Feasting in the Aerie: George Cukor’s Dinner at Eight
By Steven Huff
Director George Cukor’s films are often adaptations from stage, as was Dinner at Eight, a play by George S. Kauffman and Edna Ferber. It was hammered into a screen adaptation in 1933 by Frances Marion and Herman J. Mankiewicz. MGM wanted a follow-up to their big moneymaker of 1932, Grand Hotel (with some of the same stars, if possible), and they decided that Dinner at Eight would be it. It was Cukor’s first project when he followed producer David Selznick from RKO to MGM, where he made most of his movies thereafter.
Born in 1899 in the Lower East Side of Manhattan to Hungarian-Jewish immigrant parents, Cukor acted in community theater and decided against following his father into the law profession. The stage was more fun. Being a Rochesterian myself, I want to mention that Cukor worked here as a stage designer in the 1920s, about the same time that future film director Rouben Mamoulian directed George Eastman’s American Opera Company. They likely met back then.
George Cukor, MGM 1946
Back in New York, he directed a few Broadway productions before making his first Hollywood film, Grumpy (1930) for Paramount. In the early sound era, Hollywood was anxious to draw stage directors who they reasoned would be better able to work with spoken dialogue.
Grumpy wasn’t much of a picture. But Dinner at Eight was a hit, and he would go on to make more solid goodies. Even a short list illustrates his range: Little Women (1933, I think the best version), David Copperfield (1935); Camille (1936); The Philadelphia Story (1940, which probably rescued Katharine Hepburn’s career); Gaslight (1944, which many people think was Hitchcock’s); A Star is Born (1954, its first remake); Wild is the Wind (1957); My Fair Lady (1964); and three of the classic series of movies with Spencer Tracy and Hepburn: the romance comedies Adam’s Rib (1949), and Pat and Mike (1952), and an anti-fascist mystery, Keeper of the Flame (1942), which has eerie relevance today. Louis B. Mayor disliked Cukor personally because he was gay, but he was also one of the most reliable directors in Hollywood. And, anyway, the feeling was mutual.
After the studio system went belly-up, he made a few prestigious movies, including My Fair Lady, before his career ran out of gas. However, that film was one of his greatest achievements, winning seven Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Actor for Rex Harrison, and the Best Director Oscar for himself. He died in 1983.
So many films in his oeuvre to choose from. But I decided to write about Dinner at Eight for this issue because of the superb performances of its stars, for its satirical brilliance, and its subtle conclusion. Most of the cast had tight schedules, and Mayor gave Cukor a month to get it done. In fact, he wrapped it up in twenty-five days.
Dinner at Eight (1933) Directed by George Cukor. W/ Marie Dressler, Lionel Barrymore, John Barrymore, Wallace Beery, Jean Harlow, Billie Burke, Edmund Low, Karen Morely, Madge Evans. From a Play by George S. Kauffman and Edna Ferber; screen adaptation by Frances Marion and Herman J. Mankiewicz. Cinematography by Willliam H. Daniels. Black and White, 1 hour, 51 mins. MGM
Streaming on Prime
Billie Burke as Millicent Jordan, image from movie trailer
It’s 1933 in the pit of the Great Depression. New York socialite Millicent Jordan (Burke), whose husband Oliver (Lionel Barrymore) owns a fleet of ships, is planning to host a dinner party for the elite who’s who. She’s a dizzy sort, utterly unaware that Oliver’s company is nearly on the rocks, and that he is going around clutching his chest because he’s ill; or that her 19-year-old daughter Paula (Evans) is about to break her engagement to a clean-cut guy because she’s having an affair with Larry Renault (John Barrymore), a suicidal alcoholic and silent film actor whose star had fizzled when sound came in.
Among her invitees are Renault; Dan Packard (Beery), an underhanded wheeler-dealer who is secretly attempting a hostile takeover of Oliver’s company, and his tinselly, conniving, wife Kitty (Harlow); Oliver’s doctor (Lowe) and wife (Morely); and then there is Carlotta Vance, an aging stage doyenne and force of nature played by Dressler.
Marie Dressler, Photo by Clarence Bull
Carlotta is in straits too. But when she says, “I don’t have a sou,” she doesn’t mean that she can’t stay in a good hotel, or that she’s ready to pawn her minks; she means she’s a little low and has come to New York to sell part of her stock portfolio—her Jordan stock. Renault is broke, not because of the Depression, but because Hollywood has dumped him like an old hand-cranked camera. It’s the Depression as it affected the privileged. Hollywood portrayed the plight of the working class in movies like Wild Boys of the Road, Make Way for Tomorrow, and The Grapes of Wrath, but MGM was more willing to bet their bucks on the well-dressed and insouciant. Most of these characters are egotistical dunderheads.
The dunderhead-in-chief is Beery’s Perkins. He’s convinced that Roosevelt needs his help to “fix” the country and expects a cabinet position. In truth, he’d sell his mother to the Wobblies if they’d pay for the shipping. His wife Kitty snorts at the idea of moving to Washington. She’s already got enough souring her life in New York, bored with her cushy existence and an affair with Oliver’s doctor. But it’s a strong role for Harlow. According to Dressler, it was her performance in Dinner that proved her a “first-rate actress,” rather than a mere sex symbol. David Thomson has said that the only thing detracting from Harlow’s performance is her white costume, snuggled in a white bed in a white bedroom; however, I think it quite intentionally shows us the tedium of her lavish lifestyle.
Harlow and the amorous doctor
But it’s Lionel Barrymore’s film more than anyone else’s. Yes, Oliver Jordan’s fleet of ships is run aground, he’s broke, and suddenly so. (To economize, his wife is going to cancel her hairdresser). And he’s suffering from arterial thrombosis, could drop dead any moment. Yet, he remains calm. He cheers and assuages the others in all their dithers. If this were a real comedy, Jordan might be the Zeppo straight man, and escape notice. But this is a gentile satire, and the hierarchy is different. In fact, it’s one of Lionel’s best roles.
Lionel Barrymore, George Grantham Bain Collection
It is the simple act of him closing the dining room door at the movie’s end that gives the story a metaphorical pass to all the nonsense. All will be well, at least for tonight.
It’s also Dressler’s film (she actually had top billing) because her performance is at once magic and authentic, the attributes that made her MGM’s biggest box office draw. Beloved by audiences for her crusty roles in films like Min and Bill, Emma and Anna Christie, she had never played a character like this before: a distinguished and stylish woman with serious bling-bling, a Pekingese dog, and a thespian past as a leading lady. Cukor was uncertain about her in the role at first, saying, “she looked like a cook.” But he later decided she was “magnificent,” and “a law unto herself.”
She was ill from cancer, and Cukor allowed her to work only three hours a day, and had a couch placed just out of camera range for her to rest between takes. She had only two films to go before her death.
Just before they start dinner, Kitty tells Carlotta that she’d read a book.
“A book?” Carlotta says, astonished.
“Yes, it’s all about civilization or something….the guy said that machinery is going to take the place of every profession.”
Dressler looks her up and down. “Oh, my dear, that’s something you never need worry about.”
This was a popular movie in 1933, a time when movie ticket sales were falling off because of an economy in crisis. Maybe people then enjoyed seeing the privileged in a bit of trouble. Then again, movies were the great diversion of the age. ''I think people like to see glamour on the screen,'' Cukor told The New York Times. ''Louis B. Mayer believed that, and he was right. He built M-G-M on the idea that audiences want to look at lovely people.'' Whatever the case, the Library of Congress added Dinner at Eight to the National Registry of Films because it is, after all, a very good movie.
Other Notes:
Cinematographer William H. Daniels (1901-1970) was an acknowledged master, known as a cinematographer’s cinematographer, and Greta Garbo’s personal favorite. He shot more than 170 films.
Lionel and John Barrymore made five movies together. John had the profile, enormous power on screen, even startling at times, and a stage reputation as an unparalleled Hamlet. Lionel, however, had the greatest range (think of Detective Guerchard in Arsen Lupin (1932), Otto Kringelein in Grand Hotel (1932), Billy Bones in Treasure Island (1934), Mr. Potter in It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), and James Temple in Key Largo (1948), just to name a few, and the last two while confined to a wheelchair.
Sources and Further Exploration:
Blanchard, Walter, “Aces of the Camera: William H. Daniels ASC.” American Cinematographer, https://theasc.com/articles/aces-of-the-camera-william-daniels-asc .
Farber, Stephen, “Directing at 81, George Cukor Spans the History of the Talkies.” The New York Times, 10/4/1981.
Flint, Peter B., “George Cukor, 83, Film Director, Dies.” The New York Times, 1/26/1983.
Lee, Betty, Marie Dressler: The Unlikeliest Star. The University of Kentucky Press, 1997.
Sarris, Andrew, The American Cinema: Directors and Directions 1929-1968. New York: Da Capo Press, 1968.
Thomson, David. Have You Seen…? New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2008.
Thomson, David. The New Biographical Dictionary of Film. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2008.
All images are from public domain sources.
Text copyright 2024 by Steven Huff
Thanks for this. I enjoyed so many of these titles, but didn't pay attention to the force behind them.