as much on-screen whinnying and nonsense noise-making as Cagney did, but in a much darker, resentful key. Grant is Post-Code to the max, screwball comedy incarnate, whereas Cagney is Pre-Code always, leaping on Joan Blondell or an opportunity for larceny with equal relish. He’s a totally cinematic tonic who insists crime does pay, money is great and sex is better, and wisecracks rise out of a baseline decency that needs to be discovered again in America.
Amen.
Before I share the two major pieces I’ve written about him, a quote or two on his dancing.
From Who the Hell’s in It: Conversations with Hollywood’s Legendary Actors
Of course, he was like no other dancer: his straight-legged, cocky, constantly surprising way of hoofing — which is how he started in show business — was seen only in a couple of other films, not really very good ones. Footlight Parade (1933) is the best of these, yet his manner as an actor and his grace as a performer no doubt owe quite a lot to his dancing days. He just moved eloquently, and therefore could easily have been a great silent star. However, he arrived with the talkies, and gave even the least of them a large measure of his boundless panache.
His style is so distinct as to be a fingerprint. It’s on display most of all in Yankee Doodle Dandy, particularly in the title song’s choreography. Watch him go!
And then there’s this quiet “private moment”, showing his skill and panache:
Here’s another fun dance number, looped in with the Cohan-connection, only this time with Bob Hope:
Here are the two pieces I’ve written where Cagney prominently figures:
1. One of the most popular columns I wrote for Film Comment was on the art of the death scene. Of course, as this post shows, I had to include Cagney. The Death Scene
2. On the underrated (this time the phrase really does apply), Love Me or Leave Me, a harrowing film about domestic abuse that is ALSO a musical. James Cagney and Doris Day both go there in their performances. Cagney was nominated for Best Actor and it’s a disgrace that Day wasn’t nominated as well. TCM Diary: Love Me or Leave Me
I’ve always loved Cagney. Thanks for your insights about him and for sharing some of the highlights from his career. For some reason, while reading this I thought of the short scene from “Taxi” where he speaks Yiddish – just another example of his ability to observe and use his experiences in his acting. I’m glad I don’t have to choose among Cagney’s many talents. Drama, comedy, musicals – he brings something fresh, original and authentic to them all.
// I’m glad I don’t have to choose among Cagney’s many talents. Drama, comedy, musicals – he brings something fresh, original and authentic to them all. //
He really does!! I’m reading Scott Eyman’s biography of Cary Grant right now, and Eyman really gets into the history of vaudeville, so much so that you can almost feel like the past has been resurrected, that entire world has been so lost it’s hard to even comprehend how vital it all was. And there’s a great quote from Cagney – which you probably know – about how vaudeville formed him – how he credited vaudeville for everything he brought to the screen. The main thing was forming a connection with an audience – and also understanding that the audience was king. If the audience rejected you, then that’s on you, not them. Up your game. Try something different. If you don’t connect with the audience, then maybe show business isn’t your thing.
I really can see that in Cagney’s work!!
Thanks so much for your comment – sorry I am just getting to it now.
One of my all time favorites and I love everything you’ve written about him here. I knew about Joan Blondell coming to Warner’s with him in the 30’s and have seen several of those early movies they did together. I remember she wrote a sweet tribute to him when he was honored by the AFI back in the 70’s. That scene in White Heat is one of the best performances I’ve ever seen. And then there is his dancing. The best! I actually wrote him a fan letter when I was 13. He actually wrote back with a postcard of one of his paintings. Along with his numerous other talents he took up painting later in life.
// He actually wrote back with a postcard of one of his paintings. //
This is AMAZING! What a thrill! It’s also so touching that he would answer fan mail so generously. Love this so much.
Isn’t it interesting that, before they acted in movies, Cagney was a dancer and Cary Grant was a tumbler with a vaudeville troupe? I think the physicality and grace – and the sense of fun – required by their prior occupations informed their movie acting to a great degree.
I mean no disrespect to Brando in saying that it’s always annoyed me when Brando is cited as having revolutionized American film acting. To me, Cagney did that to an even greater degree in the early 1930s. Nobody cared about Phillips Holmes after seeing James Cagney.
I just mentioned above the vaudeville connection with Grant and Cagney!! Your observation here is spot on. Vaudeville trained them. They knew in their bones that the audience was their only real judge – if the audience rejected you, then the problem is with you. So pay very close attention to the audience and adjust accordingly. They both were so good at this – even when they took risks.
// it’s always annoyed me when Brando is cited as having revolutionized American film acting. //
It’s interesting – I just responded to a comment here on an old post, where I interviewed author Dan Callahan about his book on screen acting, from 1912-1960. The commenter was irritated that Brando wasn’t mentioned. (He is extensively in the book, though – like everyone else, he gets his own chapter.) But Dan was irritated at a similar thing as you are – he makes the observation that in Blonde Crazy, there’s one moment where he’s fondling Joan Blondell’s fur collar, and there’s something erotic about it, he’s so drawn to it – and Dan says “everyone makes a big deal about Brando putting on Eva Marie Saint’s glove in On the Waterfront – Cagney was doing stuff like this in the 30s.” It’s important. This does not lessen Brando’s importance or his gift. Brando himself didn’t walk around like “I revolutionized screen acting!” It’s the commentators who do this and Dan was trying to combat that. If you haven’t seen James Cagney movies then you might be very surprised at the sheer level of invention and emotional reality Cagney brought to the screen. And I’m sure Brando himself would agree. Real is real.
Quite by accident, I just happened to have read that interview a few days ago, as well as the comment you mentioned here. It’s interesting to read in Cagney’s autobiography about how he came came up with some of those little details that added so much to his characterizations.
Cagney and Blondell are one of my very favorite screen couples. Any Joan Blondell from the first half of the 1930s is worth watching. (And a whole lot after that, too. The enforcement of the Production Code hurt her, though – kind of like watering down a drink robs it of a little of its kick.)
There were so many Pre-Code actresses who just couldn’t do that cross-over. It would have been interesting to see if Harlow could have, had she lived. They were all so talented.
Sheila!
I was reading this a few days ago when Charlie came in saying, “What are you reading with a big smile plastered all over your face?” “Sheila on Cagney!” “Oh, of course, your guy!” But then this post was so full of so much greatness with Dan Callahan I ended up reading everything out-loud to Charlie. It’s the stuff we talk about a lot so it took us some days to finish. We’d have conversations about Bogart and Cagney. I agree with Callahan, Charlie prefers Bogart. Things like that. (This is also one of my favorite picture of Cagney)I was just watching the AFI tribute to Cagney (for the millionth time) and was going to post it on his birthday but I forgot. His definition of art. “Life plus” is so incredible. (I think I already posted it though, haha!) I do have friends who dislike Cagney because of his politics. He was known to be an arch-conservative. I irritate my friends because I say I could care less. I could put that Yankee Doodle Dandy on a loop and watch it everyday. The same with that scene Ma’s Dead in White Heat, I never tire of it. Great stuff on the different styles of acting, just brilliant. Your questions to Callahan are so spot on too, of course.
// I irritate my friends because I say I could care less. //
lol I am in the same boat. I DON’T CARE.
//The same with that scene Ma’s Dead in White Heat, I never tire of it. //
One of the single most exciting scenes of onscreen acting I’ve ever seen in my life.
// We’d have conversations about Bogart and Cagney. I agree with Callahan, Charlie prefers Bogart. //
I love that! I went through a big Bogart phase back in the day on here – and he is undeniably a powerful actor – but I think Cagney goes to levels that Bogart blocked. It just wasn’t his “thing” – and that of course is totally fine. Cagney had a madness in him – and a … lightness? – that Bogart, much more thoughtful and pained – didn’t have. And I really respond to Cagney’s inventiveness. Also his frank amorality – he wasn’t scared of it.
Sheila
We also went back to Callahan’s comments on Robert DeNiro in this post. It really stuck us what he said and the questions you were asking. The way he said there is nothing left after DeNiro and the transcendent performances in Taxi Driver and Mean Streets. The stuff about no self. We went back and read it again.
P.S. We got our DVD player fixed and this evening running up to get Criterion’s new Raging Bull with your piece. So exciting!!!!
Regina –
// The stuff about no self. //
Ever since he said that to me, it’s all I can see in his work! It’s hard to think of any other actor who is quite like that. He really is the end of a certain kind of road.
Mean Streets just blows me away. He’s so good at playing introverts – it’s close to him – BUT he can EASILY become extroverted too. Like Johnny in Mean Streets. Or his character in Jackknife – a chatterbox. It’s completely real – you never clock him “putting on a character” – or “acting” being extroverted.
He’s such a weirdo! I love him!!
Oh, and so far nobody has mentioned an observation I make in the Raging Bull video essay near the end – it’s very very actor-nerd-y. It has to do with De Niro’s line reading of something at the end. I am SO curious to hear what you think of it. I had a great conversation with my actress cousin Kerry about it.
Sheila
We got the DVD player and our TV busted! WTF?! We can’t wait to see and hear this video essay! We will be reporting in! I’m so curious about this observation!
Sheila
We got the DVD player and our TV busted! WTF?! We can’t wait to see and hear this video essay! We will be reporting in!
I want to echo Bill Wolfe’s comment above about Joan Blondell-“The enforcement of the Production Code hurt her, though – kind of like watering down a drink robs it of a little of its kick.” She was something special, with an earthy bite that was tamped down by the Code. Although I didn’t know until later that she and Cagney came up together, it’s obvious while rewatching their films that they knew and liked each other a lot. They are a great screen couple that is largely forgotten today by modern audiences. She could match Cagney step for step, and there are very few about whom that could be said. The thing that always surprises me about Cagney is how easily he could be both the playful charmer AND the guy who scared you when he walked into the room. He’s one of those guys who still gives me a chill when his ‘bad guy’ is starting to feel his nasty.
// She could match Cagney step for step, and there are very few about whom that could be said. //
This is so true!!
He could be very nasty to women in his movies – the grapefruit in the face is as violent as a full on punch!! – he could play such great insecure seething zygote of a man – but then he could also play a wild wise-cracking sidekick – rough around the edges – but a good pal and a lot of fun for someone like Blondell, who just had a very similar energy and approach.
A great cinematic pair! and yes, forgotten today except by the die-hards – I like them together better than Tracy and Hepburn.
// He’s one of those guys who still gives me a chill when his ‘bad guy’ is starting to feel his nasty. //
He can be truly chilling.
Have you seen Love Me or Leave Me? It’s later Cagney but I think it’s one of his best. He was nominated for an Oscar and rightly so. A great film about male jealousy – he plays one of those guys who loves his woman as a possession, and then freaks out when she has a life outside him. He is so damaged, so scary – you feel like this guy could actually go Travis Bickle – or, worse, like Eric Roberts in Star 80 – you feel like she is in danger – but he’s heartbreaking too. And Cagney in real life was nothing like that! I mean, wasn’t he married to the same woman for like 60 years?? lol
But he UNDERSTOOD the kind of insecurities that can plague relationships – he played those parts a lot – but never as scarily as he did in Love Me or Leave Me. Dynamite.