Has it really been almost thirty years since mother Voorhees went mad and slaughtered sex-crazed counselors at Camp Crystal Lake? Nothing tells you how old you’re getting than when film makers start remaking the films of your youth. Not that I was ever a true Friday fan. The original was a derivative cash-in on Halloween and, to a lesser extent, Psycho. The low-budget of the first Friday gave it a certain grittiness that future installments lacked. But these films were never about anything other than gruesomely murdering young people. And the target audience ate them up.
So it comes as no surprise that, after financially successful remakes of 1970s fare such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Halloween, The Hills Have Eyes, and Dawn of the Dead, that Hollywood now moves on to the 1980s. Knowing that Jason Voorhees is the true star of the Friday the 13th series, the makers of this update have taken elements of the original first three Fridays and mixed them with their own scenario that doesn’t even involve camp counselors. In two post-title sequences we see mother Voorhees beheaded; Jason witness her death; Jason become a legend to be spoken of around campfires; and Jason fiercely protecting his home turf from invaders. This Jason is a bit more active in plotting his massacres though. He has set up bear traps, created an underground lair, and somehow managed to pay the utility bills so he can keep his surrounds well lit if need be. The plot proper has Jason go after some young folk using a nearby vacation spot that belongs to the rich kid’s dad. Meanwhile a scruffy outsider shows up looking for his missing sister, supposedly a victim in one of the earlier-seen attacks. His investigation puts him on Jason’s trail, which also means he becomes Jason target. Everyone else we meet is just around to be added to Jason’s ever-growing list of kills.
As a slasher film, this Friday the 13th is thoroughly average. There is the requisite drinking, pot smoking, and sexual dalliances we’ve come to expect from ‘80s fare. People are burned, punctured, skewered, and impaled. It’s all handled with a fair amount of intensity. The film never approaches the carnage with a winking eye, and the one-liners are kept to a minimum. This is a serious-minded slasher film.
The problem though is that it is not a good Friday the 13th film because Jason doesn’t seem like Jason. Unless I missed it, there is no mention that Jason’s birthday was June 13, which gave the series its initial hook. The title itself is practically meaningless. In the original, Jason’s murder spree was motivated by sundry camp counselors letting him drown and killing his mother. But there are no counselors here, so Jason just kills those who come too close to his home. But then why does he kill the local guy who works the wood chipper? Because he stole the marijuana that someone’s growing near Campy Crystal Lake? Is Jason growing and selling the pot? That would explain how he can pay for electricity, but who would he use for a distributor? Jason’s identity and motivations are never clearly established in this update, and we’re left with the feeling that Jason was more of an afterthought instead of the main focus of the story.
Will this really matter to people though? Is it enough to call this guy Jason, put a hockey mask on him, and let him loose? Does it matter this Jason could just as easily be Madman Marz from Madman (1981) or Victor Crowley from Hatchet (2006) with little impact on the outcome? The record-breaking opening weekend suggests there’s and audience still out there for an R-rated, gruesome horror flick. But whether or not this film is ultimately viewed as a worthy kick-start to the Friday the 13th series may take some time to determine.
Next up on the remake list is A Nightmare on Elm Street, the other big horror franchise born during the 1980s. It will most likely have a great opening weekend too. In the meantime those who still have a soft spot for 1980s-inspired horror will likely be somewhat amused by this update. But I can see a sequel where Jason goes after the movie execs who brought in an impostor for this remake.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
At the Cineplex: My Bloody Valentine 3D (2009)
A remake of a well-regarded 1981 slasher entry, this holiday horror comes early since February 13, 2009 will see the release of the remake of Friday the 13th. Ten years ago Tom Hanniger (Jensen Ackles) almost became a victim of deranged miner Harry Warden (Rich Walters), who went on a murder spree after nearly dying in a mining accident Tom caused. Now, due to his father’s death, Tom is back to sell the mine. Unwelcome in town, he finds his former flame Sarah (Jaime King) now married to Sheriff Axel Palmer (Kerr Smith). But when someone dressed in miner’s garb starts brutally murdering Tom’s old friends, he lands atop the list of suspects. Is Tom guilty? Is Harry Warden still alive? Or is someone else trying to frame Tom?
While My Bloody Valentine 3D has a serviceable enough horror whodunit plot, the reason to see the film is for the 3D gore effects. Various limbs, organs, and other body parts seemingly end up in the viewer’s lap, and there are plenty of chase sequences and brutal set pieces to keep things moving. But it all gets pretty old too quickly, and without much in the way of character development, this remake falls flat.
While My Bloody Valentine 3D has a serviceable enough horror whodunit plot, the reason to see the film is for the 3D gore effects. Various limbs, organs, and other body parts seemingly end up in the viewer’s lap, and there are plenty of chase sequences and brutal set pieces to keep things moving. But it all gets pretty old too quickly, and without much in the way of character development, this remake falls flat.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1983
Terms of Endearment (1983)
James L. Brooks should direct more movies. He’s helmed only five films over the last twenty five years. Three of them are excellent: Terms of Endearment, Broadcast News (1987), and As Good As It Gets (1997), and the remaining two (I’ll Do Anything and Spanglish) are enjoyable. He’s also had an impressive writing background in television including Taxi, Mary Tyler Moore, and The Simpsons. Brooks deftly juggles humor and drama in his efforts, and he seems to bring out the best in his casts. Terms of Endearment may be his best big-screen effort: a winning chronicle of a mother-daughter relationship that is as strong as it is tempestuous.
Aurora Greenway (Shirley MacLaine) cares deeply for her exuberant daughter Emma (Debra Winger). She does not, however, approve of Emma’s marriage to Flap Horton (Jeff Daniels), and boycotts the wedding. She’s also not thrilled when Emma later announces she’s pregnant, or when the Horton family move from their Texas home to Des Moines so Flap can accept an associate professorship. Aurora is curious about her neighbor Garrett Breedlove (Jack Nicholson), an astronaut who is quite the party animal and stud outside the rocket ship. The two form a decidedly offbeat relationship. Meanwhile Emma, now a mother of three, gets some disturbing news when she takes herself and middle child to get flu shots.
Terms of Endearment is a character driven, as opposed to plot driven, film whose episodic nature allows for the audience to become emotionally invested in the key players. Emma is a bit zany but adorable. Aurora is stern but caring. Garrett is over-confident and brash, but lovable. Flap can seem disinterested at times but is generally affable. We watch with unwavering interest these flawed but fascinating people deal with their various relationships. We become so attached to these people that the simple appearance of Garrett on some hotel stairs carries surprising poignancy. The excellent cast truly breathes life into these individuals, making us care about their fates.
Aurora never becomes the cliché overbearing mother thanks to clever little touches in the script, such as when it’s Aurora who wants to sleep in Emma’s bed, not the other way around. Aurora may express her opinions. But she never makes threats. She has her own views which may clash with those of her daughter, but the two quickly seem to forgive and forget. Emma is an eternally optimistic young lady, who, for example, takes great pleasure in the seemingly routine exercise of buying her husband a tie. She is shocked at the rather casual attitudes toward divorce and abortion that are expressed by some of her best friend Patsy’s (Lisa Hart Carroll) associates during a lunch. When Emma must confront some harsh realities as Terms of Endearment’s story unfolds, the impact on her is especially devastating.
The men in the story are also not allowed to become stereotypes. Flap may be a philanderer, but he still does love Emma. Garrett may be something of a sexist and a playboy, but he provides comfort and support to Aurora when she needs it. Aurora and Emma love the men in their lives in spite of the flaws – a truth, no doubt, in all relationships.
The result is a four-star tearjerker that earns its tears without feeling manipulative. Scripter/director Brooks and his cast bring charm and pathos to this story of a mother and daughter who have little in common except for their intense love for one another. Terms of Endearment is just as enjoyable today as it was more than twenty-five years ago.
James L. Brooks should direct more movies. He’s helmed only five films over the last twenty five years. Three of them are excellent: Terms of Endearment, Broadcast News (1987), and As Good As It Gets (1997), and the remaining two (I’ll Do Anything and Spanglish) are enjoyable. He’s also had an impressive writing background in television including Taxi, Mary Tyler Moore, and The Simpsons. Brooks deftly juggles humor and drama in his efforts, and he seems to bring out the best in his casts. Terms of Endearment may be his best big-screen effort: a winning chronicle of a mother-daughter relationship that is as strong as it is tempestuous.
Aurora Greenway (Shirley MacLaine) cares deeply for her exuberant daughter Emma (Debra Winger). She does not, however, approve of Emma’s marriage to Flap Horton (Jeff Daniels), and boycotts the wedding. She’s also not thrilled when Emma later announces she’s pregnant, or when the Horton family move from their Texas home to Des Moines so Flap can accept an associate professorship. Aurora is curious about her neighbor Garrett Breedlove (Jack Nicholson), an astronaut who is quite the party animal and stud outside the rocket ship. The two form a decidedly offbeat relationship. Meanwhile Emma, now a mother of three, gets some disturbing news when she takes herself and middle child to get flu shots.
Terms of Endearment is a character driven, as opposed to plot driven, film whose episodic nature allows for the audience to become emotionally invested in the key players. Emma is a bit zany but adorable. Aurora is stern but caring. Garrett is over-confident and brash, but lovable. Flap can seem disinterested at times but is generally affable. We watch with unwavering interest these flawed but fascinating people deal with their various relationships. We become so attached to these people that the simple appearance of Garrett on some hotel stairs carries surprising poignancy. The excellent cast truly breathes life into these individuals, making us care about their fates.
Aurora never becomes the cliché overbearing mother thanks to clever little touches in the script, such as when it’s Aurora who wants to sleep in Emma’s bed, not the other way around. Aurora may express her opinions. But she never makes threats. She has her own views which may clash with those of her daughter, but the two quickly seem to forgive and forget. Emma is an eternally optimistic young lady, who, for example, takes great pleasure in the seemingly routine exercise of buying her husband a tie. She is shocked at the rather casual attitudes toward divorce and abortion that are expressed by some of her best friend Patsy’s (Lisa Hart Carroll) associates during a lunch. When Emma must confront some harsh realities as Terms of Endearment’s story unfolds, the impact on her is especially devastating.
The men in the story are also not allowed to become stereotypes. Flap may be a philanderer, but he still does love Emma. Garrett may be something of a sexist and a playboy, but he provides comfort and support to Aurora when she needs it. Aurora and Emma love the men in their lives in spite of the flaws – a truth, no doubt, in all relationships.
The result is a four-star tearjerker that earns its tears without feeling manipulative. Scripter/director Brooks and his cast bring charm and pathos to this story of a mother and daughter who have little in common except for their intense love for one another. Terms of Endearment is just as enjoyable today as it was more than twenty-five years ago.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1982
Gandhi (1982)
This extraordinary film about an extraordinary man gives testament to the oft-said phrase, “One person can make a difference.” In 1893 Mohandas Gandhi (Ben Kingsley) is an Indian attorney traveling first class by train through South Africa. Because Indians are restricted to third class and Gandhi refuses to move, he is physically thrown off the train. Such unequal treatment must not be tolerated, and Gandhi begins a peaceful protest against South Africa’s treatment of Indians. His success results in his launching a campaign against British control of India. He wants India to be under self-rule. But all of this is to be accomplished peacefully, and Gandhi finds that his defiance of British law, while resulting in frequent arrests, has made him a hero around the world.
Visually Gandhi is breathtaking. Director Richard Attenborough populates the streets with numerous extras to create a realistic depiction of India. At one point Gandhi takes a train ride through India so he may come to know his country better, and the film shows how many in India live in poverty, partly the result of the British charging rent for the farm land. The most impressive moment may be the overhead shot that shows the procession at Gandhi’s funeral. There are literally hundreds of attendees who march solemnly as Gandhi is transported to his resting place. The funeral actually opens the film, and the following narrative shows why so many would want to honor this person.
Gandhi is quite convincing in detailing the events that made Gandhi a twentieth century hero. While a Hindu, Gandhi is very familiar with the Christian and Muslim religions, and believes all the faiths teach love of fellow man. Thus he is outraged at the discrimination he sees and experiences first hand. From his first public action of burning an identification pass, Gandhi will embrace defiance of unjust laws but will never advocate violence. He will suffer humiliations, imprisonment, and hunger strikes to send his message. And as he becomes an international figure of attention he becomes something of an untouchable, at least by proper governments. Gandhi is so effective at bringing peace, that those who want a war between Hindus and Muslims see Gandhi as a threat.
Ben Kingsley basically disappears into his character. He is so effective that we feel at times we’re watching documentary footage. Gandhi is a man of warmth and humor, but also steely determination and sadness. Kingsley captures all of these facets of Gandhi in convincing fashion. Most importantly Kingsley conveys Gandhi’s charisma, and any viewer can see how others would be taken by this man who had everything to lose in his pursuit of justice. The film makes it clear that even those who did not agree with Gandhi’s peaceful approach held a begrudging respect for the man. And this is very easy to understand.
After Gandhi’s assassination there was no one to take his place in pursuing peaceful protests. Violence would be the result. But during his lifetime Gandhi proved time and time again that revolution need not be bloody. One wonders how successful he would be today.
This extraordinary film about an extraordinary man gives testament to the oft-said phrase, “One person can make a difference.” In 1893 Mohandas Gandhi (Ben Kingsley) is an Indian attorney traveling first class by train through South Africa. Because Indians are restricted to third class and Gandhi refuses to move, he is physically thrown off the train. Such unequal treatment must not be tolerated, and Gandhi begins a peaceful protest against South Africa’s treatment of Indians. His success results in his launching a campaign against British control of India. He wants India to be under self-rule. But all of this is to be accomplished peacefully, and Gandhi finds that his defiance of British law, while resulting in frequent arrests, has made him a hero around the world.
Visually Gandhi is breathtaking. Director Richard Attenborough populates the streets with numerous extras to create a realistic depiction of India. At one point Gandhi takes a train ride through India so he may come to know his country better, and the film shows how many in India live in poverty, partly the result of the British charging rent for the farm land. The most impressive moment may be the overhead shot that shows the procession at Gandhi’s funeral. There are literally hundreds of attendees who march solemnly as Gandhi is transported to his resting place. The funeral actually opens the film, and the following narrative shows why so many would want to honor this person.
Gandhi is quite convincing in detailing the events that made Gandhi a twentieth century hero. While a Hindu, Gandhi is very familiar with the Christian and Muslim religions, and believes all the faiths teach love of fellow man. Thus he is outraged at the discrimination he sees and experiences first hand. From his first public action of burning an identification pass, Gandhi will embrace defiance of unjust laws but will never advocate violence. He will suffer humiliations, imprisonment, and hunger strikes to send his message. And as he becomes an international figure of attention he becomes something of an untouchable, at least by proper governments. Gandhi is so effective at bringing peace, that those who want a war between Hindus and Muslims see Gandhi as a threat.
Ben Kingsley basically disappears into his character. He is so effective that we feel at times we’re watching documentary footage. Gandhi is a man of warmth and humor, but also steely determination and sadness. Kingsley captures all of these facets of Gandhi in convincing fashion. Most importantly Kingsley conveys Gandhi’s charisma, and any viewer can see how others would be taken by this man who had everything to lose in his pursuit of justice. The film makes it clear that even those who did not agree with Gandhi’s peaceful approach held a begrudging respect for the man. And this is very easy to understand.
After Gandhi’s assassination there was no one to take his place in pursuing peaceful protests. Violence would be the result. But during his lifetime Gandhi proved time and time again that revolution need not be bloody. One wonders how successful he would be today.
Best Picture Winner: 1981
Chariots of Fire (1981)
Two talented runners, both of whom are harassed to varying degrees due to their religious beliefs, overcome obstacles to participate in the 1924 Olympic Games. Chariots of Fire explores the motivations behind what made these two men pursue their dream of competing.
Harold Abrahams (Ben Cross) arrives at Cambridge with a chip on his should. Being Jewish he is very sensitive to the prejudices that exist against his people. His sometimes abrasive nature is offset by his fierce loyalty, and he wins the admiration of his peers by his speed on the race course. Meanwhile Scottish missionary Eric Liddell (Ian Charleson), who has returned home after spending time in the orient, is gaining notoriety for his abilities as a competitive runner. His sister feels his devotion to running is in danger of distracting him from his religious calling. Liddell thinks he can race without it affecting his commitment to Christ. The two men learn about each other and find themselves competing on the same side of the 1924 Olympics. Can they both prevail in the ultimate test of their gifts?
Chariots of Fire is a handsomely produced period film which believably captures the look and feel of 1920s Europe. The film is documentary-like at times. And there is something naturally compelling about stories that features characters being told they shouldn’t be doing things they should be. While the film has no difficulty in making us cheer for the Liddell character, it simultaneously refuses to make Abrahams warm and fuzzy. His pride and arrogance threaten at any moment to leave the audience not caring about what happens to him. He will do anything to win. But when he enlists the help of an Italian coach (Ian Holm) and is chastised for it by members of the Cambridge hierarchy, we feel the same sense of indignation. Suddenly we’re on his side too.
While based on true events, however, Chariots of Fire runs into some dramatic problems as the film progresses. Tension actually seems to dissipate instead of build as we near the final contests. There isn’t much suspense in the races themselves, which are shot ineffectively in slow motion. The overall feeling of Chariots of Fire is an impressive build up to a rather obvious conclusion. We don’t feel the emotions we should be feeling in the climatic races.
The result is a film that is easy to admire but not fully embrace. That it won Best Picture over Raiders of the Lost Ark, one of the truly great cinematic experiences of the 1980s, indicates a hesitation on the Academy’s part to recognize greatness regardless of genre as opposed to which picture was actually best. Chariots of Fire is a noble effort and worth seeing. But it ranks as one of the weaker Best Picture winners.
Two talented runners, both of whom are harassed to varying degrees due to their religious beliefs, overcome obstacles to participate in the 1924 Olympic Games. Chariots of Fire explores the motivations behind what made these two men pursue their dream of competing.
Harold Abrahams (Ben Cross) arrives at Cambridge with a chip on his should. Being Jewish he is very sensitive to the prejudices that exist against his people. His sometimes abrasive nature is offset by his fierce loyalty, and he wins the admiration of his peers by his speed on the race course. Meanwhile Scottish missionary Eric Liddell (Ian Charleson), who has returned home after spending time in the orient, is gaining notoriety for his abilities as a competitive runner. His sister feels his devotion to running is in danger of distracting him from his religious calling. Liddell thinks he can race without it affecting his commitment to Christ. The two men learn about each other and find themselves competing on the same side of the 1924 Olympics. Can they both prevail in the ultimate test of their gifts?
Chariots of Fire is a handsomely produced period film which believably captures the look and feel of 1920s Europe. The film is documentary-like at times. And there is something naturally compelling about stories that features characters being told they shouldn’t be doing things they should be. While the film has no difficulty in making us cheer for the Liddell character, it simultaneously refuses to make Abrahams warm and fuzzy. His pride and arrogance threaten at any moment to leave the audience not caring about what happens to him. He will do anything to win. But when he enlists the help of an Italian coach (Ian Holm) and is chastised for it by members of the Cambridge hierarchy, we feel the same sense of indignation. Suddenly we’re on his side too.
While based on true events, however, Chariots of Fire runs into some dramatic problems as the film progresses. Tension actually seems to dissipate instead of build as we near the final contests. There isn’t much suspense in the races themselves, which are shot ineffectively in slow motion. The overall feeling of Chariots of Fire is an impressive build up to a rather obvious conclusion. We don’t feel the emotions we should be feeling in the climatic races.
The result is a film that is easy to admire but not fully embrace. That it won Best Picture over Raiders of the Lost Ark, one of the truly great cinematic experiences of the 1980s, indicates a hesitation on the Academy’s part to recognize greatness regardless of genre as opposed to which picture was actually best. Chariots of Fire is a noble effort and worth seeing. But it ranks as one of the weaker Best Picture winners.
Saturday Night at the Frights: January 31, 2009
You’ll Find Out (1940)
Kay Kyser and his band are hired to provide entertainment for Janis Bellacrest's 21st birthday party. But there’s a plot afoot to murder her and Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, and Peter Lorre are all involved. While this film was no doubt designed as a Kyser and company vehicle, the idea of the trio of terror uniting at arguably the peak of their powers is most exciting. The film doesn’t really deliver, but when the scream team are on screen they are fun to watch, and the film does have some laughs. You’ll Find Out is pleasant enough but not anywhere near making the list of best horror comedies.
Storm Warning (2007)
An affluent couple find themselves stranded on an Australia island during a downpour. Seeking shelter from the storm they stumble upon a depraved father and his two sons who are growing marijuana at their farm. The family psychologically tortures the couple before locking them in the barn. Can the lovebirds escape before the real horrors begin? A cash-in on the revival of backwoods horror flicks that flourished during the 1970s, this Australian entry is slickly produced but hardly groundbreaking. There’s no character development to speak of and the gruesome demises of the villains have little impact. It does have its gruesome moments, however.
Kay Kyser and his band are hired to provide entertainment for Janis Bellacrest's 21st birthday party. But there’s a plot afoot to murder her and Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, and Peter Lorre are all involved. While this film was no doubt designed as a Kyser and company vehicle, the idea of the trio of terror uniting at arguably the peak of their powers is most exciting. The film doesn’t really deliver, but when the scream team are on screen they are fun to watch, and the film does have some laughs. You’ll Find Out is pleasant enough but not anywhere near making the list of best horror comedies.
Storm Warning (2007)
An affluent couple find themselves stranded on an Australia island during a downpour. Seeking shelter from the storm they stumble upon a depraved father and his two sons who are growing marijuana at their farm. The family psychologically tortures the couple before locking them in the barn. Can the lovebirds escape before the real horrors begin? A cash-in on the revival of backwoods horror flicks that flourished during the 1970s, this Australian entry is slickly produced but hardly groundbreaking. There’s no character development to speak of and the gruesome demises of the villains have little impact. It does have its gruesome moments, however.
Best Picture Winner: 1980
Ordinary People (1980)
The Jarrett family – father Calvin (Donald Sutherland), mother Beth (Mary Tyler Moore), and son Conrad (Timothy Hutton) – would at first seem to have the ideal life, living in a beautiful home in an affluent neighborhood, able to take vacations at will. But they have experienced great suffering, as elder son Buck was killed in a boating accident. Even worse, Conrad attempted suicide due to his own guilt over the tragedy. Now Conrad is meeting with a psychiatrist (Judd Hirsch) and struggling to relate to his parents, especially his mother, whose distance has led Conrad to believe she hates him.
This somber look on how the death of a family member affects those left behind served as actor Robert Redford’s directing debut. His no-fuss approach lets the actors take center stage and makes for a compelling character study. Timothy Hutton is the real star here, as he must navigate emotional waters to find a safe port. Conrad’s father is over eager to help while his mother refuses to become touchy-feely. It is his doctor, and later friend, who is able to help Conrad understand his conflicting feelings of anger and guilt. Hutton, who won the Supporting Actor Oscar, is riveting as the troubled Conrad, trying desperately to find happiness in his life. No longer finding joy in participating on the high school swim team, he seems lost and alone. Watching him trying to connect with his mother is especially heartbreaking, as she seems rather disinterested in him.
Those having watched Mary Tyler Moore in her self-titled hit sitcom and the classic Dick Van Dyke Show are in for a shock. Her character is outwardly pleasant but inwardly cold. She has stopped trying to feel, perhaps in response to Buck’s death, and the result is someone whose husband and younger son may be slipping away. Her unwillingness to compromise or make sacrifices for the sake of her surviving child makes her an off-putting character to say the least. Thus her husband eventually finds he must choose between his wife and son as the spouses have totally opposing views on how to handle Conrad.
Opting for as realistic an approach as possible director Redford does not employ an original score. Occasionally a piece of classical music will be heard but much of the movie plays without background music. By not providing musical clues as to how scenes will play out Redford allows sudden emotional bombs to be dropped on us without warning, such as the fate of one of Conrad’s friends. Redford effectively contrasts the world of properly cared for lawns and dinner parties against the disorganized and fragile mental state of Conrad.
The film’s ultimate point appears to be that families will sometimes need to venture outside their comfort zone to remain comfortable. Private pain must be made public if it is to be adequately explored and coped with. Not doing so only makes matter worse. And since, as the title implies, this story could apply to all of us at some point, we should head its warning. Pain can be a great divider but also serve as a great unifier. Ordinary People suggests we should strive for the latter.
The Jarrett family – father Calvin (Donald Sutherland), mother Beth (Mary Tyler Moore), and son Conrad (Timothy Hutton) – would at first seem to have the ideal life, living in a beautiful home in an affluent neighborhood, able to take vacations at will. But they have experienced great suffering, as elder son Buck was killed in a boating accident. Even worse, Conrad attempted suicide due to his own guilt over the tragedy. Now Conrad is meeting with a psychiatrist (Judd Hirsch) and struggling to relate to his parents, especially his mother, whose distance has led Conrad to believe she hates him.
This somber look on how the death of a family member affects those left behind served as actor Robert Redford’s directing debut. His no-fuss approach lets the actors take center stage and makes for a compelling character study. Timothy Hutton is the real star here, as he must navigate emotional waters to find a safe port. Conrad’s father is over eager to help while his mother refuses to become touchy-feely. It is his doctor, and later friend, who is able to help Conrad understand his conflicting feelings of anger and guilt. Hutton, who won the Supporting Actor Oscar, is riveting as the troubled Conrad, trying desperately to find happiness in his life. No longer finding joy in participating on the high school swim team, he seems lost and alone. Watching him trying to connect with his mother is especially heartbreaking, as she seems rather disinterested in him.
Those having watched Mary Tyler Moore in her self-titled hit sitcom and the classic Dick Van Dyke Show are in for a shock. Her character is outwardly pleasant but inwardly cold. She has stopped trying to feel, perhaps in response to Buck’s death, and the result is someone whose husband and younger son may be slipping away. Her unwillingness to compromise or make sacrifices for the sake of her surviving child makes her an off-putting character to say the least. Thus her husband eventually finds he must choose between his wife and son as the spouses have totally opposing views on how to handle Conrad.
Opting for as realistic an approach as possible director Redford does not employ an original score. Occasionally a piece of classical music will be heard but much of the movie plays without background music. By not providing musical clues as to how scenes will play out Redford allows sudden emotional bombs to be dropped on us without warning, such as the fate of one of Conrad’s friends. Redford effectively contrasts the world of properly cared for lawns and dinner parties against the disorganized and fragile mental state of Conrad.
The film’s ultimate point appears to be that families will sometimes need to venture outside their comfort zone to remain comfortable. Private pain must be made public if it is to be adequately explored and coped with. Not doing so only makes matter worse. And since, as the title implies, this story could apply to all of us at some point, we should head its warning. Pain can be a great divider but also serve as a great unifier. Ordinary People suggests we should strive for the latter.
Best Picture Winner: 1979
Kramer vs. Kramer (1979)
Ted Kramer (Dustin Hoffman) is an ad man whose star is rising. But he arrives home one night to find his wife Joanna (Meryl Streep) has packed a suitcase, ready to leave him and their six year old son, Billy (Justin Henry). Over a year later, as Ted struggles with the demands of his career and single parenthood, Joanna shows up and tells him she wants Billy back. The Kramers prepare to fight for custody.
Kramer vs. Kramer is a heartfelt look at divorce and its impact on all involved. Neither parent is painted as the villain. Joanna was truly unhappy and Ted comes to accept his share of the blame for the unsuccessful marriage. The true victim here is Billy, as he watches confused and anxious as his father struggles with his new role only to potentially lose it. Ted has come to love being a parent, even if it threatens his job. No better scene illustrates this than when Ted, asked by his attorney to list the pros and cons of keeping Billy, cannot come up with anything to list on the pro side. Director Robert Benton then cuts to Ted lovingly embracing his son who is in bed asleep.
Except perhaps for a playground accident that sends Ted Kramer dashing to the emergency room, the tearful moments in Kramer vs. Kramer feel genuine, not manipulative. But there is much humor to offset the sad tone that threatens to make the film too depressing. For example, Ted and Billy have their breakfast routine worked out so that, without a word to each other, they awake, use the bathroom, and approach the kitchen table. Ted serves the doughnuts, and the two dine while Ted reads his newspaper and Billy reads his comic book. And what parent won’t laugh with recognition when Ted, after having told his son to finish his dinner, watches Billy openly defy him and help himself to some ice cream. Kramer vs. Kramer feels utterly realistic in its depiction of the parent-child relationship.
Because we do not get to know Joanna very well, our sympathies are more with Ted. But it is easy for us to understand that Joanna wants what Ted has in terms of the relationship with Billy. The film shows the Kramers as parents who want to care for their child, not as two people using a custody fight to hurt the other. Someone will have to lose the battle, of course, and that the film still manages to pull off a satisfactory ending is a testament to the talent involved.
Kramer vs. Kramer takes a topical theme for its time (divorce rates started growing dramatically during the 1970s) and presents it realistically. The story touches us because, perhaps even more so now than then, we can relate to everyone involved. The film never looks away from the challenges or the pain involved. But it also manages to find the moments of joy. These moments are what make the struggles worthwhile.
Ted Kramer (Dustin Hoffman) is an ad man whose star is rising. But he arrives home one night to find his wife Joanna (Meryl Streep) has packed a suitcase, ready to leave him and their six year old son, Billy (Justin Henry). Over a year later, as Ted struggles with the demands of his career and single parenthood, Joanna shows up and tells him she wants Billy back. The Kramers prepare to fight for custody.
Kramer vs. Kramer is a heartfelt look at divorce and its impact on all involved. Neither parent is painted as the villain. Joanna was truly unhappy and Ted comes to accept his share of the blame for the unsuccessful marriage. The true victim here is Billy, as he watches confused and anxious as his father struggles with his new role only to potentially lose it. Ted has come to love being a parent, even if it threatens his job. No better scene illustrates this than when Ted, asked by his attorney to list the pros and cons of keeping Billy, cannot come up with anything to list on the pro side. Director Robert Benton then cuts to Ted lovingly embracing his son who is in bed asleep.
Except perhaps for a playground accident that sends Ted Kramer dashing to the emergency room, the tearful moments in Kramer vs. Kramer feel genuine, not manipulative. But there is much humor to offset the sad tone that threatens to make the film too depressing. For example, Ted and Billy have their breakfast routine worked out so that, without a word to each other, they awake, use the bathroom, and approach the kitchen table. Ted serves the doughnuts, and the two dine while Ted reads his newspaper and Billy reads his comic book. And what parent won’t laugh with recognition when Ted, after having told his son to finish his dinner, watches Billy openly defy him and help himself to some ice cream. Kramer vs. Kramer feels utterly realistic in its depiction of the parent-child relationship.
Because we do not get to know Joanna very well, our sympathies are more with Ted. But it is easy for us to understand that Joanna wants what Ted has in terms of the relationship with Billy. The film shows the Kramers as parents who want to care for their child, not as two people using a custody fight to hurt the other. Someone will have to lose the battle, of course, and that the film still manages to pull off a satisfactory ending is a testament to the talent involved.
Kramer vs. Kramer takes a topical theme for its time (divorce rates started growing dramatically during the 1970s) and presents it realistically. The story touches us because, perhaps even more so now than then, we can relate to everyone involved. The film never looks away from the challenges or the pain involved. But it also manages to find the moments of joy. These moments are what make the struggles worthwhile.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1978
The Deer Hunter (1978)
After making The Godfather Part II (1974) director Francis Ford Coppola started preparations on his epic Vietnam film, Apocalypse Now. The filming was such an ordeal that Apocalypse Now would not be released until 1979, by which time two other releases about the war, Coming Home and The Deer Hunter, had beaten it to the screen. The Deer Hunter took the best picture prize for 1978, so that when Coppola’s film finally made it to theaters audiences had already been cinematically exposed to the physical and emotional brutalities of war.
The Deer Hunter focuses on three friends who work in a steel mill near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: Michael (Robert De Niro), Steven (John Savage), and Nick (Christopher Walken). The three are days away from enlisting to fight in Vietnam. Before they leave, Steven gets married and Nick proposes to his girlfriend Linda (Meryl Streep), with whom Michael is also in love. In Vietnam the three find themselves prisoners in the same camp, and are forced, for the amusement of their captors, to participate in challenges of Russian roulette. The three manage to survive the contests, but the ordeal will have life changing consequences for the close-knit trio.
The Deer Hunter spends the first hour or so establishing the characters and their emotional make up. Michael is the serious one, Steven the emotional one, and Nick the one who internalizes everything. There will be a wedding, a deer hunt, and several visits to the local bar. They are regular guys who seem perfectly content. Then they are suddenly prisoners of war. At the camp, it will be Michael who insists the friends keep it together, Steven who openly breaks down, and Nick who remains stoic and silent. After their service, Michael appears to be least affected, Steven can’t bear to face his wife, and Nick has mysteriously vanished. The characters remain consistent with the respective emotions established in the film’s first third. Since we learn what hunting means to Michael and what marriage means to Steven, we comprehend on some level the devastating toll the war has taken on them upon their return. Nick’s fate is even more tragic, as he is so shattered by the experience that he is emotionally lost and totally disconnected.
Because America had been so successful in previous wars, very few war films had dwelt negatively on life subsequent to the battlefield, a notable exception being 1946’s Best Picture victor The Best Years of Our Lives. But now America was in the aftermath of what is considered its first loss, and filmmakers wanted to show the horrors of war. The Deer Hunter spends less than a third of its time on the actual war, because its main focus is on how these three cheerful fellows with bright futures were forever altered by what they experienced. This intention is foreshadowed early in the film when a Green Beret sits at the bar for a drink. The future soldiers want to buy him a drink and shake his hand. He does not want anything to do with them, preferring to be left alone. Thus when Michael returns, he avoids a welcome-home party as he now understands his experience has left him an outsider. No one, except those who shared his ordeal, can possibly understand his feelings. The war has distanced Michael from his friends. It is a sad reality that The Deer Hunter examines unflinchingly.
The Deer Hunter marked a return to the serious side of things for the Academy after awarding the top prize to the feel-good Rocky and humorous Annie Hall. It is a sad but honest look at the ripple effects of battle. The film ends at a wake where the gatherers start singing God Bless America as a reminder that this country had weathered wars before and survived. But this is cold comfort for someone who must bury their loved one. For those personally touched by war, the battle is never truly over.
After making The Godfather Part II (1974) director Francis Ford Coppola started preparations on his epic Vietnam film, Apocalypse Now. The filming was such an ordeal that Apocalypse Now would not be released until 1979, by which time two other releases about the war, Coming Home and The Deer Hunter, had beaten it to the screen. The Deer Hunter took the best picture prize for 1978, so that when Coppola’s film finally made it to theaters audiences had already been cinematically exposed to the physical and emotional brutalities of war.
The Deer Hunter focuses on three friends who work in a steel mill near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: Michael (Robert De Niro), Steven (John Savage), and Nick (Christopher Walken). The three are days away from enlisting to fight in Vietnam. Before they leave, Steven gets married and Nick proposes to his girlfriend Linda (Meryl Streep), with whom Michael is also in love. In Vietnam the three find themselves prisoners in the same camp, and are forced, for the amusement of their captors, to participate in challenges of Russian roulette. The three manage to survive the contests, but the ordeal will have life changing consequences for the close-knit trio.
The Deer Hunter spends the first hour or so establishing the characters and their emotional make up. Michael is the serious one, Steven the emotional one, and Nick the one who internalizes everything. There will be a wedding, a deer hunt, and several visits to the local bar. They are regular guys who seem perfectly content. Then they are suddenly prisoners of war. At the camp, it will be Michael who insists the friends keep it together, Steven who openly breaks down, and Nick who remains stoic and silent. After their service, Michael appears to be least affected, Steven can’t bear to face his wife, and Nick has mysteriously vanished. The characters remain consistent with the respective emotions established in the film’s first third. Since we learn what hunting means to Michael and what marriage means to Steven, we comprehend on some level the devastating toll the war has taken on them upon their return. Nick’s fate is even more tragic, as he is so shattered by the experience that he is emotionally lost and totally disconnected.
Because America had been so successful in previous wars, very few war films had dwelt negatively on life subsequent to the battlefield, a notable exception being 1946’s Best Picture victor The Best Years of Our Lives. But now America was in the aftermath of what is considered its first loss, and filmmakers wanted to show the horrors of war. The Deer Hunter spends less than a third of its time on the actual war, because its main focus is on how these three cheerful fellows with bright futures were forever altered by what they experienced. This intention is foreshadowed early in the film when a Green Beret sits at the bar for a drink. The future soldiers want to buy him a drink and shake his hand. He does not want anything to do with them, preferring to be left alone. Thus when Michael returns, he avoids a welcome-home party as he now understands his experience has left him an outsider. No one, except those who shared his ordeal, can possibly understand his feelings. The war has distanced Michael from his friends. It is a sad reality that The Deer Hunter examines unflinchingly.
The Deer Hunter marked a return to the serious side of things for the Academy after awarding the top prize to the feel-good Rocky and humorous Annie Hall. It is a sad but honest look at the ripple effects of battle. The film ends at a wake where the gatherers start singing God Bless America as a reminder that this country had weathered wars before and survived. But this is cold comfort for someone who must bury their loved one. For those personally touched by war, the battle is never truly over.
Best Picture Winner: 1977
Annie Hall (1977)
In 1977 there was the little film called Star Wars that seemingly came out of nowhere to be the film everyone was talking about. It wasn’t a movie, it was an event. To a nine-soon-to-be-ten year old, this is what movie magic was all about. This was probably the year I learned about the Oscars, because I knew Star Wars was nominated for Best Picture. I remember hearing the day after the awards that Star Wars lost to a film called Annie Hall. Annie Hall? What the hell was that? Years would go by before I finally saw Annie Hall and understood. What a great film this is. It made me an instant Woody Allen fan, a description that still holds true today.
Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) directly addresses the audience as the film opens. He makes two things clear: life is miserable and all too short, and he cannot have a successful relationship with a woman who thinks Alvy is worth having a relationship with. Alvy and Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) have just broken up, and the film is Alvy’s take on life events that brought them together, and ultimately broke them apart.
Annie Hall is, too say the least, unconventional storytelling. The movie zigzags between past and present, from childhood to adulthood and back. Alvy frequently addresses the audience, sometimes right in the middle of a scene, such as when he leaves a movie theater ticket line to complain about the pretentious clown behind him. A grown up Annie and Alvy might be present at a childhood recollection, sort of like the Ghost of Christmas Past. When Alvy visits Annie’s family, he imagines being viewed by Annie’s grandmother in full rabbi regalia, complete with bushy beard and curly locks. Subtitles will suddenly appear to tell the audience what the characters are thinking while they chatter on trying to express themselves. At one point, the film becomes animated, with a cartoon Alvy seeing Annie as the evil queen from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. A split screen has each of them talking to their respective therapist about the relationship. They both agree they have sex three times a week. But they do not have the same opinion on whether that’s too much or not enough. Alvy stops people on the street to ask their views on relationship. The result is a stylistically unpredictable but totally endearing comedy about a failed relationship.
Annie Hall thankfully presents neither one at fault for the romance not working. Each is imperfect, with Alvy the more anal one and Annie the more neurotic. Annie frequently stumbles for words, while Alvy, a stand-up comedian, constantly makes jokes (he describes masturbation as sex “with someone I love.”). They are lovable in their own way, but we can understand why friction develops. Amongst the plentiful laughs is a fascinating adult look at the rise and fall of a modern relationship. The film never, however, becomes pretentious, and often features humor for humor’s sake, such as when Annie’s brother (Christopher Walken) tells Alvy about his automobile fantasy, and then ends up driving the lovers to the airport. Alvy’s expression is priceless.
Allen and Keaton make for one of the great romantic couples. Multi-faceted, intelligent, and verbose, they converse in numerous delightful exchanges. Annie may appear something of a scatterbrain, but she has a big heart. Alvy may at times be overly critical, but he means well. The relationship in the film feels genuine, and this makes jokes funnier and the characters endearing.
Annie Hall is frequently cited as Woody Allen’s best film and this may be true, although Hannah and Her Sisters has just as much joy, even though it is much more conventional in its telling. Annie Hall still ranks high on the list of cinema’s finest romantic comedies. Not that Alvy would care, since any such list that would include Annie Hall must not be worthy of attention.
In 1977 there was the little film called Star Wars that seemingly came out of nowhere to be the film everyone was talking about. It wasn’t a movie, it was an event. To a nine-soon-to-be-ten year old, this is what movie magic was all about. This was probably the year I learned about the Oscars, because I knew Star Wars was nominated for Best Picture. I remember hearing the day after the awards that Star Wars lost to a film called Annie Hall. Annie Hall? What the hell was that? Years would go by before I finally saw Annie Hall and understood. What a great film this is. It made me an instant Woody Allen fan, a description that still holds true today.
Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) directly addresses the audience as the film opens. He makes two things clear: life is miserable and all too short, and he cannot have a successful relationship with a woman who thinks Alvy is worth having a relationship with. Alvy and Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) have just broken up, and the film is Alvy’s take on life events that brought them together, and ultimately broke them apart.
Annie Hall is, too say the least, unconventional storytelling. The movie zigzags between past and present, from childhood to adulthood and back. Alvy frequently addresses the audience, sometimes right in the middle of a scene, such as when he leaves a movie theater ticket line to complain about the pretentious clown behind him. A grown up Annie and Alvy might be present at a childhood recollection, sort of like the Ghost of Christmas Past. When Alvy visits Annie’s family, he imagines being viewed by Annie’s grandmother in full rabbi regalia, complete with bushy beard and curly locks. Subtitles will suddenly appear to tell the audience what the characters are thinking while they chatter on trying to express themselves. At one point, the film becomes animated, with a cartoon Alvy seeing Annie as the evil queen from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. A split screen has each of them talking to their respective therapist about the relationship. They both agree they have sex three times a week. But they do not have the same opinion on whether that’s too much or not enough. Alvy stops people on the street to ask their views on relationship. The result is a stylistically unpredictable but totally endearing comedy about a failed relationship.
Annie Hall thankfully presents neither one at fault for the romance not working. Each is imperfect, with Alvy the more anal one and Annie the more neurotic. Annie frequently stumbles for words, while Alvy, a stand-up comedian, constantly makes jokes (he describes masturbation as sex “with someone I love.”). They are lovable in their own way, but we can understand why friction develops. Amongst the plentiful laughs is a fascinating adult look at the rise and fall of a modern relationship. The film never, however, becomes pretentious, and often features humor for humor’s sake, such as when Annie’s brother (Christopher Walken) tells Alvy about his automobile fantasy, and then ends up driving the lovers to the airport. Alvy’s expression is priceless.
Allen and Keaton make for one of the great romantic couples. Multi-faceted, intelligent, and verbose, they converse in numerous delightful exchanges. Annie may appear something of a scatterbrain, but she has a big heart. Alvy may at times be overly critical, but he means well. The relationship in the film feels genuine, and this makes jokes funnier and the characters endearing.
Annie Hall is frequently cited as Woody Allen’s best film and this may be true, although Hannah and Her Sisters has just as much joy, even though it is much more conventional in its telling. Annie Hall still ranks high on the list of cinema’s finest romantic comedies. Not that Alvy would care, since any such list that would include Annie Hall must not be worthy of attention.
Best Picture Winner: 1976
Rocky (1976)
Rocky is the ultimate feel-good movie of the 1970s. A variation on the traditional rags-to-riches story, it is about a loan shark enforcer and part-time boxer who gets his chance at the heavyweight title. That Rocky Balboa is such a loveable chap is the main reason we want to see him prevail. But Rocky also taps into something that seems to be in all of us: we love to root for the underdog.
Rocky (Sylvester Stallone) makes his living by collecting debts for Philadelphia hood Gazzo (Joe Spinell). Rocky has a soft heart though, as demonstrated when he can’t bring himself to break the thumb of someone who’s fallen behind in his payments. Occasionally he’ll make some money in the boxing ring. Rocky likes his friend Paulie’s (Burt Young) extremely shy sister Adrian (Talia Shire), and he finally gets a date with her. But Rocky’s life is about change. Heavyweight champion Apollo Creed (Carl Weathers) is looking for an unknown boxer to compete with for a New Year’s Day match. He likes Rocky’s looks and his moniker: the Italian Stallion. Accepting a management offer from Mickey (Burgess Meredith), the owner of the gym at which he works out, Rocky begins his training so he can go the full fifteen rounds with Creed, a feat that has yet to be accomplished by any other opponent.
Rocky is an old-fashioned story about the self-deprecating “loser” who seizes the chance to make something of his life. As a person, Rocky is known all over his neighborhood and well liked. He has a great sense of humor, good intentions, and no ego. Believing he’s just a dumb guy, Rocky uses his muscle to collect debts. But this isn’t what he really wants to do. The film spends most of its first hour following Rocky about his routine. It’s a very unglamorous life. But there is much sweetness in his courtship of Adrian, who hides behind birdcages while Rocky tries to charm her. It’s Paulie who ultimately has to force the date, by tossing out the Thanksgiving turkey. An unorthodox method it may be, but it gets the right result. Meanwhile Creed is smiling for the cameras, not taking Rocky seriously. Not exactly a villain, Creed’s arrogance rubs us the wrong way. We want Rocky to teach this guy some manners.
Director John G. Avildsen stages some rousing sequences in Rocky. Rocky begins his training not able to climb the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Later, accompanied by Bill Conti’s now-classic music, Rocky triumphantly surmounts the steps, raising his arms in victory. The montage set pieces covering Rocky’s training would become a standard part of the Rocky sequels. And the climatic fight never fails to get the blood pumping.
Sylvester Stallone is the true hero, however, of Rocky as the star and writer. He delivers a, ahem, knock-out performance as the “bum from the neighborhood.” There’s not a false note to be found. Stallone’s script is filled with great character bits, charm, and heart. How can you not like Rocky? Whether he’s trying to give advice to a neighborhood girl, or talking to his two pet turtles, Cuff and Link. While Shire, Meredith, and Young contribute strong work, it’s Stallone who grabs our attention. He brings sensitivity and understanding to the role that indicated a great acting future for Stallone. It is unfortunate he found himself relegated to action hero parts, albeit successful ones, which rarely required much of him other than to look imposing. Stallone, as an artist, has never topped Rocky.
While it may be formula, Rocky emerges as a totally engrossing and satisfying story about a man who thought his chance at a better life had already passed by him. It does not matter how many times we have seen this story played out. When it’s told well, it works. And Rocky delivers.
Rocky is the ultimate feel-good movie of the 1970s. A variation on the traditional rags-to-riches story, it is about a loan shark enforcer and part-time boxer who gets his chance at the heavyweight title. That Rocky Balboa is such a loveable chap is the main reason we want to see him prevail. But Rocky also taps into something that seems to be in all of us: we love to root for the underdog.
Rocky (Sylvester Stallone) makes his living by collecting debts for Philadelphia hood Gazzo (Joe Spinell). Rocky has a soft heart though, as demonstrated when he can’t bring himself to break the thumb of someone who’s fallen behind in his payments. Occasionally he’ll make some money in the boxing ring. Rocky likes his friend Paulie’s (Burt Young) extremely shy sister Adrian (Talia Shire), and he finally gets a date with her. But Rocky’s life is about change. Heavyweight champion Apollo Creed (Carl Weathers) is looking for an unknown boxer to compete with for a New Year’s Day match. He likes Rocky’s looks and his moniker: the Italian Stallion. Accepting a management offer from Mickey (Burgess Meredith), the owner of the gym at which he works out, Rocky begins his training so he can go the full fifteen rounds with Creed, a feat that has yet to be accomplished by any other opponent.
Rocky is an old-fashioned story about the self-deprecating “loser” who seizes the chance to make something of his life. As a person, Rocky is known all over his neighborhood and well liked. He has a great sense of humor, good intentions, and no ego. Believing he’s just a dumb guy, Rocky uses his muscle to collect debts. But this isn’t what he really wants to do. The film spends most of its first hour following Rocky about his routine. It’s a very unglamorous life. But there is much sweetness in his courtship of Adrian, who hides behind birdcages while Rocky tries to charm her. It’s Paulie who ultimately has to force the date, by tossing out the Thanksgiving turkey. An unorthodox method it may be, but it gets the right result. Meanwhile Creed is smiling for the cameras, not taking Rocky seriously. Not exactly a villain, Creed’s arrogance rubs us the wrong way. We want Rocky to teach this guy some manners.
Director John G. Avildsen stages some rousing sequences in Rocky. Rocky begins his training not able to climb the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Later, accompanied by Bill Conti’s now-classic music, Rocky triumphantly surmounts the steps, raising his arms in victory. The montage set pieces covering Rocky’s training would become a standard part of the Rocky sequels. And the climatic fight never fails to get the blood pumping.
Sylvester Stallone is the true hero, however, of Rocky as the star and writer. He delivers a, ahem, knock-out performance as the “bum from the neighborhood.” There’s not a false note to be found. Stallone’s script is filled with great character bits, charm, and heart. How can you not like Rocky? Whether he’s trying to give advice to a neighborhood girl, or talking to his two pet turtles, Cuff and Link. While Shire, Meredith, and Young contribute strong work, it’s Stallone who grabs our attention. He brings sensitivity and understanding to the role that indicated a great acting future for Stallone. It is unfortunate he found himself relegated to action hero parts, albeit successful ones, which rarely required much of him other than to look imposing. Stallone, as an artist, has never topped Rocky.
While it may be formula, Rocky emerges as a totally engrossing and satisfying story about a man who thought his chance at a better life had already passed by him. It does not matter how many times we have seen this story played out. When it’s told well, it works. And Rocky delivers.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1975
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is the first film since It Happened One Night (1934) to take home the big five Oscars: Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, and Screenplay. (This wouldn’t happen again until 1991’s Silence of the Lambs.) Time has proven the Academy made the right choices. Jack Nicholson delivers one of his signature “Crazy Jack” performances as Randle Patrick McMurphy, and Louise Fletcher’s character made such an impression that “Nurse Ratched” has become a nickname for any unfeeling caregiver. Another film that delights in slapping the face of authority, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is an unexpectedly moving story about life and the human condition inside the confines of a mental hospital.
Randle McMurphy has been sent to a state hospital for the mentally ill for observation. Serving time in prison for statutory rape, McMurphy has been acting crazy. The warden believes Randle is faking it, but sends him anyway. McMurphy meets his fellow patients at a group counseling session presided over by the stern, officious Nurse Ratched. McMurphy grows to dislike the nurse as he observes how she seems to delight in making certain patient’s lives miserable. He starts to form friendships with the hulking Chief Bromden (Will Sampson) and the stuttering Billy Bibbit (Brad Dourif). Soon he finds himself in a struggle with Nurse Ratched for control of the men’s spirits.
Based on Ken Kesey’s 1962 novel, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest may be the pinnacle of the wave of anti-establishment films that arose during the 1960s. Events such as the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War brought about mistrust in authority that resulted in films such as Easy Rider (1969), where young people shunned the “nine-to-five” life and looked for something more meaningful. The famous chicken salad sandwich scene in Five Easy Pieces (1970) is another example. (Both of these films also star Nicholson.) Here, Nicholson’s McMurphy takes on a tyrant who has drained the joy out her charges. She tells them when to eat, when to sleep, and what they can or can’t do. It gets even more troubling when we learn most of the men are voluntary. Even though they can leave Ratched has made them dependent on her. She probably has one of the coldest smiles you’re likely to see.
But amidst the antiseptic atmosphere and unadorned walls of the hospital McMurphy is able to arouse the men’s spirits. When Ratched won’t let the men watch the 1963 World Series, McMurphy stands in front of the television and announces a mock game to the delight of the patients. He kiddingly taunts the 6.5 foot tall Chief on the basketball court. He arranges a little party around Christmas time. And at one point, he commandeers a bus and takes the group on a boating excursion. Initially McMurphy does these things to amuse himself. But the result is that he comes to care about these men. Suddenly they are smiling and laughing again in spite of their difficulties. This does not sit well with Ratched who finds she is losing control of the men. Not surprisingly this leads to tragedy, because people in power always have options others do not. And yet, there is still something stirring and upbeat about the film’s final moments, that even though McMurphy has left the building, so to speak, his positive influence will not be so easily quashed.
Nicholson and Fletcher make fine sparring partners, and the tension their characters generate is at times palpable. They are ably supported by a cast that includes Danny DeVito and Christopher Lloyd in early roles. Scatman Crothers has a brief but humorous bit as an orderly who lets McMurphy talk him into allowing a party. Marya Small is delightful as McMurphy’s girlfriend Candy. But it is Nicholson that we can’t take our eyes off of here as he mugs and merrily dashes about. And Nicholson also effectively conveys the growing rage in McMurphy as he witnesses Ratched’s tactics.
In spite of the heavy subject though One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest emerges as a mostly warm-hearted exercise in restoring the human spirit. Anchored by Jack Nicholson’s performance, this 1975 Oscar winner retains its power to provoke and inspire.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is the first film since It Happened One Night (1934) to take home the big five Oscars: Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, and Screenplay. (This wouldn’t happen again until 1991’s Silence of the Lambs.) Time has proven the Academy made the right choices. Jack Nicholson delivers one of his signature “Crazy Jack” performances as Randle Patrick McMurphy, and Louise Fletcher’s character made such an impression that “Nurse Ratched” has become a nickname for any unfeeling caregiver. Another film that delights in slapping the face of authority, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is an unexpectedly moving story about life and the human condition inside the confines of a mental hospital.
Randle McMurphy has been sent to a state hospital for the mentally ill for observation. Serving time in prison for statutory rape, McMurphy has been acting crazy. The warden believes Randle is faking it, but sends him anyway. McMurphy meets his fellow patients at a group counseling session presided over by the stern, officious Nurse Ratched. McMurphy grows to dislike the nurse as he observes how she seems to delight in making certain patient’s lives miserable. He starts to form friendships with the hulking Chief Bromden (Will Sampson) and the stuttering Billy Bibbit (Brad Dourif). Soon he finds himself in a struggle with Nurse Ratched for control of the men’s spirits.
Based on Ken Kesey’s 1962 novel, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest may be the pinnacle of the wave of anti-establishment films that arose during the 1960s. Events such as the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War brought about mistrust in authority that resulted in films such as Easy Rider (1969), where young people shunned the “nine-to-five” life and looked for something more meaningful. The famous chicken salad sandwich scene in Five Easy Pieces (1970) is another example. (Both of these films also star Nicholson.) Here, Nicholson’s McMurphy takes on a tyrant who has drained the joy out her charges. She tells them when to eat, when to sleep, and what they can or can’t do. It gets even more troubling when we learn most of the men are voluntary. Even though they can leave Ratched has made them dependent on her. She probably has one of the coldest smiles you’re likely to see.
But amidst the antiseptic atmosphere and unadorned walls of the hospital McMurphy is able to arouse the men’s spirits. When Ratched won’t let the men watch the 1963 World Series, McMurphy stands in front of the television and announces a mock game to the delight of the patients. He kiddingly taunts the 6.5 foot tall Chief on the basketball court. He arranges a little party around Christmas time. And at one point, he commandeers a bus and takes the group on a boating excursion. Initially McMurphy does these things to amuse himself. But the result is that he comes to care about these men. Suddenly they are smiling and laughing again in spite of their difficulties. This does not sit well with Ratched who finds she is losing control of the men. Not surprisingly this leads to tragedy, because people in power always have options others do not. And yet, there is still something stirring and upbeat about the film’s final moments, that even though McMurphy has left the building, so to speak, his positive influence will not be so easily quashed.
Nicholson and Fletcher make fine sparring partners, and the tension their characters generate is at times palpable. They are ably supported by a cast that includes Danny DeVito and Christopher Lloyd in early roles. Scatman Crothers has a brief but humorous bit as an orderly who lets McMurphy talk him into allowing a party. Marya Small is delightful as McMurphy’s girlfriend Candy. But it is Nicholson that we can’t take our eyes off of here as he mugs and merrily dashes about. And Nicholson also effectively conveys the growing rage in McMurphy as he witnesses Ratched’s tactics.
In spite of the heavy subject though One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest emerges as a mostly warm-hearted exercise in restoring the human spirit. Anchored by Jack Nicholson’s performance, this 1975 Oscar winner retains its power to provoke and inspire.
Best Picture Winner: 1974
The Godfather Part II (1974)
When we last saw Michael Corleone (Al Pacino), he had assumed control of the Corleone mafia family. It is now 1958, and he is organizing a move into the Nevada gambling industry, which is being supported by Jewish gangster Hyman Roth (Lee Strasberg.) At his home in Lake Tahoe on the night of his son’s First Communion, an attempt is made on Michael’s life. He tells Roth he believes the guilty party is Frank Pentangeli (Michael V. Gazzo), a disgruntled Corleone soldier in New York who is having problems with the Rosato brothers, who are backed by Roth. Later however Michael confides in Frank that he believes Roth was behind the attack, but must have had inside help. Michael must discover who the traitor is. He also must contend with a senate investigation into the dealings of the Corleone family.
While The Godfather Part II continues Michael’s saga, it also crosscuts to the story of how his father Vito, played here as a young man by Robert DeNiro, came to America and became a force in the underworld. As a young boy, his parents and brother were murdered under orders from a Don who was insulted by Vito’s father, and Vito escaped to New York to avoid the same fate. As a young man he now works at a grocery in an Italian neighborhood and gets involved with a local criminal, Peter Clemenza (Bruno Kirby). He learns that area merchants are being extorted by Don Fanucci, and soon finds himself in the same situation when Fanucci demands his share of Vito’s illegally gotten gains. Vito’s response starts him on his path to mafia chieftain.
What is most fascinating about The Godfather Part II is that, even though both Vito and son Michael are able men who commit horrible acts, they are not viewed the same way by those closest to them. In The Godfather, Don Vito Corleone is loved by wife and children, and dies while playing with his grandson. Don Michael Corleone is, on the other hand, feared and reviled by his wife. Part III confirms that his children want nothing to do with the family business, which, ironically, was exactly Michael's feeling when we first meet him The Godfather. The final shot of Part II has Michael sitting by himself, wondering why his father was so loved while he is all alone.
While Part II is rife with double crosses and betrayals like its predecessor, one character’s fate packs a particular wallop. Poor Fredo (John Cazale, reprising his role), tired of playing errand boy to his younger brother, does the unspeakable thing of betraying Michael to Hyman Roth. A slip of the tongue on Fredo’s part reveals that he knows Roth’s right hand man, Johnny Ola (Dominic Chianese, later of The Sopranos). At a New Year’s celebration, as 1959 is ushered in, Michael grasps Fredo face, kissing him. His voice cracking, fighting back tears, Michael tells him, "I know it was you Fredo. You broke my heart." We have learned by now what happens to traitors, even if they’re your own mother’s child. Whatever heart Michael may have had left at the close of The Godfather is now completely gone. Pacino plays him as a cold, stern businessman with no room for humor or warmth. He will fly into a rage when his family is attacked, or when Kay reveals the devastating truth about a miscarriage. But we come into The Godfather Part II with no illusions about Michael or what he has become.
Perhaps realizing this, Director and co-writer Francis Ford Coppola and co-scripter Mario Puzo give us Vito Corleone’s back story which provides the emotional connection we felt with Michael in the first film. Vito Andolini, mistakenly given the last of the town from which he comes upon his entrance into America, is forced from his homeland through no fault of his own. He finds himself struggling to raise a family and loses his job at the grocery due to Don Fanucci ordering the owner to employee a relative. Fanucci is an arrogant, unpleasant thug for whom we feel no grief when Vito kills him. Vito’s early dealings are rather endearing, such as when he intimidates a sleazy landlord to let a lady stay in her apartment. Vito even gets him to lower her rent. We also don’t feel too bad when Vito returns to Sicily and avenges his family’s murders. But again, like Michael in The Godfather, Vito has responded to immorality with immorality and succumbs to the life of crime and power which will result in tragedy for his children.
Coppola also continues the sacrament and sin parallel by opening the film at Michael’s son’s first communion. But the meetings inside his Lake Tahoe home deal with gaming corruption, Connie’s divorce and remarriage, and the request for a hit on rival gangsters. Coppola will take the parallel to even further extremes in Part III, which has the Corleones involved with the Vatican and Michael making confession to a future Pope!
As in the first film, Part II is rich in supporting characters. Michael V. Gazzo’s Frank Pentangeli is a nicely textured role that is a blend of bravado and wisdom. Lee Strasberg is superb as Hyman Roth, the back-stabbing conniver who outwardly seems so loyal and trustworthy. And Bruno Kirby brings humor to the role of Clemenza. He and DeNiro have real chemistry in their scenes together.
In The Godfather Brando’s Vito tells Michael, “A man who doesn’t spend time with his family is not a man.” The Godfather Part II continues the story of Michael Corleone and his alienation from the family that seems so important to him. He is a man who seems to have lost his humanity. His father may not have been proud.
When we last saw Michael Corleone (Al Pacino), he had assumed control of the Corleone mafia family. It is now 1958, and he is organizing a move into the Nevada gambling industry, which is being supported by Jewish gangster Hyman Roth (Lee Strasberg.) At his home in Lake Tahoe on the night of his son’s First Communion, an attempt is made on Michael’s life. He tells Roth he believes the guilty party is Frank Pentangeli (Michael V. Gazzo), a disgruntled Corleone soldier in New York who is having problems with the Rosato brothers, who are backed by Roth. Later however Michael confides in Frank that he believes Roth was behind the attack, but must have had inside help. Michael must discover who the traitor is. He also must contend with a senate investigation into the dealings of the Corleone family.
While The Godfather Part II continues Michael’s saga, it also crosscuts to the story of how his father Vito, played here as a young man by Robert DeNiro, came to America and became a force in the underworld. As a young boy, his parents and brother were murdered under orders from a Don who was insulted by Vito’s father, and Vito escaped to New York to avoid the same fate. As a young man he now works at a grocery in an Italian neighborhood and gets involved with a local criminal, Peter Clemenza (Bruno Kirby). He learns that area merchants are being extorted by Don Fanucci, and soon finds himself in the same situation when Fanucci demands his share of Vito’s illegally gotten gains. Vito’s response starts him on his path to mafia chieftain.
What is most fascinating about The Godfather Part II is that, even though both Vito and son Michael are able men who commit horrible acts, they are not viewed the same way by those closest to them. In The Godfather, Don Vito Corleone is loved by wife and children, and dies while playing with his grandson. Don Michael Corleone is, on the other hand, feared and reviled by his wife. Part III confirms that his children want nothing to do with the family business, which, ironically, was exactly Michael's feeling when we first meet him The Godfather. The final shot of Part II has Michael sitting by himself, wondering why his father was so loved while he is all alone.
While Part II is rife with double crosses and betrayals like its predecessor, one character’s fate packs a particular wallop. Poor Fredo (John Cazale, reprising his role), tired of playing errand boy to his younger brother, does the unspeakable thing of betraying Michael to Hyman Roth. A slip of the tongue on Fredo’s part reveals that he knows Roth’s right hand man, Johnny Ola (Dominic Chianese, later of The Sopranos). At a New Year’s celebration, as 1959 is ushered in, Michael grasps Fredo face, kissing him. His voice cracking, fighting back tears, Michael tells him, "I know it was you Fredo. You broke my heart." We have learned by now what happens to traitors, even if they’re your own mother’s child. Whatever heart Michael may have had left at the close of The Godfather is now completely gone. Pacino plays him as a cold, stern businessman with no room for humor or warmth. He will fly into a rage when his family is attacked, or when Kay reveals the devastating truth about a miscarriage. But we come into The Godfather Part II with no illusions about Michael or what he has become.
Perhaps realizing this, Director and co-writer Francis Ford Coppola and co-scripter Mario Puzo give us Vito Corleone’s back story which provides the emotional connection we felt with Michael in the first film. Vito Andolini, mistakenly given the last of the town from which he comes upon his entrance into America, is forced from his homeland through no fault of his own. He finds himself struggling to raise a family and loses his job at the grocery due to Don Fanucci ordering the owner to employee a relative. Fanucci is an arrogant, unpleasant thug for whom we feel no grief when Vito kills him. Vito’s early dealings are rather endearing, such as when he intimidates a sleazy landlord to let a lady stay in her apartment. Vito even gets him to lower her rent. We also don’t feel too bad when Vito returns to Sicily and avenges his family’s murders. But again, like Michael in The Godfather, Vito has responded to immorality with immorality and succumbs to the life of crime and power which will result in tragedy for his children.
Coppola also continues the sacrament and sin parallel by opening the film at Michael’s son’s first communion. But the meetings inside his Lake Tahoe home deal with gaming corruption, Connie’s divorce and remarriage, and the request for a hit on rival gangsters. Coppola will take the parallel to even further extremes in Part III, which has the Corleones involved with the Vatican and Michael making confession to a future Pope!
As in the first film, Part II is rich in supporting characters. Michael V. Gazzo’s Frank Pentangeli is a nicely textured role that is a blend of bravado and wisdom. Lee Strasberg is superb as Hyman Roth, the back-stabbing conniver who outwardly seems so loyal and trustworthy. And Bruno Kirby brings humor to the role of Clemenza. He and DeNiro have real chemistry in their scenes together.
In The Godfather Brando’s Vito tells Michael, “A man who doesn’t spend time with his family is not a man.” The Godfather Part II continues the story of Michael Corleone and his alienation from the family that seems so important to him. He is a man who seems to have lost his humanity. His father may not have been proud.
Best Picture Winner: 1973
The Sting (1973)
The Sting is fluff but it is entertaining fluff. It looks pretty, goes down easy, and has no lofty pretensions. In 1936, grifter Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford) and his partners unknowingly con a numbers runner out of $11,000. The mob kingpin in charge, Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw), orders all those responsible for the theft to be made an example of. Meanwhile, a crooked bunco cop (Charles Durning) shakes Johnny down for his share of the take. When one of his partners is killed, Johnny teams with Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman), master of the big con, to hit Lonnegan where it hurts: in the money belt.
Reuniting after their successful teaming in 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Paul Newman and Robert Redford have a natural chemistry as master and pupil. They cut dashing figures in their 1930s duds, and are surrounded by a genial supporting cast that includes Ray Walston, Eileen Brennan, and Harold Gould. Even though there is violence and the constant threat of more violence, the whole enterprise is a rather breezy affair where the audience never really fears our heroes are in danger. There are attempts by screenwriter David S. Ward to throw a twist or two in the mix. But this viewer saw these coming, probably a product of viewing films or television show episodes (Remington Steele: "Sting of Steele” comes to mind) that ripped off The Sting before seeing the original model.
The whole tone of the film is jovial. These confidence men and women are confident, and they don’t break a sweat. Illustrated title cards breakdown the development of the con for the audience: the set-up, the hook, the tale, the wire, the shut-out, and finally, the sting. We are there every step of the way, and nearly everything goes as planned. When Lonnegan wants to meet Johnny’s contact at the Western Union station, the conmen arrange to “borrow” an office for a few moments by posing as painters. Rarely though does anything interfere with the game plan. That’s part of the film’s charm. But it’s also part of the film’s problem. In spite of the bloodshed and impending threats from gangsters and the authorities, there’s rarely any true tension. We know they’ll pull this off. We watch amused and entertained, but never worried. The ending is a foregone conclusion.
The Sting stands out among the 1970s Best Picture winners because it’s so upbeat and bright, even though it takes place in Depression-era Chicago. It’s a finely crafted entertainment whose lack of gravitas makes it a real crowd pleaser. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
The Sting is fluff but it is entertaining fluff. It looks pretty, goes down easy, and has no lofty pretensions. In 1936, grifter Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford) and his partners unknowingly con a numbers runner out of $11,000. The mob kingpin in charge, Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw), orders all those responsible for the theft to be made an example of. Meanwhile, a crooked bunco cop (Charles Durning) shakes Johnny down for his share of the take. When one of his partners is killed, Johnny teams with Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman), master of the big con, to hit Lonnegan where it hurts: in the money belt.
Reuniting after their successful teaming in 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Paul Newman and Robert Redford have a natural chemistry as master and pupil. They cut dashing figures in their 1930s duds, and are surrounded by a genial supporting cast that includes Ray Walston, Eileen Brennan, and Harold Gould. Even though there is violence and the constant threat of more violence, the whole enterprise is a rather breezy affair where the audience never really fears our heroes are in danger. There are attempts by screenwriter David S. Ward to throw a twist or two in the mix. But this viewer saw these coming, probably a product of viewing films or television show episodes (Remington Steele: "Sting of Steele” comes to mind) that ripped off The Sting before seeing the original model.
The whole tone of the film is jovial. These confidence men and women are confident, and they don’t break a sweat. Illustrated title cards breakdown the development of the con for the audience: the set-up, the hook, the tale, the wire, the shut-out, and finally, the sting. We are there every step of the way, and nearly everything goes as planned. When Lonnegan wants to meet Johnny’s contact at the Western Union station, the conmen arrange to “borrow” an office for a few moments by posing as painters. Rarely though does anything interfere with the game plan. That’s part of the film’s charm. But it’s also part of the film’s problem. In spite of the bloodshed and impending threats from gangsters and the authorities, there’s rarely any true tension. We know they’ll pull this off. We watch amused and entertained, but never worried. The ending is a foregone conclusion.
The Sting stands out among the 1970s Best Picture winners because it’s so upbeat and bright, even though it takes place in Depression-era Chicago. It’s a finely crafted entertainment whose lack of gravitas makes it a real crowd pleaser. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1972
The Godfather (1972)
How familiar the events and characters of The Godfather are. I don’t know how many times I have seen this film. But I do realize now that this is my favorite film of all time. How can this be? It asks us to enter a world where a good business deal can mean murder. It wants us to care about the lives of the Corleone family because they are the “good” gangsters who are responding to threats from the “bad” gangsters. The main character’s arc is the transformation of a man who wanted nothing to do with his family’s way of life into a more ruthless head of the family than his father ever was. How are we supposed to feel when, in the film’s final scene, the door closes and a new generation of violence has taken hold? How I absolutely love this film.
New York, 1945: on his only daughter’s wedding day, Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando), as is customary, is granting audiences with those who want a favor from the Godfather, an affectionate term for the head of a mafia family. An undertaker wants revenge for a sexual attack on his daughter. A baker doesn’t want his daughter’s boyfriend, who also works in the bakery, deported. Vito’s own godson, singer Johnny Fontane (Al Martino), wants a part in a movie that will put his career back on track. Vito will grant these wishes in return for the promise of a favor to be named at a later date.
Attending this party is Vito’s youngest son, Michael (Al Pacino), a decorated war hero who is there with his girlfriend Kay (Diane Keaton). He assures her that he has no interest in this life, even though he cares for his family very deeply. But when an unsuccessful assassination attempt is made on his father’s life, Michael is willing to do his part to avenge the family. He fought for his country in World War II. He will now step to the front lines in the burgeoning war between two powerful mafia families. Michael’s actions do more than send a message to his father’s would-be murderers. They put him on a path that leads him to the honored position his father now holds.
While there are plenty out there who would argue the 1974 sequel is the better film, this viewer prefers the 1972 classic. The main reason for this is watching the evolution of the idealistic Michael from a sweet, well-meaning young man into someone who will rule the family with an iron fist. In a heartbreaking scene Vito tells him, “I never wanted any of this for you, Michael.” The Don imagined Michael a senator, governor, or even president. Now Michael is caught up in war, unable to distance himself from it. After a years-long exile in Sicily (the result of Michael’s vengeance) during which Don Vito has made peace with all the families, Michael returns home and takes Kay as his wife, promising he will make the Corleones “completely legitimate” in five years. But by this time he has seen and experienced too much. During his exile, Michael married, only then to witness his bride’s murder as the result of a car bomb meant for him. He enjoys the protection afforded him and also the respect his name commands. Upon his return he is ready to assume the title of Don Corleone, as his father’s health has deteriorated. And we see him lie to Kay’s face, in a way we could not have imagined based on their gentle exchange at the opening wedding scene, about his role in his brother-in-law’s death. It is a fascinating and frightening transformation. But also one that is understandable given the events that occur. At the end of the film, the door has truly closed on the life that Kay had envisioned for herself and Michael.
Rich in character and incident, The Godfather’s attention to plot details, no matter how small they seem, will have payoffs later in the film. In the opening scene for instance, the undertaker must later make Sonny Corleone (James Caan) presentable after he is horrifically gunned down. (“Look how they messed with my boy.”) The baker’s apprentice Vito saves from deportation assists Michael in scaring off those who plan a second attempt on Vito’s life at the hospital. The tensions and fights between Connie Corleone (Talia Shire) and her husband Carlo (Gianni Russo) lay the foundation for how Sonny will be murdered. And the actions in this film will also impact the future installments, such as when brother Fredo (John Cazale) admonishes Michael in front of Moe Green (Alex Rocco), the co-owner of a Nevada casino Michael wants to own outright. Fredo will betray Michael again in The Godfather Part II (1974), with fatal consequences.
Director Francis Ford Coppola visualizes the hypocrisy of the Corleone family (and mafia families in general) by contrasting sacrament against sin. While Connie has just been a part of the sacrament of marriage, her father is giving approval for criminal acts. While Michael is present at the Baptism of his godchild, Connie’s son, Michael’s orders to murder the heads of the rival mafia families are carried out. The sequels would follow the formula established here, whereby the Corleones would accumulate enemies and traitors, all of whom would be murdered during the climax. But none would match the impact that is achieved here by crosscutting between the Baptism and executions.
The sequels would involve the Corleones in even more dramatic confrontations. In Part II, Michael will be subject to a senate investigation. In Part III, the Corleones pursuit of purchasing stock in a company co-owned by the Vatican involve them in the assassination of Pope John Paul I. But the more intimate nature of The Godfather makes it the most emotionally involving of the three films, although such an observation is hardly meant as a negative comment on the other films, especially Part II.
Visually speaking the film is seductive. Gordon Willis’ sumptuous photography is as successful capturing the beauty and splendor of the wedding reception as it is the dark and lonely corridors of the hospital where Don Vito awaits isolated. There is an intimate feel to the private conversations between Michael and his father, or Michael and Kay, or the gathering at the family table where Michael tells Sonny about the former’s plan to avenge the attack on their father. Add to this the costumes, the art direction, the iconic music and The Godfather is as powerful technically as it is emotionally.
I come back to how is it possible to care so much what happens to these people who should be housed in jail cells not luxury homes. The secret, I believe, is introducing Michael as someone who never planned on being a gangster, something the sequels cannot possibly do. It’s easy to sympathize with someone who is torn between their love of their family and what their family chooses as their livelihood. Michael and his siblings were born into this, unlike their father whom, we learn in Part II, essentially chose to pursue a life of crime instead of working low-paying jobs. It’s not hard to understand Michael's outrage at the murder attempt, or his further outrage that police are being paid off to allow for a second attempt. He’s been backed into a corner. If someone doesn’t stand up for his father then Vito will surely be killed. As a strategist he understands he is the most likely one to have the chance to do what he feels is a necessary evil to protect his father and family. But he is answering immorality with immorality. And there is no turning back. How we feel for Michael in these earlier moments. How we loathe him before it is all over.
The Godfather continues to rate very highly on lists such as AFI and Sight and Sound as one of the truly great motion pictures. That the film explores the evolution of evil is beside the point. It starts with a character who is full of optimism and whose future is promising. Then we watch as he takes a u-turn towards the abyss. And we cannot look away.
How familiar the events and characters of The Godfather are. I don’t know how many times I have seen this film. But I do realize now that this is my favorite film of all time. How can this be? It asks us to enter a world where a good business deal can mean murder. It wants us to care about the lives of the Corleone family because they are the “good” gangsters who are responding to threats from the “bad” gangsters. The main character’s arc is the transformation of a man who wanted nothing to do with his family’s way of life into a more ruthless head of the family than his father ever was. How are we supposed to feel when, in the film’s final scene, the door closes and a new generation of violence has taken hold? How I absolutely love this film.
New York, 1945: on his only daughter’s wedding day, Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando), as is customary, is granting audiences with those who want a favor from the Godfather, an affectionate term for the head of a mafia family. An undertaker wants revenge for a sexual attack on his daughter. A baker doesn’t want his daughter’s boyfriend, who also works in the bakery, deported. Vito’s own godson, singer Johnny Fontane (Al Martino), wants a part in a movie that will put his career back on track. Vito will grant these wishes in return for the promise of a favor to be named at a later date.
Attending this party is Vito’s youngest son, Michael (Al Pacino), a decorated war hero who is there with his girlfriend Kay (Diane Keaton). He assures her that he has no interest in this life, even though he cares for his family very deeply. But when an unsuccessful assassination attempt is made on his father’s life, Michael is willing to do his part to avenge the family. He fought for his country in World War II. He will now step to the front lines in the burgeoning war between two powerful mafia families. Michael’s actions do more than send a message to his father’s would-be murderers. They put him on a path that leads him to the honored position his father now holds.
While there are plenty out there who would argue the 1974 sequel is the better film, this viewer prefers the 1972 classic. The main reason for this is watching the evolution of the idealistic Michael from a sweet, well-meaning young man into someone who will rule the family with an iron fist. In a heartbreaking scene Vito tells him, “I never wanted any of this for you, Michael.” The Don imagined Michael a senator, governor, or even president. Now Michael is caught up in war, unable to distance himself from it. After a years-long exile in Sicily (the result of Michael’s vengeance) during which Don Vito has made peace with all the families, Michael returns home and takes Kay as his wife, promising he will make the Corleones “completely legitimate” in five years. But by this time he has seen and experienced too much. During his exile, Michael married, only then to witness his bride’s murder as the result of a car bomb meant for him. He enjoys the protection afforded him and also the respect his name commands. Upon his return he is ready to assume the title of Don Corleone, as his father’s health has deteriorated. And we see him lie to Kay’s face, in a way we could not have imagined based on their gentle exchange at the opening wedding scene, about his role in his brother-in-law’s death. It is a fascinating and frightening transformation. But also one that is understandable given the events that occur. At the end of the film, the door has truly closed on the life that Kay had envisioned for herself and Michael.
Rich in character and incident, The Godfather’s attention to plot details, no matter how small they seem, will have payoffs later in the film. In the opening scene for instance, the undertaker must later make Sonny Corleone (James Caan) presentable after he is horrifically gunned down. (“Look how they messed with my boy.”) The baker’s apprentice Vito saves from deportation assists Michael in scaring off those who plan a second attempt on Vito’s life at the hospital. The tensions and fights between Connie Corleone (Talia Shire) and her husband Carlo (Gianni Russo) lay the foundation for how Sonny will be murdered. And the actions in this film will also impact the future installments, such as when brother Fredo (John Cazale) admonishes Michael in front of Moe Green (Alex Rocco), the co-owner of a Nevada casino Michael wants to own outright. Fredo will betray Michael again in The Godfather Part II (1974), with fatal consequences.
Director Francis Ford Coppola visualizes the hypocrisy of the Corleone family (and mafia families in general) by contrasting sacrament against sin. While Connie has just been a part of the sacrament of marriage, her father is giving approval for criminal acts. While Michael is present at the Baptism of his godchild, Connie’s son, Michael’s orders to murder the heads of the rival mafia families are carried out. The sequels would follow the formula established here, whereby the Corleones would accumulate enemies and traitors, all of whom would be murdered during the climax. But none would match the impact that is achieved here by crosscutting between the Baptism and executions.
The sequels would involve the Corleones in even more dramatic confrontations. In Part II, Michael will be subject to a senate investigation. In Part III, the Corleones pursuit of purchasing stock in a company co-owned by the Vatican involve them in the assassination of Pope John Paul I. But the more intimate nature of The Godfather makes it the most emotionally involving of the three films, although such an observation is hardly meant as a negative comment on the other films, especially Part II.
Visually speaking the film is seductive. Gordon Willis’ sumptuous photography is as successful capturing the beauty and splendor of the wedding reception as it is the dark and lonely corridors of the hospital where Don Vito awaits isolated. There is an intimate feel to the private conversations between Michael and his father, or Michael and Kay, or the gathering at the family table where Michael tells Sonny about the former’s plan to avenge the attack on their father. Add to this the costumes, the art direction, the iconic music and The Godfather is as powerful technically as it is emotionally.
I come back to how is it possible to care so much what happens to these people who should be housed in jail cells not luxury homes. The secret, I believe, is introducing Michael as someone who never planned on being a gangster, something the sequels cannot possibly do. It’s easy to sympathize with someone who is torn between their love of their family and what their family chooses as their livelihood. Michael and his siblings were born into this, unlike their father whom, we learn in Part II, essentially chose to pursue a life of crime instead of working low-paying jobs. It’s not hard to understand Michael's outrage at the murder attempt, or his further outrage that police are being paid off to allow for a second attempt. He’s been backed into a corner. If someone doesn’t stand up for his father then Vito will surely be killed. As a strategist he understands he is the most likely one to have the chance to do what he feels is a necessary evil to protect his father and family. But he is answering immorality with immorality. And there is no turning back. How we feel for Michael in these earlier moments. How we loathe him before it is all over.
The Godfather continues to rate very highly on lists such as AFI and Sight and Sound as one of the truly great motion pictures. That the film explores the evolution of evil is beside the point. It starts with a character who is full of optimism and whose future is promising. Then we watch as he takes a u-turn towards the abyss. And we cannot look away.
Best Picture Winner: 1971
The French Connection (1971)
I remember, during those wonderful years of watching Siskel and Ebert spar week after week, hearing that the 1970s was the last decade for great movie making. It was the decade of Friedkin, Coppola, and Cimino. Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg would make their first classics. Studios were willing to give certain auteurs free reign because their artistry was winning awards. The subject matter of most of the Best Pictures of this decade was bleak, and would frequently feature less than happy endings. Some of this was informed by a political climate that included the Vietnam War and the Watergate scandal. But with the failure of Michael Cimino’s Heaven’s Gate (1980) and the blockbuster that was Star Wars (1977), the 1980s mostly said goodbye to the negative. It was time to accentuate the positive.
One could see the trend starting in the 1960s. Gang violence, Nazism, and poverty were given upbeat presentations in musicals West Side Story, The Sound of Music, and Oliver!, respectively. Racism added the needed element to make In the Heat of the Night more than just a murder mystery, although by film’s end the villain is brought to justice and no harm has come to the heroes. Midnight Cowboy looked at a subculture that involved criminals and hustlers, and these very types would be the heroes of the 1970s. But at least there was plenty of humor to offset the sadness. Even Patton, a film where the title character gets his wish to kick Nazi arse, ends on a down note because this guy isn’t allowed to take on the Russians. But with 1971’s The French Connection, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences would begin regularly honoring films that looked at the darker side of the human experience.
Based on true events, The French Connection deals with two New York City detectives' attempts to stop a heroin shipment from reaching the city streets. In Marseilles, France, Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey), a near-mythic drug smuggler, is arranging for a shipment of heroin into the United States. Detective Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) and his partner Buddy "Cloudy" Russo (Roy Scheider) work the Big Apple narcotics beat when they learn from an informant that a big shipment of heroin is coming in. Soon, a cat-and-mouse game between Doyle and Charnier commences to see which one will win this battle in New York’s looming drug war.
While serious drug stories today are a dime a dozen, this was not the case at the time of The French Connection. Most films dealing with illegal substances (e.g. Easy Rider) saw the users as admirable rebels, or at least as harmless folk just trying to attain a new reality. The French Connection, on the other hand, looked at another side of the equation – how the drugs came to be available. This is quite a different viewpoint from the idea of certain drug use being a victimless crime.
The French Connection is presented as an intense action thriller that boasts several impressive set pieces. Doyle and Charnier engage is an exciting pursuit sequence where Doyle tries to keep up with Charnier through the streets and subways of New York. There is the attempt on Doyle’s life which takes place in a public housing district, where a roof-top sniper kills innocent people in an attempt to eliminate Doyle. This in turn leads to the now-classic car chase where Doyle commandeers a citizen’s car so he can follow the would-be assassin who is attempting to escape via an elevated train. There is virtually no let up in the tension and suspense.
The movie is constantly contrasting the luxurious lifestyle led by Charnier with Doyle’s unglamorous one. The film opens with Charnier shown living at a beautiful villa and presenting an expensive gift to his lovely wife. There is mention of a daughter. Doyle is shown dressed up as Santa Claus on a stake out, which ultimately leads to Russo getting a knife injury. Doyle is alone. While Charnier dines in a elegant restaurant on a multi-course meal, Doyle is shown outside shivering in the cold, wolfing down a slice of pizza and pouring out his cup of foul-tasting coffee. Charnier is elegantly dressed and always moves gracefully and calmly, while Doyle is unkempt and out of breath. Still, while Charnier is a wily fox, so is Doyle. They may have differing pay grades. But they do seem matched with respect to cunning and resourcefulness.
But the real kick in the gut delivered by The French Connection is how the film ends. One authority figure is killed in friendly fire and Charnier gets away. We do not get the satisfaction of seeing the main villain punished. Furthermore, title cards inform us that only the lower level smugglers got any time. The higher-ups escaped justice. Doyle has put his life at risk almost for nothing, even though the drugs will presumably not reach the streets.
And thus begins a trend in the Best Picture winners of the 1970s whereby the audience is told stories that have challenging themes and troubling outcomes. In the two Godfather films (1972 and 1974), the heroes are actually gangsters, and the law can’t touch them. The Sting (1973) deals with low-level criminals taking on the mafia. In One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) a convict sent to a mental hospital for observation emerges as some kind of savior to the patients with tragic results. Rocky (1976) deals with the brutality of the boxing ring, and while Rocky gets the girl he loses the match. Failed relationships form the storyline for Annie Hall (1977). The Deer Hunter (1978) explores the emotional cruelty of the Vietnam War. Kramer vs. Kramer (1979) looks at divorce. And, in case you still have a spring your step, Ordinary People (1980) tackles suicide.
Apparently that was enough, because the Academy changed its tune for most of the 1980s offering more positive, inspiring choices such as Chariots of Fire (1981), Gandhi (1982), Amadeus (1984), and Rain Man (1988). There would be still be the occasional nod to darker themes (e.g. 1986’s Platoon) and even the aforementioned films had their less-than-sunny plot threads. But there would not be the practically unrelenting focus on life’s dark corners in the 1980s as there was in the 1970s.
The truth is though that the 1970s did deal with realistic themes. Crime does actually pay for some people; people do break up and divorce; and people do take their own lives. These were – and still are – sad realities that, in the '70s, reflected a decade where the United States lost its first war and a president resigned amidst criminal allegations. But these films were quality product, not just cinematic treatises on bleakness. It didn’t hurt that sitting behind the camera for many of these films were gifted, passionate directors who were largely given carte blanche to bring their visions to the screen. And while the following may not serve as any kind of absolute proof, it’s interesting to note that the 1970s is the best-represented decade on the recent AFI 100 Years, 100 Movies. Twenty of the 100 movies are from the ‘70s, more than any other decade. (The 1960s come in second with 17.) And seven of the ten best picture winners of the ‘70s made the AFI list. (The ‘60s came in second, again, with six.) The French Connection placed 93rd.
The French Connection is a finely crafted, well acted, exciting combination of real-life drama and suspense. Today, a film about drug trafficking would, in and of itself, result in shrugged shoulders. But for an industry that as recently as 1968 sang and danced its cares away, mixing lots of sugar with life’s bitter pills, the awarding of its highest honor to a rather downbeat look at society’s drug problem marked a decided turning point. And cinema is all the better for it.
I remember, during those wonderful years of watching Siskel and Ebert spar week after week, hearing that the 1970s was the last decade for great movie making. It was the decade of Friedkin, Coppola, and Cimino. Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg would make their first classics. Studios were willing to give certain auteurs free reign because their artistry was winning awards. The subject matter of most of the Best Pictures of this decade was bleak, and would frequently feature less than happy endings. Some of this was informed by a political climate that included the Vietnam War and the Watergate scandal. But with the failure of Michael Cimino’s Heaven’s Gate (1980) and the blockbuster that was Star Wars (1977), the 1980s mostly said goodbye to the negative. It was time to accentuate the positive.
One could see the trend starting in the 1960s. Gang violence, Nazism, and poverty were given upbeat presentations in musicals West Side Story, The Sound of Music, and Oliver!, respectively. Racism added the needed element to make In the Heat of the Night more than just a murder mystery, although by film’s end the villain is brought to justice and no harm has come to the heroes. Midnight Cowboy looked at a subculture that involved criminals and hustlers, and these very types would be the heroes of the 1970s. But at least there was plenty of humor to offset the sadness. Even Patton, a film where the title character gets his wish to kick Nazi arse, ends on a down note because this guy isn’t allowed to take on the Russians. But with 1971’s The French Connection, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences would begin regularly honoring films that looked at the darker side of the human experience.
Based on true events, The French Connection deals with two New York City detectives' attempts to stop a heroin shipment from reaching the city streets. In Marseilles, France, Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey), a near-mythic drug smuggler, is arranging for a shipment of heroin into the United States. Detective Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) and his partner Buddy "Cloudy" Russo (Roy Scheider) work the Big Apple narcotics beat when they learn from an informant that a big shipment of heroin is coming in. Soon, a cat-and-mouse game between Doyle and Charnier commences to see which one will win this battle in New York’s looming drug war.
While serious drug stories today are a dime a dozen, this was not the case at the time of The French Connection. Most films dealing with illegal substances (e.g. Easy Rider) saw the users as admirable rebels, or at least as harmless folk just trying to attain a new reality. The French Connection, on the other hand, looked at another side of the equation – how the drugs came to be available. This is quite a different viewpoint from the idea of certain drug use being a victimless crime.
The French Connection is presented as an intense action thriller that boasts several impressive set pieces. Doyle and Charnier engage is an exciting pursuit sequence where Doyle tries to keep up with Charnier through the streets and subways of New York. There is the attempt on Doyle’s life which takes place in a public housing district, where a roof-top sniper kills innocent people in an attempt to eliminate Doyle. This in turn leads to the now-classic car chase where Doyle commandeers a citizen’s car so he can follow the would-be assassin who is attempting to escape via an elevated train. There is virtually no let up in the tension and suspense.
The movie is constantly contrasting the luxurious lifestyle led by Charnier with Doyle’s unglamorous one. The film opens with Charnier shown living at a beautiful villa and presenting an expensive gift to his lovely wife. There is mention of a daughter. Doyle is shown dressed up as Santa Claus on a stake out, which ultimately leads to Russo getting a knife injury. Doyle is alone. While Charnier dines in a elegant restaurant on a multi-course meal, Doyle is shown outside shivering in the cold, wolfing down a slice of pizza and pouring out his cup of foul-tasting coffee. Charnier is elegantly dressed and always moves gracefully and calmly, while Doyle is unkempt and out of breath. Still, while Charnier is a wily fox, so is Doyle. They may have differing pay grades. But they do seem matched with respect to cunning and resourcefulness.
But the real kick in the gut delivered by The French Connection is how the film ends. One authority figure is killed in friendly fire and Charnier gets away. We do not get the satisfaction of seeing the main villain punished. Furthermore, title cards inform us that only the lower level smugglers got any time. The higher-ups escaped justice. Doyle has put his life at risk almost for nothing, even though the drugs will presumably not reach the streets.
And thus begins a trend in the Best Picture winners of the 1970s whereby the audience is told stories that have challenging themes and troubling outcomes. In the two Godfather films (1972 and 1974), the heroes are actually gangsters, and the law can’t touch them. The Sting (1973) deals with low-level criminals taking on the mafia. In One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) a convict sent to a mental hospital for observation emerges as some kind of savior to the patients with tragic results. Rocky (1976) deals with the brutality of the boxing ring, and while Rocky gets the girl he loses the match. Failed relationships form the storyline for Annie Hall (1977). The Deer Hunter (1978) explores the emotional cruelty of the Vietnam War. Kramer vs. Kramer (1979) looks at divorce. And, in case you still have a spring your step, Ordinary People (1980) tackles suicide.
Apparently that was enough, because the Academy changed its tune for most of the 1980s offering more positive, inspiring choices such as Chariots of Fire (1981), Gandhi (1982), Amadeus (1984), and Rain Man (1988). There would be still be the occasional nod to darker themes (e.g. 1986’s Platoon) and even the aforementioned films had their less-than-sunny plot threads. But there would not be the practically unrelenting focus on life’s dark corners in the 1980s as there was in the 1970s.
The truth is though that the 1970s did deal with realistic themes. Crime does actually pay for some people; people do break up and divorce; and people do take their own lives. These were – and still are – sad realities that, in the '70s, reflected a decade where the United States lost its first war and a president resigned amidst criminal allegations. But these films were quality product, not just cinematic treatises on bleakness. It didn’t hurt that sitting behind the camera for many of these films were gifted, passionate directors who were largely given carte blanche to bring their visions to the screen. And while the following may not serve as any kind of absolute proof, it’s interesting to note that the 1970s is the best-represented decade on the recent AFI 100 Years, 100 Movies. Twenty of the 100 movies are from the ‘70s, more than any other decade. (The 1960s come in second with 17.) And seven of the ten best picture winners of the ‘70s made the AFI list. (The ‘60s came in second, again, with six.) The French Connection placed 93rd.
The French Connection is a finely crafted, well acted, exciting combination of real-life drama and suspense. Today, a film about drug trafficking would, in and of itself, result in shrugged shoulders. But for an industry that as recently as 1968 sang and danced its cares away, mixing lots of sugar with life’s bitter pills, the awarding of its highest honor to a rather downbeat look at society’s drug problem marked a decided turning point. And cinema is all the better for it.
Saturday Night at the Frights: January 24, 2009
Doctor of Doom (1962)
K. Gordon Murray strikes again by Americanizing a Mexican combination of mad scientist themes and, of all things, wrestling. A mysterious doctor is attempting brain transplants but the women subjects keep dying. He decides that a woman athlete, such as a wrestler, would be the perfect candidate because of her physical strength. Unintentional (?) hilarity ensues. If you like lovely, full-figured gals wrestling you still have to sit through the other 7/8’s of the film which features bad dialogue, nonexistent logic, and stupid characters. But it is, in its own way, rather fun.
The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1962)
Director Mario Bava’s stylish thriller stars LetÃcia Román as Nora, visiting Rome to care for bed-ridden aunt. One night the latter suffers an attack so Nora goes rushing to the hospital. But en route she is mugged, and as she comes out her stupor thinks she witnesses a murder. The police find no evidence but Nora is convinced she did not hallucinate. Will she become the next victim of the so-called “Alphabet Killer?” While Bava offers stylish visuals the plot is one of those nonsensical ones where characters deliberately and repeatedly put themselves in danger. It's a pretty good diversion but little else.
K. Gordon Murray strikes again by Americanizing a Mexican combination of mad scientist themes and, of all things, wrestling. A mysterious doctor is attempting brain transplants but the women subjects keep dying. He decides that a woman athlete, such as a wrestler, would be the perfect candidate because of her physical strength. Unintentional (?) hilarity ensues. If you like lovely, full-figured gals wrestling you still have to sit through the other 7/8’s of the film which features bad dialogue, nonexistent logic, and stupid characters. But it is, in its own way, rather fun.
The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1962)
Director Mario Bava’s stylish thriller stars LetÃcia Román as Nora, visiting Rome to care for bed-ridden aunt. One night the latter suffers an attack so Nora goes rushing to the hospital. But en route she is mugged, and as she comes out her stupor thinks she witnesses a murder. The police find no evidence but Nora is convinced she did not hallucinate. Will she become the next victim of the so-called “Alphabet Killer?” While Bava offers stylish visuals the plot is one of those nonsensical ones where characters deliberately and repeatedly put themselves in danger. It's a pretty good diversion but little else.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1970
Patton (1970)
According to the film Patton, General George S. Patton was a man of contradictions. He believed in God but also reincarnation. He loved war but also wrote poetry. He could be tough and mean to a soldier but also gentle and kind. Patton was an easy man to respect but a hard man to love. This 1970 film is based on two biographies on Patton and one suspects it’s more truthful than not. George C. Scott gives a towering, Oscar-winning performance as the larger-than-life general, a man who felt he was born to be at war.
As the film opens Patton (George C. Scott) has just been promoted to Lieutenant General and already has a reputation as a hard ass. He takes over command in North Africa after a crushing American defeat at the Battle of the Kasserine Pass. His leadership results in a successful campaign to invade Italy. But when Patton slaps around a soldier suffering from bad nerves, he is relieved of his command. Assigned to duties such as speaking to the ladies of the “Doughnut Dugout,” Patton cannot stand the idea of not being in battle, and begs General “Brad” Bradley (Karl Malden), a close associate, to give him another chance at command before the war ends.
Patton is a fascinating portrait of a man who believes he was meant for great things. He reads and studies past leaders and their accomplishments – he seems to know about every battle ever fought. He realizes he’s a prima donna but also knows his abilities. He speaks his mind without regard to consequence. And he believes God is on his side – why else would the weather suddenly clear up so he can march his troops into Germany? He doesn’t really have friends, but he is generally admired by those who work for him. He is clearly a born leader. But it is disturbing that he seems to need war so much, to fight some enemy. As soon as World War II is over he wants to go after the Russians, allies during the war who now, as Patton sees it, pose a threat. “God, how I love it so,” he says while observing the aftermath of battle.
The film opens with the now-classic scene of Patton addressing the military while a large American flag hangs in the background. His message is essentially to kick the Nazi’s collective asses and take no prisoners. Americans love to fight; we love it so much that we can’t possibly lose. It’s a savage but stirring call to arms. It’s the best scene in the movie. But there are many other memorable scenes, such as Patton shooting two mules and having them tossed over a bridge so the troops can continue their march. There’s his deliberate insult to the Russian commander as Patton refuses to drink with this, “son of a bitch.” There’s the moment where he berates a weeping soldier, accusing him of cowardice. Scott grabs the role of Patton by the throat and never lets it go. He famously refused his Best Actor Oscar since he did not feel acting was meant to be a competition.
Director Franklin J. Schaffner stages some intense battle sequences during Patton. Some of them are mixed with humor, such as when Patton fires a handgun at German fighter planes, which completely miss hitting him. Patton wonders aloud how they missed. The pacing at times seems off, however, as Schaffner lets certain scenes (marching troops, for example) continue longer than need be. Another minor quibble relates to what comes off as a Hollywoodized version of the German headquarters, with impeccably dressed Nazi officers who always look well groomed and never appear to sweat. These brief but regular glimpses at the enemy serve really to show the impact Patton is having on Hitler’s forces. Perhaps subsequent grittier war films such as Saving Private Ryan have made Patton seem too "clean" to a 21st Century audience.
But the true focus of Patton is on the general himself, and in this regard the film does not disappoint. Anchored by Scott’s riveting performance Patton remains a fascinating look at one of the most complex World War II heroes.
According to the film Patton, General George S. Patton was a man of contradictions. He believed in God but also reincarnation. He loved war but also wrote poetry. He could be tough and mean to a soldier but also gentle and kind. Patton was an easy man to respect but a hard man to love. This 1970 film is based on two biographies on Patton and one suspects it’s more truthful than not. George C. Scott gives a towering, Oscar-winning performance as the larger-than-life general, a man who felt he was born to be at war.
As the film opens Patton (George C. Scott) has just been promoted to Lieutenant General and already has a reputation as a hard ass. He takes over command in North Africa after a crushing American defeat at the Battle of the Kasserine Pass. His leadership results in a successful campaign to invade Italy. But when Patton slaps around a soldier suffering from bad nerves, he is relieved of his command. Assigned to duties such as speaking to the ladies of the “Doughnut Dugout,” Patton cannot stand the idea of not being in battle, and begs General “Brad” Bradley (Karl Malden), a close associate, to give him another chance at command before the war ends.
Patton is a fascinating portrait of a man who believes he was meant for great things. He reads and studies past leaders and their accomplishments – he seems to know about every battle ever fought. He realizes he’s a prima donna but also knows his abilities. He speaks his mind without regard to consequence. And he believes God is on his side – why else would the weather suddenly clear up so he can march his troops into Germany? He doesn’t really have friends, but he is generally admired by those who work for him. He is clearly a born leader. But it is disturbing that he seems to need war so much, to fight some enemy. As soon as World War II is over he wants to go after the Russians, allies during the war who now, as Patton sees it, pose a threat. “God, how I love it so,” he says while observing the aftermath of battle.
The film opens with the now-classic scene of Patton addressing the military while a large American flag hangs in the background. His message is essentially to kick the Nazi’s collective asses and take no prisoners. Americans love to fight; we love it so much that we can’t possibly lose. It’s a savage but stirring call to arms. It’s the best scene in the movie. But there are many other memorable scenes, such as Patton shooting two mules and having them tossed over a bridge so the troops can continue their march. There’s his deliberate insult to the Russian commander as Patton refuses to drink with this, “son of a bitch.” There’s the moment where he berates a weeping soldier, accusing him of cowardice. Scott grabs the role of Patton by the throat and never lets it go. He famously refused his Best Actor Oscar since he did not feel acting was meant to be a competition.
Director Franklin J. Schaffner stages some intense battle sequences during Patton. Some of them are mixed with humor, such as when Patton fires a handgun at German fighter planes, which completely miss hitting him. Patton wonders aloud how they missed. The pacing at times seems off, however, as Schaffner lets certain scenes (marching troops, for example) continue longer than need be. Another minor quibble relates to what comes off as a Hollywoodized version of the German headquarters, with impeccably dressed Nazi officers who always look well groomed and never appear to sweat. These brief but regular glimpses at the enemy serve really to show the impact Patton is having on Hitler’s forces. Perhaps subsequent grittier war films such as Saving Private Ryan have made Patton seem too "clean" to a 21st Century audience.
But the true focus of Patton is on the general himself, and in this regard the film does not disappoint. Anchored by Scott’s riveting performance Patton remains a fascinating look at one of the most complex World War II heroes.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1969
Midnight Cowboy (1969)
The only X-Rated film to ever win Best Picture, Midnight Cowboy is an engrossing character study of two losers who form a friendship out of necessity. One of them finds himself without a place to live, while the other grows sicker by the day and needs someone to take care of him. What results is a touching story about two people whom, in real life, the average person would want nothing to do with.
Joe Buck (Jon Voight), a native Texan who thinks of himself as quite the stud, heads to New York City to make a living as a hustler. He plans to find wealthy women who will pay him for sex. But his total ignorance of the New York populace empties his wallet quickly. At a coffee house he meets a low-level con man, Enrico “Ratso” Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman) who tricks him out of twenty dollars by promising to put Joe in contact with a pimp. Joe eventually catches up with Ratso, who offers to let Joe stay with him in his room in a condemned building. The two start to look out for each other as they work small cons and engage in petty thefts to survive. But as Ratso’s health continues to decline, Joe remembers what happened to the girl (Jennifer Salt) he loved, and is determined to protect his friend from the same fate.
It is very clear from the beginning that Joe is not cut out for what he plans on doing. His first conquest actually gets money out of Joe to pay for cab fair. Later a client at a movie theater confesses he cannot pay, but successfully pleads with Joe not take his watch, the only thing of value he has. Joe is too much of a nice guy to get tough with anyone - that is, until he needs bus fare to get himself and Ratso to Florida. It’s a shocking moment of violence that is uncharacteristic of Joe, but shows how he has come to care about Ratso. Voight plays Joe as a sunny, bright, positive and cheerful person who always thinks success is just around the corner.
Hoffman’s Rizzo, on the other hand, is something of a weasel. He speaks in a whiny, nasally voice and immediately comes across as someone to avoid. But as we get to know Rizzo we start to understand him. Polio has left him a cripple and his father’s shoeshine job did not provide Rizzo with any kind of financial security. He is clearly ill (characters who cough in the movies are always doomed) and he is all alone. Joe may be Ratso’s first real friend. At first their relationship is a business arrangement. Joe can stay with Ratso as a way for Ratso to make up for the $20. They can work together to get funds need to buy food and cigarettes. But their shared, often humorous experiences (Joe getting thrown out of a posh apartment building, the two attending a trendy photography affair) bring them closer together. Voight and Hoffman have real chemistry as Joe and Ratso, and the audience starts to feel tenderness towards this unlikely duo.
John Schlesinger’s direction is full of quick cuts, hallucinatory images, and vivid nightmares. Joe is haunted by a gang rape of himself and his girlfriend, and by the sudden death of his grandmother. These memories will suddenly burst on the screen in black and white or unsteady focus. The sex scenes are energetic but chaotic. But, in spite of the stylish visuals, Midnight Cowboy remains focused on the two leads.
The result is a unique film experience, one that has the audience wrapped up in a story that deals in the exploits of unsavory characters. But the film reveals the humanity of these two misfits and that humanity is what makes their journey together compelling. Thus Midnight Cowboy emerges as one of the great films of the 1960s.
The only X-Rated film to ever win Best Picture, Midnight Cowboy is an engrossing character study of two losers who form a friendship out of necessity. One of them finds himself without a place to live, while the other grows sicker by the day and needs someone to take care of him. What results is a touching story about two people whom, in real life, the average person would want nothing to do with.
Joe Buck (Jon Voight), a native Texan who thinks of himself as quite the stud, heads to New York City to make a living as a hustler. He plans to find wealthy women who will pay him for sex. But his total ignorance of the New York populace empties his wallet quickly. At a coffee house he meets a low-level con man, Enrico “Ratso” Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman) who tricks him out of twenty dollars by promising to put Joe in contact with a pimp. Joe eventually catches up with Ratso, who offers to let Joe stay with him in his room in a condemned building. The two start to look out for each other as they work small cons and engage in petty thefts to survive. But as Ratso’s health continues to decline, Joe remembers what happened to the girl (Jennifer Salt) he loved, and is determined to protect his friend from the same fate.
It is very clear from the beginning that Joe is not cut out for what he plans on doing. His first conquest actually gets money out of Joe to pay for cab fair. Later a client at a movie theater confesses he cannot pay, but successfully pleads with Joe not take his watch, the only thing of value he has. Joe is too much of a nice guy to get tough with anyone - that is, until he needs bus fare to get himself and Ratso to Florida. It’s a shocking moment of violence that is uncharacteristic of Joe, but shows how he has come to care about Ratso. Voight plays Joe as a sunny, bright, positive and cheerful person who always thinks success is just around the corner.
Hoffman’s Rizzo, on the other hand, is something of a weasel. He speaks in a whiny, nasally voice and immediately comes across as someone to avoid. But as we get to know Rizzo we start to understand him. Polio has left him a cripple and his father’s shoeshine job did not provide Rizzo with any kind of financial security. He is clearly ill (characters who cough in the movies are always doomed) and he is all alone. Joe may be Ratso’s first real friend. At first their relationship is a business arrangement. Joe can stay with Ratso as a way for Ratso to make up for the $20. They can work together to get funds need to buy food and cigarettes. But their shared, often humorous experiences (Joe getting thrown out of a posh apartment building, the two attending a trendy photography affair) bring them closer together. Voight and Hoffman have real chemistry as Joe and Ratso, and the audience starts to feel tenderness towards this unlikely duo.
John Schlesinger’s direction is full of quick cuts, hallucinatory images, and vivid nightmares. Joe is haunted by a gang rape of himself and his girlfriend, and by the sudden death of his grandmother. These memories will suddenly burst on the screen in black and white or unsteady focus. The sex scenes are energetic but chaotic. But, in spite of the stylish visuals, Midnight Cowboy remains focused on the two leads.
The result is a unique film experience, one that has the audience wrapped up in a story that deals in the exploits of unsavory characters. But the film reveals the humanity of these two misfits and that humanity is what makes their journey together compelling. Thus Midnight Cowboy emerges as one of the great films of the 1960s.
Best Picture Winner: 1968
Oliver! (1968)
Upon until its final acts of violence, Oliver! is about as sweet a film that could be made about orphans being lured into a life of crime. Adapted from the stage musical based upon Charles Dickens’ novel Oliver Twist, Oliver! is a giddy enterprise with lively song and dance numbers, engaging performances, and an eager-to-please approach.
Young Oliver (Mark Lester), an orphan who died shortly after his mother gave birth, works at the Workhouse, a place where boys are subjected to grueling labor and inadequate nutrition. When Oliver asks for another helping of gruel he is sold to an undertaker. Oliver escapes to the streets of London where he meets Dodger (Jack Wild), a boy about Oliver’s age who makes his living picking pockets. Dodger takes Oliver to meet his boss and provider, Fagin (Ron Moody, in a delightful performance), who allows Oliver to join the gang of young thieves under his wing. Danger comes from Bill Sikes (Oliver Reed), a former pupil of Fagin’s who has continued his life of crime well into adulthood. When Sikes suspects Oliver may tell all he knows to the police after being falsely arrested, Sikes plans to kidnap Oliver, and perhaps, do even worse.
Oliver! is a real treat that features several infectious set pieces. The opening song, “Food, Glorious Food,” has the orphans longing for something other than the tasteless mash they are being served. “Pick a Pocket or Two” has Fagin humorously demonstrating the craft of lifting sundry goods. “Who Will Buy?” which opens the second act, is a lovely sequence showing the beginning of the busy day for those who hawk their wares on the streets. And “Reviewing the Situation” has Fagin trying to decide if he should leave his life of crime. All of these numbers are energetically choreographed and wittily written. They bring a smile to the face in spite of the fact that there is a dark side to the subject matter, specifically, abuse and poverty.
Thus when Oliver! turns nasty during the climax it’s rather jarring. There’s a brutal attack and lives are at stake. And while the requisite happy ending does follow, there is still a bit of a sour taste left over.
Of the cast, Ron Moody is the stand out. In spite of his wild, glazed eyes and Satan-like beard, Fagin is really a sweetheart in that he abhors violence and has a fondness for his lads. Technically Fagin is a villain, albeit a minor one. But Moody makes him loveable. Mark Lester makes a fine Oliver and never overplays him or mugs for the camera. And Oliver Reed is appropriately intense as that no-good Sikes.
But it’s the engaging music and largely pleasant tone that make Oliver! so rewarding. It would be the last true musical to win Best Picture until Chicago in 2002. Chicago also deals with unsavory types and violence but isn’t nearly as much fun as Oliver! Today Oliver! looks better than ever.
Upon until its final acts of violence, Oliver! is about as sweet a film that could be made about orphans being lured into a life of crime. Adapted from the stage musical based upon Charles Dickens’ novel Oliver Twist, Oliver! is a giddy enterprise with lively song and dance numbers, engaging performances, and an eager-to-please approach.
Young Oliver (Mark Lester), an orphan who died shortly after his mother gave birth, works at the Workhouse, a place where boys are subjected to grueling labor and inadequate nutrition. When Oliver asks for another helping of gruel he is sold to an undertaker. Oliver escapes to the streets of London where he meets Dodger (Jack Wild), a boy about Oliver’s age who makes his living picking pockets. Dodger takes Oliver to meet his boss and provider, Fagin (Ron Moody, in a delightful performance), who allows Oliver to join the gang of young thieves under his wing. Danger comes from Bill Sikes (Oliver Reed), a former pupil of Fagin’s who has continued his life of crime well into adulthood. When Sikes suspects Oliver may tell all he knows to the police after being falsely arrested, Sikes plans to kidnap Oliver, and perhaps, do even worse.
Oliver! is a real treat that features several infectious set pieces. The opening song, “Food, Glorious Food,” has the orphans longing for something other than the tasteless mash they are being served. “Pick a Pocket or Two” has Fagin humorously demonstrating the craft of lifting sundry goods. “Who Will Buy?” which opens the second act, is a lovely sequence showing the beginning of the busy day for those who hawk their wares on the streets. And “Reviewing the Situation” has Fagin trying to decide if he should leave his life of crime. All of these numbers are energetically choreographed and wittily written. They bring a smile to the face in spite of the fact that there is a dark side to the subject matter, specifically, abuse and poverty.
Thus when Oliver! turns nasty during the climax it’s rather jarring. There’s a brutal attack and lives are at stake. And while the requisite happy ending does follow, there is still a bit of a sour taste left over.
Of the cast, Ron Moody is the stand out. In spite of his wild, glazed eyes and Satan-like beard, Fagin is really a sweetheart in that he abhors violence and has a fondness for his lads. Technically Fagin is a villain, albeit a minor one. But Moody makes him loveable. Mark Lester makes a fine Oliver and never overplays him or mugs for the camera. And Oliver Reed is appropriately intense as that no-good Sikes.
But it’s the engaging music and largely pleasant tone that make Oliver! so rewarding. It would be the last true musical to win Best Picture until Chicago in 2002. Chicago also deals with unsavory types and violence but isn’t nearly as much fun as Oliver! Today Oliver! looks better than ever.
At the Cineplex: The Wrestler (2008)
As someone who came into their love of film, or at least the acknowledgement that the movies were something more than just a way to kill two hours, during the 1980s, Mickey Rourke was a favorite. His brief but important role in Body Heat (1981) as Teddy, an ex-con bomb expert, made such an impression because Teddy really seemed like a sweet guy. Then came Diner (1982), a heartfelt comedy about college friends in 1950s Baltimore. Rourke moved onto more controversial films such as Year of the Dragon (1985) and Nine 1/2 Weeks (1986) due to their respective themes of racism and sexuality. But 1987’s Angel Heart is the film that features a criminally underrated performance by Rourke, as 1955 New York private detective Harry Angel who travels to New Orleans to find a missing person. Then the bodies start piling up. What makes the ending of Angel Heart so powerful is that we really have come to like Harry Angel. His fate is emotionally devastating. Rourke is in every scene in Angel Heart, and his is a terrific performance.
Mickey Rourke is also in every scene of The Wrestler, a film which just landed Rourke his first Oscar nomination. He deserves it and I hope he wins. His Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson is one of those seemingly unenviable guys who have nothing left, living day to day hoping he doesn’t get evicted from his rented trailer. His daughter hates him. His supervisor at the supermarket makes fun of him. The only pleasure for Randy is reliving his glory days as a 1980s iconic wrestler by taking low-paying gigs at reunions and community centers. He likes a stripper (Marisa Tomei, also Oscar nominated) who calls herself Cassidy but refuses to date any customers. When a turn of events threatens Randy’s future in the ring, Cassidy may be his only shot at happiness.
I was never a wrestling fan but the bouts dramatized in The Wrestler match with my recollection of what I did see. I always figured these events were staged, but I don’t think I realized just how physically brutal they truly were for the participants. Professional wrestlers made good money, became celebrities, and knew what they were doing. But like all professional sports figures, one wonders what happens when they physically cannot perform anymore.
The Ram’s glory days may be behind him, but he still gets much enjoyment, in spite of the pain, by hanging out with his peers and hearing the cheering crowds. He lives for those weekend gigs. And suddenly we do find ourselves envying Randy – even if only a little bit – because he has found something so special in his life. Maybe we don’t agree with it, or some of the choices Randy makes during the film. But Rourke makes us understand and ultimately feel for this guy. And this connection with the character overrides whatever familiarity we may have with the story itself. The Wrestler is a character piece about a man who finds he must now wrestle with certain decisions that are literally matters of life and death.
Director Darren Aronofsky uses hand-held cameras to give The Wrestler a documentary feel, made even more so by having Rourke work along side real wrestlers. The several bouts that are filmed are realistic and brutal. They involve not only head locks and back flips, but also broken glass, staples and ladders. The result is that Aronofsky creates a realistic world in which Rourke can work. And Randy ‘The Ram’ feels as authentic as any wrestler ever seen on pay-per-view.
The Wrestler may well earn Rourke the gold. And like Randy, the actor will hopefully be on the comeback trail. I say, “Welcome back, Harry Angel. I hope your time in hell is over.”
Mickey Rourke is also in every scene of The Wrestler, a film which just landed Rourke his first Oscar nomination. He deserves it and I hope he wins. His Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson is one of those seemingly unenviable guys who have nothing left, living day to day hoping he doesn’t get evicted from his rented trailer. His daughter hates him. His supervisor at the supermarket makes fun of him. The only pleasure for Randy is reliving his glory days as a 1980s iconic wrestler by taking low-paying gigs at reunions and community centers. He likes a stripper (Marisa Tomei, also Oscar nominated) who calls herself Cassidy but refuses to date any customers. When a turn of events threatens Randy’s future in the ring, Cassidy may be his only shot at happiness.
I was never a wrestling fan but the bouts dramatized in The Wrestler match with my recollection of what I did see. I always figured these events were staged, but I don’t think I realized just how physically brutal they truly were for the participants. Professional wrestlers made good money, became celebrities, and knew what they were doing. But like all professional sports figures, one wonders what happens when they physically cannot perform anymore.
The Ram’s glory days may be behind him, but he still gets much enjoyment, in spite of the pain, by hanging out with his peers and hearing the cheering crowds. He lives for those weekend gigs. And suddenly we do find ourselves envying Randy – even if only a little bit – because he has found something so special in his life. Maybe we don’t agree with it, or some of the choices Randy makes during the film. But Rourke makes us understand and ultimately feel for this guy. And this connection with the character overrides whatever familiarity we may have with the story itself. The Wrestler is a character piece about a man who finds he must now wrestle with certain decisions that are literally matters of life and death.
Director Darren Aronofsky uses hand-held cameras to give The Wrestler a documentary feel, made even more so by having Rourke work along side real wrestlers. The several bouts that are filmed are realistic and brutal. They involve not only head locks and back flips, but also broken glass, staples and ladders. The result is that Aronofsky creates a realistic world in which Rourke can work. And Randy ‘The Ram’ feels as authentic as any wrestler ever seen on pay-per-view.
The Wrestler may well earn Rourke the gold. And like Randy, the actor will hopefully be on the comeback trail. I say, “Welcome back, Harry Angel. I hope your time in hell is over.”
Best Picture Winner: 1967
In the Heat of the Night (1967)
Officer Sam Wood (Warren Oates) is on patrol one night when he comes upon the body of Philip Colbert, a wealthy industrialist who was going to bring many jobs to Sparta, Mississippi. Looking for suspects Wood comes upon Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier), a lone black man waiting in the train station to return to Philadelphia. Tibbs is arrested, for no reason except for his race, and presented to Police Chief Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger) as the likely killer. But Gillespie is shocked to learn that Tibbs is a well-paid homicide detective in the City of Brotherly Love. What’s more, Tibbs’ Captain suggests that Tibbs help out on the investigation. A black man investigating murder does not sit well with many citizens of Sparta.
Effective as a mystery/drama, In the Heat of the Night gets its real strength from the racial subplot and the sparks that fly between Poitier and Steiger. Or perhaps it’s fairer to say that the mystery is the subplot, and the real reason to see this culturally important film is to witness a turning point in cinema. As Tibbs is investigating the murder he politely insinuates that a rival of Colbert’s had a strong motive for committing the crime. The outwardly racist Eric Endicott (Larry Gates) slaps Tibbs across the face. Tibbs responds in kind. Gates, virtually in tears, tells Tibbs there was a time he would have been shot for something like that. Even after 40 years, that scene packs a wallop.
It’s shocking to see that a man, minding his own business quietly waiting for a train, could be arrested for absolutely no reason except for his skin color. And even though that, today, there are strict laws against such things, we continue to read about such things happening. As a result, In the Heat of the Night feels as relevant as ever, and is a wake up call to what minorities continue to face in certain areas of this country and the world at large.
That Tibbs has come to accept this type of treatment is even more chilling. He calmly submits to being searched, accused, and dragged to police headquarters, which results in him missing his train. He’s called “Boy” and worse constantly. He’s assaulted at least twice. But Tibbs keeps his cool and dignity, and earns respect from Gillespie, himself something of an outcast as the Chief nobody wants. Poitier and Steiger are excellent and they crackle during several heated exchanges. Steiger won an Oscar for his role.
The mystery itself is engrossing enough, with Tibbs stunning the authorities with his knowledge of forensics and powers of deductive reasoning. He finds proof why a prime suspect (arrested after Tibbs is cleared) could not have committed the murder but meets with resistance. The problem plot wise though is how muddled the time line becomes. We’re not clearly told who was where when the murder occurred and the villain turns out to be someone who appeared to have an alibi. It feels a bit of a cheat. (Of course it’s possible I missed something that was said or established early in the movie. A second viewing may necessitate a reassessment on this point.)
But In the Heat of the Night succeeds because the tension is not really generated by whether Tibbs will solve the crime but rather will he survive the investigation. In the Heat of the Night remains a riveting drama about racism that, sadly, could just as easily been made last year.
Officer Sam Wood (Warren Oates) is on patrol one night when he comes upon the body of Philip Colbert, a wealthy industrialist who was going to bring many jobs to Sparta, Mississippi. Looking for suspects Wood comes upon Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier), a lone black man waiting in the train station to return to Philadelphia. Tibbs is arrested, for no reason except for his race, and presented to Police Chief Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger) as the likely killer. But Gillespie is shocked to learn that Tibbs is a well-paid homicide detective in the City of Brotherly Love. What’s more, Tibbs’ Captain suggests that Tibbs help out on the investigation. A black man investigating murder does not sit well with many citizens of Sparta.
Effective as a mystery/drama, In the Heat of the Night gets its real strength from the racial subplot and the sparks that fly between Poitier and Steiger. Or perhaps it’s fairer to say that the mystery is the subplot, and the real reason to see this culturally important film is to witness a turning point in cinema. As Tibbs is investigating the murder he politely insinuates that a rival of Colbert’s had a strong motive for committing the crime. The outwardly racist Eric Endicott (Larry Gates) slaps Tibbs across the face. Tibbs responds in kind. Gates, virtually in tears, tells Tibbs there was a time he would have been shot for something like that. Even after 40 years, that scene packs a wallop.
It’s shocking to see that a man, minding his own business quietly waiting for a train, could be arrested for absolutely no reason except for his skin color. And even though that, today, there are strict laws against such things, we continue to read about such things happening. As a result, In the Heat of the Night feels as relevant as ever, and is a wake up call to what minorities continue to face in certain areas of this country and the world at large.
That Tibbs has come to accept this type of treatment is even more chilling. He calmly submits to being searched, accused, and dragged to police headquarters, which results in him missing his train. He’s called “Boy” and worse constantly. He’s assaulted at least twice. But Tibbs keeps his cool and dignity, and earns respect from Gillespie, himself something of an outcast as the Chief nobody wants. Poitier and Steiger are excellent and they crackle during several heated exchanges. Steiger won an Oscar for his role.
The mystery itself is engrossing enough, with Tibbs stunning the authorities with his knowledge of forensics and powers of deductive reasoning. He finds proof why a prime suspect (arrested after Tibbs is cleared) could not have committed the murder but meets with resistance. The problem plot wise though is how muddled the time line becomes. We’re not clearly told who was where when the murder occurred and the villain turns out to be someone who appeared to have an alibi. It feels a bit of a cheat. (Of course it’s possible I missed something that was said or established early in the movie. A second viewing may necessitate a reassessment on this point.)
But In the Heat of the Night succeeds because the tension is not really generated by whether Tibbs will solve the crime but rather will he survive the investigation. In the Heat of the Night remains a riveting drama about racism that, sadly, could just as easily been made last year.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1966
A Man for All Seasons (1966)
Sir Thomas More (Paul Scofield) finds himself in a difficult position. As Lord Chancellor of England and a devout Roman Catholic he refuses to support King Henry VIII (Robert Shaw) in the latter's quest to get divorce approval from the Pope. When Henry decides to break from Rome and declare himself Supreme Head of the Church in England, More puts his life at risk by remaining loyal to the Pope and his own convictions.
Based on the true story of More, A Man for All Seasons is an engrossing look at power and corruption in 16th Century England, where both church officials and government leaders conspired to appease the king. While others left their consciences behind in order to move up the hierarchy, Sir Thomas More remained steadfast in his loyalty to God first, even if it meant defying the King of England. Scofield (Oscar winner for Best Actor) is excellent in his portrayal of More. Completely understanding where his conviction may take him, Scofield never plays More as arrogant or with an air of superiority, or even as a hero. More is simply a man who has certain principles and beliefs from which he will not deviate, even at the risk of his own life. No matter what political season he finds himself in, More will remain true to his beliefs. The film becomes a bit repetitive as More is warned by his friends, loved ones, peers, and even enemies that his refusal will only lead to his demise. Still, Scofield is so commanding in the lead that this is a minor quibble.
The supporting cast boasts strong performances from Leo Kern as Thomas Cromwell, Wendy Hiller as More’s wife Alice, Nigel Davenport as More’s friend the Duke of Norfolk, John Hurt as the conniving Richard Rich, and Orson Welles as a corrupt Cardinal, to name a few examples. Scofield’s More verbally duels with each at some point and all make for convincing opponents.
Cinematographer Ted Moore and Art Director Terence Marsh help bring 16th Century England to vivid life. Beautifully filmed with picturesque landscapes and ornately decorated castles, A Man for All Seasons looks and feels authentic. Director Fred Zinnemann allows Robert Bolt’s script to play out in slow-burn fashion, as the tension steadily builds, More’s situation becoming more and more desperate. Visually, A Man for All Seasons is a rich film that provides a stunning backdrop to the events taking place.
A Man for All Seasons does not sugarcoat the cost for standing by one’s morals. But it certainly raises the point that, for those that believe in an afterlife, deviating from personal integrity for riches in this world will have consequences in the next. The final scene shows More as someone who has no regrets for the decisions he made. More may have lost an earthly battle, but he won a spiritual war.
Sir Thomas More (Paul Scofield) finds himself in a difficult position. As Lord Chancellor of England and a devout Roman Catholic he refuses to support King Henry VIII (Robert Shaw) in the latter's quest to get divorce approval from the Pope. When Henry decides to break from Rome and declare himself Supreme Head of the Church in England, More puts his life at risk by remaining loyal to the Pope and his own convictions.
Based on the true story of More, A Man for All Seasons is an engrossing look at power and corruption in 16th Century England, where both church officials and government leaders conspired to appease the king. While others left their consciences behind in order to move up the hierarchy, Sir Thomas More remained steadfast in his loyalty to God first, even if it meant defying the King of England. Scofield (Oscar winner for Best Actor) is excellent in his portrayal of More. Completely understanding where his conviction may take him, Scofield never plays More as arrogant or with an air of superiority, or even as a hero. More is simply a man who has certain principles and beliefs from which he will not deviate, even at the risk of his own life. No matter what political season he finds himself in, More will remain true to his beliefs. The film becomes a bit repetitive as More is warned by his friends, loved ones, peers, and even enemies that his refusal will only lead to his demise. Still, Scofield is so commanding in the lead that this is a minor quibble.
The supporting cast boasts strong performances from Leo Kern as Thomas Cromwell, Wendy Hiller as More’s wife Alice, Nigel Davenport as More’s friend the Duke of Norfolk, John Hurt as the conniving Richard Rich, and Orson Welles as a corrupt Cardinal, to name a few examples. Scofield’s More verbally duels with each at some point and all make for convincing opponents.
Cinematographer Ted Moore and Art Director Terence Marsh help bring 16th Century England to vivid life. Beautifully filmed with picturesque landscapes and ornately decorated castles, A Man for All Seasons looks and feels authentic. Director Fred Zinnemann allows Robert Bolt’s script to play out in slow-burn fashion, as the tension steadily builds, More’s situation becoming more and more desperate. Visually, A Man for All Seasons is a rich film that provides a stunning backdrop to the events taking place.
A Man for All Seasons does not sugarcoat the cost for standing by one’s morals. But it certainly raises the point that, for those that believe in an afterlife, deviating from personal integrity for riches in this world will have consequences in the next. The final scene shows More as someone who has no regrets for the decisions he made. More may have lost an earthly battle, but he won a spiritual war.
Best Picture Winner: 1965
The Sound of Music (1965)
Inspired by the true story of the von Trapp Family Singers, The Sound of Music is one of the high points of the musical genre. With a mesmerizing Julie Andrews in the lead and one memorable song after another, The Sound of Music is a celebration of the power of song.
At an abbey located in Austria in the late 1930s, Maria (Julie Andrews), in preparation for taking her final vows, is having difficulty living the life of a cloistered nun. Sensing Maria’s struggle the Mother Abbess (Peggy Wood) sends Maria to work for widower Captain von Trapp (Christopher Plumber) as governess to his seven children. Horrified to see the children being ordered about as if they were navy personnel, Maria decides to educate the young ones in the ways of song and play. But while warmth is filtering through the von Trapp household, and the Captain’s heart, the threat of Nazi occupation looms over Austria, something of which the Captain wants no part.
Director Robert Wise wastes no time getting to the musical numbers in The Sound of Music. The opening shots glide silently through the Swiss Alps. Suddenly, in a sweeping camera pan we encounter Julie Andrews twirling about singing the title song. Not long after we are treated to several nuns crooning about the strengths and weaknesses of “Maria.” Later, as a thunderstorm brews outside, the children gather in Maria’s room and she eases their fears by sharing “My Favorite Things.” To aid in her charges’ musical education Maria teaches them "Do-Re-Mi." Other highlights include "Sixteen Going On Seventeen," "The Lonely Goatherd," "So Long, Farewell," and "Climb Ev'ry Mountain." The Sound of Music is practically a greatest hits album of movie musicals.
Julie Andrews, who the previous year had won Best Actress for Mary Poppins (1964), shines as Maria. Maria is a thoroughly charming character, and Andrews is perfectly matched with the role. Generally sweet natured and eager to please, Maria nevertheless will stand up for her beliefs if need be, such as when she challenges the Captain on his child rearing. As Andrews does her own singing, we’re never taken out of the story when the film segues to another of its first rate musical set pieces. While the rest of the cast is fine (Richard Haydn is a hoot as Max Detweiler, the agent who sets the von Trapps to sing at a music festival) it's Andrews’ joyful turn as Maria that gives The Sound of Music its emotional resonance.
One of the refreshing elements of The Sound of Music is its treatment of the nunnery and the Mother Abbess. Eschewing the stereotype of the hardened, humorless Mother Superior for an observant, thoughtful one who knows God’s will can be served in various ways, The Sound of Music avoids what may have been a predictable glimpse in the abbey. Such an approach leads to a humorous punch line involving certain nuns who “sin.”
While The Sound of Music involves the audience in several plot complications – the threat to the Captain by the Nazis, Maria’s competition with a baroness for the Captain's heart, the eldest child’s romance with a boy who joins the Third Reich – the film emerges as the ultimate feel-good movie as the von Trapp family truly bring the sound of music to the hills in the film’s closing shot. Only a sour puss could fail to be enchanted by The Sound of Music.
Inspired by the true story of the von Trapp Family Singers, The Sound of Music is one of the high points of the musical genre. With a mesmerizing Julie Andrews in the lead and one memorable song after another, The Sound of Music is a celebration of the power of song.
At an abbey located in Austria in the late 1930s, Maria (Julie Andrews), in preparation for taking her final vows, is having difficulty living the life of a cloistered nun. Sensing Maria’s struggle the Mother Abbess (Peggy Wood) sends Maria to work for widower Captain von Trapp (Christopher Plumber) as governess to his seven children. Horrified to see the children being ordered about as if they were navy personnel, Maria decides to educate the young ones in the ways of song and play. But while warmth is filtering through the von Trapp household, and the Captain’s heart, the threat of Nazi occupation looms over Austria, something of which the Captain wants no part.
Director Robert Wise wastes no time getting to the musical numbers in The Sound of Music. The opening shots glide silently through the Swiss Alps. Suddenly, in a sweeping camera pan we encounter Julie Andrews twirling about singing the title song. Not long after we are treated to several nuns crooning about the strengths and weaknesses of “Maria.” Later, as a thunderstorm brews outside, the children gather in Maria’s room and she eases their fears by sharing “My Favorite Things.” To aid in her charges’ musical education Maria teaches them "Do-Re-Mi." Other highlights include "Sixteen Going On Seventeen," "The Lonely Goatherd," "So Long, Farewell," and "Climb Ev'ry Mountain." The Sound of Music is practically a greatest hits album of movie musicals.
Julie Andrews, who the previous year had won Best Actress for Mary Poppins (1964), shines as Maria. Maria is a thoroughly charming character, and Andrews is perfectly matched with the role. Generally sweet natured and eager to please, Maria nevertheless will stand up for her beliefs if need be, such as when she challenges the Captain on his child rearing. As Andrews does her own singing, we’re never taken out of the story when the film segues to another of its first rate musical set pieces. While the rest of the cast is fine (Richard Haydn is a hoot as Max Detweiler, the agent who sets the von Trapps to sing at a music festival) it's Andrews’ joyful turn as Maria that gives The Sound of Music its emotional resonance.
One of the refreshing elements of The Sound of Music is its treatment of the nunnery and the Mother Abbess. Eschewing the stereotype of the hardened, humorless Mother Superior for an observant, thoughtful one who knows God’s will can be served in various ways, The Sound of Music avoids what may have been a predictable glimpse in the abbey. Such an approach leads to a humorous punch line involving certain nuns who “sin.”
While The Sound of Music involves the audience in several plot complications – the threat to the Captain by the Nazis, Maria’s competition with a baroness for the Captain's heart, the eldest child’s romance with a boy who joins the Third Reich – the film emerges as the ultimate feel-good movie as the von Trapp family truly bring the sound of music to the hills in the film’s closing shot. Only a sour puss could fail to be enchanted by The Sound of Music.
Saturday Night at the Frights: January 17, 2009
The Mad Monster (1942)
This low budget shocker stars George Zucco as a vengeance-minded scientist who transforms simpleton Glenn Strange into a wolf man. He uses Glenn to murder the fellow scientists who scoffed at his idea to create a wolf man army. Zucco cuts it thick as the mad medico, and Strange overplays the idiot shtick. But there are some effective moments, such as when a ball rolls out of a child’s bedroom signaling a murder. One wonders if this would have been more fun with Bela Lugosi or Lionel Atwill in the lead.
The Devil’s Messenger (1961)
Three installments of a Swedish television program called 13 Demon Street were cut together to make this anthology film. Lon Chaney, Jr. was brought in to connect the segments together. He plays the Devil himself! The stories concern a photographer who’s haunted by a murder victim, a woman frozen in ice, and a fortune teller who predicts murder. The stories have neither the style nor wit of an average Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, and the cast is merely OK. Chaney is fun as Beelzebub but is not around that much.
My Bloody Valentine (1981)
The town of Valentine Bluffs is holding its first Valentine’s Day party in nearly twenty years. Apparently a deranged coal miner named Harry Warden murdered the two supervisors he held responsible for a mining accident that claimed the lives of Harry’s fellow miners on Valentine’s Day. Harry warned he’d be back if the town ever celebrated the romantic holiday. When the police discover a heart-shaped box bearing a real human heart, they try to stop the celebration until they can find Harry Warden.
This Canadian slasher film is an above average entry in the subgenre. Director George Mihalka nicely captures the blue collar mining town atmosphere and forgoes stereotypes. The new Lionsgate DVD release reinstates the previously cut gore footage making for a much more gruesome and effective thriller. The formulaic nature of the script, however, prevents My Bloody Valentine from scoring a complete bullseye.
This low budget shocker stars George Zucco as a vengeance-minded scientist who transforms simpleton Glenn Strange into a wolf man. He uses Glenn to murder the fellow scientists who scoffed at his idea to create a wolf man army. Zucco cuts it thick as the mad medico, and Strange overplays the idiot shtick. But there are some effective moments, such as when a ball rolls out of a child’s bedroom signaling a murder. One wonders if this would have been more fun with Bela Lugosi or Lionel Atwill in the lead.
The Devil’s Messenger (1961)
Three installments of a Swedish television program called 13 Demon Street were cut together to make this anthology film. Lon Chaney, Jr. was brought in to connect the segments together. He plays the Devil himself! The stories concern a photographer who’s haunted by a murder victim, a woman frozen in ice, and a fortune teller who predicts murder. The stories have neither the style nor wit of an average Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, and the cast is merely OK. Chaney is fun as Beelzebub but is not around that much.
My Bloody Valentine (1981)
The town of Valentine Bluffs is holding its first Valentine’s Day party in nearly twenty years. Apparently a deranged coal miner named Harry Warden murdered the two supervisors he held responsible for a mining accident that claimed the lives of Harry’s fellow miners on Valentine’s Day. Harry warned he’d be back if the town ever celebrated the romantic holiday. When the police discover a heart-shaped box bearing a real human heart, they try to stop the celebration until they can find Harry Warden.
This Canadian slasher film is an above average entry in the subgenre. Director George Mihalka nicely captures the blue collar mining town atmosphere and forgoes stereotypes. The new Lionsgate DVD release reinstates the previously cut gore footage making for a much more gruesome and effective thriller. The formulaic nature of the script, however, prevents My Bloody Valentine from scoring a complete bullseye.
Best Picture Winner: 1964
My Fair Lady (1964)
A thoroughly delightful musical version of George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, My Fair Lady is a treat for Audrey Hepburn and musical fans alike. Sumptuously filmed with memorable songs and enthusiastic performances, My Fair Lady is a joy from start to finish.
Professor Henry Higgins (Rex Harrison) is renowned for his book on phonetics. Just by listening to a person speak he can pinpoint from where that person comes. Colonel Pickering (Wilfrid Hyde-White), an expert on Indian dialects, is visiting Higgins when a strange opportunity presents itself. Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn), a Cockney flower girl, wants Higgins to teach her to speak like a lady so she’ll be able to open her own flower shop. Because Higgins has bragged he could pass any woman off as a duchess at an embassy ball, Pickering agrees to pay Eliza’s lesson costs if in fact Higgins can do such a thing with Eliza.
My Fair Lady is a deft blend of humor, song, and dance. Harrison’s stuffy Higgins is such an arrogant, sexist chap (“Why can’t a woman be more like me?”) that he is the film’s de facto villain. But his biting, self-serving soliloquies (“An Ordinary Man,” “A Hymn to Him”) are so witty and humorous that he becomes a character you love to hate. Not surprisingly Eliza starts to warm up this cold fish, even though the film’s final line suggests he could use some more thawing.
Hepburn is perfectly cast as Eliza. Already known for her beauty and classy roles she’s really something to behold when we first encounter Eliza, unkempt and speaking a thick-as-London-fog accent. She mines many laughs as Eliza overplays her plight, wailing at the slightest suggestion she’s not “a good girl.” On the flip side, her enthusiasm is contagious as she sings "I Could Have Danced All Night" after a breakthrough with Higgins. Her improvised monologue at a race track, about how a fictitious aunt was poisoned, is hilarious, as is her exclamation at the end of the race. And of course she’s absolutely stunning in her embassy gown. Hepburn is clearly having fun here, and the audience is behind her every step of the way.
Adding to the fun is Stanley Holloway as is Eliza’s no-good father, Alfred. He hits her up for drinking money when needed and extorts money from Higgins for using Eliza. (Alfred wouldn’t necessarily mind if Higgins intentions were not honorable. Higgins would just have to pay him more.) Alfred’s presence isn’t really necessary, unless it is to explain how Eliza could handle someone like Higgins. But Holloway contributes two of the best numbers in the film: "With A Little Bit of Luck," about how if you’re lucky you might be able to shirk your responsibilities, and “Get Me to The Church on Time," about how, even though a strange twist of fate has pushed him into respectability, he plans on having fun the night before his marriage. Alfred is wonderful in a horrible sort of way.
Other highlights of My Fair Lady include Hyde-White’s charming characterization of Pickering, and Gladys Cooper’s stern take on Higgins mother, which provides some clues on why Henry may have turned out so rigid. This viewer’s favorite song is "On the Street Where You Live", performed by a would-be suitor who waits outside Higgins’ house for a chance to spend time with Eliza. Director George Cuckor stages the musical numbers with verve, with the introduction of the stuffy upper class ("Ascot Gavotte") a particular standout. The gentry are presented in static cuts (instead of the flowing camera moves during other numbers) and are clad in outfits of strictly black, white and gray. It’s a clever visualization of the coldness present in a society based on appearance and convention.
But even the stuffed shirts in My Fair Lady have their good points. And ultimately My Fair Lady is too good natured to foster resentments. Rather the film is a treat for the eyes and ears. My Fair Lady is a great entertainment.
A thoroughly delightful musical version of George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, My Fair Lady is a treat for Audrey Hepburn and musical fans alike. Sumptuously filmed with memorable songs and enthusiastic performances, My Fair Lady is a joy from start to finish.
Professor Henry Higgins (Rex Harrison) is renowned for his book on phonetics. Just by listening to a person speak he can pinpoint from where that person comes. Colonel Pickering (Wilfrid Hyde-White), an expert on Indian dialects, is visiting Higgins when a strange opportunity presents itself. Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn), a Cockney flower girl, wants Higgins to teach her to speak like a lady so she’ll be able to open her own flower shop. Because Higgins has bragged he could pass any woman off as a duchess at an embassy ball, Pickering agrees to pay Eliza’s lesson costs if in fact Higgins can do such a thing with Eliza.
My Fair Lady is a deft blend of humor, song, and dance. Harrison’s stuffy Higgins is such an arrogant, sexist chap (“Why can’t a woman be more like me?”) that he is the film’s de facto villain. But his biting, self-serving soliloquies (“An Ordinary Man,” “A Hymn to Him”) are so witty and humorous that he becomes a character you love to hate. Not surprisingly Eliza starts to warm up this cold fish, even though the film’s final line suggests he could use some more thawing.
Hepburn is perfectly cast as Eliza. Already known for her beauty and classy roles she’s really something to behold when we first encounter Eliza, unkempt and speaking a thick-as-London-fog accent. She mines many laughs as Eliza overplays her plight, wailing at the slightest suggestion she’s not “a good girl.” On the flip side, her enthusiasm is contagious as she sings "I Could Have Danced All Night" after a breakthrough with Higgins. Her improvised monologue at a race track, about how a fictitious aunt was poisoned, is hilarious, as is her exclamation at the end of the race. And of course she’s absolutely stunning in her embassy gown. Hepburn is clearly having fun here, and the audience is behind her every step of the way.
Adding to the fun is Stanley Holloway as is Eliza’s no-good father, Alfred. He hits her up for drinking money when needed and extorts money from Higgins for using Eliza. (Alfred wouldn’t necessarily mind if Higgins intentions were not honorable. Higgins would just have to pay him more.) Alfred’s presence isn’t really necessary, unless it is to explain how Eliza could handle someone like Higgins. But Holloway contributes two of the best numbers in the film: "With A Little Bit of Luck," about how if you’re lucky you might be able to shirk your responsibilities, and “Get Me to The Church on Time," about how, even though a strange twist of fate has pushed him into respectability, he plans on having fun the night before his marriage. Alfred is wonderful in a horrible sort of way.
Other highlights of My Fair Lady include Hyde-White’s charming characterization of Pickering, and Gladys Cooper’s stern take on Higgins mother, which provides some clues on why Henry may have turned out so rigid. This viewer’s favorite song is "On the Street Where You Live", performed by a would-be suitor who waits outside Higgins’ house for a chance to spend time with Eliza. Director George Cuckor stages the musical numbers with verve, with the introduction of the stuffy upper class ("Ascot Gavotte") a particular standout. The gentry are presented in static cuts (instead of the flowing camera moves during other numbers) and are clad in outfits of strictly black, white and gray. It’s a clever visualization of the coldness present in a society based on appearance and convention.
But even the stuffed shirts in My Fair Lady have their good points. And ultimately My Fair Lady is too good natured to foster resentments. Rather the film is a treat for the eyes and ears. My Fair Lady is a great entertainment.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1963
Tom Jones (1963)
The reason why some have lavished so much praise on Tom Jones escapes this viewer. A chaotic, characterless period piece that delights in its sexual audacity, Tom Jones reminds me of a Benny Hill episode, except it isn’t nearly as funny. The first hour or so is at times almost painful. Luckily the second half picks up nicely thanks to some plot complications and an increase in laughs. But that’s not enough to make it a film that demands more than one viewing.
Tom Jones (Albert Finney) is an illegitimate child who is raised by a wealthy squire in 19th Century England. A dashing, handsome figure he is a hit with the ladies and is unable to turn any adoring woman down, even though he is in love with Sophie Western (Susannah York). He is intensely disliked by the squire’s nephew Blifil (David Warner) who plots to have Tom ejected from the family home. Can the flawed but decent Tom Jones find true love and clear his name?
For much of Tom Jones’ first half the movie feels utterly formless. Incident is stacked upon incident as director Tony Richardson’s camera careens merrily catching every tryst and confrontation, and at times speeds up to move things along. Drunken and stuffy character types are overplayed. Sometimes an off-screen narrator will make pithy observations. The problem is that this is all not that funny. Nor is there any real attempt at character. It’s hard to get involved in the story and Tom Jones never connects with the audience the way he should.
Finney is handsome and strapping as Tom Jones but fails to make this guy the ingratiating cad he’s supposed to be. He does not so much act as be acted upon, giving in to any lass who desires him. Only when he’s forced out on his own does he get to show some canastas, such as dueling with a soldier in defense of a lady’s honor. But most of the time he seems so aloof that it’s hard to really care about him.
Even if we’re not to take this all seriously there is still the problem that Tom Jones isn’t terribly humorous. Hugh Griffith is fun as Sophie Western’s besotted, belligerent father. But it seems like the film makers take it for granted that the audience will find any challenges to the aristocracy and social conventions amusing. Sure, the cast seems to be having a good time. The same cannot be said for the viewer.
With few laughs and no characters Tom Jones succeeds neither as a comedy or drama, or some combination of both. Perhaps to a 1963 audience this was something new. But today Tom Jones is a film where seeing it once is more than enough.
The reason why some have lavished so much praise on Tom Jones escapes this viewer. A chaotic, characterless period piece that delights in its sexual audacity, Tom Jones reminds me of a Benny Hill episode, except it isn’t nearly as funny. The first hour or so is at times almost painful. Luckily the second half picks up nicely thanks to some plot complications and an increase in laughs. But that’s not enough to make it a film that demands more than one viewing.
Tom Jones (Albert Finney) is an illegitimate child who is raised by a wealthy squire in 19th Century England. A dashing, handsome figure he is a hit with the ladies and is unable to turn any adoring woman down, even though he is in love with Sophie Western (Susannah York). He is intensely disliked by the squire’s nephew Blifil (David Warner) who plots to have Tom ejected from the family home. Can the flawed but decent Tom Jones find true love and clear his name?
For much of Tom Jones’ first half the movie feels utterly formless. Incident is stacked upon incident as director Tony Richardson’s camera careens merrily catching every tryst and confrontation, and at times speeds up to move things along. Drunken and stuffy character types are overplayed. Sometimes an off-screen narrator will make pithy observations. The problem is that this is all not that funny. Nor is there any real attempt at character. It’s hard to get involved in the story and Tom Jones never connects with the audience the way he should.
Finney is handsome and strapping as Tom Jones but fails to make this guy the ingratiating cad he’s supposed to be. He does not so much act as be acted upon, giving in to any lass who desires him. Only when he’s forced out on his own does he get to show some canastas, such as dueling with a soldier in defense of a lady’s honor. But most of the time he seems so aloof that it’s hard to really care about him.
Even if we’re not to take this all seriously there is still the problem that Tom Jones isn’t terribly humorous. Hugh Griffith is fun as Sophie Western’s besotted, belligerent father. But it seems like the film makers take it for granted that the audience will find any challenges to the aristocracy and social conventions amusing. Sure, the cast seems to be having a good time. The same cannot be said for the viewer.
With few laughs and no characters Tom Jones succeeds neither as a comedy or drama, or some combination of both. Perhaps to a 1963 audience this was something new. But today Tom Jones is a film where seeing it once is more than enough.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1962
Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
My initial reaction to seeing Lawrence of Arabia for the first time was twofold: I was emotionally overwhelmed by the experience, and I wanted to immediately start the movie over and watch it again. Here is a complex epic that explores the many aspects of war – the physical, the political, the strategical, the psychological, concepts of loyalty - and its effects on the enigmatic T.E. Lawrence, a British soldier whose wartime exploits became world known thanks to an American war correspondent. What T.E. Lawrence experiences during his tenure makes for an all-consuming film experience.
During World War I, the British army recruits Lieutenant T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole), known to be well educated if a bit eccentric, to assess the prospects of a British alliance with Prince Feisal (Alec Guinness) against the Turks. Lawrence meets Feisal and suggests an attack on Aqaba, a town near the ocean that could be used by Great Britain to ship wartime supplies. By traveling across the treacherous Nefud Desert, Aqaba could be taken by surprise. But Lawrence is not totally prepared emotionally for the atrocities he will witness and the measures he will have to take to persevere in this volatile part of the world.
The images in Lawrence of Arabia are frequently stunning, as director David Lean pans over picturesque desert landscapes or guides us through the architecturally rich housing for the army. There are several actions set pieces such as the attack on Aqaba and the assault of a Turkish caravan. And there is much scheming as the British leaders plan their double crosses (they never have the intention of letting the Arabs rule their own land) of which Lawrence is not aware. The cumulative impact on Lawrence of the events dramatized in Lawrence of Arabia is what gives the film its ultimate power.
When we first meet Lawrence he is a pleasant sort with a twinkle in his eye, although his attitude does not sit well with his superior officers. But when Lawrence witnesses his desert guide being shot and killed for drinking from another man’s well, he realizes he is amongst people he does not fully understand. Later he will be forced to kill people to avoid a tribal war and prevent an injured man from being captured. He will be attacked and (by implication) raped. And he will ultimately learn how impossible it is to remain loyal to both his commanders and the Arab people he hoped to help. While his rank continually increases as he achieves the military’s goals, Lawrence is actually on a downward spiral emotionally. He tries to leave several times but is lured back not just by flattering remarks from his superiors, but also by his own seemingly contradictory love of war. Lawrence is such a rich, intriguing character that the final shot of him in the film packs a wallop.
Peter O’Toole delivers one the great screen performances. He shows us Lawrence tortured and exhilarated, confused and self confident, frustrated and determined. Several times these conflicting emotions can be occurring at the same time. We feel Lawrence’s desperation to return to a more normal way of life after being molested by a Turkish leader. And O’Toole perfectly plays the devastation when Lawrence realizes what his commanders’ intentions for Arabia really were.
O’Toole is supported by a first rate cast including Alec Guinness, Claude Rains, Omar Sharif, Anthony Quinn, Jack Hawkins, Anthony Quayle, and José Ferrer. It’s hard to imagine how the casting could have been improved upon. The scene between O’Toole and Quinn, as Lawrence tries to persuade Quinn’s tribal leader to join the revolt, is just one example of how these actors bring out the best in each other. Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson’s screenplay (based on T.E. Lawrence various publications) balances incident and exposition in such a way that the film never loses its grip on us during the three and half hour running time. And the technical aspects are so well handled there are times we feel like we’re in the desert right along with the cast.
The best films invite the audience to be participants, not mere observers. Lawrence of Arabia pulls us into its time and place and never lets us go.
My initial reaction to seeing Lawrence of Arabia for the first time was twofold: I was emotionally overwhelmed by the experience, and I wanted to immediately start the movie over and watch it again. Here is a complex epic that explores the many aspects of war – the physical, the political, the strategical, the psychological, concepts of loyalty - and its effects on the enigmatic T.E. Lawrence, a British soldier whose wartime exploits became world known thanks to an American war correspondent. What T.E. Lawrence experiences during his tenure makes for an all-consuming film experience.
During World War I, the British army recruits Lieutenant T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole), known to be well educated if a bit eccentric, to assess the prospects of a British alliance with Prince Feisal (Alec Guinness) against the Turks. Lawrence meets Feisal and suggests an attack on Aqaba, a town near the ocean that could be used by Great Britain to ship wartime supplies. By traveling across the treacherous Nefud Desert, Aqaba could be taken by surprise. But Lawrence is not totally prepared emotionally for the atrocities he will witness and the measures he will have to take to persevere in this volatile part of the world.
The images in Lawrence of Arabia are frequently stunning, as director David Lean pans over picturesque desert landscapes or guides us through the architecturally rich housing for the army. There are several actions set pieces such as the attack on Aqaba and the assault of a Turkish caravan. And there is much scheming as the British leaders plan their double crosses (they never have the intention of letting the Arabs rule their own land) of which Lawrence is not aware. The cumulative impact on Lawrence of the events dramatized in Lawrence of Arabia is what gives the film its ultimate power.
When we first meet Lawrence he is a pleasant sort with a twinkle in his eye, although his attitude does not sit well with his superior officers. But when Lawrence witnesses his desert guide being shot and killed for drinking from another man’s well, he realizes he is amongst people he does not fully understand. Later he will be forced to kill people to avoid a tribal war and prevent an injured man from being captured. He will be attacked and (by implication) raped. And he will ultimately learn how impossible it is to remain loyal to both his commanders and the Arab people he hoped to help. While his rank continually increases as he achieves the military’s goals, Lawrence is actually on a downward spiral emotionally. He tries to leave several times but is lured back not just by flattering remarks from his superiors, but also by his own seemingly contradictory love of war. Lawrence is such a rich, intriguing character that the final shot of him in the film packs a wallop.
Peter O’Toole delivers one the great screen performances. He shows us Lawrence tortured and exhilarated, confused and self confident, frustrated and determined. Several times these conflicting emotions can be occurring at the same time. We feel Lawrence’s desperation to return to a more normal way of life after being molested by a Turkish leader. And O’Toole perfectly plays the devastation when Lawrence realizes what his commanders’ intentions for Arabia really were.
O’Toole is supported by a first rate cast including Alec Guinness, Claude Rains, Omar Sharif, Anthony Quinn, Jack Hawkins, Anthony Quayle, and José Ferrer. It’s hard to imagine how the casting could have been improved upon. The scene between O’Toole and Quinn, as Lawrence tries to persuade Quinn’s tribal leader to join the revolt, is just one example of how these actors bring out the best in each other. Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson’s screenplay (based on T.E. Lawrence various publications) balances incident and exposition in such a way that the film never loses its grip on us during the three and half hour running time. And the technical aspects are so well handled there are times we feel like we’re in the desert right along with the cast.
The best films invite the audience to be participants, not mere observers. Lawrence of Arabia pulls us into its time and place and never lets us go.
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