Red Dust

One of the defining traits of the studio era was that each of the major studios, and most of the minors, had a consistent house style. Warner Brothers was unafraid to rip from the seedy headlines, to get down and dirty, while 20^th Century Fox favored biographical films and large-scale musicals. Then there was MGM, the studio of immense budgets and even larger glamour. They weren’t exactly known for their raunchy, naughty Pre-Code gems like Warner Brothers or Columbia, yet they produced one of the best in Red Dust.

Filmed entirely on MGM’s back lots, Red Dust conjures up one of those exotic locales found only in the movies. A rubber plantation in an Indonesian jungle in which the air is filled with eroticism and the threat of danger at any moment. No wonder the characters are frequently covered in sweat, furtively trying to clean themselves off. Is the steam that hangs in the jungle air for the atmosphere, or is it from the carnal heat generated from the central love triangle?

Into the rubber plantation owned by Dennis Carson (Clark Gable) comes wayward hooker Vantine (Jean Harlow). Gable and Harlow, two sex symbols at the height of their erotic pull, make eyes at each other, and we know these aren’t chaste glances. In latter films like Wife vs. Secretary Harlow is practically maternal towards Gable, and in Saratoga their relationship is defined primarily by alternately sarcastic putdowns or flirtations. The romantic sparring and lust generated between them here was never better than it is here. And the film makes no bones (no pun intended) about Harlow's working girl's trade. Gable sticks a large wad of bills down her dress as payment for a night of pleasure, and in another Harlow offers to cut a deal of sex for shelter.

Gable and Harlow are technically our heroes for this film, but they’re also the types of rough-edged people that many Pre-Codes put in the spotlight. Gable’s Carson has no trouble threatening to hit Vantine, or getting rough with his men. After a night of mind-blowing sex, Carson kicks Vantine out of his room, and home. A boat accident, half-explained by a bit player, finds her returning to the plantation and Gable's bed. Then he thinks nothing of seducing his new employee’s wife (a brittle and icily sexy Mary Astor). Meanwhile, Harlow constantly talks tough, and pokes fun at Astor’s high-society woman, practically hissing out “duchess” as a demeaning nickname. They’re slightly awful people, but they’re fun to watch in their amorality.

But it’s not just the carnality on display, which is pretty brazen even by the permissive standards of the Pre-Code era, there’s a distinct hint of class warfare here. Carson’s lust for Astor’s society woman is partially attributed to his idolization of her wealth, breeding, and sophistication. He wants to possess her, and bring her down from the lofty pillar. Think of what Stanley did to Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire. Of course, some of it is also because Astor looks positively stunning in her rain soaked clothing, giving peak Harlow a run for her bombshell money.

Even better is the element of comedic farce present in Red Dust. Harlow is wandering into scenes and throwing out brassy one-liners. If anyone walks away with the movie, it’s her, but the three leads are all in fine form. Her performance here is iconic for the notes of sadness she brings to it, a wounded glance at Gable/Astor in embrace comes to mind, as well as the loopy sex appeal she trademarked. Her bath in a rain barrel scene is justifiably memorable, and her persistent needling of Gable really sells it. Later sex symbols took their position seriously, but Harlow had an eye-roll and tongue-in-cheek at the ready for the whole thing. This energy allows her best performances to bridge the gap between sex appeal and near ironic humor.

Director Victor Fleming keeps the entire thing propelling forward to its obviously violent climax. There was no way these characters weren’t going to collide into an explosive moment. It happens with Astor and a gun, after her nervous nature has reached its breaking point with the stalking tiger out in the jungle, and the stalking Gable in her bed. It scares her, while it practically has Harlow quivering in sexual anticipation, and Gene Raymond, Astor's hapless cuckold husband, can’t quite shoot it. No one said Pre-Codes were subtle, and that’s part of their lurid, trashy charm. 

There’s Gable looking incredibly arousing as the embodiment of arrogant masculine sexual energy, Harlow as a hooker with a heart of gold and unlimited reservoirs of sarcasm, and enough erotic energy to power the Playboy mansion for a century, what more do you need from a film? It could be junk in another group of film-makers hands, but it’s a classic example of Pre-Code cinemas pulpy, brash demeanor. This is possibly the most perfect example of what makes a Pre-Code film great, and why we keep returning to the era.