1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die

The Man in Grey (1943) **

2012-02-13T06:13:00.000-05:00

First off, please don’t tell me I’ve misspelled “grey”—as this is a British film, so the title will be spelled in proper English. Second, I am not surprised that you haven’t seen this—it’s rarely (if ever) shown on TCM and is unavailable on DVD in the USA. A friend hooked me up with an illegal viewing (names and places will be omitted in case the piracy police are on the prowl), so that’s how I came recently to see it. Lastly, you should find a way to see this, as it is so outrageously different from anything in early-1940s English-speaking cinema.

The Man in Grey (1943) is a Gainsborough Pictures melodrama starring James Mason as Lord Rohan (literally the man in grey) and Phyllis Calvert as Clarissa (AKA Lady Rohan). Ah, but they weren’t the real stars of the film, as Margaret Lockwood got top billing playing one of the most deplorable characters of her career—Hesther Barbary! Based on Lady Eleanor Smith’s 1942 novel of the same name, the film is set during Regency England (1811-1820) and tells the story of how a beautiful, ebullient woman has her life ruined by a callous husband and a calculating “best” friend. Quite simply, if I didn’t know the story was written by an Englishwoman, I would have thought it was French!

How can I describe this without telling you everything—thus ruining it (sort of) if you ever see it for yourself? Little known British director Leslie Arliss must have been given free reign to do whatever he liked with Margaret Kennedy and Doreen Montgomery’s adapted screenplay—that should tell you all you need to know: woman author + 2 woman screenwriters = wickedness gone wild (especially for 1943). In addition, it’s a costume melodrama, so the wardrobe and sets are somewhat gothic, which gives the film an almost otherworldly feel.

Calvert’s blonde Clarissa represents innocence and goodness; Lockwood’s brunette Hesther represents evil and sinfulness. They meet at Miss Patchett's school for young ladies, where Clarissa is beloved by all and Hesther is shunned by everyone but Clarissa. When they meet a gypsy fortune teller (Beatrice Varley) she sees bad things to come for the two girls. Obviously foreshadowing and foreboding are necessary elements of any good melodrama, so this is no surprise. What is a surprise is how these bad things happen and by whom.

Eventually, Hesther runs off and elopes with a local soldier and Clarissa meets and marries the man in grey, Lord Rohan. To say that he his less than doting would be an understatement. When asked why he married her, Rohan says Clarissa was pretty, healthy and able to produce an heir. James Mason is beyond brooding as Rohan, and, I must say, every bit the S.O.B. He lives by his family crest, which reads “He who dishonors us dies.” Hence, he enjoys duels. He also enjoys bad women, so when Clarissa brings the recently widowed Hesther into their home he finds her to his liking. Hesther’s been through some hard times and has turned into quite the opportunist since her school days. She wants everything that Clarissa has and she has no qualms about getting what she wants. I can’t recall Lockwood ever playing such an out-and-out bitch. She makes you hate Hesther—there is nothing, and I mean nothing, redeeming whatsoever about her.

Yet, don’t feel too sorry for Clarissa. Once she produces a son (which she and we never see) Rohan lets her do whatever she likes as long as it doesn’t dishonor his name. Also, for some reason, she is completely oblivious to the fact that her husband and best friend are carrying on a torrid affair—though I doubt she would have cared anyway, but it would have made her less likely to trust Hesther’s advice in her own illicit affair. Yes, Clarissa must have been attracted to no-good men, because she falls for another rogue in Rokeby (Stewart Granger). And, this sets up two very shocking events, both of which Hesther plays a crucial role. I won’t say what happens, but you will be both repulsed and outraged.

There are a few things that make this film standout (some good, some just bizarre). The affair between Rohan and Hesther is brazenly presented for our eyes. One scene has her leaving Rohan’s bedroom in the middle of the night and creeping back to her own. Just so many amoral characters running about in 1943 England when the Brits are trying to win WWII just seems wrong, but this is the only good thing about the film.

Another thing that stood out for me was Clarissa’s slave boy Toby, played by Harry Scott. Okay, please don’t get upset about what I’m about to say, but what the hell! If you have seen this, please explain to me whether Harry Scott was black or if he was a white child in blackface. When I checked on IMBD he only had one film credit and there is no information listed about him. I know it sounds strange, but every scene he was in I couldn’t take my eyes off him (and not because his performance was great because it surely was not), because I was so shocked. They couldn’t find a black child somewhere in England to play this part? The things I find fascinating!

Okay, so what’s the final assessment? The Man in Grey is an average movie with an above-average cast. The final ten minutes of the film are what makes it memorable. Once you see how far Hesther will go to get what she wants you will never forget it—nor what she gets in return for her loathsome behavior. If you are interested, email me and I will inform you where you can procure a viewing.

Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard

2012-02-12T02:47:00.001-05:00

While The Bodyguard (1992) may not be the greatest film ever, it is a favorite of mine. My brother and I were still teenagers when we went to see this when it first came out. I was just blown away by the songs—more so by how she sung them. From the very first song to the last and most memorable, “I Will Always Love You”, I was enthralled. After the movie we went directly to an all-night store where I purchased the soundtrack. I learned every song by the next day and was singing the songs to whomever would listen. My friends and family can attest that I have a pretty good voice—of course, I could never compare to Whitney—and I just loved singing those powerful songs. Soon, anytime I heard someone say they were going to see the movie I tagged along--I wanted to be Rachel Marron (sans the crazy sister).

Once the film came out on VHS (no DVDs yet) I bought it and watched it over and over again. I made countless men sit through it and it became a favorite at various female bonding events. When it made its way to cable, I watched it every time I came upon it—even knowing I owned a copy of my own.

This was Whitney at the height of her career. Soon after the film came out she married that S.O.B. Bobby Brown and her life slowly went to crap. As such, the film (but mostly the soundtrack) stands as a testament to Whitney’s greatness. If only Whitney was allowed to be who she truly was and not have been pushed into a marriage with such a lowlife. Alas, this is one of the main reasons The Bodyguard is such an important film to me.

The Reckless Moment (1949) **

2012-02-06T14:10:00.000-05:00

Who knew a 1949 film starring James Mason and Joan Bennett would be so obscure? It took me years to finally see this, and this would not have happened if TCM hadn’t finally premiered it this past January. TCM has been on the air for almost thirty years, you would think The Reckless Moment might have found its way to the airwaves before now. Yet, sometimes there are reasons a film doesn’t show up on TCM very often: it’s not popular, contract rights, lost prints, etc. Or, in the case of this film, it’s just not that good and not many people are clamoring to see it. I suppose if the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book hadn’t listed it in its first edition many people wouldn’t have requested that TCM show it. Ah, so much anticipation but so much disappointment—it reminds me of my first (and only) encounter with caviar. For years I’d seen rich people on TV and in movies praise the glory of this delicacy, so imagine my disappointment when I tasted what amounted to salty Pop Rocks (without the sugar) in my mouth at a college luncheon. How can you tactfully spit out such swill when you are surrounded by inquisitive academics who have a really bad habit of invading your personal space? Perhaps my experience with The Reckless Moment wasn’t as bad as the one with caviar, but it was such a letdown.

The great Max Ophuls only directed four Hollywood films: The Exile (1947), Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948), Caught (1949), and this less than stellar endeavor. Of the four, only Letter from an Unknown Woman showcases his true brilliance. Many critics would disagree with my assessment of The Reckless Moment, as one has went so far as to call it a masterpiece on par with Ophuls’ French marvels The Earrings of Madame de…(1953), Lola Montes (1955), and La Ronde (1950). I can’t bring myself to say this for many reasons—the most important being I can’t decide what type of film it is. Is it a film noir or a melodrama? Personally, it feels like a combination of both, and I don’t like to mix oil and water together.

Joan Bennett plays Lucia Harper, mother of two and fixer of all. When her incessantly annoying teenage daughter Bea (Geraldine Brooks) gets involved with an unsavory older man named Darby (Shepperd Strudwick), she pays the man a visit and threatens him. After an unfortunate accident involving her daughter, in which Darby falls from the Harper’s pier and unto an anchor, Lucia must drag the body out to sea and dispose of it. Not long after this unusual chore, a very calm Irish thug named Martin Donnelly (James Mason) shows up and demands $5,000 for some letters Bea wrote to Darby.

Donnelly’s interactions with the entire Harper family can only be described as bizarre. I think this is what I most dislike about the film. There are few would-be movie gangsters that I recall being polite and friendly to those from whom they are extorting money. He gives horseracing tips to the father-in-law (Henry O’Neill) and helps Lucia’s son (David Bair)fix something on his car. Oh, and then there is his quick infatuation with Lucia herself. Mind you, an infatuation he knows can’t go anywhere since she thinks he’s scum. Perhaps it was the short running time (a brisk 82 minutes) or the Hollywood constraints Ophuls found himself working under, but I couldn’t believe the sacrifices that Donnelly makes for Lucia. While unfulfilled love is a consistent Ophuls’ theme, it does not work here.

The acting is not the issue, as both Mason and Bennett give good performances. He is quietly menacing and she is confidently controlled. Mason comes off as his usually does—as though he isn’t trying. To me, Bennett’s character is the more interesting of the two. No matter what comes her way, Lucia always seems to steady herself and continue on with a cigarette in one hand and a plan in the other. Thrown into a world so unlike her own she never seems to change—it’s perfectly natural that a blackmailer is in her living room and that her father-in-law wants to invite him to dinner. Perhaps if Ophuls had had more time to develop the story, or if the writers had written a better adaptation of Elizabeth Sanxay Holding’s “The Blank Wall”, Bennett’s strange performance could have saved this picture. Who knows?

One thing, on a sort of side note, that we do know is that Bennett would personally find herself in a somewhat similar situation in 1951 when her husband, Walter Wanger (who produced this film), shot Bennett’s agent, Jennings Lang, because he was having an affair with Bennett. Wanger’s sensational attempted-murder trial rocked Hollywood. Wanger pleaded temporary insanity (the crime of passion defense) and served four months. Oddly enough, Bennett and Wanger remained married until 1965. It is said that the clandestine meetings between Bennett and Lang were an inspiration for Billy Wilder’s The Apartment (1960). The event effectively ended Bennett’s film career, she would only make a handful of movies following the incident.

Four Lions (2010) **1/2

2012-01-31T01:28:00.001-05:00

It is difficult to believe that Four Lions (2010) is director Christopher Morris’ first feature film, because it is steady and focused. Morris is primarily known in England for his work on the mock news program The Day Today (1994), where he wrote and read some of the funniest news ever to cross the airwaves of the BBC. If you’re an American and you haven’t heard of this film don’t feel like you’ve been living under a rock. You see, this is a rather controversial film—a satirical comedy about homegrown British jihadists. It was difficult enough to get Channel 4 or the BBC to get behind the project (eventually Film 4 Productions and Warp Films came on board), it was even more difficult to find a U.S. distributor—it took nine months, and even then it found a VERY limited release. Why?

The movie is about five young Muslim men who become determined to commit jihad on their homeland—England. Never were there five men on earth less suited for such an endeavor. The leader of the group, Omar (Riz Ahmed), is a husband and father who tells his son jihad bedtime stories with Simba from The Lion King starring as the martyr. He aligns himself with four of the biggest losers ever: Waj (Kayvan Novak), a half-wit who takes his cell phone to a jihad training camp; Faisal (Adeel Akhtar), a man who tries to train crows to carry bombs; Barry (Nigel Lindsay), a white convert who thinks that if you swallow your SIM card your cell phone can’t be tracked; and, Hassan (Arsher Ali), a would-be rapper of jihad. Basically, they are the Five Stooges of Jihad.

I’m sure there are many people who think it’s not okay to make a satirical film about jihad—and, that’s their right—but I think that if you can make a TV show like Hogan’s Heroes or a film like or To Be or Not to Be then you can make a film like this. It’s irreverent, topical, and hilarious. Omar has the perfect family—a beautiful wife (Preeya Kalidas) and an adoring son—and is gainfully employed. Yet, he is a also a critic of Western society—the same man who tell his son the Simba jihad bedtime story and allows his wife to work in a hospital. It doesn’t fit. Then, you have Hassan, a university student who devises his jihad video to include this rap: “I'm the Mujahedeen and I'm making a scene / Now you's gonna feel what the boom-boom means / It's like Tupac said, "When I die, I'm not dead"/ We are the martyrs, you're just smashed tomatoes / Allah Akbar!” How serious can this man be? But the worst has to be Barry—a man so insanely wrong about everything that he says things like, “You can't win an argument just by being right.” This is the same man who tells his co-conspirators that if they shake their heads from side-to-side quickly that surveillance cameras won’t be able to capture their images. This is the man who wants to be the leader?

Shot in an almost documentary style, the film reminds me of This Is Spinal Tap (1984) or Borat (2007), but it’s not a mockumentary but a satirical commentary about one of England’s closest held fears—homegrown jihadists doing things like the 7/7 London bombings. While this film came out five years after that horrific day, its topic is still a sore spot for many in the nation. I wonder what some people felt when they watched the final sequences of this movie, where the four surviving men (or the four lions) dress up in costumes (Teenage Mutant Turtle, Honey Monster, an Ostrich that looks like it has a giant penis, and a really idiotic Clown) and attempt to blow-up the London marathon. Could this really happen? Surely idiots like these would be detected before it got that far…

There is no doubt that the movie is funny. It might make some people uncomfortable to watch it, let alone laugh at it, but I think it is worth a look. In the words of Will Durst, “Comedy is defiance. It's a snort of contempt in the face of fear and anxiety. And it's the laughter that allows hope to creep back on the inhale.”

The Grapes of Wrath (1940) **1/2

2012-01-30T06:00:00.000-05:00

You don’t get more of a Depression-era film than director John Ford’s The Grapes of Wrath (1940). Based on John Steinbeck’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel of the same name, the story follows the displaced Joad family from the Dust Bowl of Oklahoma to the sunny orchards of California. Darryl Zanuck took a chance when he bought the film rights for 20th Century Fox, but in the end it paid off with seven Oscar nominations—two of which earned Oscars for Best Director John Ford and Best Supporting Actress Jane Darwell. While it isn’t surprising that the film was nominated for Best Picture; it is a tad shocking that renowned cinematographer Gregg Toland’s striking images were overlooked by the Academy. You see, the story is gripping and the acting is mesmerizing, but the visuals are what make this film a treasure.

When I read Steinbeck’s 600+ page novel in college I found myself admiring preacher Casy (John Carradine) and rooting for poor Rose-of-Sharon (Dorris Bowden). I also didn’t really like Tom Joad (Henry Fonda) and I could have done without the intercalary chapters. Thankfully, the intercalary sections were left out of the film and what remains is a story that rips your heart out, chops it up, and then feeds it to the pigs. Here you have a poor Oklahoma family thrown off the land their family has worked for generations by both mechanization and the banks. No one seems to care that they have nothing but an old rickety truck loaded to the brim with a few pieces of furniture and articles of clothing. They search out a new life in California, only to find that they are not needed or wanted. Along the way they meet mostly scorn and mistreatment (mostly by land owners and law enforcement), but they do meet a few compassionate people. The most memorable being the diner waitress who sells two peppermint sticks to the children for a penny, when they really cost a dime.

While red-baiting was taking a coffee break in 1940 America, it was still risky to include Steinbeck’s rather socialistic themes. In one memorable scene Tom asks, “What is these 'Reds' anyway? Every time ya turn around, somebody callin' somebody else a Red. What is these 'Reds' anyway?” Steinbeck, and even Ford to a degree, are making the point that anyone who asks to be treated like a human being and be paid a fair wage is viewed as a “red” agitator.

Henry Fonda does a good job of conveying Tom Joad’s underlying seething rage. Rewarded with a Best Actor nomination by the Academy, Fonda plays the embittered Tom as a man who could (and often does) explode at any moment. You can see the resentment Tom feels in the way Fonda moves, looks, and delivers his lines.

In addition to Fonda’s fine acting, Jane Darwell delivers the performance of her life as Ma Joad. It is the simple and quiet way that she goes about building her character into the backbone of the Joad family that I think most people admire. It would have been easy to play up the stereotypical hysterical hillbilly matriarch that some actresses went for, but Darwell is calm, resigned, and resilient in her role.

The other standout performance is John Carradine’s (one of Ford’s favorite character actors) as Casy. He adds an almost spiritual element to the film—and not because his character is a fallen preacher, either. He just seems to have a very reverent screen presence, and he delivers his lines in a prayer-like fashion. Casy was my favorite character in the book, and while he doesn’t get as much screen time as one might like, I think Carradine uses what time he gets to make his Casy one of the most memorable things about the film.

While Carradine’s Casy is memorable, it is Gregg Toland’s cinematography that steals the entire production. Employing the purity of black and white film, Toland used wide-angle lenses to capture the parched desolation of the Oklahoma plains and the deserted isolation of the desert. How small is man compared to such images? When dealing with capturing the human element, Toland used deep focus so savagely that you feel uncomfortable looking at the ragged and malnourished people he sets his sights on. He also uses shadows in a very clever way to literally illustrate when someone has something hanging over their head or breathing down their neck. His images are stark, realistic, and uncomfortable—just what the film and the book were trying to convey about the plight of the Joads and thousands others like them.

Now, some might be disappointed that I haven’t discussed the biblical references in the film. It’s there—Casy’s murder is like the crucifixion of Christ and the whole trip is like Exodus—but I find this element severally lacking from that of the book (much was cut), so I don’t find it to be that important. What I think makes The Grapes of Wrath an enduring picture is the stunning photography and the nuanced presentation of one of the best examples of Americana during the Great Depression.

A Night at the Opera (1935) **

2012-01-25T02:01:00.001-05:00

(This is my contribution to the CMBA’s Comedy Classics Blogathon. Please visit http://clamba.blogspot.com/ for more great comedy classic articles.)

Imagine if you will a world in which a nation finds itself weighed down by hard economic times—a world where a select few have much and the majority of people struggle to make ends meet. In this type of world the masses need something or someone to make things seem less dark and hopeless. In 1935 the world was a dark place for many Americans. The Great Depression saw unemployment and homelessness ascend and people’s spirits and dreams descend into despair. Most people didn’t go to the movies to be reminded that their lives were filled with worry and uncertainty. No, they went to films to escape—at least for a few short hours—from the unpleasant times in which they lived. Just that one simple act of sitting side-by-side in a darkened theater with people just like themselves and laughing at the absurdity of it all—the jokes, the actors, and the world itself—what a release it must have been! That is what the Marx Brothers brought to the American people—comic relief from a very unfunny world.

The Marx Brothers made thirteen films (really fourteen, but Humor Risk [1921] doesn’t count, as it was never released); A Night at the Opera (1935) was their sixth film and their first for MGM. They, like the American people, had suffered some setbacks. Their previous film, Duck Soup (1933), had not fared well at the box office or with the critics; thus, effectively ending their working relationship with Paramount. While the world might have seemed insane to most people, they didn’t want to go to movies where nothing made sense. Irving Thalberg knew this, and so when he took the brothers on at MGM he proposed that they remain as insane as they already were but that there be an actual plot that ran the insane asylum. What emerged was what most critics consider to be the Marx Brothers best film.
While they no longer carried the keys to the asylum, the Marx Brothers still got Thalberg to allow them to choose their writers, George S. Kaufman and Morrie Ryskind, and to showcase their individual talents. Groucho still got to deliver his quick one-liners. Chico still played the wily ethnic, as well as the piano. And, Harpo was still a silent, childlike figure who could play the harp like an angel and leer at women like a pervert. Yes, Zeppo was gone, but while his good looks would sorely me missed, the brothers no longer needed him to play the straight man as they now had the ultimate straight man—an actual story plot!

By all accounts, the Marx Brothers were viewed as over-the-top, absurd characters. Well, what better world to place them in than the world of opera? And, not just any opera, but Verdi’s Il Travatore—one of the most ridiculous (and revered) operas ever. In the words of NPR, “opera has always been easy fodder for jokes. Even the greatest of operas often seem to teeter on some weird edge between the profound and the preposterous.” What a perfect setting for a group of men who took great pride in being profanely outrageous. That is what A Night at the Opera is.
There are three things that are profanely outrageous about this film: 1) People are starving to death in America, but Mrs. Claypool (Margaret Dumont) is willing to pay $200,000 to the New York Opera Company if it gets her name into society. 2) The reputation and arrogance of tenor Rodolpho (Walter Wolf King) is more respected than the talent and industriousness of tenor Riccardo (Allan Jones). 3) And, everything else. That’s right, everything else.

While the story is held together by the love story of tenor Rodolpho and soprano Rosa (Kitty Carlisle), the film is really nothing more than a cornucopia of Marx Brothers’ gags wrapped in the guise of a romantic musical comedy. The plot, which they somewhat abide by, is what allows them to do what they do best—run anarchically amok. Three things stand out in this regard.
First, you have the famous stateroom scene where Groucho’s character, Otis P. Driftwood, finds himself sardined into a very small room with three stowaways: Riccardo, Tomasso (Harpo), and Fiorello (Chico). The plot says that the stowaways are in the tight space because they can’t afford tickets and because Riccardo can’t be separated from Rosa. The reality is that the Marx Brothers (with the help of Buster Keaton) saw an opportunity to pack as many people as humanly possible into that small space under the pretext that all fifteen people who eventually end up in it are there for a perfectly reasonable reason.

The second example is the bed-switching skit in Groucho’s hotel. Again, Groucho finds himself playing host to the three stowaways, but now they are illegal immigrants wanted by the police. When Detective Henderson (Robert Emmet O’Connor) comes looking for them and sees three cots in Groucho’s hotel he knows something isn’t right. What ensues is a ridiculous ruse in which Henderson is used as a human carousel to seamlessly transfer an entire bedroom to another room without him knowing. By the end of the ruse the poor detective is thoroughly convinced that he is in an entirely separate room.

The last example, of course, is the final sequence, where Harpo and Chico find themselves in the most unlikely situations: playing catch in the orchestra; playing gypsies in the chorus; and, finally as (for Harpo at least) rope pullers and set changers for the scene backdrops. The fact that the show would go on when so much chaos is so obviously taking place before the audience’s own eyes is beyond profanely outrageous.

I have always thought of the finale as a reflection on America’s upper class citizens in the 1930s—the whole world is obviously on fire, yet they sit passively by and don’t even attempt to throw a glass of water on it! Perhaps I’m a bit subversive in this thinking, but I wouldn’t put it past the Marx Brothers. Maybe this was their small glass of water to an American public thirsting for a bright and hopeful future.

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) **1/2

2012-01-24T14:12:00.000-05:00

I know I am supposed to say Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) is a screwball comedy, but I just can’t do it! Yes, it has many funny moments in it and the main character is a tad screwy, but I can’t put it in the same category as Bringing Up Baby (1938), The Lady Eve (1941), or The Awful Truth (1937). Plus, being a Frank Capra directed film it has a bit of a dark underside to it—and I don’t mean dark humor. I would actually categorize it as a dramedy, as the first half of the film is mostly comedy and the second half mostly drama (with a few choice comical moments pixielated in). Whatever you label it, Mr. Deeds is a film anchored by understated, good acting and a strong story about the value of honesty and goodness in a corrupt world.

A standard theme in Capra films, the idea of the simple everyman exposing the falseness of overindulged city slickers, is a crucial element in this film. Gary Cooper plays Longfellow Deeds, a country gentleman from Mandrake Falls, Vermont, who inherits $20 million from an overindulgent uncle from New York City. Deeds is a poet who loves nature and plays the tuba, and is often mistaken for a country yokel because of his naiveté and plainspoken ways. He looks like an easy mark to one of his uncle’s shady lawyers, Mr. Cedar (Douglas Dumbrille), but Deeds knows (and says) that working for nothing isn’t natural and so he instantly doesn’t trust Cedar. Transplanted to New York City, Deeds finds himself surrounded by many people he doesn’t trust—or worse, who think they are better than him because they are cosmopolitan. His best friends turn out to be his valet, Walter (Raymond Walburn), and his fixer, Corny Cobb (Lionel Stander)—both of which happen to be working class stiffs.

An idealist in every sense, Deeds finds himself instantly attracted to a woman who faints outside his mansion one rainy night. Thinking he has rescued a damsel in distress, Deeds believes he has found his dream woman in stenographer Mary Dawson (Jean Arthur). What he doesn’t know is Mary isn’t a stenographer, but a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter for The Morning Mail named Babe Bennett. She labels him the Cinderella Man and opens him up to the ridicule of the entire city. Eventually Babe falls in love with her “assignment” and starts to regret what she has done, but before she can come clean with Deeds the truth comes out. At this point the film’s mood totally changes, and I don’t know that I agree with how abrupt the shift is.

If you have seen the film then you remember the gun-wielding, displaced farmer (John Wray), who convinces Deeds he should give away his $20 million to those who need it. Up until this point there hasn’t been any meaningful reference to the Depression or the downtrodden (except for the fainting Mary). So, when a man bursts into Deed’s mansion and aims a gun at him and goes off on a tirade about feeding doughnuts to horses and having lavish parties, it is completely jarring. Yes, I know it was a plot device to move the story along to the whole insanity hearing part of the film, but I think some earlier ground-laying of this theme would have been useful. If I have one nit-pick with the movie it is this…oh, and that hideous Robin Hood feather in her cap hat that Arthur wears in one scene—Samuel Lange, you had a short career for a reason!

Both Cooper and Arthur give understated performances in Mr. Deeds. Cooper (nominated for a Best Actor Oscar) always played the geez, smarter than you think country bumpkin well, and his Deeds is no exception. His slack-jawed line delivery and easy-going physical mannerisms play well for Deed’s personality. Some might say that Cooper lacked acting range, but they would also have to admit that he owned his own style and it worked (none better than in his role as Clint Maroon in Saratoga Trunk [1945]). Arthur, for her part, is not, as she is often described, the “quintessential comedic leading lady.” She’s not that funny in this film because this isn’t a screwball comedy! As a matter of fact, besides a few good one liners and a couple of comical sideway looks, her role mostly consists of her being depressed by her bad behavior or being anxious over the possibility of Deeds being institutionalized. Am I the only one who notices this? Still, I always like Arthur—she is just so likable, even when she’s playing a liar.

Overall, Mr. Deed Goes to Town is an enjoyable dramedy. Nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, this is a typical Frank Capra Depression-Era vehicle. I don’t subscribe to the school of film critics who refer to this period of his work as Capra-corn. Instead, like many others, I believe people went to films like Mr. Deeds because they were inspirational and uplifting. In the end, that is exactly what this movie turns out to be.

Two Dames Dishing January

2012-01-20T23:27:00.001-05:00

Welcome to the fifth installment in a series of question and answer posts featuring those two smart dames: Kim of "1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die” (http://www.1001moviesblog.blogspot.com/) and Becky of "ClassicBecky's Brain Food" (http://www.classicbeckybrainfood.blogspot.com/). For an archive of past posts click on the sidebar link.

Kim: TCM’s star of the month is none other than Angela Lansbury! Becky and I decided to pick our favorite performance of this amazing actress. She’s 86 years young and still going strong. I think she was eighteen when she made her big screen debut in Gaslight (1944). She and Mickey Rooney are the only real old-time Hollywood people I can think of who are still active in the industry. I’m sure there are more, but those two stick out to me.

If I had to pick just one I would have to say her role in The Manchurian Candidate (1962). Her Eleanor Shaw Iselin is one of the creepiest film mothers ever. She beats Mrs. Bates by a mile—as she was actually alive when she tormented her son. Sure, Eleanor says to her son Raymond, “I'm your mother. You know that I want nothing for myself. You know that my whole life has been devoted to helping you.” But, does she really mean it? Perhaps somewhere in her twisted mind she does, but when you prompt your son into killing people by saying, “Why don't you pass the time by playing a little solitaire?” that’s a bit much, especially when she has him kill the woman he loves (Leslie Parrish) and her father (John McGiver) to further her plans.

Oh, I forgot her plans! In addition, to being the worst mother ever, she is also a communist agent trying to take over the U.S. government. Her Eleanor feeds all of the Cold War hysteria about communists trying to infiltrate the highest reaches of American power. Her manipulations of both her would-be president husband (James Gregory) and brainwashed assassin son (Laurence Harvey) could fill volumes of psychological textbooks. Classic line to her husband: “I keep telling you not to think! You're very, very good at a great many things, but thinking, hon', just simply isn't one of them.” Oh, what a wife! She does all the thinking in the Iselin family.

I also find it fascinating that Lansbury could pull off playing Laurence Harvey’s mum when she was less than three years older than him—only in Hollywood! Perhaps that’s why this film has some strange Oedipal feel to it—especially with that strange kiss she gives Raymond on the lips. Creepy obviously pays, though, because Lansbury did earn a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination and she won a Golden Globe for the role.

Becky: I‘d pick Lansbury’s performance as Mavis Pruitt, a small-town beautician in love with a married man, in The Dark At The Top Of The Stairs (1960). She was very good in this role.

Kim: We would be interested to know your favorite Angela Lansbury movies or television shows. Which would you pick?

The King’s Speech (2010) ****

2012-01-19T04:11:00.001-05:00

One of the best films I’ve seen in years. Everything is stellar about this 2010 Academy Award winner for Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Director, and Best Original Screenplay. The acting is courageously superb; the costumes are spot-on; and, the story is inspiring. There was nothing I didn’t like about this film (sans the fact that Helena Bonham Carter wasn’t in it more). Watching director Tom Hooper’s masterpiece was a highly enjoyable experience—something that is sorely missing in most movies today.

Director Tom Hooper tells the true story of how an Australian commoner helped King George VI (Oscar-winner Colin Firth) of England manage his stammer. From the start of the film we see how truly debilitating this stammer is, as the then Duke of York, Prince Albert (AKA Bertie), struggles through a speech at Wembley Stadium. Overcome with feelings of helplessness for her husband, the Duchess of York, Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter), locates highly recommended speech therapist Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) and asks him to treat the prince. What ensues is an unlikely story of friendship and courage.

I suppose what I liked most about the movie is that it wasn’t about some miracle cure that freed the king of his ailment. Instead, it was a story about why the king stammered and how he learned to manage it. Through his dealings with his overbearing father, King George V (Michael Gambon), and his selfish brother, King Edward VIII (Guy Pearce), we see why Bertie stammered. Bullied and made fun of by his own royal family (and even mistreated by a nanny!) because of his stammer, Bertie had issues of self-confidence, which only intensified the stammering. The idea of having to give a speech or a radio address terrified him. That is why he put up with Lionel’s total disregard for royal etiquette and protocol. I think Firth does an excellent job not only with the stammering vocalizations the role calls for, but also with exhibiting the inner turmoil and frustration that the king has. There is a truly terrified look in his eyes at times. The facial constraint alone must have been exhausting.

Both Helena Bonham Carter and Geoffrey Rush earned Best Supporting Acting nominations for their roles. Carter is a subdued but plucky Duchess of York. I usually enjoy her in just about everything, so I was not surprised to hear her very precise English diction or to see her refined regal posture. Oh, and the look she gives to Wallis Simpson (Eve Best) upon their meeting at Balmoral Castle is priceless. Much like Carter does, Rush makes his performance seem effortless, though it is anything but that. His Lionel can be confident and irreverent one minute and in the next be timid and respectful. I think he and Firth play very well off one another, and the friendship that develops between the two men seems palpable.

While the entire film is stellar, there is one scene that is better than the rest. Since the film is called The King’s Speech it should come as no surprise that the pinnacle of the film is when the king gives his September 3, 1939, speech asking the British people to stand united with him against Nazism. Showing any sign of weakness is not an option when a nation is at war, and so the king must appear strong and steady. The staging of the delivery of the speech is masterfully done. Set to the second movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, Lionel comes off as the conductor and the king as the instrument of the British people. Watching the king use the techniques he has learned from Lionel while giving the speech of a lifetime is inspiring and a little hair-raising as well.

Now, as a historian I must caution that there are some historical inaccuracies, but nothing that was so egregious that I couldn’t enjoy the film. Still, please know that they portray Churchill in a much more positive light than he deserves, and even the king was not without fault when it came to dealing with the Nazis. Consult your history books for a more accurate representation of this period.

I Know Where I’m Going (1945) **

2012-01-16T11:54:00.001-05:00

The Archers, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, collaborated on eighteen films over a thirty year period (1939-72). While their first true “Archer” production (where they share writing, directing and producing credit) didn’t come until 1943 with The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, they had previously worked on four films together. Usually, it was Powell who did the bulk of the directing and Pressburger who came up with the story ideas and handled most of the production chores (especially when it came to editing and music incorporation). Some of their endeavors are quite memorable, like Black Narcissus (1947) and The Red Shoes (1948), while others are easily forgotten, such as The Battle of the River Plate (1956) and Ill Met By Moonlight (1957). Somewhere in-between their masterpieces and their flops is located I Know Where I’m Going! (1945), which stars Wendy Hiller as a young woman who’d rather marry for money than love.

Manchesterian Joan Webster (Hiller) is supposed to marry wealthy industrialist Sir Robert Bellinger (Norman Shelley’s voice—he’s never seen) on the Isle of Kiloran, but the weather (or fate) in the Scottish Hebrides has other plans. For some reason I’ve never really liked Hiller. I don’t know exactly why, but I think it’s her voice—it just rubs me the wrong way. Still, she was a decent actress who was nominated for three Oscars (she won one for Separate Tables [1958]) and she worked in the industry for nearly sixty years. In I Know Where I’m Going! she does a nice job of portraying her character’s steely determination to not be sabotaged by love (and an island full of eccentric Scots). However, I like her much more in the beginning of the film when she is calling her bank managing father “Darling” (George Carney) than I do when she is risking poor Kenny’s (Murdo Morrison) life to get across to Kiloran.

Roger Livesey (an Archer veteran) gives his usual steady performance as Torquil MacNeil (what a name!). A kilt-wearing naval officer, Torquil is the broke Laird of Kiloran (FYI a laird is one step below a baron) and the owner of the Isle of Kiloran. He sees in Joan a woman he would like to tame, but unlike Petruchio, he attempts to do it with kindness and patience. Too bad his childhood friend Catriona (Pamela Brown) is married, because she is much prettier and, more importantly, way more interesting than Joan. It just grates on my nerves when the supporting actress is more enjoyable than the lead actress (see Kristen Scott Thomas and Andie MacDowell in Four Weddings and a Funeral [1994]). In addition to Livesey and Brown’s nice acting turns, Captain C.W.R. Knight is a hoot as Colonel Barnstaple, a falconer with a delightful sense of style.

What I think sets this movie apart from a number of others during this period is it’s cinematography. This was most probably cinematographer Erwin Hillier’s best work over his thirty year career. It is said the he didn’t use a light meter at all, which must have made his task more difficult than usual, especially when you consider the weather conditions. There are many long distance shots that capture the overall majesty of the Scottish shoreline. As someone who has spent time in the Scottish towns of Carnoustie and Killin it was a reminder of just how beautiful the land of Scots can be. Hillier also used a hand-held camera to capture some of the close-up shots—most notably the ones of the boat struggling against the Corryvreckan whirlpool. Interestingly enough, what most people don’t know is that Livesey never once set foot in Scotland for any of the location shots because he was doing a play in London at the time they were shot.

Overall, I Know Where I’m Going! is a somewhat enjoyable light romantic comedy. Other than some very fine photography, there is not much else that stands out. Still, it was nice to learn a little bit about Scottish customs, and the bagpipes weren’t played so much that I wanted to hit mute too often, either.

True Grit (2010) **

2012-01-11T17:13:00.001-05:00

True disappointment is more like it! Three great actors and two Coen brothers would seem like a recipe for success, but something went wrong with True Grit (2010). I suppose I am in the minority here, as I read many critics’ reviews that praised this Coen venture. In addition, it garnered ten Academy Award nominations (at least it didn’t win any!). Now, it’s not like I am one of those rabid John Wayne fans who thought there was no way the 2010 version could compare to the 1969 one, because I didn’t think that was that good, either (though Wayne does give a fine performance). No, I just found it an average, run-of-the-mill Hollywood picture—without the aliens and huge explosions. That’s not to say there is anything wrong with average—I tell my students average is fine, as most people are “C” students—but with all the hype surrounding this film I expected more but got less.

An adaptation of the 1968 Charles Porter novel of the same name, the film is about one girl’s unyielding need for retribution for her father’s murder. More mature than any fourteen year old I ever met, Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) wants to hunt down Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin) and bring him to justice for killing his boss and her father. She may be matter-of-fact and businesslike, but she lacks the necessary skills to venture into Indian Territory (this film is set way before the PC age) and apprehend him herself. So, she hires a Deputy U.S. Marshall known for a shoot-first mentality and, well, true grit. Marshall Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) might have true grit, but he’s also a drunk and unpleasant person. Along the way they team up with (and occasionally break off from) Texas Ranger LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), who is after Chaney for killing a Texas state senator. What follows is a drawn out (literally) search of a half-witted, pseudo-psychopath, with a few side encounters with odd characters and reprehensible reprobates.

The acting is passable to good. As usual, Brolin gives a strong performance in his very limited screen time. In addition, this is one of Damon’s best roles in years. The young Hailee Steinfeld was nominated for Best Supporting Actress, which I don’t understand, as she is clearly the focal point and star of this film. It is difficult to believe that this was her first feature film, as she stood up well against three highly respected male stars. As for Bridges, who was nominated for Best Actor, I thought he hammed it up too much and made Rooster into a caricature. Without a doubt, John Wayne’s Rooster is the more superior of the two. The nuances that won Bridges the Oscar for his portrayal of Bad Blake in Crazy Heart (2009) are MIA—perhaps he had to top his award winning turn or was afraid that his career would end once people saw Tron: Legacy (2010). Who knows? I just wasn’t into it.

I’m usually a fan of the Coen Brothers’ work, but they have a habit of making really good films (No Country for Old Men [2007], O Brother , Where Art Thou? [2001], and Fargo [1996]) and then making really average (and sometimes crappy) ones (Burn After Reading [2008] and The Ladykillers [2004]). True Grit falls somewhere in between the good ones and the crappy ones. It may have been their choice to have the characters speak in an exaggerated manner that irked me the most. No one, not even back in the 1800s, spoke like that unless they were on the stage. And, these characters are most certainly not on the stage—no matter how resolute their personal agendas.

The one thing I truly enjoyed about the film were the scenes between Mattie and Colonel Stonehill (veteran television actor Dakin Matthews). The true exasperation that the poor Colonel encounters at his business dealings with Mattie are funny and entertaining. When he says, “I do not entertain hypotheticals. The world itself is vexing enough,” I couldn’t help but laugh. Had the rest of the film been a bit more like these scenes I might have liked it better.

The Bank Dick (1940) **

2012-01-09T11:15:00.000-05:00

W.C. Fields isn’t as timeless as one would like. Overall, vaudeville humor hasn’t aged well, either. Still, Fields was a devilishly delicious deadpan comic who knew how to keep a gag running. He was greatly aided in this endeavor by his own clever writing. Who better to convincingly deliver funny lines than the person who wrote them—I’m sure Woody Allen would attest to this. The Bank Dick (1940) is a product of Fields’ comedic wit (director Edward F. Cline was just along for the ride). Oh, pay no attention to the name listed in the writing credit either, Mahatma Kane Jeeves--it was one of Fields’ many pseudonyms (evidently Gandhi was on his mind). The story follows the Fields’ blueprint: an easy-going, imbibing man just wants to be left alone but finds himself hampered by domestic disturbances and inconvenient chance meetings. What follows is a 74-minute study in Fields’ own unique brand of comedy.

Usually the best parts of Fields’ films deal with his character being mistreated by his ungrateful family—which is mostly filled with women: wife, daughters and an occasional cranky mother-in-law. However, this theme isn’t really the crux of The Bank Dick. Yes, his aptly named character, Egbert Sousè, has a nagging wife (Cora Witherspoon as Agatha), an unpleasant mother-in-law (Jessie Ralph as Mrs. Brunch), and two daughters, one being a terror (Evelyn Del Rio as Elsie Mae) and one being stupid (Una Merkel as Myrtle). Yet, unlike some of his other films, the family doesn’t figure heavily in the story. They are used intermittently to show how unappreciated Mr. Sousè is, but otherwise they don’t really bring much to the table. I personally would have liked to have seen more of Jessie Ralph’s belittling mother-in-law. She had some of the best lines in the entire film. Here are two of my favorites:

Myrtle: I'll bet that's Og!
Mrs.Bruch: Mmm, he's got her bettin' now. She never gambled 'fore she met him.

Myrtle:What's a six-letter word meaning "embezzlement"?
Mrs.Brunch: Prison.

I definitely think they should have used her acerbic tongue more and less of Una Merkel'’s Myrtle, who is engaged to Og Oggilby (Grady Sutton), one of her father’s unfortunate co-workers and co-conspirators. Still, stupid characters often play the much needed role of straight man (or woman, let’s be PC!), so I suppose she serves her purpose.

There are a few random gags in the film, another trait of a Fields’ production, that I could have done without. His stumbling into the role of film director after the actual director goes on a bender wasn’t very funny to me. Perhaps he was trying to make a inside dig at someone (perhaps himself, LOL!), but I just found it completely useless to the story. Another thing I could have missed was a few of his sojourns into the local watering hole. Yet, I must admit that the name of the establishment, the Black Pussy Cat Café, is pure Fields gold. Who else in 1940s Hollywood would have dreamed up such a name and got away with it?

All of the best things about this movie revolve around his work as an unqualified bank dick. What security guard in his right mind would tackle a small child holding a toy gun? Sousè does, though I doubt he was in his right mind, and the result is laugh-out-loud funny. When he asks the child’s mother if the gun is loaded, she replies, “No, but I think you are!” Who would think it was a good idea to buy $500 in bonds from a slickster (who says: “I want to show you I'm honest in the worst way”) he met at the Black Pussy and then convince his soon-to-be son-in-law to “borrow” money from the bank to buy them? Sousè would—and he’d do it with a big grin on his face and rye on his breath. Who would try to postpone the bank’s books from being examined by the wonderfully named J. Pinkerton Snoopington (Franklin Pangborn) by using food (or, in this case, liquid) poisoning? Sousè would, and then he’d have another drink!

What most people remember about this film is the extended road chase scene at the end of the film, where Sousè has to drive the getaway car for a bank robber. The scene is reminiscent of the old silent chase scenes from the likes of the Keystone Cops. I’m not a big fan of slapstick chase scenes, but Fields gets off some great lines as the car slowly falls apart. A particular favorite barb is: “The resale value of this car is going to be nil after this trip.” I also got a hearty chuckle out of him handing the wheel to the robber when he was told to let the robber have the wheel. It’s silly humor, but it’s smart silly humor.

While this isn’t my favorite Fields’ film (I prefer It’s a Gift http://1001moviesblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/its-gift-1934.html), The Bank Dick has many enjoyable moments in it. It is also a showcase for Fields’ comedic genius.

A Very Long Engagement (Un Long Dimanche de Fiançailles) (2004) ***

2012-01-02T20:22:00.002-05:00

This visually stunning 2004 French film from director Jean-Pierre Jeunet is a beautiful and touching testament to all that is good about French cinema. Only in le cinéma Français could you depict the horror of World War I and its trench warfare with a wryly comedic touch, while at the same time tell both a love story and a revenge story without engaging in oversentimentality or malice. The acting, particularly that of the females, is nuanced and stellar. However, it is Bruno Delbonnel’s extraordinary (and Academy Award nominated) cinematography that makes this such a striking piece of art.

The always beautiful and spunky Audrey Tautou plays Mathilde, a polio-crippled woman who refuses to believe that her fiancee Manech (Gaspard Ulliel) was killed alongside five other men at the ridiculously named Bingo Crepuscule trench. All five men had been convicted of self-mutilation and thrown out into No Man’s Land between the French and German trenches to bring an end to a stalemate. Conflicting stories as to whether any of the five men survived sends Mathilde all over France looking for answers. Along her journey she meets a unique and colorful assortment of men and women who fill in the missing parts of the story. What’s great about these characters is that none of them are useless—they all have an important role to play in moving the story along. However, it can be difficult to keep everyone straight, so a second viewing might be necessary, especially if you watch the film subtitled. Still, I think the pacing of the story is told in such a way that most non-French speakers can keep up with the unfolding stories.

What I like about Tautou’s Mathilde is that she is a woman not above using her disability to get what she wants. I know that sounds politically incorrect here in America, but in France it’s quite comical to let a perceived weak person use their plight to get what they want. In France, the weak are to be revered, so when Mathilde uses this to her advantage it’s just funny. What makes this flawed character trait even more wickedly amusing is that she is the strongest character in the entire film. Whether she’s dealing with doubtful family members and quirky questionable people, or making small deals with herself (such as: if the dog comes in the room before dinner she will continue to look for Manech), Mathilde is someone for whom you feel compelled to root. The scene that stands out most for me is when she attempts to beat Manech’s car to the bend in the road—another deal which would ensure that he makes it home alive. Watching her constricted body attempt this feat is heart-pounding and uplifting. The body control that Tautou had to exhibit here is mind-blowing. It’s just something you have to behold for yourself to fully appreciate how powerful a performance she delivers throughout.

It is a given that Tautou is the star of the show, but both Jodie Foster and especially Marion Cotillard give standout performances here. Foster plays Eloide Gordes, the wife of one of the men believed killed alongside Manech. She and her husband Benjamin (Jean-Pierre Darroussin) have five children (none of which he fathered) and if they have a sixth he would be discharged. So he asks her to sleep with his best friend Bastoche (Jerome Kircher). What ensues is a story of jealousy and heartbreak—and the eventual self-mutilation of both men and then Bingo Crepuscule. You wouldn’t know that French wasn’t Foster’s mother tongue, as she speaks it with ease. Here she delivers a haunting performance of a woman who lost both her husband and lover to the cruelty of warfare.

I wouldn’t be doing service to this film without commenting on how riveting Marion Cotillard is as Tina Lombardi. She obviously channeled Jean Moreau’s performance in The Bride Wore Black (1968) as she played a prostitute hell bent on meting out punishment to the men she believes killed her Corsican lover Angel (Dominique Bettenfeld)—another of the five men at Bingo Crepuscule. Tina is a stone-cold ninja in how she executes a handful of French officers. Her outfits alone are marvelous (what French woman wouldn’t come dressed for the occasion!), but the way she uses them to kill is even better. My particular favorite execution is when she kills the man who lazily neglects to pass along a pardon for the five men. After tying the man to the bed and allowing him to think something kinky is about to happen she proceeds to shoot the mirror above the bed and shards of glass fall down on his naked body. How ingenious can you be! Cotillard won a César for Best Supporting Actress for this role and she deserved it. Now, if she would only return to France and stop making American films that don’t exhibit her talents to the fullest (an aside, she was the best thing, other than the visuals, about Inception)!

Finally, what makes this film so beautiful is the expert cinematography of Bruno Delbonnel. His lens poignantly captures the horrific grimness of the battle scenes at Bingo Crepuscule. Stark and appropriately captured in gray and brown tones, these scenes are powerfully displayed and are spectacular to watch. Besides his expertly depicted battle scenes, he presents the Brittany countryside in wide, lush, sweeping shots that make you want to go there on your next vacation. My two favorite sequences come at the Picardy war cemetery and the military archives. The cemetery shot just overwhelms you with the angle positioning of the camera and the broadness of the shot—all those white crosses with Mathilde in the middle of it—notice how small she truly looks. The military archives sequence uses complex shots, with above-head perspective and low-angle shots the look upward toward the immensity of the situation and place. It is Delbonnel’s camerawork that makes this such an enjoyable film to watch.

My Man Godfrey (1936) ****

2012-01-02T05:47:00.001-05:00

There are few films from the 1930s that I like better than My Man Godfrey (1936). Screwball comedies are a particular favorite of mine, and this is one of the best ever made. It is a film filled with memorable characters and lines. In addition, it has a bit of a serious side, touching on the plight of the Forgotten Man during the Depression. When you combine all of these ingredients you come up with a deliciously entertaining movie.

If you went to see this in 1936 you would have seen William Powell and Carole Lombard’s names on the marquee, but while both give fine performances, they are greatly aided by the stellar supporting performances of Alice Brady, Gail Patrick, Eugene Pallette, and Mischa Auer. It is the supporting characters that carry this film along its crazy path.

Powell plays Godfrey Smith/Park, a privileged Bostonian who chucks it all after a woman does him wrong. He ends up living in New York City Dump 32 until Cornelia (Patrick) and Irene Bullock (Lombard) find him there while looking for a Forgotten Man as part of a scavenger hunt. He soon ends up being their 5th Avenue butler.

Both sisters are spoiled and narcissistic, but they are different in that Cornelia has a malicious side and Irene is compassionate incarnate. I suppose this is what makes Patrick’s character the more interesting of the two. Cornelia is intelligent and jaded, while Irene is flighty and naïve. I often think director Gregory La Cava and screenwriters Eric Hatch and Morrie Ryskind used Cornelia as their focal point in developing their social satire. Here is a woman who has everything: beauty, class, money, and intelligence. Yet, she seethes with resentment and discontent. A lot of people think Godfrey should have ended up with Cornelia in the end (the whole Taming of the Shrew thing), but what most people forget is Cornelia was the sort of woman Godfrey left back in Boston. For me, Patrick’s is the standout performance.

Eugene Pallette and Alice Brady also do memorable turns as Alexander and Angelica Bullock, the parents of Cornelia and Irene. Pallette, in particular, does a fine job of presenting his character’s astonishment at the complete insanity of his family. Perhaps it’s his voice, but he conveys both irritation and apathy extremely well. Brady’s pixie-seeing Angelica is the epitome of oblivious mothering. Here is a woman who has a protégé (really her paramour, but the Hays Code was around) in would-be musician Carlo (Auer); drinks too much (hence the pixies); and, supports her daughters’ eccentric behavior. She is no role model, but her daughters are a lot like her—especially Irene, who decides to make Godfrey her protégé.

Now, I’m not saying that Powell and Lombard don’t give fine performances, because both are very good. Powell plays the calm caretaker of the insane asylum that the Bullocks call home well. He is both bemused and detached in his role as Godfrey. It is quite comical to watch him thwart off Irene’s advances--especially since Powell and Lombard had been previously married. It is said that she was too animated for him; plus, he was sixteen years older. So, when Godfrey makes the comment in the film that Irene should find someone her own age and class it was a bit like art imitating life. Lombard, for her part, plays Irene as a theatrical little girl who doesn’t know how to get what she wants without faux fainting or crying. The “laugh” is what I find most hysterical about Irene. Anytime she doesn’t understand what is happening, or when she is unsure of herself, she falls back on that childish laugh.

Besides fine acting, the writing is superb. The dialogue is rapid-fire and sharp as an axe. Each character has their own memorable lines, but I’ve always thought that Angelica Bullock got the best ones—or maybe Alice Brady just delivered hers better than the rest. My favorite exchange comes between Angelica and Godfrey:

Angelica: My ancestors came over on the boat. Oh, not the Mayflower, but the boat after that. What did your ancestors come over on, Godfrey?
Godfrey: As far as I know, they've always been here.
Angelica: They weren't Indians, I hope.
Godfrey: One can never be sure of one's ancestors.
Angelica: You know, you have rather high cheek bones.

And from that point on there is a running gag about Godfrey being of Indian descent. Overall, it’s just a pleasure to listen to such clever dialogue (especially if you compare it to some of the dialogue in modern film). Smart witticisms never age and that’s one of the reasons My Man Godfrey seems timeless.

Finally, what most people forget about My Man Godfrey is that it is a slight social commentary about the difference between the rich and poor during the Depression. The Forgotten Man, men who served in WWI or lost everything in the Crash, found themselves unemployed and displaced living in places like City Dump 32, while the Bullocks lived the high life on 5th Avenue. The only time the Bullocks of the world notice the Forgotten Man is when they need him to win a silly game for them. At one point in the film Godfrey says: “The only difference between a derelict and a man is a job.” Of course, more could have been done with this theme. If I have one complaint with the film it would be that Godfrey shouldn’t have been pretending to be down on his luck but actually have been down and out. Still, it is a nice twist when you learn the reason he can handle the Bullocks so well is that he was once afflicted with their disease as well.

One interesting aside about My Man Godfrey is that it was the first film to receive nominations in all four acting categories: Best Actor (Powell), Best Actress (Lombard), Best Supporting Actor (Mischa Auer) and Best Supporting Actress (Alice Brady). While none of the actors won the coveted statue, they should have taken solace in the fact that La Cava was passed over as Best Director and Hatch and Ryskind didn’t win Best Screenplay either. However, the strangest thing about the whole Oscar situation is this: My Man Godfrey wasn't even nominated for Best Picture. Somehow the math just doesn’t seem right there. Oh, well…

Two Year Anniversary

2011-12-30T17:32:00.000-05:00

Today marks this blogs 2nd anniversary. Much has been written--even more has been unwritten!

In 2011 we started a rotating monthly conversation with ClassicBecky called "Two Dames Dishing". Her blog ClassicBecky's Brain Food (http://classicbeckybrainfood.blogspot.com) is the other site where these
tête-à-têtes take place--plus, she writes some great posts all on her own, too! It has been a treat to work with this fabulous woman. For an archive of these conversations click on the sidebar link to the right.

The quest continues to see all 1089 movies on THE LIST. I look forward to a year of both creative and productive work on this endeavor. I greatly appreciate all of the support I've gotten from my blogging communities, the CMBA and the 1001Movies Blog Club. In addition, special thanks goes to Rick of Classic Film and TV Cafe, who has been a supportive "boss" and partner at both his site and as the faithful leader of the CMBA. Other shout-outs go to Sark and the other contributors at the Cafe. Finally, I'd like to say a special thanks to The Lady Eve, who as a fellow contributor at the Cafe and the author of her own site The Lady Eve's Reel Life (http://eves-reel-life.blogspot.com/) has stood out as a grand example of what exemplary blogging should look like.

Lastly, if you know where I can see any of these films please contact me: Attack the Gas Station (1999), Deseret (1995), A Brighter Summer Day (1991), The Unbelievable Truth (1989), The Asthenic Syndrome (1989), A Tale of the Wind (1988), The Time to Live and the Time to Die (1985), Utu (1983), Too Early, Too Late (1981), Last Chants for a Slow Dance (1977), Manila in the Claws of Brightness (1975), India Song (1975), Turkish Delight (1973), Red Psalm (1971), The Ear (1970), Marketa Lazarova (1967), Wavelength (1967), Report (1967), Hold Me While I'm Naked (1966), The Man Who Had His Hair Cut Short (1965), Golden River (1965), Mediteranee (1963), Flaming Creatures (1963), The Cool World (1963), Blonde Cobra (1963), Keeper of Promises (1962), The Housemaid (1960), The Cloud-Capped Star (1960), Hill 24 Doesn't Answer (1955), The Mad Masters (1955), Voyage in Italy (1953), and The Man in Grey (1943).

The Thin Man (1934) ****

2011-12-30T15:00:00.000-05:00

Long before glamorous millionaires Jonathan, Jennifer, and Freeway Hart solved crimes for ABC on Tuesday nights, super-glamorous millionaires Nick, Nora, and Asta Charles were wittily revealing criminals for MGM on the silver screen. The Harts had five seasons to do their worst to the world of white-collar criminals, while the Charles had only 6 feature films. Plus, they looked a billion times better doing it—one crime they didn’t have to solve was the hair and wardrobe of the 1980s!

Born out of the creative mind of one of the greatest authors of detective novels, Dashiell Hammett, Nick (William Holden) and Nora Charles (Myrna Loy) set the bar for all other would-be married sleuths. Sophisticated, witty, and glamorous, the couple could trade rapid-fire dialogue, nonchalantly down martinis and eat caviar, while cleverly solving whatever crime came their way. And, it all started with The Thin Man (1934)—a low-budget MGM film that went on to spawn one of the studio’s most profitable film series, as well as a long-running radio serial and a short-running TV series starring Peter Lawford. The film earned four Academy Award nominations: Best Picture, Best Actor (Powell), Best Director (W.S. Van Dyke) and Best Adapted Screenplay (Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett, who coincidentally were married). Although it went home Oscar-less, The Thin Man did lose to a worthy adversary: It Happened One Night took home all four Oscars for which The Thin Man was nominated. I, personally, like The Thin Man more than It Happened One Night, but that’s another story for another day.

Powell and Loy made fourteen films together for a reason—they had oodles of chemistry. It started with Manhattan Melodrama in 1934(also directed by Van Dyke) and ended with The Senator Was Indiscreet in 1947. Yet, The Thin Man is their best film together (although I am also partial to The Great Ziegfeld…but why didn’t Billie Burke play herself?).

The film has way too many twists and turns to give a full synopsis. As such, I will give the abridged version. The Thin Man is inventor Clyde Wynant (Edward Ellis)—a man who has been swindled out of $50,000 in government bonds by his two-timing mistress Julia (Natalie Moorhead). When he goes missing his daughter Dorothy (Maureen O’Sullivan) becomes worried and asks former detective Nick Charles to find him. Recently married and always inebriated, Nick and his wife Nora just want to drink, eat and be merry, but greedy rich people keep getting in their way—or dead mistresses (Julia) are discovered. Plus, Nora starts to think helping her husband solve a murder would be exciting, so she sets out to convince him to take the case.

I suppose it was pretty exciting when she opened the door to gun-wielding Joe Morelli (Edward S. Brophy)—Julia’s other lover. Or perhaps it was really exciting when Nick cold-cocked her to remove her from the line of fire? Having taken a flesh wound himself, Nick finds himself under suspicion when the police find a gun hidden in one of Nora’s drawers. Classic line from Nora: "What's that man doing in my drawers?” And, so, after being harassed, shot, and insinuated into the case, Nick goes about finding the killer of not only Julia, but her scar-faced accomplice Nunheim (Harold Huber) and another person…but I can’t tell, or that would ruin the ending! Suffice to say, it is a delight to watch Nick put all the pieces together to solve the murders.

Besides the clever unraveling of the mystery, what makes this film such a blast is the witty dialogue. For example, when a reporter asks Nora if her husband is working on a case she responds: “A case of Scotch. Pitch in and help him.” Another example, and perhaps the best example of the repartee between husband and wife comes when Nora worries that she’s about to become a widow:

Nick: You wouldn’t be a widow for long.
Nora: You bet I wouldn’t.
Nick: Not with all your money.

The film is just too full of great lines to repeat them all, but trust me, there are many laugh-out-loud moments.

While it’s not a hard-boiled detective story, it is a film that keeps you guessing to the very end. I think I prefer my suspense mixed with sophisticated comedy—you get to laugh a lot while watching the mystery unfold. Plus, beneath the mystery and hilarious barbs, the film is also about romance. Without even really trying, it turns out to be a film that just about any viewer will enjoy. Personally, is is one of my all-time favorite films. Plus, it has Asta!!!

Two Dames Dishing: December

2011-12-23T11:41:00.001-05:00

Welcome to the fourth installment in a series of question and answer posts featuring those two smart dames: Kim of "1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die"(http://www.1001moviesblog.blogspot.com/) and Becky of "ClassicBecky's Brain Food" (http://www.classicbeckybrainfood.blogspot.com/). For an archive of past posts click on the sidebar link.

Kim: So Becky, New Year's Eve is almost here. What are your big plans?

Becky: That's an easy one, Kim. I never have big plans. I burned out on New Year's Eve parties a long time ago. Most of them turned out to be Mary Tyler Moore parties -- that is our family's name for really boring soirees. For anyone who remembers the Mary Tyler Moore show, poor Mary always gave terrible parties where everyone stands around the walls and waits for a decent time to leave. On New Year's Eve, that usually means waiting desperately for midnight so you can say "Happy New Year!" and then get the hell out of there. I've been to some good parties when I was dressed to the nines and having fun. But New Year's Eve the last few years has involved flannel pajamas, frozen daiquiris, potato chips, and Twilight Zone marathons! Sometimes I have company, sometimes not, but I love it! I always watch for certain episodes of TZ that I really love, but I enjoy them all. The only ones I don't like much are the supposedly funny ones -- most of them were busts. My tastes run to the scary and the horrifyingly sad. It's hard to pick from them, but a few that I will stay up all night to catch are:

“The After Hours”

Mannequins always scared me! Original air date: June 10, 1960. Synopsis: A woman is treated badly by some odd salespeople on an otherwise empty department store floor.

“No. 12 Looks Just Like You”

Even as a kid, the thought of losing my identity was horrifying. Original air date: January 24, 1964. Synopsis: In a future society everyone must undergo an operation at age 19 to become beautiful and conform to society. One young woman desperately wants to hold onto her own identity.

“The Invaders”

Agnes Moorehead never says a word and makes you feel her terror. Original air date: January 27,1961. Synopsis: When a woman investigates a clamor on the roof of her rural house, she discovers a small UFO and little aliens emerging from it. Or so it seems.

“On Thursday We Leave For Home”

I cried like a baby at the end of that one. Original air date: May 2, 1963. Synopsis: For thirty years, a colony has barely survived on a sparse planet baked by two suns only because of their megalomaniac leader William Benteen, who treats them like children. A conflict arises when a rescue ship arrives and offers them a new life back on Earth, threatening to end Benteen's leadership.

“The Long Morrow”

One of TZ's best and saddest twists. Original air date: January 10, 1964. Synopsis: Before leaving on a decades long mission, astronaut Douglas Stansfield meets a woman and falls in love.

“The Midnight Sun”

It could be dead of winter, and you would feel hot as Hades with this one. Original air date: November 17, 1961. Synopsis: When the Earth falls out of orbit, two women try to cope with increasingly oppressive heat in a nearly abandoned city.

So Kim, do you ring in the New Year with a party, or would you like to grab your flannel pajamas and bring your favorite booze to my place for an evening with Rod Serling?

Kim: Well, Becky, I’m not a big fan of The Twilight Zone, so I think I’ll have to politely decline the invitation. When I was younger I did the New Year’s Eve get drunk and feel horrible the next day thing, but after almost dying of alcohol poisoning I quit that.

After that I hung out with Mr. Clooney in the Bahamas and partook in illicit activities and watched The Wizard of Oz with the sound off and Pink Floyd on. We had some good times there, but that scene got old after a few years.

So now Mr. Clooney tries to make a picture near our hometown so we can spend some quality time together. We spend the evening with our parents. We used to have a nice meal at the Maisonette, but after it closed we were forced to eat at La Petite France (it’s difficult to go from a five star restaurant to a three-star, but Cincinnati isn’t a hot spot for high cuisine). After dinner, we return to one of the family homes and plug in the karaoke machine and sing really poorly (things were better when Aunt Rosemary was still alive, as she could sing pretty decently). We do duets of “I got You Babe” and “Solid (as a Rock)”, while our parents cling to the old standards from Aunt Rosemary’s time. Occasionally, Mr. Clooney will do a song from O Brother Where Art Thou?—he often forgets he didn’t really sing in that movie. A few minutes before midnight we turn the music off and watch Dick Clark’s Rocking New Year’s Eve and critique how well Mr. Clark looks. After the ball drops many smooches are had and then everyone goes off to bed to have even more smooches—it’s a great time.

So, do any of our faithful readers have special plans for New Year’s Eve?

Gone with the Wind (1939) ****

2011-11-14T01:58:00.000-05:00

Why, Ms. Scarlett (Vivien Leigh), I do declare that you are one of the greatest female characters, both in film and prose, in American history. You might be calculating but oddly still stupid at times, but I still like you and your 18 inch waist (pre Bonnie, rest her dear soul). Perhaps I often found myself hoping that Ms. Melly (Olivia de Havilland) would slap you or that a Yankee soldier would defile you—both to teach you a lesson—but I still hoped beyond hope that you would triumph in the end. Alas, your god and creator, Margaret Mitchell, got it right in the end—let the reader/viewer decide how your tomorrow turned out. Of course, had Mitchell known that her money-grubbing descendants would allow Alexandra Ripley to write a trashy sequel (I won’t name the title, but the title is the most creative thing about it…and that’s all you need to know, Ms. Scarlett), perhaps she would have relented about writing the end of your story. So, what makes you and your film merit a four-star rating, Ms. Scarlett?

Star one: your theme music. Dramatic and memorable—just like you Ms. Scarlett. Whenever I hear it I immediately think of the lush green gardens of Tara (and the burning of Atlanta, too—damn those Yankess, Miss Scarlett, damn them!), Ah, and just like you were robbed by those damn Yankees, composer Max Steiner was robbed by the Academy when he lost the Oscar to some silly guy named The Wizard of Oz—now you know that’s not a decent, Southern gentleman’s name, Ms. Scarlett. Of course, it only makes sense that you would have one of the most memorable film scores ever, Ms. Scarlett, as you are the most memorable female film character in history. Every badass needs a badass theme song, Ms. Scarlett, and rest assured, when your overpriced barouche is cruising the streets of Charleston (or Savannah, Atlanta, etc.) people know what badass is coming.

Star two: your clothes. With a figure like yours, Ms. Scarlett, you would look good in anything. While I don’t know how wise it is to wear a green and white dress to a BBQ, I still think you make it work—and that green ribbon that attaches your hat to the rest of you could be used as a napkin if need be. What I’m saying is, you know how to make any dress work. Take for example the white ruffle dress—some people would look like a roll of toilet paper gone wrong, but somehow it looks flouncy on you. Another example is the red garnet gown that you look ultra-fierce in. Some people just couldn’t work those feathers and the gauze-veil thingy, but you rock it. And, who but you could make a dress out of green velvet drapes seem stylish (sort of)? Granted, it was because of those damn Yankees that you had to rip those curtains down and wear the tassels as an accessory belt, but we can’t blame the dress for the circumstances into which it was born.

Star three: your crew. Rhett Butler (Clark Gable) may have left you in the end, but while he was with you he was the man in charge. Your scenes together alone could have burned down Atlanta—damn Yankees. I have to admit, I just couldn’t understand why you were always after that loser Ashley Wilkes (Leslie Howard) when you had a man like Rhett around. Was it that he rejected you, Ms. Scarlett? You were just too much woman for that weak man! He needed a calm woman like your cousin Ms. Melly, so he could continue the cycle of inbreeding. Melly, now there was a woman who knew how to endure, Ms. Scarlett. Just think of all the insufferable things Aunt Pittypat (Laura Hope Crews) said over the years to that poor girl! And you thought listening to Prissy (Butterfly McQueen) and Mammy (Hattie McDaniel) all the time was almost too much to bare.

Star four: your attitude. There’s one thing that makes a person memorable, and that’s their attitude. Sometimes things don’t go the way you want, but that doesn’t mean you give up. And, Lord knows, Ms. Scarlett you never give up. Ashley married Melanie, so you married Charles (he was better looking anyway, plus he died and left you some worthless Confederate money—damn Yankees!). When you didn’t have the money to pay the taxes on Tara you and your drape dress found Frank Kennedy. When the damn Yankees came calling you shot one dead. To me, this is a can-do attitude. Plus, you always know you are the most interesting woman in the room. Of course, you do have a a touch of willfullness and a rather nasty temper, but Irish blood runs hot! Now, if I had to make one constructive suggestion to you it would be this: get over your procrastination issue. Tomorrow might be another day, but sometimes that day can turn out to be really crummy. Still, I like the can-do attitude about getting your man back.

And, that, Ms. Scarlett is why you and your film are so memorable.

All Quiet on the Western Front (1930) **1/2

2011-11-11T11:16:00.001-05:00

Let’s hope all stays quiet on our western front in Afghanistan.

Closely based on former WWI German soldier Erich Remarque’s novel of the same name, this 1930 anti-war film won the Academy Award for Best Picture and also a Best Director Oscar for Lewis Milestone. The story examines the horrific and senselessness of a German soldier’s experience in the literal trenches of WWI.

The film opens by introducing viewers to the militaristic nature of Germany in 1914, with German soldiers marching to martial music and professors urging students to enlist for the glory of the fatherland. This is where we meet Paul Baumer (Lew Ayres) and his friends Kropp, Leer, and Kemmerick. We watch as they enthusiastically arrive at boot camp only to see them soon broken down by a brutal commander. After finishing their training, the young soldiers are sent to a war-torn French town on the outskirts of the front. Here they meet cynical and grizzled front veterans, who enlighten them about the shortage of supplies, specifically food. Luckily they have the very industrious Kaczynski, who finds a pig and is willing to trade pork for other comforts, namely cigarettes and booze. Kaczynski serves as the voice of truth about what war entails and is about.

Soon the soldiers are sent to the front to string barbed wire and are introduced to shell fire. One of the boys is blinded by shell fire and then is killed as he runs toward enemy lines. From here we watch the soldiers hunker down in bunkers for endless days of exploding bombs and sporadic machinegun fire. We see soldiers have nervous breakdowns, deal with a rat invasion, and endure hunger and sleeplessness. Once the bombing dies down, the soldiers find themselves in a battle in no-man’s land. Using mobile crane shots, Milestone captures some of the most realistic battle scenes in film history. Intercutting charging soldiers with machinegun fire, Milestone creates images that stress the chaotic and dizzying nature of warfare. One scene shows a French soldier completely obliterated by a grenade—only his hands are left, which we see gripping barbed wire. Another scene shows rows of soldiers fall down like dominoes against machinegun fire. At the end of this battle, the French reach the German trench and force the Germans to retreat to a further back trench. The camera then scans the battlefield to show thousands of bodies. Then, in an excellent indictment on the futility of war, the film looks as though it was being run in reverse, as the Germans mount a counter-attack and push the French back to their former position. This was not a sanitized war film.

When they return from the trench the soldiers are fed and told they will return to the trenches the next day. This launches the German soldiers to philosophize about why war is conducted: to give generals something to do and to make manufacturers rich. While in town, Paul and other soldiers visit a dying Kemmerick in a makeshift hospital. Amplifying the horrors of war, we watch as Kemmerick realizes his leg has been amputated. One soldier callously asks Kemmerick for his boots since he obviously no longer needs them. After watching Kemmerick die, Paul takes the boots back to camp. These were evidently bad luck boots, because what follows is a montage scene of the boots being passed to a new owner every time the former owner dies.

Later in the film, Paul finds himself in battle in a graveyard where he is struck in the head. As he takes cover, a shell explodes and Paul has a decimated coffin land on him—a foreshadowing of things to come. While hiding in a shell hole Paul find himself face-to-face with a French soldier, who he stabs in the throat with his bayonet. Unfortunately the French soldier doesn’t die easily, and Paul has to listen as the Frenchmen groans in agony. We watch as Paul waffles back and forth, praying for the soldier to die and then later hoping for his survival. When the soldier dies, Paul has a desperate conversation with the dead man for forgiveness. Soon after escaping the shell hole, Paul is severally wounded and take to the hospital where he watches yet another one of his friends scream in agony about having his leg cut off.

When he recovers from his injury Paul is given leave and he returns home, where he finds himself unable to deal with peace and quiet. He visits his sick mother and lies about how the war really is. He then finds his father and his friends out of touch with the realities of war, who tells him that he must risk his life for the honor of Germany. After leaving this group he is accosted by a former professor to address his students of the honor of being a German soldier. Shocking his professor, Paul gives a pacifistic speech about the truth of war. In a sadly ironic turn, the class boos Paul and calls him a coward. Because of this incident Paul decides he can’t take the unrealistic world away from the front and decides to return four days early.

When he returns to the front he finds most of his company dead. In a bitterly tragic scene, an aerial bomb wounds Kaczynski. Paul good-naturedly tells him the war is over for him and begins to carry him on his shoulder to a medic. Just then another aerial bomb explodes behind them and a bomb splinter kills Kaczynski, unbeknownst to Paul who continues talking to him. When he tries to give water to his friend he is shocked and dazed to find him dead. If this scene wasn’t heartbreaking enough, the closing scene is haunting. On the eve of the armistice, Paul is daydreaming in a trench about the coming peace when he sees a butterfly (he collected them before the war) through his gun-hole land just outside the trench. We watch as he starts to reach outside the trench and at the same time a sniper takes aim through a rifle scope. The next thing we hear is the shot that sends Paul to his death. The film closes with the image of countless white crosses and the ghosts of Paul and his friends marching into a void, who look accusingly back into the camera.

This is one of the greatest war films ever made. When you watch it today it does not seem dated at all. The grim images captured are mesmerizing and realistic. The message of the complete uselessness of war is not heavy-handed here. Instead, the true reality of what war looks like is bitterly emphasized. The overall performance of Lew Ayers is exceptional. He goes from enthusiastic recruit to grizzled, disillusioned veteran seamlessly.

If you are a WWI history buff or you enjoy truly great war films, you must see this film.

The Big Parade (1925) **

2011-11-10T20:24:00.001-05:00

Why is this 1925 King Vidor classic the top-grossing (worldwide) silent film of all time? I suppose people were willing to pay the price of admission to see one of the most realistic war films of the silent era.

Released just eight years after the end of the Great War, this film follows the story of Jim Apperson (played by John Gilbert) from reluctant volunteer to disabled war hero. Jim is a bored, rich young man who allows his naive fiancée to convince him to enlist. Off to war and quartered in France, Jim befriends Slim Jensen and Bull O’Hara (no relation to Scarlet) and falls for French shop girl Melisande. She’s easy on the eyes, but what makes her really attractive to Jim is that he can’t understand a word she’s saying. Any man’s dream…

Later on his unit is ordered to the front at Belleau Wood. The battle scenes are elaborately designed and heart-wrenching to watch. When they get bogged down in No Man’s Land, surrounded by snipers and a machinegun nest, the commander orders Jim, Bull, and Slim to take out the nest. Slim goes first and takes out the nest, but on his way back he’s injured and lies in the battlefield moaning in agony. This is too much for Jim and Bull and they try to rescue him, but Bull is killed and Jim is shot in the leg. Jim becomes enraged—comparable only to the rage of a man who has been stood up at the altar by a Swedish beauty. Anyway, this is where one of the more memorable scenes takes place. Jim stalks a German sniper into a trench and is about to slit his throat when the German motions for a cigarette. Compassionately, Jim gives him one and soon the soldier dies right next to him.

Later Jim is rescued by a Red Cross truck and while recuperating in the hospital he learns that Melisande’s village has been bombed. He grabs a crutch and hitches a ride on a truck. He finds Melisande’s village leveled and as he’s calling out for his love the town is shelled again. Jim is injured again in the leg, so much so that it is amputated. Returning home crippled he finds his finance in love with his brother and he returns to France and is reunited with Melisande.

The battle scenes in this film are great. This is not a sanitized view of war. The drudgery, cruelty, and mind-blowing death and destruction that encompass war are realistically depicted. John Arnold’s photography is superb.

This film literally reinvigorated the public’s interest in war films. If you are a fan of such films as Saving Private Ryan or Paths of Glory you must watch this film. A true cinematic gem from the silent era.

Two Dames Dishing—October

2011-10-17T02:02:00.005-04:00

Welcome to the second installment in a series of question and answer posts featuring those two smart dames: Kim of "1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die" (http://www.1001moviesblog.blogspot.com/) and Becky of "ClassicBecky's Brain Food" (http://www.classicbeckybrainfood.blogspot.com/)

Kim: It's October, which means Halloween, so your question has to do with ghosties, ghoulies and beasties! Inquiring minds want to know -- of all the monsters and creatures to choose from, which is your favorite?

Becky: Well, my favorites are the traditional fright guys -- Frankenstein, Dracula, the Mummy and the Wolf Man. If I have to pick one, I guess it has to be Dracula. Vampires fascinate and repel me, (as have many of the guys I've dated ...). Unlike the vampires of legend and Bram Stoker's novel "Dracula," there is also something very sensual about many movie vampires. Part of what interests me about vampires in the movies is the incredible variety of interpretations. From Max Shreck to present-day vampires, I have some real favorites. They aren't all called "Dracula," but let's not be too picky. Any Alpha male vampire deserves the title Dracula. Here are my favorites:

Max Schreck in Nosferatu (1922). The creepiest vampire ever, he is the closest to the real look and horror of the legends.

Bela Lugosi in Dracula (1931). The tuxedo and Hungarian accent really work:

I vant to suck your bl-o-o-o-d

Christopher Lee in Horror of Dracula (1958). The tallest, most imposing Dracula ever.

Robert Quarry in Count Yorga, Vampire (1970). Handsome, dignified, great dresser.

Frank Langella in Dracula (1979). The most incredibly sexy Dracula ever. *sigh*

Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992). Haight-Ashbury, acid-trip Dracula.

Kim: Let’s talk about Max Schreck’s vampire from Nosferatu. What is the creepiest thing about him? Please don’t say his nails, because I personally like a man who can scratch any itch that I might get.

Becky: Tsk tsk tsk, Kim! I think he is horrifying the way he is always shown coming out of the darkness, and he looks so unrelenting in walking toward you, with his arms always straight down and just staring at you. Creeps me out.

Kim: I like his relentlessness and deep stares, but you’re right, walking with his arms straight down is a turn-off…perhaps if they were spread wide-open as a more welcoming gesture? No…?

Okay, let’s turn to Bela Lugosi’s Count. I like his tux, but you can keep that accent. If I’m gonna have an accent whispered in my ear I would prefer it not be one that sounds like phlegm might follow. Do you really like that accent? Why?

Becky: I'm a sucker for an accent, and I love Bela's romantic Hungarian. I think German sounds more like phlegm is involved.

Kim: Well, I can agree that German is phlegm-like, but I’d rather be a sucker for a nice French accent…preferably Gilles Marini’s.

Now, I do agree that Christopher Lee’s Dracula, with all the blood dripping from the mouth, is rather tall. Do you like him because of this or because he’s boring?

Becky: Boring?! Christopher Lee boring?! Blasphemy! I love this guy. He is very good-looking without the dripping blood--tall and masculine. When he has his fangs on, he's really scary.

Kim: I can’t speak to Robert Quarry’s Count Yorga, since I’ve never even heard of this film, but when I watched a clip of it on YouTube I was not impressed. Was the film good?

Becky: I liked Return of Count Yorga best. It has a lot of dark humor. I just love Robert Quarry. He is handsome, dresses to the nines in red vests and dressing gowns, and has a beautiful way of talking (I guess voices do something for me). I don't know - he just sends me!

Kim: I’d rather not be sent to B-Movieland.

So, I have to agree Frank Langella’s Count is pretty sexy—he could suck my blood and anything else he wanted. Perhaps you could put into words why you find him sexy—sort of a primer for would-be Count’s this Halloween who might like to get more than candy in the bag.

Becky: Sexy is true, but I really should say romantic -- He makes regular foreplay look like holding hands. The man is gorgeous, swirls his cape with the best of them, and puts feminism back 200 years. He says, "You will cross land and sea to do my bidding" I say, "No problem!"

Kim: Just so you know, Becky, for some men holding hands would be more than regular foreplay. As for doing his bidding, my mind read that quote as: “You will cross land and sea to do my bedding.”

So, I agree that Gary Oldman’s Count looks as though he just came from a Grateful Dead Concert, but there is something oddly appealing about him. That love scene he did with Winona Ryder was pretty hot. Still, I get worried when a man has more fashion flare than me.
Becky: Now Gary Oldman played it sexy, not as romantic as Langella, but very appealing, I agree. He is such a good actor. He's not really good-looking, but he can make you believe he is. His hippie outfits definitely gave Winona Ryder's gowns a run for their money.

Kim: Well, Becky, now we all know you are a sucker for a tall man wearing a cape and speaking with a heavy foreign accent. Personally, my all-time favorite would-be vampire is George Clooney’s Seth in From Dusk Till Dawn (had to correct this, as I forgot Seth was never turned). If you read last month’s installment then no explanation is needed. If you haven’t read it, what’s wrong with you?

What will we dish about next month? Stay tuned…

Haxan (1923) **1/2

2011-10-13T15:14:00.001-04:00

A cult movie in more ways than one.

Shown as a Witching Hour film since the 1960s, this 1923 Ben Christensen silent docuhorror (I think I just made this genre up) is a study of witchcraft through the ages. It's supposed to be a "documentary", but I don't know how realistic one can truly be when it comes to filming reenactments of the Devil & Co. I can just imagine the outrage the release of this film caused in strict-Lutheran Sweden and Denmark! In America, a Variety reviewer said this about the film: "Wonderful though this picture is, it is absolutely unfit for public exhibition." Satanism, overt sensualism, and a bit of nudity were just too darn much for 1923!

While the story is not bowl-you-over compelling (though it is both spooky and comical at the same time), the set design, makeup, costumes, and lighting are imaginative. And who doesn't love a story with the devil, horns and all, seducing young women? An interesting film to watch, sober or otherwise.

Nosferatu, a Symphony of Terror (1922) **

2011-10-11T12:02:00.001-04:00

Suave, sophisticated, and outright sexy is what you think of Max Schreck's Nosferatu, right? Don't be ashamed to admit it... What? You don't like pasty skin, pointed ears, sickening-long and pointed nails, and the gait of a floating corpse? Aren't you a fan of German Expressionism?

This 1922 silent by F.W. Murnau is a classic retelling of the Dracula myth that has often been imitated, but never surpassed. For those not in the know, Murnau had some problems with Bram Stoker's people, so he changed the setting and the names of the characters from the original novel. Instead of Count Dracula wreaking havoc in London we have Count Orlock, played by Shreck, decimating Bremen, Germany. However, the core plot is the same as the book. I'm sure you know the crux of the story, so I'll move on to what is great about this picture.

The interplay between shadow and light in some scenes is just fantastic. Photographers Gunther Krampf and Fritz Wagner do an amazing job of capturing just the right amount of light to capture the creepiness that is Orlock's shadow.

Max Schreck is unforgettable as Count Orlock. To allow yourself to become so embedded in the skin of your character takes talent. Hand movements, facial expressions, the tautness of his frame--all of these were perfectly orchestrated in such a way as to make Count Orlock a timeless movie monster. Those of you who have seen Willem Dafoe's portrayal of Schreck in Shadow of the Vampire might have a deeper appreciation of Schreck's work.

My favorite scene is when Count Orlock arrives by boat in Bremen and eerily glides off the boat and through the darkened and deserted streets. This scene gave me nightmares when I first saw it as a child. Do you have a favorite scene?

This film is a classic and should be watched--even if you don't think Max Schreck is the Sexiest Man Alive

The Phantom Carriage (1921) **

2011-10-10T00:24:00.000-04:00

Ever wonder where Ingmar Bergman got some of his ideas for The Seventh Seal? Look no further than this classic 1921 Swedish silent by Victor Sjostrom. Yes, the same Sjostrom who starred in the 1957 Bergman classic, Wild Strawberries, is the star and director of The Phantom Carriage (aka Korkarlen).

The opening of the story takes place on New Year's Eve at the deathbed of a Salvation Army sister who wants to see David Holm (played by Sjostrom) before she dies. The problem is David is out on a drunk--his usual state of being. Through a series of flashbacks we learn how the dying woman became ill--she contracted consumption from mending David's ratty coat after he passed out at her station the previous New Year's Eve. To make a long story short, David is found and told that the sister wants to see him. Being his usual SOB self, he refuses to go and proceeds to get into a fight with some men who crack him over the head with a bottle, seemingly killing him. This is where the phantom carriage comes into play.

Every year at the stroke of midnight a person condemned to hell dies and is given the duty of driving the carriage around collecting others like themselves for the rest of the year. The driver of David's carriage happens to be Georges, an old friend of his. In one of the most spectacular images captured in early film, you have David Holm's spirit rise from his body only to look down at his own corpse lying on the ground. David's first task as carriage driver (after visiting the sister) is to collect his wife and children who have perished by self-inflicted poisoning. In an unusual twist, Georges gives David a second chance to put things right. So after reawakening at midnight in his own human form, David races home to prevent his family's death. Unlike Bergman's Death, this one does grant reprieves.

While I don't like the ending (David deserved his cursed fate), the film is still a classic. The translucent shots are awesome for the time. The flashbacks within flashbacks make the story complex and compelling. And, quite simply, the phantom carriage itself is really creepy. A must see--but difficult to find.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919) **

2011-10-09T00:00:00.000-04:00

Oh, German expressionism, how I love thee let me count the ways. This 1919 German horror (yes, I said horror) classic is without a doubt one of the all-time best international silents ever made. Directed by Robert Wiene (with a little help from Fritz Lang), this film is off-the-hook crazy.

The title character, Dr. Caligari (played by the spooky Werner Krauss), is a would-be hypnotist who travels around Germany performing shows with his sleepwalking minion Cesare. Quite simply, Marilyn Manson is the modern day twin of Cesare in both appearance and overall creepiness. Some murders take place and the story's hero/narrator, Francis, suspects Dr. Caligari and Cesare are to blame. In a twist that M. Night Shyamalan has an altar set up to for inspiration, it is revealed that Dr. Caligari isn't really criminally insane, but rather Francis--who is telling the story from his reserved spot in an asylum. The music that is played during this revelation makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

As if the story itself isn't strange enough, the set design is a psychological marvel. Expressionistic art is in the forefront of every scene. The scenery is misshapen and unrealistic--it is another story unto itself, mocking the idea of what reality actually looks like. Film school dissertations have been written on what set designers Warm, Reimann, and Roehrig were actually trying to convey about the realm of the real and unreal.

If you call yourself a silent film fan, you should have this film in your library. Browning and Whale fans should see many similarities with their films and this one. This is definitely a film that is worthy of being watched.

Les Vampires (1915) ***

2011-10-08T01:10:00.001-04:00

First, don't allow the title of this 1915 French silent serial to fool you--this is not a film about blood-sucking vampires. Sorry to disappoint the Goths and Ann Rice fans. Yet, take solace, the villains do wear a lot of black and seem to like to wear a lot of face powder. Second, don't attempt to watch all 10 episodes (approximately 7.5 hours) in one sitting. After heeding these few bits of advice, sit back and prepare yourself for the strange mind of Louis Feuillade.

The story revolves around a Parisian criminal gang who refer to themselves as, you guessed it, the Vampires. Their arch-nemesis is a news reporter named Philippe Guerande; a man I would not refer to as compelling. And like any good hero, he has a bumbling sidekick named Mazamette. The clear star of the film is Musidora, who plays Irma Vep, one of the more capable Vampires.

This film has a number of twists and turns--you never really know who is good and who is evil. And even when you get a good impression of who actually is a baddie, say the Grand Vampire for example, they end up killed and replaced by another Grand Vampire, who, in turn, also ends up dead as well. All told, there were 4 Grand Vampires. In addition, seemingly upstanding citizens, such as judges and cops, turn out to be members of this society of criminals.

The film is a showcase of criminal possibilities--robberies, shootings, poisonings, trap doors, scam artists...the list goes on and on.

This crime thriller is an interesting watch. Later films in this genre owe a lot to Feuillade. But be warned, you must have patience to enjoy this film. There are some episodes that could have done with a bit more editing--not Baz Luhrmann cuts exactly but something closer to Hitchcock. In the realm of film history, this film serves its purpose.

Make Way for Tomorrow (1937) **

2011-10-07T01:23:00.001-04:00

Let me start off by saying that I don’t like this movie. It isn’t because the acting is bad—it’s quite good, actually . And, it has nothing to do with poor writing--Vina Delmar’s screenplay is indeed superb. Perhaps it is because it lacks a strong directorial hand—no, that can’t be it, either, because Leo McCarey does a fine job as well. In fact, this is most probably one of his strongest films—he thought it was the strongest of all. So, what is it that I don’t like about this film? Quite frankly, it’s despondently depressing. It was like watching Soviet Realism with a bottle of vodka and a handful of Quaaludes. Now, don’t think I don’t like downer films—The Hours (2002) is one of my favorite films, and anyone who has seen it knows it has its Zoloft moments. Yet, the depressing difference between the The Hours and Make Way for Tomorrow (1937) is this: there is some light at the end of the tortured tunnel with The Hours. There is only darkness in the end with Make Room for Tomorrow. The film haunts me, and not in a good way.

Victims of the Depression and callous children, elderly couple Barkley and Lucy Cooper (Victor Moore and Beulah Bondi) find themselves separated from one another when they lose their house and have to go live with their adult children. They have FIVE children, but none of them can take both parents into their homes. Really? Somebody couldn’t roll out a cot or let one of them sleep on the couch? And, if that wasn’t bad enough, then they are faced with the fact that they aren’t even wanted individually. One son’s wife convinces him that they need to put Lucy in a rest home; and, a daughter convinces Barkley that he should move to California and live with another daughter because the climate will be better for his health. It’s difficult to believe that these two sweet, old people could have raised such ungrateful children. I’m sure this is the root reason why I don’t like this film. I would NEVER treat my parents like this, but I know countless others who would and they make me physically ill. The film is just too realistic a portrait of selfishness on an unfathomable level.

I would like to say that the only enjoyable part of this movie is when the couple reunites for one day before being shipped off to their separate destinations. They visit all the places they went on their honeymoon fifty years earlier and are unabashedly happy to be with one another. They get better treatment from the strangers they meet out that day than they could ever get from their children. Yet, alas, even this slight respite from despair is ruined when the couple part ways at the train station. They, and you the viewer, know that this is the last time they will EVER see one another. I’d rather watch Ed Harris jump out that window in The Hours one-hundred times than watch this pitiful couple say their final goodbyes “just in case something happens.” I really felt ill after I watched this.

Both Bondi and Moore are heartbreaking in their roles. I suppose I could blame their too spot on portrayals for my displeasure with the movie, but that doesn’t seem fair. I find it hard to believe that neither was nominated for an Academy Award—in fact, the film garnered no nominations at all. Really? Luise Rainer wins for portraying a Chinese peasant with a really bad accent in The Good Earth, but Beulah Bondi, who personified a granny put out to pasture, doesn’t even get nominated? Funny thing, when he won the Oscar for Best Directing for The Awful Truth (an excellent film, by the way) McCarey said thanks but that he got the award for the wrong film.

Final verdict: if you really love your parents don’t watch this movie. It will make you angry and depressed. Still, if you are someone who wouldn’t think twice about dropping them at the “home” and visiting them only on holidays (if that), please watch this film to see how loathsome you really are. If I have offended anyone with this—Good.

The Wizard of Oz (1939) ****

2011-09-19T23:31:00.001-04:00

So, how does one of the greatest films of all-time come to be classified as a “Guilty Pleasure” by me? Well, it goes something like this…

Imagine if you will a group of adults sitting in a darkened room watching a 60-inch plasma screen TV with the sound of the film on mute and the Pink Floyd album The Dark Side of the Moon blaring from the surround sound. Perhaps some adult beverages and other illicit items have been consumed and you are feeling pretty good…and then something happens when Dorothy (Judy Garland) starts singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and you don’t hear her voice. We won’t call it a flashback or, goodness to Betsy, a “bad trip.” No, we’ll call it a Proust moment…a Remembrance of Things Past, if you will.

My first recollection of watching The Wizard of Oz (1939) finds me about age five—curiously enough, about the size of a Munchkin. At the time I was an only child who spent a lot of time talking to Weeble Wobbles and my prized Franco Harris football card. How mind-bending was it when the black-and-white screen turned to color as Dorothy emerged from the farmhouse into the merry old land of Oz? Aren’t those little people cute…can I, too, represent the Lollipop Guild…I would thank you very sweetly if I might. Oh, and that beautiful Glinda (Billie Burke)—she does remind me of my beloved Aunt Jean, with her sweet disposition and strawberry blonde hair. It was a night of amazement—flying monkeys and a horse of a different color—I was hooked. I would spend the next twenty years watching the annual CBS broadcast with my family—every year, no matter what.

Of course, my perception of the film and its characters changed over that twenty year period. For example, when my mother remarried and I gained not only a step-father but a spiteful step-grandmother, Almira Gulch and the Wicked Witch (Margaret Hamilton) looked just a little bit like her, and my loathing of those characters somehow intensified. At around the age of twelve I stopped being afraid when Dorothy and the gang nervously went into the hall of the great and powerful Oz (Frank Morgan), as well as when they ventured into the haunted forest with those creepy trees—I couldn’t let my two younger brothers think their big sister lacked courage. Then, there were the boyfriends in my mid-teens who wanted to do anything but spend a night watching an old movie with my entire family—they did it, of course, most of them had brains you see. Yes, things changed, but I could still count on that yearly broadcast to bring my family together.

And, then something unbelievably rude happened: CBS stopped airing it in 1998 and TNT/TBS bought the television rights. Yes, we had Cable and could continue to watch if we wanted, but something fundamentally wrong had occurred. CBS showed the film once a year—TBS/TNT showed it several times, year round. The EVENT was no longer an event…it was just any other film on TV, plus they took way too many commercial breaks. Alas, we stopped watching the film together as a family in our home…and as the film tells us, there is no place like home.

So, there I would be, sitting on my couch channel surfing and all of the sudden I’d find myself on TNT and hear the Wicked Witch say, “You cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?” Really? It’s almost over! Curse you CBS! Is nothing sacred? I blocked TNT and TBS from my favorite channels on my remote.

My yearning for the film and its true meaning brought me to the point of despair. The situation had become so desperate that I contemplated doing something unfathomable: watching the film in a theatre. Yes, when Warner Brothers re-released the film to theatres I wanted—no, I needed—to go. Oddly enough, I couldn’t find any adults to go with me. And, then it happened: It really was no miracle. What happened was just this...My eye began to twitch. My skin, to itch. And suddenly I started to unhitch. Just then the Ditz—that’s right, I asked a Tween to go with me. Now, you must understand, I have no children for a reason: I don’t like them. Perhaps that sounds strange coming from a person who admires a film that opens with a title that reads:

…this story has given faithful service to the Young in Heart; and Time has been powerless to put its kindly philosophy out of fashion. To those of you who have been faithful to it in return...and to the Young in Heart...we dedicate this picture.

Still, I despise children most sincerely. As such, you can only imagine to what depths my despair had descended to ask a child to go see my childhood favorite film. So, we went. And, to my great surprise, we had a good time. The film truly transcends time and age. That doesn’t mean I encountered the same feelings I got when I watched it with my family—that is something that can never be recaptured—but it was still a memorable, pleasant experience. It was a cathartic moment.

Now, I no longer block TNT and TBS from my remote, and if I happen upon Oz when the Witch is asking the Scarecrow if he wants to play with fire, I watch it. Mind you, I find myself looking around the room to see if my brothers chant along when the guards at the witch’s castle say, “"O-Ee-Yah! Eoh-Ah!" And, it is here that I feel a pang of guilt. Have I betrayed a familial ritual by watching the film alone or with other imbibing adults in the dark? Perhaps…but time marches on and broadcast television changes its schedule. We will always have those twenty years of things remembered about the wonderful world of Oz—and I will always endure my own private guilty pleasure whenever I watch it.

It’s a Gift (1934) **

2011-09-17T00:23:00.000-04:00

W.C. Fields was a deadpan comedic genius. He became famous as a vaudeville performer in the Ziegfeld Follies and most of his films borrow from gags he performed on the stage. It’s a Gift (1934) relies heavily on a number of his revue staples, as well as from his 1926 silent film, It’s the Old Army Game. In Fields’ world everything was fair game when it came to comedy. He had an antipathy toward most things domestic and traditional—even the handicapped were not off limits, as witnessed by his treatment of the blind and deaf Mr. Muckle. These comedic traits made Fields a unique Hollywood performer—plus, he could act, write, and juggle (he was a master juggler). His gift for improvisation can only be compared to that of Steve Carell’s today. Yes, he had a bit of a drinking problem…so what, Mozart had this same issue and by all accounts he was a pretty good musician.
Director Norman McLeod was responsible for keeping Fields on track in It’s a Gift…he’d become an expert at dealing with improvisational ex-vaudevillians through his work with the Marx Brothers as well as his earlier films with Fields. The plot revolves around Harold Bissonette (Fields), a New Jersey grocer who hates his store, customers (especially Mr. Muckle, played by the hilarious Charles Sellon), neighbors, and family (especially his wife Amelia, played by the outstanding Kathleen Howard). Harold’s dream is to own an orange grove and ranch in California, and so when he learns that he may be inheriting some money, hope begins to seep into his mind. Never mind that his family has totally different ideas about where their newfound money might be used.

There a number of memorable scenes in this film. The first one is the bathroom scene, where Harold is carefully shaving with a straight razor while his daughter Mildred (Jean Rouverol) goes about her business as though he isn’t there. Several times she comes perilously close to hitting her father’s arm, thus helping him slit his own throat—metaphorically, that’s what a daughter can drive you to. After Mildred fully monopolizes the medicine cabinet mirror, Harold relies on a makeshift mirror on a light pull cord, which sways back and forth. Imagine trying to shave like that? Fields’ coming timing is superb…without the aid of much dialogue.

The second scene that stands out is the enormously funny grocery encounter between Harold and Mr. Muckle. Blind and deaf (he uses an ear trumpet) Mr. Muckle has a habit of breaking Harold’s glass door with his cane, which he wildly waves back and forth, and just about everything else that is encased in glass. It is side-splitting funny to watch him drop light bulbs on the floor while Harold tries to be as polite as possible. Later, once the tornado that is Mr. Muckle has left the store, we meet baby Ellwood (Baby LeRoy), his neighbor’s son. Harold refers to him as blood poison, and for good reason: baby Ellwood is a holy terror who likes to throw things at Harold and play in molasses.

The third standout scene happens when Harold attempts to sleep on his porch. After listening to Amelia gripe about his plans to move to California for hours, Harold decides to sleep on the porch swing. Not only is the swing squeaky, but it is dilapidated as well. When he tries to lie down on it one of the chains break and he tries to sleep with his head on the ground and his feet in the air. Noisy delivery men, neighbors, and an imposing insurance salesman (T. Roy Barnes) also disturb his slumber, but it is baby Ellwood that is the real bedbug. Grapes and icepicks are his weapons of noise (and near death for Harold). If you don’t laugh when Harold confronts Ellwood with the icepick then you don’t have a sense of humor.

And, finally, the road trip California has numerous laugh-out-loud gags as well. The picnic scene on the private estate is highly comical, especially the gags with the can opener and statues. And, Amelia’s reaction when they reach the sun-parched land that’s supposed to be their orange grove is one of Kathleen Howard’s best scenes.

I really enjoy watching W.C. Fields. My favorite type of comedy is a sophisticated one, but I also enjoy deadpan and gag comedy as well. I don’t think there was a better deadpan comic during the early years of Hollywood than Fields. I once read that Louise Brooks (who worked with Fields at the Follies and in some early films) thought he was much funnier on the stage than the screen because his brilliance couldn’t be chopped up by a film editor on the open stage. It must have been a sight to behold, because his movies are pretty darn funny—imagine seeing him live without the constraints of censors.

It Happened One Night (1934) ***

2011-09-15T15:49:00.001-04:00

Not as sophisticated as The Thin Man (1934) but just as funny, It Happened One Night (1934) is a timeless screwball comedy that examines both the battle of the sexes (circa 1930s) and the divisions between the rich and the poor. A box-office and critical success (it won all five major Academy Award nominations: Best Screenplay Adaptation (Robert Riskin), Best Director (Frank Capra), Best Actor (Clark Gable), Best Actress (Claudette Colbert), and Best Picture), the film is a timeless testament to the power of sexual chemistry and top-notch comedic writing.

This is primarily a “road” film where an unlikely couple meet on the road and then develops a love-hate relationship while using various forms of transportation. The film’s screenplay was based on a Samuel Hopkins Adams’ story (“Night Bus”) which first appeared in Cosmopolitan in 1933. Interestingly enough, Gable and Colbert were not the stars Capra wanted, instead his would-be dream team would have been Robert Montgomery and Myrna Loy. Loy I can see—Montgomery not so much. Thankfully, Joan Crawford’s insufferable personality had made Gable refuse to work with her on an MGM project and he was put out on loan to Capra for this film.

The film opens with a big splash literally when a beyond stubborn and spoiled heiress jumps off her father’s yacht in what I assume are the Florida Keyes. Millionaire Alexander Andrews (Walter Connolly) has kidnapped his just-married flighty daughter Ellie (Colbert) to prevent her from consummating her impulsive marriage to no-good playboy King Westley (Jameson Thomas) before he can have it annulled. She obviously had other plans. An APB is put out on the "escaped” heiress and she is forced to trade in luxurious yacht travel for an inconspicuous seat on a Greyhound bus traveling from Miami to New York.

Ellie is the hottest news story since the Lindbergh baby and recently fired newspaper reporter Peter Warne (Clark Gable) needs a spectacular scoop to get back in the good graces of his editor Joe Gordon (Charles C. Wilson), who sacked him for drinking on the job and writing free verse columns. So when Peter finds himself on the same bus with the bratty heiress, he sees a way to turn his luck around. When the bus leaves her at a Jacksonville rest stop after she returns late, Peter is waiting for her. She offers to pay him for his silence and this irritates him, so he wires his editor about a big scoop. When they catch the next bus to New York they meet Mr. Shapeley (Roscoe Karns), a smarmy traveling salesman who introduces himself as: “Shapeley’s the name, and that’s the way I like them.” Good thing he finds himself sitting next to a woman with one of the most famous pair of shapely legs in movie history! His coarse, overt passes at Ellie rankles Peter and he introduces himself to the salesman as her husband.

Later, when weather forces the bus riders to take refuge at Dyke’s Auto camp, newly “married” and broke Ellie and Peter have to share a room. If she was outraged that she was called Peter’s wife, how do you think she reacts when he tells her he’s a newspaper man and that he’ll turn her in if she doesn’t give him an exclusive? This sets up the famous Walls of Jericho scene where he places a blanket over a clothesline between the twin beds and proceeds to undress in front of her to force her onto her side of the room. The next day detectives show up at the door and the couple have a hilarious make believe spat right in front of them—obviously two people who speak to one another as though they want to kill one another are married. This “fight” brings the couple closer together and some sort of understanding seems to be reached.

When the bus trip is resumed Shapeley reasserts himself when he learns who Ellie is and he asks for $5,000. This forces Peter to pretend that he’s a gangster who is holding the heiress ransom for a million dollars. He tells Shapeley that he has machine guns in his suitcase and he’s not afraid of using them. Still, it’s obvious that bus travel is no longer a good way to travel incognito with rest stops that sell newspapers, and so at the next stop they get off and start out on foot. Eventually she ends up being slung over his shoulder and the two exchange a class discussion about piggy-backing, which results in her ass getting slapped. The couple are forced to sleep in a haystack for the night. This is the first time in the film that it is obvious that the couple are falling in love, though, of course, neither will admit it to the other.

The next day they set off on the road to try their hand at hitchhiking. This sets up yet another verbal sparring match between the two, as he tries to instruct her on the three ways to thumb your way into a car. While she lounges on the top rail of a fence post he puts these techniques into practice and fails miserably. Finally, she tells him she has her own system and hops down off the fence and “hitches” her skirt up, revealing those famous shapely legs and a garter to boot. The next car comes to a screeching halt and gives them a ride. As he pouts beside her she makes one of the funniest cracks in the film: “I proved once and for all that the limb is mightier than the thumb.” When the man (Alan Hale) that picked them up tries to steal Peter’s suitcase he gets the short-end of the deal, as well as a black eye, when Peter steals his whole car from him.

Near New York the couple stop at Zeke’s auto-court for the night. Peter promises to pay the man at the end of their week-long stay. Ellie reads that her father has consented to her marriage and that he is begging for her to come home. However, Ellie has second-thoughts now that she has spent some time with Peter. After he tells her about his dream woman and his island of Eden, Ellie begs him to take her with him…even crossing yet another Wall of Jericho and sitting on his bed while declaring her love for him. He sends her back to her own bed and she cries herself to sleep. While she is asleep he goes to New York to collect his $1,000 check on the story that Ellie’s having her marriage annulled so she can marry him. Too bad the owners of the auto-camp barge into the room and announce that Peter has left her…without paying the bill. Thinking she’s been deserted, she calls her father to come get her. Oh, it’s just bad timing all around and both feel that they have been duped and deserted.

Back in New York Ellie has to have a proper church wedding to satisfy her father. She is completely miserable but determined to go through with her marriage to King to avoid anymore problems. Meanwhile, Peter has returned his $1,000 check to his editor and returned to working at the paper. The only issue that is left to be resolved is his traveling expenses of $39.60, which he asks Mr. Andrews to pay. When asked by Ellie’s father if he loves his daughter Peter finally relents and says, “Yes, but don’t hold that against me. I’m a little screwy myself.” On his way out the door he sees Ellie who asks if he got his money. He declines to stay for the ceremony.

There are just some things that can never be explained logically. Why would you wait until you are walking your daughter down the aisle, in front of hundreds of people, to announce that Peter loves her and that her car is waiting by the gate? And, then, why as a bride would you wait until the priest asks you if you will “take this man to be your husband” to hike-up your wedding dress and run off across the lawn? Oh, it’s Hollywood. Needless to say, the ending wraps up the story cleverly and trumpethantly (yes, I made that word up).

Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert make a great opposites-attract duo. Strangely enough, it almost didn’t happen, as she didn’t want to make the movie because she thought the script was weak and she wanted to go on vacation. In the end, she got the best end of the deal: $50,000, a 4-week shoot which allowed her to go on vacation, and an Oscar. She drove Capra nuts with her pouting, but he put up with it because he saw the chemistry that Gable and Colbert had on screen.

Overall, this is a highly enjoyable film. The acting is spot on—especially Colbert’s portrayal of the spoiled heiress. The look on her face, and most especially in her eyes, when she delivers her sharp and funny dialogue is priceless. Gable, of course, is good, but his is not the standout performance. The standout performance goes to Capra, Riskin,and Adams who wrote a really clever and funny script. The double entendres alone would have made Ernst Lubitsch proud—and that is saying something.

Judge Priest (1934) **

2011-07-10T09:00:00.001-04:00

I suspect a lot of people would be surprised to learn that this little-known 1934 film was director John Ford’s favorite of his countless cinematic endeavors. Some have argued that the title character, Judge Billy Priest (Will Rogers), was really a facsimile of Ford himself, just played by a more amiable personality in Will Rogers. This might explain why it was his favorite, especially when you consider he made many more highly regarded films like Stagecoach (1939), How Green Was My Valley (1941), and The Quiet Man (1952)—just to name a few. And, when you think about it, who wouldn’t prefer the film that most represents them?

All that said, Judge Priest is just a mildly amusing film, and far from my favorite Ford Film—that place is reserved for The Quiet Man. Still, it is a somewhat interesting film to watch because Will Rogers does a nice job playing a home-spun, down-to-earth Kentucky judge who has to step aside when a legal client of his nephew is brought before his court. What makes Judge Priest so likable is his overall irreverence for proper courtroom decorum. His outright hilarious interactions with his would-be nemesis Senator “Yankee” Maydew (Berton Churchill) are also a delight to watch. Most critics believe that Rogers didn’t really have to stretch himself in the role, because he was just playing a fictional representation of his commonsensical self. This is probably an accurate assessment, but it doesn’t lessen the fact that Rogers plays the role to the hilt.

There is one element of the film that many viewers do not like—the shamelessly stereotypical role that black comedian Stepin Fetchit plays as Jeff Poindexter. Some critics have said that Fetchit plays nothing more than a human lawn jockey in the film. It is true that he comes off as a shiftless trickster. Yet, it is also true that his conversations with Judge Priest are the most enjoyable parts of the movie. And, when you take a minute to think about it you might ask yourself what the film was saying about a judge in 1890s Kentucky who would go fishing with a grown black man. Still, the fact the the Judge jokingly tells Jeff that he might join a lynch-mob if Jeff plays “Marching Through Georgia” is not necessarily politically correct either. Oddly enough, Fetchit would play Jeff Poindexter again in Ford’s, The Sun Shines Bright (1953)—another installment of the Judge Priest story, this time played by Charles Winninger.

Not the greatest John Ford film, but still worth a watch.

A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu) 1969 **

2011-04-25T18:24:00.000-04:00

The term wuxia is defined by the famous Chinese historian Sima Qian as: “honest in words, effective in action, faithful in keeping promises, fearless in offering one’s own life to free the righteous from bondage.” The wuxia warrior embodies all of these characteristics. It is the code by which they live. Today, most film critics regard director King Hu as the pioneering figure in the wuxia film genre. While the genre itself predates King Hu’s first film by more than forty years, it was his visionary use of cinematography, choreography, and color that transformed the martial arts film industry.

Of the seventeen films he directed, the best and most critically acclaimed is A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu). Originally, the epic 200 minute film was broken into two parts. The first part was filmed in 1969 and released the following year, but eventually both parts of the film were seamlessly put together and released to the world in 1971. For his efforts, King Hu was awarded the Special Technical Award for Superior Technique at the 1975 Cannes Film Festival and the film itself was nominated for the Golden Palm—these honors also made A Touch of Zen the first Chinese film ever recognized by the Festival.

Set during the early Ming Dynasty, the story’s heroine is Yang Hui Ching (Feng Hsu), the daughter of an official to the Emperor. When her father is murdered for trying to warn the Emperor about a corrupt eunuch named Wei, she must go on the run with General Shi (Pal Ying), a loyal aide of her father. They end up in an abandoned estate in a small town outside Peking. They meet clumsy scholar Ku Sheng-chai (Shih Chun) and a romantic relationship eventually develops between the scholar and Yang. When her past comes calling, Yang and company must face off with East Chamber guards in the famous bamboo forest battle, the haunted estate sequence and the final showdown between Abbot Hui Yuan (Roy Chiao at his best) and Eunuch Wei’s chief commander Hsu Hsien-Chen(Han Ying-Chieh).

The cinematography of A Touch of Zen is primarily focused on capturing the serenity of nature and comes off as almost metaphysical in character. King Hu had a habit of setting his battle scenes in peaceful, picturesque locations. The bamboo forest scene (which Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon borrowed heavily from) is ethereally shot, with mist lofting lazily by and an almost deafening stillness weighing down the swift battle scene. There’s nothing like watching the fighters bouncing/gliding amongst the towering trees while they fight to the death. Hu also employs mist and eerie imagery when capturing the scenes at the haunted estate.

It is obvious that when Hu choreographed his fight sequences he had in mind what he’d seen at the Peking Opera. Everything is precisely orchestrated and flows seamlessly. Again, the bamboo forest sequence shows Hu’s artistic vision, with the ensuing chase of the eunuch’s two guards through the forest. Captured with both long and close shots, as well as with quick cuts, Hu sets a mesmerizing pace. And, when Yang does her human ladder-climbing move off Ku it is sight to behold. In addition, the final battle between Abbot Hui and Hsu is almost transcendental to watch—especially with the underlying Buddhist message that true enlightenment transcends even death.

A Touch of Zen is a film that has to be seen to be appreciated. If you are a fan of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or The House of Flying Daggers, then you should enjoy this film. Ang Lee has said that his main inspiration for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was this King Hu classic. However, be warned, it is long. You might want to take a break after the bamboo forest sequence and then come back to it. The first part of the film is much more character driven, while the second half of the film goes along at a much quicker pace and contains most of the fight scenes. So if you want to call yourself a kung-fu or wuxia fan and still look at yourself in the mirror, then you must watch this film.

Come Drink with Me (Da Zui Xia) 1966 **

2011-04-18T09:00:00.000-04:00

The protagonist of Come Drink With Me (1966) is a petite Chinese woman named Golden Swallow (Cheng Pei-pei…yes, the same lady from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). Based on this description, you might assume this is one of those Chinese teahouse stories where the main character is either a peasant or a princess who finds herself caught in a love triangle. You would be wrong, but at least you were right about their being a teahouse. No, Golden Swallow is a sword-wielding badass who likes to lure her adversaries into a false sense of security by sipping tea before she uses her two daggers to slice them up.

Director King Hu truly revolutionized the martial arts film genre with this 1966 classic. The overall production standards and fight sequence designs were a great leap forward for Hong Kong cinema. Concentrating on the areas of color and movement, King Hu creates a martial arts film full of grace and style. His lead actress’s ballet training no doubt helped with the overall gracefulness of her character’s deft movements. Watching her precise and fluid movements in the fight sequences is something to behold. It is strange to say, but watching her engage in these acts of violence one is reminded of a beautifully choreographed Chinese opera. And she does all this wearing long gowns and large hats, which I suppose makes her seem even more skilled, as no doubt it was not easy to maneuver in such costumes. King Hu deliberately chose Cheng Pei-pei for Golden Swallow because of her ballet background. An admirer of Peking Opera, King Hu constructed his fight sequences based on the principles of dance.

In addition, King Hu benefits from his other star, Yueh Hua, who plays Drunken Cat, a drunken beggar who assists Golden Swallow in her quest to free her brother, a local government official, from a group of bandits. We first meet Drunken Cat when Golden Swallow meets with the bandits at a teahouse to negotiate the release of her brother. Things escalate when she refuses to trade the bandits’ leader for her brother—enter Drunken Cat as her secret weapon. More than ten years before Jackie Chan played a drunken master, it was Hua Yueh who brought this martial arts technique to the big screen. It is rumored that he consumed two bottles of wine before filming his fight sequences. It is quite comical to listen to him sing songs from famous Peking Opera’s to help Golden Swallow.

Though they have completely different personalities, Drunken Cat and Golden Swallow work well together. He serves as a wise advisor and capable accomplice. She’s a hothead who often acts before she thinks. It is through one of Drunken Cat’s opera songs that Golden Directed by King HU
Shown center: CHENG Pei-pei (as Golden Swallow)" border="0" alt="Come Drink With Me (1966 Hong Kong) aka Da zui xia aka Big Drunk Hero
Directed by King HU
Shown center: CHENG Pei-pei (as Golden Swallow)" align="left" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_tjUrOXhSsj0/TajA1x8kZ4I/AAAAAAAACfE/j3hvNPzuT3o/931_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="212" height="244">Swallow finds the bandits’ hideout—a spectacularly designed Buddhist temple. The realistic-looking temple was entirely constructed on the Shaw Brothers’ lot. When Golden Swallow is injured there by a poisoned dart, it is Drunken Cat who nurses her back to health and helps her plan her assault on the temple. Of course, Drunken Cat has his own debt to settle with his brother (Chan Hung Lit), who is both a criminal and an abbot at the temple. As such, there is eventually a showdown between the two brothers…and Golden Swallow has her own showdown with the bandits—but in an interesting twist she has a mini-army of female warriors who help her defeat them.

Come Drink With Me might not be the best martial arts film of all time, but it certainly is one of the most important. King Hu truly changed the Wuxi genre by creating fight sequences that could be viewed as both artistic and powerful. A sequel, Golden Swallow, followed two years later, but it was not as good as the original and there is no Drunken Cat. However, King Hu would score another hit in 1971, with his best film A Touch of Zen.

Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) 1937 **

2011-04-11T09:00:00.000-04:00

To say Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) is completely unknown to contemporary film audiences would be an understatement. Yet, it is considered by many film historians to be one of the best Chinese films of the early sound era. There are many things to admire about this 1937 picture, but I would like to focus on its unusual take on a classic tale and its outstanding set design.

There have been many film adaptations of Gaston Leroux’s novel The Phantom of the Opera (most notably the 1925 classic starring Lon Chaney), but Song at Midnight is perhaps the most unusual. Director and screenwriter Ma-Xu Weibang took a chance when he took liberties with Leroux’s original story, but his gamble paid off in the end. Instead of making the protégé a female opera singer, Ma-Xu decided that the story would work better if the singer were a male. This really changes the story’s dynamics and it also ends up making the Phantom a more sympathetic character.

The story takes place at a run-down theater, where 10 years earlier the great opera singer Song Danping (Jin Shan) died. Well, he didn’t really die, but everybody thinks he did. Evidently he has been skulking about making the locals believe the place is haunted, while waiting for someone with a voice as gifted as his own to make into the greatest opera singer in China. You see, Song was once a great singer, as well as a revolutionary himself, but then he went and fell in love with Li Xiaoxia (Woo Ping), the daughter of a vindictive feudal lord and the would-be girlfriend of Tang Jun. This is also an important element of Ma-Xu adaptation, because in the 1930s China was in the midst of political turmoil. In the end, Tang throws nitric acid in Song’s face and he is horribly disfigured. He decides to let the world (besides a few friends), and Li, think he’s dead. And, so when Song hears the voice of Sun Xiao-au he has the “voice” and face he needs to make a comeback—and to bring love back to Li. This is what makes the adaptation so unusual, Song and Sun are more like Cyrano and Christian from Cyrano de Bergerac than the original story of the Phantom and his case of unrequited love with Christine. Of course, things turn a bit nasty when Song learns that Sun has his own fiancee, but in the end, the Phantom of this story ends up being a hero, even though he doesn’t have a happy ending. Quite simply, it is wonderfully woven story and such a great spin on the traditional Phantom tale.

Besides having a great story, Song at Midnight is also a visual treat. Ma-Xu was a not only a fan of Tod Browning’s Universal monster films, he was also an admirer of German expressionism, most notably the works of Fritz Lang and Robert Wiene. Ma-Xu put together a film heavy with gothic atmosphere and haunting images. Ma-Xu sets the mood from the very beginning, by introducing the audience to the cobweb infested theater at night, and having a mysterious man lurking in the shadows. From that point on the scene is set and what follows truly comes from an artistic mind.

One of the most notable images is when we first see the Phantom’s face. Via flashback and with a handheld camera, we watch over Song’s shoulder as he slowly unrolls his bandages in front of a mirror. Not only his reaction is captured in a pristine moment, but the framing of the reactions of those around him are superbly done as well. You can almost feel the recoil of those looking at his disfigured face. When he smashes the mirror it means so much more than just shattered glass all over the floor.

Overall, this is an interesting film to watch. I’m always curious to see how certain genres took form in different countries. Ma-Xu borrows heavily from the Universal monster films, especially the opening sequence and the finale with the torch wielding crowd. Of course, it is the reinterpretation of Gaston Leroux’s story that I find the most intriguing. Sometimes when screenwriters make changes to original stories things don’t work out well, but in this case it was a refreshing retelling of a classic tale.

Sabotage (1936) **

2011-03-28T09:17:00.000-04:00

I recently wrote a review of The 39 Steps and based on the comments it elicited I came to the conclusion that Hitchcock’s pre-Hollywood films are often overlooked or even forgotten. I’m sure there are many reasons for this, but I think many of his early British films should be watched to understand how his directorial vision developed. You don’t just wake up one day and direct Notorious or Rear Window. As such, I think Hitchcock’s earlier films provide excellent examples of how he honed his style over a period of many years. Sabotage (1936) is one of those forgotten gems that one should watch to gain more insight into the Hitchcockian vision.

Based on the novel The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad, Sabotage is a suspenseful thriller about an international terrorist group (or saboteurs) who hold London in a state of anxiety through their rampant bombings across the city. Though not designated as Nazis by Hitchcock, many film historians believe that is exactly who the saboteurs were meant to represent. This makes sense, as Germany and Italy had just signed the Rome-Berlin Axis and many Western European nations were growing alarmed by Germany’s growing militarism. There were even rumors that German spies were attempting to infiltrate Britain and create public unrest. As such, the film’s saboteurs serve both an artistic and political purpose for Hitchcock.

The film opens metaphorically with a close-up shot of a flashing light bulb (a warning signal?) and then transitions into a shot of a crowded London street right before a blackout. In true Hitchcockian fashion, the film cuts back to the flashing light bulb and we watch as the light slows its pace and then goes completely out upon the blackout. Another quick cut takes us to the Bijou,a movie theatre run by Karl Verloc (Oskar Homolka). Dressed in the typical accoutrement of a shady figure—a dark overcoat—Verloc seems to be sneaking back into his home just after the blackout hits. When he lays down on the couch and covers his face with a newspaper you instantly know something just isn’t kosher. When his wife (Sylvia Sidney) comes to complain that the theatre’s patrons want their money back he tells her to give it to them, hinting that they don’t have to worry about money any more. Why?

Soon we are introduced to Mrs. Verloc’s little brother Stevie (Desmond Tester). Stevie encompasses all that is innocent and good, which is reinforced by his helpfulness and trusting nature. Through Stevie we meet Mr. Spencer (John Loder), the street grocer…well, actually he’s not really a grocer but an undercover Scotland Yard detective who suspects Mr. Verloc is involved with the saboteur group. Spencer and Verloc engage one another in the typical Hitchcockian game of cat and mouse. Verloc comes off as cool and detached whenever Spencer makes suggestive comments about the bombings taking place in London.

It is really enjoying to watch these two actors play off one another, especially when you throw in Sylvia Sidney as the unassuming wife. In addition, Verloc is the traditional quiet and unassuming Hitchcockian villain. He doesn’t seem particularly menacing (at least until the end of the film) and seems like an inconspicuous personality. In addition, like in so many Hitchcock films, the line between villain and hero becomes blurred when Spencer begins to have feeling for Mrs. Verloc and even when Mrs. Verloc reaps her revenge at the end of the film. Hitchcock had a habit of blurring this line, in such films as Marnie, Notorious, and some would say even Psycho. It is also interesting to note that John Loder was not Hitchcock’s first choice for the role of Spencer. Instead, he hoped to work once again with his The 39 Steps leading man, Robert Donat, but the actor was being treated for severe asthma at the time.

The puzzle pieces start to take shape when Verloc and an accomplice meet at an aquarium and discuss the city’s reaction to the recent bombing. A newspaper headline reads: “London Laughs at Blackout”. Evidently no one was hurt in the blast and this means Verloc isn’t getting paid. He’s told he must deliver a bomb that will do substantial damage before he gets his money. In a rather creative shot (at least for 1936), we see Verloc staring into a fish tank as he imagines as a collapsing building in Piccadilly. This scene is especially effective, as Hitchcock uses shadows to evoke a sense of sinister unease.

Eventually a plan is put into action to detonate a time bomb at 1:45 on a Saturday afternoon. A note reads: “London must not laugh on Saturday”—yes, the opposite reaction is, of course, the outcome. In a strange twist (but not strange for Hitchcock), Verloc gets Stevie to deliver the bomb, which is disguised in a film reel/roll of Bartholomew the Strangler (a nudge toward the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre of 1572?). Ah, but you never send a child to do a man’s work, now do you? Instead of promptly delivering the “package” Stevie attends a a street show and a parade and finds himself tardily boarding a bus for his destination. The bus, and everyone on it including Stevie, goes kaboom. It is said that this was one of Hitchcock's’ greatest film regrets—he had violated his own rule of never harming a character with whom his audience had come to sympathize. In the end, we are privy to the unraveling of Mrs. Verloc and the eventual comeuppance of Mr. Verloc.

The film is tension filled, especially little Stevie’s errand from hell and the showdown between husband and wife. The bomb delivery sequence is nearly 10 minutes long and is taut with suspense. The showdown between the Verlocs is rife with unspoken anxiety and edited with shots of uneasy close-ups. In addition, Hitchcock uses the theatre setting as a clever device to mix reality with fiction, as in the scene where Spencer is visiting the Verloc’s and he hears screams and shots ring out. After recovering from being startled, he comments, “I thought someone was being murdered.” And, then with a wonderful comeback, Verloc responds, “Someone probably is.” Priceless, and filled with so many undertones!

Sabotage is perhaps one of Hitchcock’s darkest films—what with killing an innocent child. It is also one of his few films that doesn’t contain a true mystery. Shortly after the film starts everyone knows who the bomber is and there is nothing to truly unravel. Instead, it is purely a suspense film. As such, it is a rather unique Hitchcock vehicle.

The 39 Steps (1935) **1/2

2011-03-14T01:39:00.002-04:00

In his 18th effort, legendary British director Alfred Hitchcock created a film that brought him to the notice of American audiences and Hollywood. The film, The 39 Steps (1935), also introduced two classic Hitchcockian themes: the MacGuffin and the average, innocent man (Robert Donat) who finds himself forced into extraordinary circumstances to prove his innocence. In addition to these two themes, the film also has another classic Hitchcock element: an icy blonde heroine (Madeline Carroll). You combine these three components with a masterfully plotted script and you have the first of many classic Hitchcock films.

The screenplay was based on John Buchan’s 1915 novel of the same name. While Charles Bennett is given the screenwriting credit, both Hitchcock and his often used dialogue writer Ian Hay (an author in his own right) also contributed to the film’s tightly-constructed script. As most Hitchcock fans know, he wanted a script that was visual in nature so his favorite directorial tool, the storyboard, could be precisely created to match the script. I once read somewhere that Hitchcock’s storyboards were so precise that he never looked through the viewfinder while directing—he didn’t need to. Even today, Hitchcock’s storyboards are something to marvel. Perhaps that is why Cinemek created a Hitchcock storyboard app for the iPhone?

The story takes place over a four-day period in both London and the Scottish highlands. As with most Hitchcock films, The 39 Steps begins innocently enough, with the film’s hero, Richard Hannay (Donat) attending a vaudeville show starring Mr. Memory (Wylie Watson). However, his life soon becomes complicated when he takes Annabella Smith (Lucie Mannheim) back to his rented room after shots are fired in the theatre. Unbeknownst to him, Ms. Smith is a secret double agent hiding from two men from an organization known as, you didn’t guess it, the 39 Steps, that want to kill her. The poor sap even jokes about it when she lets him in on her predicament. He stops laughing when she ends up with a knife in her back and two men outside his window seem like they might want to kill him, too. And, so with the knowledge that Ms. Smith was supposed to stop British military secrets from being smuggled out of the country by a spy missing the top of his little finger and who works for the 39 Steps, Hannay sets out to do her job. First step, pry the map of Scotland out of her cold, dead hand, and notice that she’s circled the town of Alt-na-Shellach. Second step, get out of the building without being noticed by two men outside. He does this by borrowing the milkman’s hat and coat and then he takes a train to Scotland.

Whilst on this train, two very important things happen. First, he learns that Ms. Smith’s body has been found and that he is the prime suspect. This leads to the other important thing: to avoid identification he pops into the compartment of our Hitchcockian icy blonde, Pamela (Carroll). Perhaps she was mad that he kissed her before a proper introduction, but once she catches her breath she alerts the police to his presence and he has to make another daring escape. Don’t worry, they’ll meet again.

Not able to make it on foot to Alt-na-Shellach before dark, Hannay finds shelter with a religious fanatic (John Laurie) and his young wife Margaret (a very young Peggy Ashcroft). Unlike Pamela, Margaret helps Hannay escape the police when her jealous and greedy husband tries to turn him in for a reward. Hannay then finds his way to the house of Professor Jordan (Godfrey Tearle), the man whom he mistakenly believes is Ms. Smith’s ally. This myth is soon dispelled when Jordan shows him his deformed little finger and shoots him point blank. Ah, thank goodness Margaret had given Hannay her husband’s coat as a disguise—it had a thick prayer book in its breast-pocket. You gotta love, Hitch!

He ends up in the local sheriff’s office recounting the events that led to his would-be murder and narrow escape. He finds himself handcuffed (but by only one wrist) and ready to be turned over to London authorities when he makes yet another escape. This time he hides out at political rally where he meets up with Pamela again. She evidently doesn’t like him, because she alerts the authorities once again. Ah, but she alerts the “wrong” authorities this time, and she finds herself being taken to the professor’s house with Hannay. Conveniently, the spies handcuff Pamela and Hannay together. And, so when he makes yet another escape she has to come along too—she’s actually drug, but that’s just semantics. Anyway, this leads to some rather interesting scenes at an inn between the warring couple. Carroll is your typical Hitchcock ice queen—eventually she melts. She and Donat do a nice job of playing off one another, and the love-hate relationship that develops between their characters is palpable.

This being a suspense film, I won’t give away the ending. All I’ll say is that it takes place at the London Palladium and it is quite circular. However, it is Hitchcock’s newfound love of the MacGuffin that makes the ending so enjoyable. What are the 39 Steps and how can the military secrets be smuggled out of the country without detection? It is, as my old friend M. Night Shyamalan would say, a twist. And, what is a good suspense film without an even better twist? Hitchcock would use the MacGuffin device in many of his best films, such as Vertigo, The Lady Vanishes, North by Northwest, The Man Who Knew Too Much, and, of course, Notorious.

Not my favorite Hitchcock film, that honor rests with Notorious, The 39 Steps is still an enjoyable piece of cinema. I really think this film helped shape and define Hitchcock’s style for the rest of his career.

Bin-Jip (3-Iron ) 2004 **

2011-03-12T17:11:00.000-05:00

This strange, but watchable Korean film from director Kim Ki-duk is in a category all its own. Short on dialogue and long on psychological motivations, it truly is a cerebral film. While the film is only 90 minutes long, it seems much longer—not that this is necessarily a bad thing, but its overall pacing is something that might deter some viewers.

Lee Hyun-Kyoon (AKA Jae Hee) gives an extremely subdued performance as Tae-suk, an over-accommodating uninvited house watcher. Confused? I was at first, too. Tae-suk has a strange racket: he tapes take-out menus over the keyholes of prospective houses he might want to “watch”. He returns days later to see if any of his menus are still in place. When he finds one he breaks into the house and makes himself at home. Yet, instead of robbing these places he does the owner’s unwashed laundry, waters and prunes plants, and fixes broken things. Mind you, all of this is done in silence, with intermittent music by Sivian and an occasional TV or answering machine voice. The premise is so bizarre that it takes awhile before you truly grasp what’s happening.

Since this isn’t a performance art film, something has to happen to move the story along, and that’s where Sun-hwa (Lee Seung-yeon) comes into play. Unbeknownst to Tae-suk he breaks into a house where battered housewife Sun-hwa silently watches him in her home. He is there for quite some time before he even notices she is there. Not one for human companionship, Tae-suk leaves the home but then decides to teach the abusive husband (Kwon Hyuk-ho) a lesson. Hence, the title of this film: 3-Iron (Bin-Jip). After getting the husband’s attention by practicing golf in his yard, Tae-suk proceeds to hit the man with golf balls when he comes outside to complain. Perhaps it isn’t a naval officer coming to your factory and sweeping you off your feet romantic, but it works for Sun-hwa and she leaves with Tae-suk. Mind you, they have not spoken one word to one another--Really. And, so we now have two strange “house watchers.”

The couple eventually run into some trouble when they discover an elderly dead man in one of the houses. As if taking care of the plants wasn’t enough, the couple clean the man up and prepare him for burial. When relatives arrive at the apartment and find the couple they assume Sun-hwa and Tae-suk are murderers and the couple finds themselves in jail. Things aren’t easily cleared up when the suspects take remaining silent to a whole new level, but eventually they are cleared of any crime.

In some strange twist, the abusive husband bribes a police officer to allow him to hit Tae-suk with golf balls. This leads to Tae-suk choking the officer and being taken off to jail while Sun-hwa has to go home with her bastard husband. While in jail, Tae-suk engages in his usual strange behavior: he hits imaginary golf balls with imaginary clubs and plays a game of hide-and-seek inside his cell with the prison guards. This “where is Tae-suk” game is quite interesting to watch…especially when he hides so well that we see him following a guard around the cell. This leads, once he is released from jail, to the even stranger ending of the film. Having perfected this technique, Tae-suk can rejoin Sun-hwa in her own home without her husband even knowing it—really. It is a film you have to see to understand, and even then, you might find yourself questioning what really has taken place.

Both Lee Seung-yeon and Lee Hyun-Kyoon are really good at conveying their character’s emotions without the use of words. Restrained, nuanced performances are rare in cinema today, but that is how I would describe the work of these two actors.

Not a film for everyone, 3-Iron is still an innovative film that most viewers will enjoy. However, if you are a dialogue-driven film watcher, this might not be the film for you.

Rebecca ( 1940) **1/2

2011-03-11T11:23:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor The Lady Eve and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

By the late 1930's, Hitchcock's reputation was riding high based on several suspense films he'd made in Britain. He came to Hollywood under contract to producer David O. Selznick. Selznick intended Rebecca to rival his previous film, the award-laden Gone With the Wind (1939). The two men had a contentious collaboration on Rebecca but ultimately produced a critical and commercial success that was nominated for 11 Academy Awards. It won two: Best Picture and Best B&W Cinematography.

Rebecca is a favorite of mine, and here are a few reasons why...

A strong sense of atmosphere that underscores the story's gothic quality and mood of vague but insistent foreboding. Manderley, where much of the action occurs, conveys a cavernous and chilly ambiance of inhospitable elegance.

Multi-layered characters, evocative performances. Joan Fontaine is palpably anxious and apprehensive as the second Mrs. de Winter. She doesn't miss a beat and, late in the film, smoothly portrays the young woman's transition as she gains poise and confidence. Laurence Olivier's Maxim de Winter is guilt-riddled, highly strung and volatile...with aristocratic charm. Judith Anderson creates one of Hitchcock's and the screen's great villains as the unbalanced and eventually dangerous Mrs. Danvers. George Sanders as Jack Favell and Florence Bates as Mrs. Van Hopper both play unsavory types, but with comic overtones. Favell is an oily bounder, but a witty one. Van Hopper is insufferably demanding and grandiose - and more than slightly ridiculous.

A final note...Hitchcock reportedly edited "in camera" to prevent Selznick from re-editing his work. Rebecca strikes me as classic Hitchcock with the Selznick treatment: top-notch cast, the finest writers and technicians - and a big budget that shows.

Those are some of my thoughts...but what do you think? What are your opinions, observations and comments...and, if you've read Daphne du Maurier's novel, how would you compare the film to the book?

Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) **1/2

2011-03-10T10:56:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor The Lady Eve and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

One of the most charming and potent portrayals of Americana to ever grace the screen, Meet Me in St. Louis tugs at the heartstrings as powerfully today as it did 65 years ago when it was first crafted by MGM's "Freed Unit" and released in 1944.

The film's wondrous perfection is the work of producer Arthur Freed, director Vincente Minnelli, a bravura ensemble cast, an ace artistic and technical team, songwriters Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin and...Technicolor.
This is one of my all-time favorites...
Meet Me in St. Louis was adapted from a series of reminiscences by Sally Benson that first appeared in The New Yorker in early 1942. Told from the perspective of five-year-old 'Tootie' Smith, Benson's memory pieces, though rich in warmth and humor, were light on plot and conflict. A more defined storyline was developed, the characters were strengthened and 17-year-old Esther Smith (played by Judy Garland) became the pivotal character. The story evolved into a "year in the life" of an idealized American family and was comprised of vignettes set in each of the four seasons with its dramatic climax, a family crisis, set at Christmastime.

The Smith family home at 5135 Kensington Avenue was the film's central interior and Minnelli made the decision to build a continuous set with interconnecting rooms, just like an a actual house. He reportedly wanted the entire picture to have the look of a painting by Thomas Eakins (1844 - 1916, above is his Baby at Play) and art director Preston Ames' assignment was to recreate a St. Louis neighborhood, circa 1904, as evocatively as possible. Ames did so spectacularly, creating a full block of Kensington Avenue (at a cost of $200,000) on Metro's back lot.

Focused on the film's visual look and intent on accurate period detail, Minnelli supervised every aspect of set and production design. He brought in top Broadway set decorator Lemuel Ayres and, in addition, spent time with Sally Benson who described to him every feature of her girlhood home in St. Louis. To handle costume design, he turned to Irene Sharaff, another recent Broadway-to-Hollywood transplant. Sharaff researched the historic era carefully, even using a 1904 Sears & Roebuck catalog as a reference.

Minnelli and cinematographer George Folsey, a master of fluid camera work, took such pains with the film's colors and textures that many scenes do resemble period paintings. This was the first MGM film to be fully shot in Technicolor, and Folsey and Minnelli proved to be adept at the use of color, even managing to capture subtle changes in seasonal light.

The songwriting team of Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin composed three very special songs for Judy Garland: "The Boy Next Door," "The Trolley Song," and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." Each became a standard in Garland's later repertoire and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" remains a holiday classic today. To add more period flavor, Blane and Martin also reworked popular tunes from the turn of the century - "Meet Me in St. Louis," "Skip to My Lou" and "Under the Bamboo Tree." Up to this time, most films had music inserted arbitrarily, but the songs in Meet Me in St. Louis were integrated into the action and dialogue to help advance the plot.
With such meticulous preparation and skilled collaboration, Vincente Minnelli's genius for utilizing and showcasing light, color, form and movement was able to soar.

Meet Me in St. Louis was an immediate hit, the highest grossing film of 1944. It turned out to be just the tonic a country at war needed to lift its spirits. The film firmly established Minnelli's reputation as a top director, provided Judy Garland with a solid push to the next plateau of her career and toward her ultimate status as a legend, and it ushered in a golden age of Hollywood musicals.

There is much to love about Meet Me in St. Louis. For me its charm is that, though nostalgic, the sentiment isn't heavy-handed. The film beguiles gently, taking one on a fanciful, many-faceted trip back...into a golden epoch. The turn of the century in America is depicted as a languid time before the World Wars and the Great Depression, an era when multi-generational families lived under the same roof...when mothers made vats of ketchup every summer in large, window-filled kitchens...when horse-drawn ice wagons regularly clattered down neighborhood streets...and when a young lady might easily fall in love with and dream of marrying a boy who lived right next door...

As Esther Smith, Judy Garland glows as the film's heart and soul. She is at her best - wistful and endearing, spunky and warm, her voice at an early peak.

Margaret O'Brien, as the high-spirited young 'Tootie,' adds a delightful dimension of childhood mischief and carries the imaginative Halloween sequence almost entirely on her own. She takes another precocious star turn during the climactic Christmas scenes with Judy Garland.
Leon Ames blusters as the bombastic but good-hearted family patriarch, Alonzo Smith. Mary Astor effortlessly inhabits the genteel yet womanly 'Mrs. Anna Smith.' Lucille Bremer is winning as Esther's demure older sister, Rose. Harry Davenport shines as crusty but lovable 'Grandpa' Smith.

Marjorie Main adds spice as the cantankerous maid, Katie. Tom Drake is affecting as awkwardly appealing 'boy next door' John Truett. Very fine in fleeting roles are Chill Wills as Mr. Neely and a young June Lockhart as Lucille Ballard.

As I write, an image of Judy Garland drifts through my mind...it's a wintry night...she and Margaret O'Brien lean together, framed by a bedroom window...and Judy sings...

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Let your heart be light,
From now on
Our troubles will be out of sight.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on
Our troubles will be miles away.
Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore,
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.
Through the years
We all will be together,
If the Fates allow,
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

The Birds (1963) **1/2

2011-03-09T00:11:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

Alfred Hitchcock’s most divisive thriller finds the Master of Suspense in magician mode. On the surface, The Birds is a traditionally-structured horror film, in which the bird attacks build progressively to three of Hitchcock’s most intense sequences. However, this is just Hitchcock performing a little playful sleight of hand with the audience. Our feathered friends play a strictly peripheral part in moving the plot along. In actuality, The Birds is a relationship movie about another memorable Hitchcock mother, her adult son, and the women who threaten to come between the two—a theme explored by Hitchcock earlier in Notorious and Psycho.

In The Birds, the son is the bland, but likable, Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor). Mitch’s mother (wonderfully played by Jessica Tandy) fears losing her son to another woman—not because of jealousy, but because she can’t stand the thought of being abandoned. Young socialite Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren) views Mitch as a stable love interest, something she needs as she strives to live a more meaningful life. And Annie Hayworth (Suzanne Pleshette) is the spinster schoolteacher, willing to waste her life to be near Mitch after failing to pry him from his mother.

These characters come together when Melanie follows Mitch to his home in Bodega Bay after a flirtatious exchange in a pet store. Melanie’s arrival coincides with the beginning of the bird attacks. It’s almost as if the birds arrive to prevent any potential love between Mitch and Melanie, perhaps an extension of Mitch’s mother’s anger at having to defeat another rival for her son’s love. (Taken to the extreme, there could a parallel between the birds and the creature created by Morbius in Forbidden Planet). However, although the birds initially come between Mitch and Melanie, they eventually have a very different impact. They allow Melanie, who first appears spoiled and shallow, to show her courage and vulnerability. In the end, Mitch’s mother no longer sees Melanie as a threat, but as a woman worthy of her son. Once the friction between those two characters is resolved, the bird attacks stop and the movie ends. Hitchcock’s conclusion—often criticized as ambiguous—is perfectly logical.

Hitchcock goes to great lengths to misdirect his audience by disguising The Birds as a conventional thriller. Always concerned with audience expectations, the Master of Suspense told French director/film critic Francois Truffaut in Hitchcock, a brilliant collection of interviews: “I didn’t want the public to become too impatient about the birds, because that would distract them from the personal story….” For that reason, the first bird attack comes at twenty-five minutes into the film and occurs toward the end of a playful scene in which Melanie races her boat while Mitch drives along the lake road trying to beat her to the dock.

From that point on, the birds become progressively more menacing and their appearances more frequent: Mitch sees them on the power lines after Melanie visits for dinner; a bird crashes into Annie’s front door and dies; birds swoop down to break up a children’s birthday party; they fly through the open flue into Mitch’s house; and Mitch’s mother find the first human victim in a farmhouse. (I love how Hitchcock uses broken teacups in this scene to foreshadow the impending horror. Earlier, he shows Mitch’s mom picking up broken teacups after the birds-in-the-flue incident. Then, when she visits the apparently empty farmhouse, she sees broken teacups hanging on their hooks—just before discovering the bloody, eyeless body.)

The remainder of the film consists of the three major set pieces: the bird attack outside the school-house; the attack after the gas station blows up; and Melanie’s struggle with the birds in the attic. Again, following the classic horror film structure, Hitchcock separates each sequence with a transition scene that allows the audience to relax and catch its breath. The scene in the restaurant with the ornithologist is one of Hitch’s rare missteps in The Birds; as Truffaut points out, it goes on too long without contributing to the narrative structure. I won’t dissect the birds’ attack on the school children—it’s an iconic sequence—but I strongly recommend that Hitchcock fans seek out Dan Auiler’s Hitchcock’s Notebooks, which include the director’s hand-drawn storyboard and notes. Though less famous, the burning gas station sequence is no less impressive. In the midst of the terrifying chaos, Hitchcock shows Melanie protected—and trapped—inside a phone booth. This “glass cage” is a marvelous metaphor for her previously sheltered life (also symbolized by the lovebirds in the birdcage) from which she is rescued by Mitch (literally…when he pulls her from the phone booth).

The three years between Psycho and The Birds (1963) comprised the longest gap between Hitchcock films up to that point. Much of that time was spent dealing with the technical difficulties in bringing Daphne du Maurier’s short story to the screen. In Truffaut’s book, Hitchcock admits that he discovered narrative weakness in The Birds as he was shooting it. A compulsive pre-planner, who storyboarded every shot in every film, Hitchcock began to improvise during the shooting of The Birds: “The emotional siege I went through served to bring out an additional creative sense in me.”

That creative genius is captured for all to see in The Birds. From its use of bird sounds in lieu of music to its disturbing closing shot, The Birds is an atypical Hitchcock film which finds the director in a mischievous mood. He gives us a classic chiller, but then reveals that it’s all wrapping paper and that’s what inside is a relationship drama. It’s an unexpected gift and, hey, Hitchcock even includes a birthday party for us—although it’s disrupted by those darn birds!

Goldfinger (1964) **

2011-03-08T23:58:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

At a beautiful resort in Miami, British secret agent James Bond (Sean Connery) is relayed a message from MI6 head, M (Bernard Lee). Bond’s friend and occasional confidante, CIA agent Felix Leiter (Cec Linder), informs 007 that he is to watch a man named Auric Goldfinger (Gert Fröbe), who the spy catches cheating at a game of gin rummy. However, Bond’s true assignment is to learn how Goldfinger, who by all intents and purposes is a legitimate jeweler, is moving his shipments of gold bullion. As 007 is told, since gold can be melted down, tracing any of the precious metal that has been stolen is nearly impossible. The superspy trails Goldfinger, always accompanied by his mute henchman, Oddjob (Harold Sakata), from London to Switzerland, eventually uncovering Goldfinger’s plan known as Operation Grand Slam. Bond, with the help of a fully loaded Aston Martin DB5 and shaken, not stirred, martinis, must halt an attack on Fort Knox.

Goldfinger has become the “go-to” Bond film since its release in September 1964. It popularized a number of 007 elements, most notably, perhaps, the title song performed by a famous singer, in this case Shirley Bassey. Bassey would also be the only musician to perform a Bond title song more than once, having the honor again in Diamonds Are Forever (1971) and even a third time, as a last-minute replacement for Johnny Mathis in Moonraker (1979). A title song performed by a well known singer would become a staple in the Bond series, with 1969’s On Her Majesty’s Secret Service being the sole exception.

This is the first film of the series that 007 orders a martini “shaken, not stirred” (although in 1962’s Dr. No, the titular baddie serves the secret agent a martini, knowing how he likes it mixed). This is actually taken from Ian Fleming’s novels and would become such a celebrated trait of the films that it was sometimes parodied, such as You Only Live Twice (1967), when he accepts a martini inaccurately stirred, and Casino Royale (2006), when an irate, preoccupied Bond refuses to specify a mix. According to actor Desmond Llewelyn, who plays Q, director Guy Hamilton instructed Llewelyn to play his character as if he disliked 007, since he has no respect for his gadgets. This method led to numerous sarcastic remarks from a perpetually exasperated Q, as well as one of his best known lines spoken in Goldfinger: “I never joke about my work, 007.” Although Bond was given a gadget-laden briefcase in the previous year’s From Russia with Love, Goldfinger popularized Bond’s visit to the Q-Branch, as Q explains to him his latest gadgets (as well as the audience treated to various additional gadgets in the testing phase).

Editor Peter Hunt, who worked on Goldfinger, had reconstructed From Russia with Love into a nicely paced action feature. His most noteworthy contribution was creating a pre-credit sequence. With Goldfinger, Hamilton and screenwriters Richard Maibaum and Paul Dehn turned the pre-credit scene into a movie all its own, with Bond in the midst of an assignment that has nothing to do with the forthcoming mission. Most of the subsequent movies adopted this format.

Goldfinger is likely the most popular of the Bond films. In addition to the distinctively mixed drinks and Q berating Bond, there are a number of things viewers tend to remember about this film: the golden fate of Jill Masterson, the introduction of the Aston Martin, the movie’s theme song (I personally cannot speak the title, choosing instead to sing it). But one of the most memorable components of Goldfinger is Goldfinger himself. Bond’s chief antagonist is a charming, brilliant man, and he’s an impressive and fascinating figure to watch onscreen. One reason for this is an outstanding performance from Fröbe, a German actor who could not speak English and was consequently dubbed for the film. He plays Goldfinger with a style that can easily be equated to 007. But more than anything, the manner in which the villain transports gold and his plan that he ultimately reveals to Bond are ingenious, and even if he is a self-centered, egotistical, malicious person, it is difficult not to respect him for his methods.

Honor Blackman as the provocatively-named Pussy Galore gives a strong showing in Goldfinger. Before being cast in the film, Blackman had just ended her contract on the successful British series, The Avengers. Her co-star, Patrick Macnee, would star in another Bond film, A View to a Kill (1985), and her replacement, Diana Rigg, would catch Bond’s wandering eyes in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. To round out the Bond-Avengers connections, Joanna Lumley, who would be featured in The New Avengers with Macnee, had a small role in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Prior to Goldfinger, both Blackman and Shirley Eaton, who played Jill Masterson, had made appearances in another popular British TV show, The Saint, starring future 007, Roger Moore. Following the film’s 1964 release, Lois Maxwell, who played Moneypenny in numerous Bond films, and one-time Felix Leiter, Cec Linder, both starred in episodes of The Saint.

Toshiyuki “Harold” Sakata, of Japanese descent and born in Hawaii, was a professional wrestler, wrestling under the name Tosh Togo. Although he has no lines, his portrayal of Oddjob would make the character one of the best of the 007 series. The weaponized bowler hat was Fleming’s creation, but it is Sakata who flashes a wicked grin when Bond’s attempts to subdue him prove futile. Reportedly, Milton Reid, who’d previously had a small role as a guard in Dr. No, was up for the part of Oddjob and challenged Sakata to a wrestling match (to determine who would play the henchman) that never materialized. Reid would have a significant villainous role in The Spy Who Loved Me (1977). Linder is a standout among the many actors who would play Felix Leiter, pleasant and a worthy counterpart to Bond.

Goldfinger was a huge international success, breaking box office records and earning back its three-million dollar budget in just two weeks. Just a little more than a month before the premiere of Goldfinger, Bond creator/novelist Ian Fleming died of a heart attack.

Goldfinger is one of my favorite Bond films and is typically the one that I will recommend to potential 007 fans. Connery is terrific, of course, and there are many significant aspects of the film: a great villain, plenty of action, and excellent music.

In the Heat of the Night (1967) ***

2011-03-06T11:47:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

This racially-charged mystery, 1968’s Oscar winner for Best Picture, has aged gracefully over the years. The secret to its success can be attributed to its many layers. Peel back the mystery plot and you have a potent examination of racial tension in the South in the 1960s. Peel that back and you have a rich character study of two lonely police detectives, from completely different backgrounds, who gradually earn each other’s respect.

The film opens with a nighttime “tour” of Sparta, Mississippi, as police officer Sam Woods (Warren Oates) makes his rounds in his patrol car. He stops at a diner for a cold Coca Cola, then drives past closed shops with their bright neon signs. He pauses at a house where a young exhibitionist walks around in the nude. It’s a typical night in the sleepy little town…until Sam finds a dead body in an alley way.

The murder victim turns out to be an industrialist who planned to build a big factory in Sparta. The local police chief, Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger), quickly launches an investigation that results in the arrest of a well-dressed black man at the train station. Much to Gillespie’s dismay, he learns his prime suspect is actually a police detective from Philadelphia named Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier), who was awaiting a connecting train to Memphis. Tibb’s Philly superior tells Gillespie that Virgil is his “number one homicide expert.”

Though Gillespie doesn’t like Tibbs, he realizes that he needs help. Gillespie knows his subordinates are ineffective (they can’t even remember to oil the air conditioner) and the mayor won’t support him if he fails to find the killer quickly. Most importantly, Gillespie realizes that he’s out of his element; he just wants to run a “nice clean town” and lacks the expertise to handle a homicide investigation. For his part, Tibbs is torn—he’s eager to leave, but wouldn’t mind showing up these prejudiced, ignorant white men.

The film’s most famous scene is the confrontation between Tibbs and Endicott (Larry Gates), a wealthy cotton farmer and a principal murder suspect. Their conversation begins as a calm discussion on orchids, but Endicott quickly shows his racist side when he notes his flowers are “like the Negro…they need care and feeding and cultivating.” Tibbs coolly ignores the insult and persists with probing questions. When Endicott realizes he’s under investigation for murder, he slaps Tibbs across the face. Without hesitation, Tibbs strikes him back. When an enraged Endicott asks Gillespie what he’s going to do about Tibbs’ actions, the police chief replies simply: “I don’t know.”

Seen today, the scene still works as powerful drama. It no doubt had a greater and more significant impact when In the Heat of the Night was originally released. Ironically, Tibbs’ slap wasn’t in the novel nor the original screenplay (in both, Tibbs just walks away). In a February 2009 interview with the American Academy of Achievement, Poitier said he read the script and then told producer Walter Mirisch: “I will insist that I respond to this man (Endicott) precisely as a human being would ordinarily respond to this man. And he pops me, and I'll pop him right back. And I said, if you want me to play it, you will put that in writing. And in writing you will also say that if this picture plays the South, that that scene is never, ever removed.” Mirisch agreed and a classic, landmark scene made its way into a mainstream Hollywood film.

Historical significance aside, the film’s best-played scene has Tibbs and Gillespie relaxing in the latter’s drab home as a train whistle echoes in the distance. Drinking warm bourbon, Gillespie confesses to Tibbs that the Philly detective is the first person to see the inside of his home. Then, in an unguarded moment, Gillespie opens up about his mundane existence and isolation.

Gillespie: Don’t you get just a little lonely?
Tibbs: No lonelier than you, man.
Gillespie: Oh now, don’t get smart, Black boy. I don’t need it. No pity, thank you. No thank you.

The scene perfectly illustrates the performers’ contrasting acting styles (which is one reason why they work so well together). Steiger dramatically transforms from a sad sack looking off into a corner of room into a proud man who is offended that Tibbs would empathize with him. Poitier, meanwhile, says very little, slumping in his chair to convey exhaustion and leaning forward attentively to show interest in Gillespie.

Thanks in part to Stirling Silliphant’s excellent dialogue, In the Heat of the Night provides an ideal showcase for its two leads. Steiger, who had a tendency to overact in later movies, remains in total control here. Gillespie’s sloppy appearance, yellow-tinted sunglasses, and constant gum-chewing makes him look like a typical redneck Southern sheriff—but Steiger skillfully avoids playing the stereotype. Gillespie comes across as wily, independent, proud, prejudiced, and lonely. The performance earned Steiger a well-deserved Best Actor Oscar.
Poitier matches him scene for scene as the intelligent, proud, equally prejudiced Tibbs. He skillfully underplays the Philadelphia detective, so that when Tibbs strikes Endicott or flashes his anger toward Gillespie, those scenes catch fire. Amazingly, Poitier was not Oscar nominated, perhaps because his votes were split among three memorable 1967 performances: In the Heat of the Night, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, and To Sir, With Love.

Strip away its atmospheric setting and riveting characters and In the Heat of the Night is just an average mystery. But, in this case, the plot is just a means to the ends. The film is foremost a character study of two strong-willed men (played by two actors at the peak of their careers). Secondly, it’s a portrait of Southern life in the late 1960s. Some of it may be exaggerated, but overall, screenwriter Silliphant and director Norman Jewison skillfully capture a time and a place—making the viewer feel like they’ve just experienced a visit to Sparta in the 1960s. That’s what makes the confrontation between Tibbs and Endicott so powerful.
In the Heat of the Night also spawned one of the most famous lines of dialogue in movie history (the American Film Institute ranked it #16…it should have been higher). When Tibbs’ investigative skills expose a flaw in Gillespie’s initial theory about the crime, the following exchange take place:

Gillespie: Well, you're pretty sure of yourself, ain't you, Virgil? Virgil, that's a funny name for a nigger boy to come from Philadelphia. What do they call you up there?
Tibbs: They call me Mister Tibbs!

And that’s exactly what they called Virgil in two sequels in which Poitier reprised the role: They Call Me MISTER Tibbs (1970) and The Organization (1971). Sadly, neither film is very good. They transform Tibbs into a family man working in a big city—making him just another detective working the streets in a 1970s urban crime film.

In 1988, In the Heat of the Night was adapted as a television series starring Carroll O’Connor as Gillespie and Howard Rollins as Tibbs. Set in Sparta again, the show lasted for eight seasons, although Rollins was dropped after 1993 due to legal problems.

Once Upon a Time in the West (C’era Una Volta Il West) 1968 ***

2011-03-05T11:29:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

"Big," "epic," and "sprawling" are the words critics frequently use to describe this now-revered 1968 Spaghetti Western. Yet, despite its lengthy running time and visually massive backdrop, Once Upon a Time in West focuses tightly on the relationships among four people over a relatively short period of time. These characters are: Frank (Henry Fonda), a ruthless gunfighter who aspires to be a powerful businessman; Cheyenne (Jason Robards), a rascally outlaw with killer instincts; Jill (Claudia Cardinale), a former prostitute in search of a more meaningful life; and a mysterious revenge-minded stranger whom Cheyenne calls Harmonica (Charles Bronson).

Each character is introduced to the accompaniment of his or her own musical theme, memorably composed by Ennio Morricone. The mood of these themes range from playful (for Cheyenne) to bold and abrupt (Frank) to sweetly old-fashioned (Jill) to eerily disturbing (Harmonica). The last theme--an almost off-key four-note piece--is often played by Bronson's character on the harmonica he wears around his neck.

In addition to the musical motifs, director Sergio Leone employs natural sounds in unique ways throughout the film. For example, the film's opening fourteen-minute sequence contains virtually no dialogue--but we hear cracking knuckles, buzzing flies, water drops plopping, birds, and a train whistle. Later, Leone introduces Cheyenne by letting us listen to a ferocious gunfight from inside a quiet desert cantina.

As in most Leone Westerns, the storyline takes a back seat to the interesting characters and overarching theme, Leone's stylish direction, and some marvelous set pieces. For the record, Jill inherits a valuable property from a husband she hardly knew. Frank, working for a railroad baron, wants the property for its future value as a railroad way station. Cheyenne takes an interest in Jill and decides to protect her.

Harmonica helps Jill and Cheyenne, but his motive is revenge against Frank. Indeed, his reason for wanting to kill Frank is a riddle that lurks in the background until their epic showdown at the film's conclusion. Then, in a concise flashback that immediately proceeds the gun shots, Leone reveals the incident that fueled Harmonica’s vengeance.

Bronson and Robards give fine performances, but Henry Fonda steals the film in a great change-of-pace role as a villain who kills defenseless children and kicks out the crutches from underneath cripples. When Frank is making love to Jill, he remarks casually: “I think I might be a little sorry killing you.”

The only subpar performance is from Cardinale, who is also burdened with the least interesting character. Nevertheless, Jill is the strongest female character in any Leone Western and central to the film’s theme. Unlike the male characters, Jill is willing and able to adapt to the “New West.” Frank wants to become a businessman, for example, but he can’t change his violent ways.

Once Upon a Time in the West features one of the best openings of any Western: the aforementioned fourteen-minute sequence in which three gunfighters arrive at a train station to kill Harmonica after he unboards. They walk around the empty town and then wait and wait--and we wait with them as the credits appear slowly across on the screen. After thirteen minutes, the trains finally arrives, but Harmonica is nowhere in sight. As the train pulls out of the station and the gunfighters turn to leave, they hear Harmonica play his eerie tune. They turn around and he becomes visible on the other side of the tracks as the train rolls out of view. That leads to the following exchange:

Harmonica: "Did you bring a horse for me?"
Head Gunfighter (laughing): "Looks like we're shy one horse."
Harmonica (shaking his head): "You brought two too many."
In a flash, guns are blazing and four bodies hit the ground in a matter of seconds. It's a textbook example of how a filmmaker can manipulate his audience's perception of time and space--and it's also an incredible way to start a movie.

Amazingly, Once Upon a Time in the West flopped miserably when released in the U.S. in 1969. Part of its failure can be attributed to Paramount’s poor decision to cut thirty minutes from the film’s running time, thus rendering some of its plot incomprehensible. Still, the film did brisk business in Europe and helped make Charles Bronson an international star (ironically, Leone had tried to convince Bronson to play the Eastwood role in the earlier A Fistful of Dollars). As Leone’s status as a Spaghetti Western auteur grew in the 1970s and 1980s, Once Upon a Time in the West came to be rightfully hailed as his masterpiece.

L’ucello Dalle Piume Di Cristallo (The Bird with the Crystal Plumage) 1970 **

2011-03-04T11:07:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

Sam Dalmas is an American writer looking for inspiration in Italy. After two years of writing very little, he is nearly broke and planning a return to the U.S. Passing by an art gallery one night, he sees a woman struggling with a man in black. The woman is stabbed, and the man runs away. Sam is inadvertently locked between giant glass doors and is unable to help the wounded woman. The police arrive, and Sam is questioned all night, but he cannot recall much about the man in black. In spite of this, the police consider the writer an important witness, and his passport is taken from him. Apparently, someone else believes Sam knows more, as an unknown assailant swings a cleaver aimed at his head while on his way home. When other young women start being murdered, and realizing that the killer may very well be the one who wants him dead, Sam begins investigating the killings on his own. This leads to a mysterious painting and a close examination of a recorded phone call from the killer, with a strange sound in the background (and an explanation of the title).

Director Dario Argento was a screenwriter for some years (including co-writing Sergio Leone's classic, Once Upon a Time in the West (1969), and Don Taylor's 1970 Western, Five Man Army). The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1969) was his directorial debut and marked the beginning of what would become his trademarks. These include: a killer who threatens people with a creepy, whispering voice; focusing on the killer's weapon(s) of choice with extreme close-ups; and frequent point-of-view shots of the killer donning black leather gloves (Argento has stated that, in his films, the killer's hands always belong to the director himself, who believes that no one else can move the hands the way that he wants). One of the more significant and original trademarks that Argento first employed in his debut is a character who believes that he/she has seen something that may be important, but cannot be recalled at the present time. Sam says just that in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, that there was something about the attack that was a little "off." Argento did this again in films such as 1975's Deep Red (aka The Hatchet Murders), 1982's Tenebrae (aka Unsane), and Trauma (1992). In each film, the character invariably remembers what exactly he/she was seeing, and it eventually leads to the killer's unmasking.

With this movie, Argento proved adept at combining scenes of suspense with humorous sequences. There are many instances of the killer stalking potential victims, and one attack in particular is truly terrifying, as the murderer tries to force a way into Sam's loft, while Sam's girlfriend, Julia, is alone. But comic relief abounds, as Sam visits a man in prison who tackles a speech impediment by saying "So long" (initially making Sam believe the interview has prematurely ended), as well as tracking down the artist of the aforementioned painting, a burly man surrounded by cats who lives on the second floor of a remote cottage, accessible only by a rickety stepladder.

The unveiling of the murderer is shocking and quite clever, and it's important to note that Argento never cheats in hiding the killer's identity. He is fair in his presentation to the audience. Much like the protagonist, Sam, the viewers see what they need to see and are allowed to form their own conclusions. Although many Italian horror films are mocked for weak and illogical stories (as well as shoddy English dubbing), The Bird with the Crystal Plumage has a solid plot with strong, likable characters. Tony Musante is very good as Sam, but he is outshined by Suzy Kendall portraying Julia. The real star, however, is Argento's camera, which simply refuses to sit still, creating beautifully fluid shots.

The Bird with the Crystal Plumage is reportedly an unaccredited adaptation of Frederic Brown's novel, The Screaming Mimi (officially adapted in 1958 in the U.S. as Screaming Mimi). This movie is the start of a reputed "Animal Trilogy," as the director followed this with The Cat o' Nine Tails (1970) and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971). Many Italian directors, hoping to achieve similar success, began including animals in the titles, such as Sergio Martino's The Case of the Scorpion's Tail (1971), Paolo Cavara's Black Belly of the Tarantula (1971), and Lucio Fulci's A Lizard in a Woman's Skin (1971) and Don't Torture a Duckling (1972).

The Exorcist (1973) **

2011-03-03T10:17:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn) is an actress filming in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. She begins to notice changes in her 12-year-old daughter, Regan (Linda Blair): aggression, apparent seizures, speaking obscenities and profanities, etc. Chris takes Regan to various doctors and psychiatrists, but the girl’s behavior only worsens. When the medical professionals cannot adequately explain some of Regan’s more bizarre actions (one doctor suggests that muscle spasms were causing an entire bed to shake), Chris turns to Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller), a priest and psychiatric counselor. Father Karras, who has recently begun to question his own faith, eventually requests the Church’s permission to perform an exorcism. Finding a priest with experience in exorcism, the Church sends Father Merrin (Max von Sydow).

The Exorcist (1973) is based on the novel by William Peter Blatty, who also wrote the screenplay adaptation. The author had wanted William Friedkin to direct. Friedkin had recently won an Academy Award for Best Director for The French Connection (1971), and Blatty had hoped that the filmmaker’s gritty, documentary style would add realism to The Exorcist. Friedkin’s approach to the material is straightforward, a deliberately but effectively slow build to a menacing evil. On occasion, the film indeed feels like a documentary, as viewers watch Chris gradually learn what is happening to her daughter.

Blatty was not pleased with the version initially released in theaters, due to scenes that were cut from the film. Though the director has stated that he cut sequences at the bequest of the studio, the novelist felt that these scenes -- including a staircase conversation between the priests during the exorcism, with Karras questioning why Regan was chosen -- were essential to the plot. According to Friedkin, the excised scenes resulted in the two men not speaking to each other for years. Following the 25th anniversary DVD release, Friedkin returned to the source material and edited the cut scenes back into the film. Another sequence that had been removed was what has become known as the “spider walk” scene, where a contorted Regan does a reverse crawl down the stairs. Friedkin was unhappy with the effect, which was later digitally corrected (i.e., the visible cable could be erased).

There is the belief by some that The Exorcist was a cursed film. There were rumors of accidents on the set, sometimes resulting in injuries. Members of the crew or people related to them died during filming, such as Jack MacGowran, who played Chris’ director and possible love interest. Friedkin allegedly asked Father Thomas Bermingham (a technical advisor who also had a role in the film) to exorcise the set. When the film was released, viewers claimed to be possessed or experiencing extreme psychological reactions, some referencing the purported “subliminal” flashing of a demon’s face (although it’s not genuinely subliminal, since it’s clearly visible). Some audience members would prematurely exit the theater during a viewing or would become physically ill. Blatty, however, attributes this not to scenes of demonic possession but rather the sequences of Regan undergoing strenuous tests such as a pneumoencephalography (enduring a needle in her neck and having her head taped down, among other things).

The Exorcist was such an overwhelming success that it sparked a horror subgenre of possessed people and the resulting scenes of exorcism. Not surprisingly, clones and sequels invariably followed. Some of the more interesting takes on The Exorcist were: Alberto De Martino’s L’anticristo (1975/aka The Antichrist; The Tempter), Exorcismo (1975/aka Exorcism), starring popular and prolific Spanish horror star Paul Naschy (sometimes called the “Spanish Lon Chaney”), Un urlo nelle tenebre (1975/aka Cries and Shadows; The Possessor; and even the blatant Naked Exorcism, The Return of the Exorcist, and The Exorcist 3); and La endemoniada (1975/aka Demon Witch Child; The Possessed), directed by Amando de Ossorio, better known for his Blind Dead series. A Turkish film, Seytan (1974), is clearly an unofficial remake. Similarly, William Girdler’s Blaxploitation feature, Abby (1974), starring William Marshall (perhaps best known as Blacula), was sued by Warner Bros. for copyright violation. Mario Bava’s film Lisa and the Devil (aka Lisa e il diavolo), released before The Exorcist in 1972, was reedited with new footage added and retitled The House of Exorcism for its 1975 U.S. release.

John Boorman helmed Exorcist II: The Heretic in 1977. It follows Father Lamont (Richard Burton) investigating a death resulting from the exorcism of Regan. Blair reprises her role, and von Sydow appears as Father Merrin in flashbacks. The film performed poorly at the box office. Blatty fared a little better with The Exorcist III (1990), based on his novel, Legion, which was also the movie’s original title. The author wrote and directed the film, but the studio compromised his efforts, demanding rewrites, reshoots, and a title change. It featured George C. Scott as Lt. Kinderman and Ed Flanders as Father Dyer, both characters having appeared in the first film (Lee J. Cobb, who played Kinderman in The Exorcist, died in 1976). Jason Miller also makes an appearance as Patient X (with the insinuation that he is Father Karras, a studio alteration). Reportedly, the footage that Blatty originally shot has since been lost, which has been blamed on Morgan Creek Productions. The same year as The Exorcist III, the Exorcist parody Repossessed, starring Blair and go-to funnyman Leslie Nielsen, was released.

In 2003, Paul Schrader was fired as director of an Exorcist prequel (he had replaced John Frankenheimer, who had died in 2002 before filming had started). Schrader’s work was completely revamped by director Renny Harlin, and the movie was released in 2004 as Exorcist: The Beginning. After a poor reception of Harlin’s movie, Schrader was given additional funds to finish his nearly completed film. The movie, title Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist, received limited theatrical showings and subsequent video/DVD release in 2005. Although the film likewise was not well received, it’s generally preferred by fans of the series. Blatty publicly supported Schrader’s film, while expressing discontent for the 2004 version.

In 1980, Blatty wrote and directed The Ninth Configuration, an adaptation of his 1978 novel of the same name, itself a reworking of his own 1966 book Twinkle, Twinkle, “Killer” Kane (also an alternate title for the film). The author reputedly considered it a sequel to The Exorcist. A notable connection between the two films is Capt. Capshaw (Scott Wilson, who was nominated for a Golden Globe), an astronaut with a fear of dying in outer space, and it was supposedly Capshaw to whom Regan is referring when she speaks her famous line: “You’re going to die up there.” In addition to Wilson, the film was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Drama and Blatty won for adapted screenplay. Several cast members, including Wilson, Miller, Flanders, and Nicol Williamson, would also star in Blatty’s The Exorcist III. The Ninth Configuration was not a success at the time of its theatrical release but has since gone on to achieve cult status.

Friedkin has boasted that he originally edited The Exorcist at the New York office building located at 666 5th Avenue. Radio and film actress Mercedes McCambridge provided Regan’s raspy voice during the young girl’s possession but did not initially receive a promised screen credit. She (and the Screen Actors Guild) were able to get her name added to the credits. The film’s original trailer, consisting of black and white flashes of a demonic face and a possessed Regan coupled with ear-piercing music, was supposedly banned by executives as it was deemed too frightening to play in theaters.

The film was nominated for 10 Academy Awards, winning for sound and adapted screenplay. It won a Golden Globe for Best Picture, with Golden Globes awarded to Friedkin, Blair and Blatty.

Recently, Warner Bros. released The Exorcist on Blu-ray, presented in a “book” format with details of the film and trivia. The two-disc set includes the original theatrical version and the director’s cut (released in 2000 as “The Version You’ve Never Seen”), as well as previously available and brand new features.

Wu Du (Five Deadly Venoms) 1978 **

2011-03-02T02:29:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

In the 1978 cult kung fu film, The Five Deadly Venoms (aka The Five Venoms), a dying sifu ("master" or "teacher" in Chinese) tells his pupil of a "Poison Clan" consisting of five students. The sifu had taught each member of the clan a very specific and deadly technique: the Centipede, the Snake, the Scorpion, the Lizard and the Toad. The clan had long ago disbanded, but since the students hid their identities (even from one another, always wearing masks), their master does not know their whereabouts. He asks his pupil to ensure that the former students are not utilizing their skills for evil deeds. The young fighter has been taught each of the five techniques, but since he has not focused on a single one, he will only be able to defeat an opponent if he aligns with another.

When I was younger, there was a local cable channel that often ran obscure movies, typically of the horror variety. But if it was not a horror film, chances are it was a '70s Hong Kong kung fu action pic. I saw The Five Deadly Venoms many years ago, and for the longest time, I could not recall the title. There were three distinguishing characteristics of the film that I never forgot: different men with unique styles, one in particular with his hands posed like snake fangs (and yes, it was the Snake); a villain boasting of killing someone without anyone knowing it was murder (he simply drove a hook up the nose and... well, you get the picture); and one of the fighters was seemingly indestructible, and his opponents continually tried to find his weakness.

I was happy that I eventually discovered the film again and enjoyed it immensely. The fight sequences are outstanding. By the time this film was released, director Chang Cheh had mastered the kung fu film. He was one of the most prolific directors at Shaw Bros. Studio in Hong Kong, having also helmed the classic 1967 One-Armed Swordsman, which made a star out of Jimmy Wang Yu (one of the biggest actors in Hong Kong before that Bruce Lee guy came along). What also makes The Five Deadly Venoms great is an undeniably strong story. The fact that the young pupil has to first identify each former student adds an element of mystery to the action film. It's not just a movie about kung fu fighters in combat. It's about loyalty and trust, two attributes which prove necessary for survival in a world of poison clans.

The year of 1978 also saw the release of Crippled Avengers, which was released in the U.S. as Return of the Five Deadly Venoms. It was certainly not a sequel to Five Deadly Venoms, but a few of the actors appear in each film, and, not surprisingly, Chang had his directorial hand in both. In Crippled Avengers, a man discovers his wife killed and his son crippled (his arms have been severed). Years later, father and son (now with deadly arms made of iron!) seek to harm whomever they so desire. Four of the men crippled by the two vengeance-minded villains band together to stop the familial rein of terror. Though the two films are connected only by (U.S.) titles, they make a terrific double feature.

The Shining (1980) **1/2

2011-03-01T02:02:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes a job as caretaker of the Overlook Hotel for the winter. A struggling alcoholic who has been sober for five months, he plans to work on his latest “writing project,” while his wife, Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and son, Danny (Danny Lloyd), stay with him in the enormous hotel. Before the employees leave, a cook, Hallorann (Scatman Crothers), recognizes in Danny a shared extrasensory ability. Hallorann’s grandmother referred to ESP as “shining,” which the young boy handles by creating Tony, who lives in Danny’s mouth, talking to him and sometimes showing him pieces of future events. Danny can sense that the cook is afraid of Room 237, and Hallorann warns Danny to stay out of the room.

Jack had been informed by the hotel manager of the preceding caretaker, Charles Grady, who murdered his family with an axe before killing himself. Days pass, and Jack sleeps late, repeatedly tosses a ball against the wall, and nods off at the typewriter. As Jack’s behavior becomes progressively more antagonistic towards his wife and son, Danny has visions of mysterious sisters, bloody corridors, and the word “redrum” scrawled on a door. Soon, Jack is seeing people at the hotel, like the bartender, Lloyd, who serves him drinks, and it seems only a matter of time before the agitated writer picks up an axe.

Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining was not generally well received upon its 1980 release in theaters, but like several of Kubrick’s films, The Shining has, over time, garnered more fans and favorable reviews. Kubrick was well known for his rigorous shoots during production, a perfectionist for every shot of his films. His movie prior to The Shining, Barry Lyndon (1975), took an astounding 300 days to complete filming, whereas production for The Shining reportedly lasted over a year. Perhaps because of his lengthy shoots, Kubrick was never genuinely considered an “actor’s director,” as the actors sometimes were simply objects within a highly detailed construct (e.g., the privates standing at attention in 1987’s Full Metal Jacket or Alex and his droogs sitting at the milk bar in 1971’s A Clockwork Orange).

In The Shining, there are seemingly endless shots of far-reaching hallways and characters framed in vast, nearly empty rooms. Something as simple as Wendy bringing Jack his breakfast becomes an arduous task of rolling a service cart for a prolonged distance. Many horror films enclose characters within confined spaces (such as George A. Romero’s 1968 ghoul opus, Night of the Living Dead), but The Shining takes an alternate approach. There is plenty of room to move in the colossal hotel, but, like with so many of the hotel’s elements, it’s pure deceit. The isolated hotel is covered in a severe snow storm, so Danny and his mother can run, and they can even hide, but there truly is no escape.

There have been numerous readings of The Shining, with some critical writings or essays viewing the film as an allegory. While a literal translation of the film’s plot is not likely feasible, it is possible to focus more on its base components. Jack Torrance is either conversing with and being manipulated by ghosts or his mind is disintegrating (not unlike Jack Clayton’s 1961 The Innocents or its source text, Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw). Theories can support either belief, but Kubrick’s infamous concluding shot, closing in on a simple photograph, adds a new element to any potential interpretation.

The Shining was based on the Stephen King novel of the same name, which was adapted by Kubrick and author Diane Johnson. King has been vocal over his dissatisfaction with Kubrick’s film version. The author was most critical of the casting of Nicholson, believing that audiences would immediately see Nicholson as the mentally unstable character, as opposed to watching a man slowly fall apart. In 1997, King adapted his novel and produced a three-part miniseries directed by Mick Garris and starring Steven Weber and Rebecca De Mornay. The television version was filmed in part at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, the hotel which inspired King’s original novel. Kubrick filmed some of the exteriors for the 1980 film at the Timberline Lodge in Oregon in lieu of the Stanley Hotel, another source of contention for King. (The interiors were filmed at Elstree Studios in England.)

The film’s Steadicam operator, Garrett Brown, invented the Steadicam, which he initially called the “Brown stabilizer.” He first utilized the Steadicam in Bound for Glory (1976) and won great acclaim for Rocky the same year, following Sylvester Stallone up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. His design originally covered the area from the operator’s waist to head, but he was able to employ shots in The Shining at knee height (accomplished by utilizing a wheelchair), as the camera travels behind Danny on a Big Wheel in the Overlook’s hallways. The tracking shots in Kubrick’s film are extraordinary. They are fluid and follow Danny so closely that it gives the impression of being pulled against one’s will, intensifying the dread of the boy turning a corner, as one can never tell what will be standing there.

Soon after its initial theatrical release, Kubrick pulled the film and cut the ending. The final shot was the same, but there was a preceding scene that did little to explain the events of the movie. If anything, it unnecessarily piled on further intricacies to a labyrinth of ideas. There are apparently production shots, but the filmed scene reportedly no longer exists.

Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind composed a score for the film (Carlos had also written the Moog synthesizer music for Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange). However, very little of their music was used, as Kubrick opted for already existing classical music to cover most of the film’s soundtrack. In 2005, Carlos released the original material written for The Shining, with Rediscovering Lost Scores, Vol. 1 and 2 (also featuring selections from A Clockwork Orange and 1982’s Tron).

Though they are often referred to as “twins,” the ghostly Grady sisters in The Shining are simply dressed alike, as the film explains that the two girls are different ages. The well known line -- “Here’s Johnny!” -- was an ad-lib by Nicholson. Clearly a play on Ed McMahon’s introduction of Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show, Stanley Kubrick, who had been living in England for a number of years, reportedly did not comprehend the reference. Carson would later incorporate the scene in an introduction to one of the show’s anniversary specials.

The Shining is one of my favorite horror films. I’m a Kubrick fan, and although he didn’t concentrate on the horror genre, the famed director was able to create scenes of sheer intensity and disturbing imagery that sears itself into the viewers’ minds. It’s a movie that, if nothing else, makes me glad that I cannot afford to stay at a gigantic posh hotel.

The Black Cat (1934) **

2011-02-28T10:22:00.000-05:00

Without a doubt the most unusual horror film to come out of Hollywood in the 1930s was Universal Studio's’ The Black Cat (1934). How does one go about creating such a unique film? You take two renowned horror stars (Dracula himself, Bela Lugosi, and Frankenstein’s monster, Boris Karloff—in the first of seven films they would appear in together), add a dash of a director (Edgar G. Ulmer) heavily influenced by German expressionism, and then you mix in some strange amalgamation of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Black Cat” and “The Fall of the House of Usher” with necrophilia and satanism, and , finally, you top it off with an an eye-catching art deco set design by Charles D. Hall. Never mind that the story is difficult to understand (Universal ordered massive changes to the original cut due to its risqué plot),this is just too bizarre a film to miss.

Predating The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) by more than 40-years, The Black Cat finds two young lovers caught in the middle of a sadistic chess match between a mad architect/scientist and a depressed doctor. Dr. Vitus Werdegast (Lugosi) is returning home to Vizhegrad (Hungary) after spending the last 15 years in a Russian prison camp (Kurgaal). On the Orient Express (no Poirot doesn’t show up), Dr. Werdegast meets Joan (Jacqueline Wells) and Peter (David Manners) and immediately notices that Joan looks a lot like his lost wife. He tells them that he is on his way to visit an old friend, famed architect Hjalmar Poelzig (Karloff), at his mansion, which just happens to be built on a cliff overlooking the “greatest graveyard in the world” at Fort Marmorus. Really? Could there be a more ominous setting?

Later, when the bus they are travelling on crashes into a ravine, Joan is injured and it is determined that the couple should accompany Dr. Werdegast and his servant Thamal (Harry Cording) to the mansion. And this brings us to the best part of the film—the set design of Poelzig’s digs. Everything is ultra-modern, from the lighting (entire walls light up) to the super-sleek curved staircase. Photographer John J. Mescall uses every inch of the set design and beyond-clever lighting to create some outstanding visual elements—you have to see it to truly appreciate it.

In a rather strange poke at Dracula (and Lugosi?), Poelzig is first introduced to the audience rising rigidly from his bed. With a widow’s peak and dramatic sense of style (he wears a priest’s robe), Poelzig looks like the kind of man who would commune with the devil. It soon becomes apparent that Werdegast and Poelzig aren’t really BFF’s. Evidently Poelzig betrayed his countrymen in WWI and ran off when the Russians came. What Werdegast really wants is to find his wife (Karen) and daughter, and he thinks Poelzig might know where they are. Well, yeah, he does—he married Karen after telling her Werdegast was dead. Ah, the plot thickens…

As if this news wasn’t enough, Werdegast must deal with a reappearing black cat. For a normal person this wouldn’t be a big deal, but Werdegast is deathly afraid of them—did I mention he’s a psychiatrist…yeah, you’d think he could engage in some self-analysis to overcome this fear. Nope…instead he chooses to regard them as, and I quote, “the living embodiment of evil.” Ah, Werdegast, there are eviler things in the world—just ask Poelzig, who has a cellar full of dead women encased in glass. One of these women happens to be Karen (Lucille Lund) and when Poelzig reintroduces the “couple” it is not a happy time. Werdegast attempts to shoot Poelzig, but before he can pull the trigger another black cat saunters in and immobilizes the doctor.

Later, we learn that the doctor’s daughter, Karen (Lucille Lund…yeah, just go with it) is now Poelzig’s wife…a secret he chooses to keep from the doctor. One secret he doesn’t have a problem sharing, though, is that he plans to use Joan in a satanic black mass ritual. Of course, he is willing to challenge the doctor to a game of chess for Joan’s soul. Too bad for Joan that the doctor isn’t Bobby Fisher… Ah, and so let the Bach toccatas begin—really, Poelzig plays them on his creepy organ right before he kills Karen for sassing him. And, then the fun really begins!

Although it isn’t Halloween, Poelzig decides to host a satanic cult party at the fortress and Joan is the guest of honor. Organ music, broken Latin, black-tie attire, and a human sacrifice as the ultimate party game—who’d want to miss out on that! Well, Joan for one…I won’t spoil the ending for you, but lets just say it is a blast.

Unique in every sense, The Black Cat is high camp without being a camp film (is that possible?). Lugosi and Karloff play well off one another, but I wasn’t shocked to learn that neither received an Academy Award nomination for their performances in this film. Still, I was a bit miffed that neither Charles D. Hall or John J. Mescall were recognized for their outstanding set design and photography.

The Thing (1982) **1/2

2011-02-27T01:49:00.000-05:00

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/. The rating in the title is my own.)

When I first saw this movie in 1982, I left convinced that John Carpenter had produced a complete misfire (especially in comparison to the classic 1951 version). But I’ve come to learn over the years that some movies age well, or perhaps they grow better because we’ve aged and our tastes have changed. John Carpenter’s The Thing is definitely one of those films for me. It's now required viewing on the first snowy day of winter and has become my favorite among the director’s work.

The Thing opens in intriguing fashion with a helicopter chasing—and trying to kill—a lone Husky in the desolate Antarctica snow. The dog runs to the U.S. National Science Institute No. 4, a remote research station. In a bizarre series of events, the helicopter crew is killed and the dog is taken in by the research station’s residents. But this is no ordinary dog. It prowls the station’s corridors stealthily as if stalking its prey. It spies silently on the residents. It’s afraid to join the other dogs, which snarl at the newcomer viciously.

Seeking an explanation for the helicopter crew’s unusual behavior, McCready (Kurt Russell) and Doc (Richard Dysart) trace its origin to a Norwegian research facility. They discover frozen corpses and a strange, partially buried “thing” that could be human. Back at the U.S. station, an alien creature reveals itself for the first time by mutating out from inside the Husky (a fairly gory scene). With the creature’s ability to imitate other life forms established, the film’s premise is finally set into motion.

If the alien can be anyone of the research station’s crew, how can it be stopped? The seriousness of the situation worsens when one of the scientists models the alien’s ability to infect humans. He determines that if the “intruder organism” reaches the general population, it could take over the planet in 27,000 hours from first contact.

The plot is supposed to be closer to John Campbell’s short story "Who Goes There?" than 1951’s The Thing (see Aki's nifty review from earlier this month). But, truth to be told, this is a mystery masquerading as science fiction. A murderer is among a group of people at a remote location—isn’t that the plot of Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians? The twist here is that the killer can reveal itself and then hide again by assuming another identity. The film’s best scene is when McCready devises a test for revealing the alien’s identity. This tense setup also recalls the classic mystery climax where the detective calls together all the suspects and unveils the murderer.

Subsequent viewings of The Thing allow one to appreciate its smaller pleasures: Ennio Morricone’s suspenseful electronic score (which has a definite Carpenter sound to it); an open ending that actually works (usually I loathe them); and Kurt Russell’s solid performance (less cartoonish than in Carpenter’s Escape from New York and Big Trouble in Little China).

Still, it’s the remote locale and the “who is it” premise that makes The Thing so entertaining for me. Other films have featured aliens who could take human form (most notably, the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers and cult classic The Hidden)—but this one remains my favorite.