Why Change Your Wife? (1920) is a matrimony “comedy” by Cecil B. DeMille. There are two possible responses to a movie like Why Change Your Wife?: mockery and anger. I’ve never been much of a one for laughing at bad movies.

- Helen Geib, Commentary Track

So above goes the opinion of one gal. So here goes the beauty of the American condition: free to agree to disagree. I am thankful, however, that Ms. Geib chose the phrasing of possible responses, for many a critic will oft claim his view as gospel. Thank you, Helen, for leaving open this small crack in the patio door. Like a stray cat, or the Obama family, I shall take this wee opportunity, dash inside and have my way with the furniture until I am shooed from the premises.

Why Change your Wife? is a viable comedy: from Chaplinesque pratfalls to the classical, stage requirements of the theater. Why Change Your Wife? (1921 Famous Players-Lasky Corporation/Paramount Pictures Distribution), directed by Cecil B. DeMille and written by (in alphabetical order) Sada Cowan, William DeMille and Olga Printzlau, offers a glitzy, stocking-and-gartered, Old Hollywood-styled, silent-era film of the alpha relationship. Like a banshee from the turreted rooftops, this sex farce shrieks the foibles of men and women, husbands and wives, whilst whispering from those same turrets those of mother and child. Mother and son, to be more accurate; for, that is what lies at the foundation of this sociological flicker. Shakespearean in its storyline, Freudian in its subtext, this follow-up to DeMille's 1919 Don't Change Your Husband posits, and eventually answers, an common, albeit underlying and queasy quandary ... Do men want to marry their mothers? Though most prefer to build a Home Depot over all that and let it remain buried, there are as many responses to said-quandary as there are men, and mothers.

Synopsis: Robert and Beth Gordon (Thomas Meighan and Gloria Swanson) are married. Period. He heads to work, she stays home. He tries to shave each morning, she hogs the mirror. He likes fox trots, she prefers classical. He loves his dog, she sees walking disease. He likes to dance, she likes to read. He buys her lingerie, she finds it disgusting.

In a moment of concession, Beth tries on the new negligee, just hours earlier modeled in-store by a young nymph named Sally. Beth, unsure of how to rock such gear and Robert, clueless as to how to help her rock it, tries his best. Do you know, somehow in the shop, it looked - thinner. Brilliant, Bob. Brilliant. Still a sport, she tries to get in the mood with the same face and enthusiasm one gives while cleaning hair from a shower drain. Quelle surprise, she just can't do it. You expect me to share your Oriental ideas? Do you want your wife to lure you like a - a - Oh, why didn't you marry a Turk?

Robert should have known better. All of her puritanical tendencies are clearly evident; she wears thick glasses and her hair rolled up. Duh. Beth finds most every habit of Robert's vile: smoking, eating, drinking, dancing, lusting. At every turn she not only lets him know of her disapproval, but she takes the opportunity to educate him and change his boyish charms, certainly the dangerous charms which lured her to him originally. Robert, why will you play that awful, physical music? Try to cultivate your taste, dear! Enter sexy, jazzy Sally.

He likes Sally, Sally likes lingerie and knows exactly how to rock it. Sally likes smoking, jazz, dancing, parties, stockings, feathers, rhinestones, shoes with kitten heels and best of all booze! The outlook is clear and a million, as pilots say. Bob skeezes about with Sally, Beth smells Sally's lurid Persian Nights perfume on Bob one night, Beth files for divorce. Bob is okay with that and quickly weds Sally. Even the dog is happy, for a bit.

The day the divorce is final, Beth's Aunt Kate takes her shopping. Surely a new frock will heal her pain. In a scene right out of Cougartown and with mere curtains for dressing room partitions, the jazzy gals next door overhear Beth's woes, and she their analysis of said-woes. Feeling pity for her, they also conclude she may have brought it on herself, judging she just wouldn't play with her husband and dresses like his aunt, rather than his wife. A sting makes a mark and she realizes perhaps she has become a bit mumsy and let herself go. Nothing like than loosening the hair, losing the glasses and shimmying into some embroidered stockings and a backless, sleeveless, transparent and indecent number to let the world know how Beth got her groove back.

Thank goodness for coincidence, for soon Robert gets a gander of Beth and her smashing, previously unseen gams at a swanky resort. Beth bought the very bathing suit the dressing room gal had tried on that fateful day, recalling the sage words of the shop clerk: If a girl can wear a bathing suit like this - it's her duty to do so! Pity Sally doesn't look as good this day. In fact, as Beth lounges poolside in her scandalous suit and is wooed by a dozen dapper dandelions, Sally has become a drag and a plain old nag. Taken to correcting Bob's posture and manners in public, she doesn't even love his dog anymore. She's hogging the mirror now and, funny enough, the new Mrs. Gordon appears shorter, dumpier and duller than the shiny new ex-Mrs. G. Naturally, Robert notices all of this. The liberated ex and the man-toddler Robert, tired of his new toy, fall in love all over again.

:End Synopsis

Sally frets briefly at the resort breakup. Happily for her though, she spies a yummy new target and cries the battle charge that would do a Real Housewife proud: Remember the Alimony! Beth, for her part, now loves Bob's dog, digs jazz, shows off her junk, pours out the gin, presumably puts out and, like a good girl, probably hates books. She snaps in two her favourite, classical record and to the delight of all, she finally dons that Oriental negligee Robert bought her, pre-divorce, and they merrily direct the maid and valet to not only bring Beth's bed in from the other room, but, hold on to your bippies Rob and Laura Petrie, push those matrimonial beds together.

You may ask, where is the contemporary link here? How is this adaptable and humorous to vous? It's funny alright and it's relative. Just as Shakespeare's sex comedies are apropos today, so go the marriage farces of the silent era and the career girl-loves-slacker dude, Judd Apatow films of today. Plain old human nature; only the negligees and the music have changed. There's a lesson for everyone involved; there's also a realization for many. Some men need a mom for a wife and some men don't. Simple. If your goal is to dust them off and dress them up in a sailor outfit, they'll let you know pretty quickly if that's okay. If they already have a mom and want a wife, they'll let you know that, too. Some men need that structure and guidance; they'd be a train wreck without it. Others direct themselves nicely and need a partner to co-pilot with them. Of course, some want a co-pilot who'll simultaneously spoon-feed and navigate while they fly. Those are probably trickiest for the wife. The others are pretty cut-and-dry. I think the Mr. Gordons of the world may need the rare, gin-swilling mom in a sleeveless, backless, transparent, indecent number.

In the end, women, for it does appear men of the '20s had little to learn, are proffered advice that might be heeded by both husbands and wives. My proffering? Men, make your intentions clear; women, don't change your husband. Live by it, laugh at it or rail against it, it suits all well on some level.

"And now you know what every husband knows: that a man would rather have his wife for his sweetheart than any other woman: but Ladies: if you would be your husband's sweetheart, you simply must learn when to forget that you're his wife."

-Why Change Your Wife?  - final intertitle

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Wondering who the heck Cecil B. DeMille is? Did you read this and think, "I wasn't born in 1920" and therefore couldn't possibly know about people whom lived when everybody walked really fast in newsreels? (Pet peeve of mine, btw. You really can't know about anything or anyone whom existed before your birth year? I know about Mozart, John Dillinger and Edward the Confessor, but ... ) Anyhoo, if you're still bored at work, allow me to introduce you ...

Cecil B. DeMille, for those of you familiar enough with the name, yet unsure as to whether or not he's that dude in your algebraic topology class who always wears the Andy Capp hat and who constantly smells like weed, or if you think you've seen the name on the end credits of a Chuck episode, allow me to school you real quick.

Briefly, Mr. DeMille (professional spelling, as opposed to de Mille, which he used in his personal life), the son of a Columbia University professor and a girls' school headmistress, made seamless and timely transitions from theater and vaudeville in New York to the sunny climes and silent moving pictures of Hollywood and well into the era of the talkies, Technicolor and television. Earning a Best Picture Oscar in 1953 for The Greatest Show on Earth would be an achievement of note; yet, like Thomas Jefferson, who chose to omit "U.S. President" from his epitaph, Cecil Blount DeMille had more than enough to adorn his symbolic epitaph. Founding partner of Paramount Pictures, founder of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, member of the first Board of Directors for Bank of Italy (later to become Bank of America) and founder of Mercury Aviation, the first commercial airline to offer passenger service on a regular schedule, were all virtually accomplished before Yours Truly changed out of her jim-jams this morning.

Above all, DeMille was of that great hybrid: filmmakers, storytellers, auteurs, visionaries and businessmen. Like Shakespeare, Spielberg, Lucas, Edison (Thomas Edison, being one of the industry's first filmmakers: late-19thC.), Allen and Disney, DeMille knew how to tell a story, show a story, produce a story, monetize a story. In the glorious, if not always ethical, early days of Hollywood and its studio system, all but six of his seventy films turned a profit. Known for Biblical, historical and grand-scale productions, he cemented mainstays like Cleopatra, The Ten Commandments, Samson and Delilah, Reap the Wild Wind and The Warrens of Virginia firmly into the groundwork of west coast filmmaking. Unafraid of success and blissfully unashamed of his achievements (a characteristic curiously and frighteningly frowned-upon in this New World Order of 2011), DeMille, like so many a successful titan of any industry, understood the need to evolve and pioneer ahead into frontier territory. Imagine what he might have done in the era of Bill Gates, Google and Netflix.

Cheers, kittens! So, last Hallowe'en I claimed I would post no blog until I finished the fourth title in my Savannah of Williamsburg historical-fiction series. (Fifth title altogether, including The Darlings of Orange County)

Well ...ta dah!

Okay, 'tis a first draft; but, if you've penned any 400-page novels lately, you will appreciate the effort. Editing is in full-swing and I hope to have Savannah of Williamsburg: Washington, Wisdom and the West, Virginia 1754 in your curious little hands by Springtime. As my cheerleaders inspire me, "Go, monkey, go!"

Besides finishing my first draft, 'tis February and around here, Februārius means three things: my Viking's birthday and both con, and bikini, seasons begin in earnest (86 degrees today on the sand and WonderCon is high nigh). The earliest blooms of con season (comic book conventions) are beginning to bud. WonderCon (L.A. Convention Ctr. March 25 - 27, 2016) is just over a month away and the thirty-day mark sounds the costuming alarm.

Natch, by now my costume is decided - Marvel Comics' Agent Carter, the ABC/Hayley Atwell version - and all components have, mostly, been collected; but the one-month point is the time to double-check fittings, assess extra accessory needs and attend to such necessities as salon visits.  (One must have bouncy hair at a con!) To boot, I just realized, last night even, that Agent Carter, with her trademark red fedora and navy blue togs does not wear red heels ... she sports blue! Duh! Alarm! Alarm! So, I am now on the hunt for the perfect pair of true-vintage, Post-WWII, blue Mary Janes. I deserve them. I know my value.

Well then, if you've missed the feathery whippings of my espresso-tipped quill, like those above, fret not, kids. I feel the stirrings which move me to post regularly again and now I have the time, sans that which I should be using to edit Savannah IV. Conversely, though I can barely imagine, if you have not missed my musings and me, or just don't care for my style, it's a big Internet. Move along, Sir or Madam. You shan't hurt my feelings.

If you are a geek, and, don't kid yourself, you are if you've continued this far, follow me here and at GoodToBeAGeek.com where, every Con Season (WC & SDCC) I post all the geeky, gooey, con goodness you need, including fabulous costuming pix by my partner-in-crime and our own photographer and costume designer Dr. Lucy of Twisted Pair Photography and Sea Gypsy Designs.

Apropos to the continuation of con season, even if you don't follow my novels or regular posts, be certain to check back this summer for SDCC coverage, including Preview Night! (San Diego Comic-Con, S.D. Convention Ctr. July 21 - 24, 2016). BTW, for devoted readers, yes, I am writing another article for the Official SDCC Souvenir Book! This year's theme? 75 years of Archie Comics. My focus? Betty & Veronica, of course! Who's your fave Riverdale gal? LMK @JennyPopCom!

Abyssinia on the Con Floor, Kids!

JennyPop's other Official SDCC Souvenir Book articles on Peanuts, Tarzan, The Simpsons, Hellboy and Catwoman can be found ... here! Read them all or take your pick! Want to read past coverage of WC and SDCC? Just type WonderCon, SDCC or Comic-Con into the search bars at any of her sites!

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goodtobeageek.com (Where I write as Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame of The Del)

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Perchance online games like Zombie Pop or Candy Kill are befuddling to you. Why would someone spend any valuable time poking zombies or slashing gumdrops? Of course, when powdered wigs and the 18thC. come into play, why, that is clearly time well-spent! If one happens to be an historical-fiction novelist, it can even be classified as research. Yes. Research.

So, finally an app for us fashion/history/research dorks! Courtesy of London's Victoria and Albert Museum ... "Design a Wig" app! If you have fifteen minutes, play with it and amusez-vous bien! (If you do not have fifteen minutes for happy silliness, maybe rethink some priorities.)

Enjoy JennyPop's own digital creation: one I imagine our Miss Savannah of Williamsburg (during her Blackbeard-phase) would adore! Ta! Merry Christmas, all!

@JennyPopCom

Because I find this snapshot of Mary Pickford, washing her hair in a sink, quiet, relaxing and soothing. As comic-convention season approaches (WonderCon, San Diego Comic-Con and all the costuming, writing, socializing and cocktails that accompany this glorious time of the year), a nap in a Hilton sink may very well be in my future.

Happy Thursday, everyone!

Happy New Year to all! 2K15 portends to be as chock full of beachwalks, historical-scribblings, road trips, California wine, cosplay, comic conventions and all the general geeky goodness (at GoodToBeAGeek, of course!) as usual. What 2K15 does not hold, for Yours Truly anyhow, are resolutions. Setbacks and respites may occur, but forging ahead each day, approaching personal betterment and progress with the rise of every lapping tide is a lifestyle, not a temporary, guilt-driven, New year's Eve promise to oneself.

When I was wee, one of my first bookmarks was a homemade deal of Tiffany-blue construction paper, too much Elmer's glue and a Robert Crumb cartoon cut out of one of Mom and Dad's periodicals, probably MAD magazine: the iconic Keep on Truckin'. Five years old, maybe six, and I knew straight away that this was the way to live: mellow, groovy and carefree. Having a mellow, groovy, Norcal, psych-grad school father sporting corduroy, denim and suede desert boots certainly helped set a quiet, reflective and cheerful childhood. Sure later, after college, I would adopt the more Gothic and wary, Addams Family motto: Sic gorgiamos allos subjectactos nunc. Still, the mellow hippy chick is still deeply embedded under the Morticia guise. That would explain my penchant for VonZipper sunglasses and suede floppy hats mixed with Manson boots and jet beads.

For 2015, as for every year I can recall, French and German will always be my second- and third-languages; yet I will always strive to make them as obedient as my mother tongue, English. Writing and researching historical-fiction (Savannah of Williamsburg Series) will always be my metier; yet I will always endeavour to write more like Michener and Twain. Working out and keeping fit will always be second-nature for me; yet I will always fall short of my ideal and that will keep me, happily, working toward physical, and hopefully psychological, success.

As it pertains to conventions (not to mention fitness, so I can select any character to portray I like), cosplay will always be my sartorial love; yet I will always watch the other girls, along with my Con cohort and shutterbug Dr. Lucy, and together we will log new ideas in our noodles for better costumes, this year and beyond, at WonderCon, San Diego Comic-Con and on Hallowe'en: Mirana, the Mad Hatter, Maleficent, a steampunk Han Solo? Who knows?

The inimitable Benjamin Franklin pontificated, "Be at war with your voices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man."

Mom asserted, "There will always be someone prettier, taller, wealthier, more educated, more everything than you. That's true for everyone, even Princess Diana. Just be happy with yourself and do the best you can do."

Daddy advised, "Whether you're digging ditches or you're a hospital administrator, give it a hundred percent."

Miss Piggy claimed, "Moi's hair has natural curls. So does my tail."; but, more importantly, "Many people think money is something to be set aside for a rainy day. But honestly, how much money do you really need for a dozen or so hours of inclement weather?"

Well said, Piggy! Live large and keep on truckin', folks!

Hazel, Gladys, Dessie, Melvin, Ira and Edgar: all names most notably evoking an elderly relative, correct? What about Madison, Britney, Ashley, Declan, Wyatt and Cody? Too hip, too 2010s zeitgeist? Okay, then how about Nancy, Michele, Shannon, Gregory, Mark and Michael? Like it or not, the hipper your name, the surer its generational adhesion and popular decline; as you age, so will your chic and contempo cognomen. Did Mom & Dad name you in a trend? Enter your name into BabyNameWizard.com's Voyager to check; if you see a Matterhorn-spike, you're a trend, or at least were.

Apropos to Moi, a Jennifer, a recent article on Huffington Post highlights the Matterhorn-spike that was my name. It's my website, my name, so I get to write about me. Hello, Narcissus.

• Between 1965 and 1985, everyone named their daughter Jennifer, and now, no one does. So Jennifer was officially a Name Fad. What this means for all the Jennifers of the world is that while they've enjoyed spending most of their life so far with a cute, hip, young girl name, they are on their way to having a Your Mom's Friend's Name. A few decades after that, Jennifer can look forward to having an Old Lady Name, which happens when a name belongs to lots of old ladies, but no one under 75.

For you, gentle reader, the name Jennifer evokes whom? Aniston, Lawrence, Hudson, Garner, Saunders, Tilly, Grey, Jason Leigh, Devore? In fact, one of the very first, famous Jennifers was Queen Guinevere, the beauteous yet cuckolding wife of King Arthur. Legendary meanings of the pre-Jennifer sobriquets float from "white fairy" to "fair beauty" and "white ghost" (my fave). Today's more popular "Jennifer", a Franco-Norman derivation, finds its classic origins in the Celtic-Cornish language with "Gwenhwyfar"; this eventually morphed into Guinevere. Already considered old-fashioned and Mumsy by the dawn of the 20thC., the name Guinevere itself was dethroned and gave way in popularity to Jennifer, in the 1930s, and remained one of the top girl's names for the lion's share of the past century. Since then, we fair Gwennys have been riding high and happy the wave of Jennidom ... until now.

Fads ebb and flow, but your name is always yours. The test of how much you love your name, like your wedding ring? Do you still love it? Indeed, do you love it more so, as time goes by? Would you change it? Are you embarrassed by its passing fancy? Or, do you flaunt it proudly, happy to share it with the world, regardless of how thoroughly modern or ghetto-fabulous others' may be?

Yours Truly was almost Amy Clementine, Clemmy for short, Mom tells me. I also recall being pea-green with envy, at the age of five, of a school chum named Chandelier. Happily, like my curls,  I have grown into my name and would not change any of it for the world.

We Jennifers, according to HuffPo, are Your Mom's Friend. To boot, as everybody's Mom, Mother Nature, dictates, we will also be Old Ladies one day. Speaking pour Moi, I am my name and whether I am 8, 22, 37 or beyond, life is Camelot, minus the cuckolding, of course; and as the eternal white ghost, I plan to flit through my days, now and into infinitum with a Jennifer name plate on my Sadie Schwinn and Happy Birthday, Jennifer! painted on my cake with pink icing and pink roses.

Take note, Aubrey, Lindsay, Chelsea and Brooklynn with two Ns; be your name, embrace it and love it, no matter what they say when you hit 80. Not only will you be a Your Mom's Friend one day, you will also be an Old Lady. You, too, Ryder, Ryker, Kyler and Axel. Dig it and don't let the kids laugh at you when you're a professor emeritus at UC Santa Barbara or the oldest bartender in Dublin. See you one day in The Summerland, kittens!

Are you a #Jennifer? Share via @JennyPopCom