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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Letícia 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Best Picture Winner: 1961

West Side Story (1961)

In 1950s’ New York City a gang war is starting. The Caucasian Jets feel the Hispanic Sharks are muscling in on their territory. At a dance that both the Jets and Sharks are attending, Tony (Richard Beymer), the estranged co-founder of the Jets, spots Maria (Natalie Wood) and instantly falls in love, a feeling she reciprocates. Tony does not realize she is sister to the Sharks’ leader Bernardo (George Chakiris). Bernardo forbids the relationship, so the lovers must keep their courting secret, as Bernardo and Jets leader Riff (Russ Tamblyn) plan a rumble that will determine which gang will rule the neighborhood.

West Side Story was adapted from the hit Broadway play, a variation on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. The film opens with a lengthy overhead tracking shot that flies over New York and then drops us off at a basketball court where the Jet members are gathering. There is no dialogue, but rather a whistle that signals a gang meeting. They snap their fingers and gracefully make their way to the street, where they come in contact with members of the Sharks. Soon the gangs are at fisticuffs, at least to the extent they can be since this is all played out to co-director Jerome Robbins’ dazzling choreography. Little is said, but the situation is made clear and the audience knows they are not in for a typical gang war film. Later, when the Tony and Maria meet at the dance, everything around them goes out of focus. It’s a clever visualization of what happens when lovers first meet.

But it’s the song and dance numbers that bring West Side Story to life. Rita Moreno’s character’s number “America” is a highlight, where she spars with her brother Bernardo in a snappily-written back-and-forth about her love for her new home, a love Bernardo does not share. Tony croons the lovely “Maria” after he meets the girl of his dreams, and the two join together for the classic “Tonight” on Maria’s tenement stairs. There’s also the humorous and delightful "Gee, Officer Krupke" where the Jets have fun mocking a police officer who nags the group of juvenile delinquents. The hypnotic “Cool” is a rather intense number where the Jets try to compose themselves after a killing stirs them to even more violence. In spite of the atmosphere of death, West Side Story feels so alive thanks to the unwavering energy of its musical numbers.

Romantic leads Beymer and Wood are attractive, but they lack chemistry when they are engaged in dialogue. Luckily most of their moments together are spent in song. The rest of the cast is excellent, especially Russ Tamblyn as the agile and playful Riff. Ned Glass brings real heart to his role as the candy store owner who pleads for the youths to end their violent ways. And Rita Moreno makes a strong impression in her role as Anita, especially in the scene in the coffee shop where she must deliver a message to Tony.

But it’s the vitality of the musical set pieces of West Side Story which gives the film its passion. And West Side Story emerges as a dramatically powerful update of Shakespeare’s tragedy.

Best Picture Winner: 1960

The Apartment (1960)

C.C. Baxter (Jack Lemmon) lets various higher-ups in the insurance company at which he works use his apartment for their sundry extramarital interludes. He’s told that they’ll thank him by recommending him for promotion. Mr. Jeff Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), a director at the company, finds out what is going on and decides to join the party. Baxter gets his promotion, and works up the nerve to ask the perky elevator operator Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine) to The Music Man. The problem is that Ms. Kubelik is the woman with whom Sheldrake is having his latest affair.

Director/co-writer Billy Wilder’s acerbic The Apartment takes an attitude that at one time may have been seen as cynical, but today can be viewed as business-as-usual for certain men in power. There are equal amounts of humor and drama in this story of a lonely man who, even if he were to find a lady friend, would have trouble taking her back to an apartment that has a revolving door. Baxter gets in over his head and finds his job on the line if he stops letting those in power use his pad. They flippantly call him “Buddy Boy” but they are no friends of his. When a near tragedy strikes, Baxter is shocked at the callous reaction of Sheldrake. But Baxter himself has helped set up the circumstances. Baxter must now decide if the price of corporate success is too costly.

Jack Lemmon is perfectly cast as the likeable nebbish, and Shirley MacLaine is cute as a button as the woman Baxter adores. It’s very easy to understand the attraction. MacLaine invests Fran with warmth and charm, and she is totally adorable. Baxter is basically a decent guy and Kubelik has a habit of picking the wrong men. There is real chemistry between the two, whether they’re chatting on the elevator or playing gin rummy. And there’s a beautifully heartfelt scene where Baxter observes Fran, who is resting on his bed and gazing out the window, as his face reveals all he is feeling, a mixture of love, concern, and sadness.

The Apartment is a film that improves with subsequent viewings, and seems to be more relevant as time passes. So many stories in recent news have shown how (mostly) men in power take mistresses and/or professional ladies and put them on the expense account. There is much humor in The Apartment, which is character-driven and subtle, such as when Baxter has to juggle the schedule of trysts so he can deal with a cold, or the fact that Baxter’s neighbors think he is a no good womanizer. And the ending is upbeat. But there is also this sad reality of perceived entitlement at the expense of others that gives The Apartment some real sting.

Billy Wilder’s resume includes such classic films as Double Indemnity (1944), Sunset Boulevard (1950), and Some Like It Hot (1959). The Apartment can easily be included in the list of Wilder classics.

Best Picture Winner: 1959

Ben-Hur (1959)

Winner of eleven Academy Awards, director William Wyler’s Ben-Hur is an engrossing and visually arresting entertainment. Taking place largely during the public ministry of Jesus Christ, the film chronicles the events of a man who learns the importance of forgiveness even though, in his heart, he desires vengeance.

Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston) is a member of a wealthy and respected family in Jerusalem. His childhood friend Messala (Stephen Boyd), a Roman who is now a Tribune, returns to Jerusalem to restore order to a people who have grown restless and speak out against the Roman Empire. Messala asks for Judah’s help in exposing potential traitors, but is refused because Judah will not betray neither his people nor his religion. When Judah is involved in an accident that injures the newly arrived governor, Messala seizes his chance to make an example out of a prominent Jewish family, even though Messala knows Judah is innocent of any wrongdoing. Judah’s mother and sister are imprisoned, and Judah becomes a galley slave. But a sudden change of events in Judah’s life offers him a chance to seek revenge against his once-dear friend.

Ben-Hur comes from a time when Biblical epics (e.g. The Robe, King of Kings) were a staple of Hollywood. And although Judah does encounter Christ at several key points in the story, Ben-Hur is mostly a straightforward combination of drama and action. The majority of the film is devoted to Judah’s struggle to survive being a slave and find a way back to Jerusalem to reunite with his family. The truth is that, although the ability to forgive is certainly a positive character trait, the audience looks forward to Ben-Hur’s confrontation with Messala.

This of course comes in one of the most famous sequences in film history: the chariot race. After almost fifty years, this race, in spite of numerous advances in special effects, remains as thrilling, exciting, and suspenseful as it must have been to those who viewed it on the big screen in 1959. The scene is edited in such a way that we can follow the action (too many of today’s action set pieces are over-edited and incoherent) and when chariots collide and crash, we cannot help but gasp as if someone where really harmed. The scene plays mostly without music which adds to the suspense as a score can sometimes give us advance notice of events. Ben-Hur needs to be seen in its widescreen glory to fully appreciate the chariot race and its staging.

Charlton Heston received a lot of grief in later years because of his association with the NRA and some of this has unfortunately and unfairly spilled over into assessments of his acting career. Heston is unreservedly perfect for the role of Judah Ben-Hur. The part needed a charismatic and physically strong performer to convincingly play someone who can both survive Judah’s arduous ordeal and endear himself to the audience. Heston succeeds on both counts. There is not a false note in his pleasure in first seeing his old friend Messala, his agonizing over the fate of his mother and sister, his romance with the former slave he loves, etc. Heston’s abilities were put to great use in various epics (The Ten Commandments, El Cid) through the years. He won an Oscar for his role in Ben-hur.

Ben-Hur is also aided by its rich supporting cast (Stephen Boyd, Haya Harareet, Sam Jaffe, Jack Hawkins, Hugh Griffith, etc.), photography, and art direction, which all combine to paint a vivid picture of this religiously important time in history. William Wyler’s direction keeps things mostly moving at a brisk pace, an impressive achievement for a three hour and forty minute film. Wyler also got an Oscar.

Ben-Hur was recently voted the second best epic of all time by the AFI. It’s a shining example of a type of film (the biblical epic) that Hollywood doesn’t make anymore.

Best Picture Winner: 1958

Gigi (1958)

Gigi is an absolutely delightful musical about, of all things, a girl who’s being raised to be a courtesan. She’ll enter into society to be the mistress of various wealthy men, moving from one to another as they are done with her. But she’ll live a charmed life consisting of fine dining, glamorous fashion, and expensive jewelry, that is, as long as love doesn’t get in the way.

Gigi (Leslie Caron) enjoys the company of Gaston Lachaille (Louis Jourdan), a friend of her grandmother’s (Hermione Gingold) who brings Gigi candy and plays cards with her when he visits. He is bored with the carefree lifestyle that wealth has afforded him. Gigi herself does not see the practicality of love and romance. Of course, the two are meant for each other.

Gigi is one of the best musicals of the 1950s. Its breathtaking color, opulent art direction and costume design, pitch-perfect performances, and, best of all, memorable songs help make this film an absolute joy. Right from the opening number, with Maurice Chevalier crooning the now-classic “Thank Heaven for Little Girls,” were are warmly invited into turn of the century Paris, where single, wealthy men need not look at marriage as the only means of love, which, in this context, refers to sex. Jourdan, shortly there after, delivers the delightful “It’s A Bore,” where he bemoans this very existence. When we meet Gigi, we are instantly taken by her. She is full of enthusiasm and good humor, but has little use for romance. We know these two will fall in love. Along the way, we are treated to such musical delights as “I Remember It Well” and “I'm Glad I'm Not Young Anymore.”

There is humor and shock in learning what defines happiness for certain Parisian women of the time. In one such scene Aunt Alicia, who is training Gigi to be such a lady, brings out her jewelry and tells Gigi that just by looking at what a woman is wearing one can tell if her man is losing interest in her. In another highlight, Gaston enters a popular restaurant with his current mistress and all the patrons stop their chatter, observing the lovers’ entrance and commencing to gossip about the couple. This approach is repeated when, near the end of the film, Gaston arrives with Gigi at the very same restaurant, but with different emotional results.

Leslie Caron’s Gigi is an endearing character. We love her instantly and wish the best for her. And we watched astonished, as this bright-eyed, pig-tailed cutie transforms into a beautiful woman before our – and Gaston’s – eyes. You’ll be grinning from ear to ear at the film’s final moments. Lovely to look at and listen to, Gigi is a great entertainment from an era when audiences were more than willing to let films tell their stories in both word and song.

Saturday Night at the Frights: January 10, 2009

The Devil’s Partner (1958)

This low-budget curio stars Ed Nelson as a young man who shows up in a small, rural town to claim his inheritance from the uncle that just died. In truth, however, Ed Nelson is the uncle, who made a pact with the devil so he could be young and romance the town doctor’s daughter. I think. The opening sequence is actually moody and effective as an elderly gent takes a goat into his shack and cuts its throat. Outside the shack the wind blows and owls hoot, without the aid of a music score. But once this is over the film settles down into a standard mystery tale with a supernatural bent. Not very good, but the performances are earnest which prevents the film from actually being painful.

Hand of Death (1962)

John Agar plays a scientist who is exposed to a combination nerve and psychotropic gas. He can then kill anyone just by touching them. He also starts transforming into a giant piece of burnt toast. At barely an hour this throwback to 1950s thrillers does not overstay its welcome. But it’s also way too familiar and unimaginative in its execution, except for the initial description of what doc Agar is trying to do, which ultimately doesn’t make a darn bit of difference as to how the story plays out!

At the Cineplex: Revolutionary Road (2008)

Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio are the Wheelers (April and Frank), a couple who seem to be living the ideal 1950s lifestyle. They have two children and live in a lovely suburban neighborhood. Frank has a steady if unfulfilling office job. On the outside they seem like the perfect couple. But April, once an aspiring actress, has become absolutely miserable, longing for freedom from an existence that she feels has been forced upon her. She talks Frank into moving to Paris to kick-start a new life. But subsequent developments jeopardize more than just April and Frank’s marriage.

Revolutionary Road boasts strong performances from the leads. Winslet and DiCaprio inherit their characters and their story is engrossing. They are given able support from the likes of Kathy Bates, a gossipy real estate agent, and, especially, Michael Shannon, as Bates’ mentally disturbed son who nevertheless senses what is really going on with the Wheelers. This rather clichéd character (the insane person who may be the sanest character in the movie) is given a darkly comic approach by Shannon that makes him an effective harbinger of the truth.

What’s problematic about the film is the Winslet character. Is she mentally ill herself or just a spoiled brat who does not realize what she has? (At one point Frank mentions psychiatric counseling but this never referred to again.) After some rather explosive fights with her husband she’ll play the perfect wife (by 1950s standards). Is this because her character is trying to appreciate what she has and thus starting anew, or is this actually one of two personalities that are fighting within April? Knowing whether she is self-pitying or sick is crucial since this will shape our reaction to the tragic events that play out in the final acts. Should we be sad or angry, or both?

But given what Bates’ character’s husband does in the film’s last scene, Revolutionary Road ultimately seems like an indictment on marriage - at least the 1950s view of such - in general. All the married couples we meet feature at least one spouse who is unfaithful or dissatisfied in one way or another. More specifically, perhaps Revolutionary Road is an overall criticism of “the perfect life” idea that was sold to people in a bygone era. Men and women got married, found a nice play to live, had two children, etc. The man went to work and the woman took care of the house and kids. Therefore any feelings of disappointment with this arrangement can have devastating effects.

It is curious how little we see of the Wheeler children in this film. They are always at someone else’s home, or at a Birthday party. When the kids are on screen it is to make some dramatic point, such as when April snaps at her daughter for no apparent reason. This feel likes an emotional cheat, because the film mostly bypasses the concept of responsibility. The time responsibility does get mentioned is during heated arguments, and therefore just gets lost amongst the vitriol. The screenplay unsatisfactorily explores April’s thoughts about her responsibilities to her children in conjunction with her own desires.

Revolutionary Road suffers story wise because it’s unclear what is behind April’s feelings, and knowing this would impact our own reaction to April and her reactions. Maybe director Sam Mendes avoids such a definitive answer because he wants to be provocative, avoiding labeling April as narcissistic or sick. Revolutionary Road is worth seeing for its great performances and involving story. But it’s refusal to reveal the truth about April will either have you praising it for such a stroke, or leave you frustrated for not knowing what to make of it all.

Best Picture Winner: 1957

The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)

Director David Lean’s World War II classic harkens back to a time when there were rules in war, even in the enemy’s prison camps. Alec Guinness plays a British officer, Nicholson, who refuses to follow his Japanese captors’ orders that officers work along side the soldiers under his command. Such a thing would be a violation of the Geneva Conventions. What ensues is a battle of wills between Nicholson and Japanese Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa) that also emerges as a psychological study of two men trying to maintain control in a situation that will test their own sanity.

A contingent of British soldiers has been captured and put to work to build a bridge connecting Bangkok and Rangoon. If the bridge is not completed by May 22, Saito will have to kill himself. But when he orders the British officers to work also, Colonel Nicholson refuses and is put in the “oven,” a small metal shack in which Nicholson could die of dehydration. Meanwhile, an American prisoner (William Holden), a Navy Commander, escapes and makes it to a Siamese village. He’s taken to a hospital in Colombo, where he is asked to help out with a planned British attack on the bridge.

The Bridge on the River Kwai is an unwaveringly fascinating look at both the physical and psychological strategies of war. It’s easy enough to understand what the Japanese are trying to accomplish in having the bridge built and the British’s response to this potential threat. What engrosses the viewer in The Bridge on the River Kwai, however, is the psychological game that Nicholson and Saito start playing. Nicholson will not budge in his demand that officers do not work. Saito starts to weaken an offers compromise after compromise. Nicholson still remains adamant. He is heroic when he eventually wins this battle. But as he becomes obsessive about his soldiers constructing a bridge that will actually work, it becomes clear that he has forgotten what is at stake. Saito is flabbergasted at this turn of events. And the audience watches this unfold with a mix of admiration for and horror at what Nicholson is doing. Guinness received a deserved Oscar for his performance: a perfect blend of steely determination and absolute madness.

David Lean directs with a sure hand, effortlessly weaving the story threads (bridge construction and bridge destruction) together. In one startlingly suspenseful sequence, the team trying to destroy the bridge swims underneath the construct, as Japanese soldiers patrol above, and plant explosives at the base of the supports. There is no music, just the noises of the jungle and ripples of the water. One loud noise and their plan will be exposed. It is such a tension-filled scene that, when it’s over, you’ll have to catch your breath.

The Bridge on the River Kwai is a war film like no other. In intimate fashion, it looks at a specific situation and draws you in via its exploration of just a few characters. The film is frightening and funny, suspenseful and playful, without ever losing the audience’s attention. The Bridge on the River Kwai remains a classic film that deserves such a reputation.