Life with a Control Freak

I know. I had never seen this movie but was under the impression that it was some warm loveable family comedy. I guess it was, but watching it I kept thinking of the father: "What an ass!" The full title should have been "Life With Father . . . Was HELL!!!"

I know you can tell from the costumes, but this is from life over a century ago--the 1880s. Clarence Day wrote about his parents in a series of magazine articles which he then published in book form in 1920. At least that's the earliest copyright on the book I have--Life with Mother and Father. It encompasses three books: God and my Father, Life with Father and Life with Mother. Mother was wily and got around Father nicely in lots of ways, some of which are in the movie. I think you'll have more fun treating it as a stage play on film, just as the Marx Brothers movies were set from their stage routines. In that context I find Life with Father screamingly funny. As Clarence Day said: "These characters may or may not be Father and Mother. All I can say is that they are Father and Mother as I saw them." The way he describes them it seems that there were no hurt feelings or lack of respect between the two of them. They lived, as Day put it, without self-consciousness. I think they both had fun and gave as good as they got. I'm going to include just a bit of the first chapter to Life with Mother, just in case you are interested. If you like it, you may like the book. I dearly hope this film is restored soon.

MOTHER READS MY ARTICLE TO FATHER


There has been some discussion in the Day family, among its members and friends, of the things that I say about Father and Mother. One of their objections is that in several places I haven't been accurate. I have tried to be, but memories are sometimes inexact, and mine is no exception.

However, these pieces have been subjected to a great deal of scrutiny, helpful and otherwise, from members of the family who have sometimes remembered things differently. Cousin Julia for instance insists that Mother's musicales occurred in the evening, whereas I have described one as taking place in the late afternoon. I feel sure that in this case I am right, for we used to write each other long letters about family doings and these have given me contemporary accounts of the scenes I've described. Other scenes have come down through the years as family anecdotes. Since I was an actor in most of them they have remained dramatically printed on my mind. Besides, any memories of two such persons as Father and Mother are bound to be vivid.

The other family objection is that in printing these stories I have not been decently reticent. My feeling was that these two persons were so utterly themselves, so completely natural and true, that the only good way to tell about them was to paint them just as they were.

The first article I printed about them was written one night when I needed an extra paragraph for a column which I was occasionally writing, that year, for the literary supplement of the New York Evening Post.

On a visit to Father and Mother one summer I found that they had a new dog. He was leading a happy and interesting life with them, but a somewhat bewildered one too. I had made a note in my diary of the following instance:



My father is fond of dogs. Likes to train them. His method is this: He says to the new dog, "Good Jackie," or whatever the name is. The dog wags his tail. "Come here," says my father; "come here, boy." The dog looks at him doubtfully. My father, who hasn't a great deal of patience, raises his voice: "Come! Come here, sir!"

The dog grows alarmed and tries to get out.

My father advances upon him, repeating, "Come here!" with increasing annoyance and sternness.

"I wish you'd let Jackie alone," says my mother. "He doesn't know what you want of him."

"Pooh! Of course he does," declares my father. "He knows damn well. Come here, sir!" And he drags the new dog from under the sofa.

"Sit up," he instructs him. The dog is utterly limp. "Sit up. Come! Sit up." He shakes his finger at him. "Sit up, sir!"

"Oh, please don't," says my mother. "How can you expect the poor thing to sit up when he doesn't know a word that you're saying!"

"Will you let me alone?" shouts my father. "Sit up, sir! Sit up!"

My mother goes to the door. "I'll not stay here and see that dog frightened to death."

"Frighten!" my father says, testily. "What nonsense! I know dogs. They all like me."

The dog sees the door being opened and suddenly bolts.

My father grabs fiercely at him. In vain. "Confound it!" he says, in a passion. "Now see what you've done! You've spoiled my whole plan." He stamps.

"You could never--" my mother begins.

"I COULD!" roars my father. "But I can't do a thing if I'm interfered with. Where's that dog gone? JACKIE! Here, Jackie! Come here, sir!"



I copied this fragment out of my diary, tucked it in as a filler, and when it appeared I showed it to Mother.

"I remember that day," she said. "That's just the way he always treats dogs." She hurried off with the clipping to where Father was, in the library. "Here, Clare," she said triumphantly, "read this!"

Father read it in his usual slow, careful, methodical way, taking note of each word. He looked up at Mother with a smile of satisfaction and sympathy. "I hope you'll behave yourself after this," he chuckled, "that's just how you kept interfering with my training that dog."

LOLOL! I commented on another thread but I will say it again. I used to like this movie but the more I see it the less I like it. Vinnie was stupid-I hate the "pug dog, new suit" confusion. So annoying!

Life with (a Control Freak) indeed.



"I told you a million times not to talk to me when I'm doing my lashes"!