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.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Monday, January 12, 2009
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
Friday, January 9, 2009
At the Cineplex: Gran Torino (2008)
Director/star Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino is a formula picture in the best sense of the term. It establishes its characters, plant its seeds of inevitability, and lets the story unfold pretty much in the way we expect, the way we mostly want it to play out. What elevates it is Eastwood’s terrific performance.
Walt Kowalski (Clint Eastwood) has just lost his wife, and he now lives alone in a neighborhood where he is in the minority. Wanting to be left alone he is nevertheless drawn into the life of his Hmong neighbors when a gang tries to abduct Thao (Bee Vang), a teenaged boy who lives next door to Walt and is the gang leader’s cousin. Walt eventually lets down his defenses to help Thao and his sister Sue (Ahney Her) try to evade the world of violence that is closing in on them.
Not much of what happens in Gran Torino is very surprising. We know that Walt’s seemingly innocuous cough during his wife’s funeral means what such a thing always means in the movies. We know that Thao will eventually be more of a friend to Walt than Walt's own sons or grandchildren. And we know that Walt will eventually do what his late wife wanted him to do regarding the parish priest.
But Eastwood the actor puts so much conviction, and eventually heart, into Walt that he rises above stereotypes. Walt is a racist, a bigot, ornery, unpleasant, sour, etc. But ultimately he gets interested in life again by helping a young man who, without some kind of guidance, will eventually either succumb and join a gang, or die trying to avoid that very fate. Walt sees this as a chance to perhaps assuage some of the guilt he feels over killing young men in South Korea. There is genuine warmth in sweetness in the scene in Walt’s backyard where he barbecues for his young neighbors. And the film has earned its tears by the end.
The greater theme here, of course, is that young men need a father figure, or at least a respectable authority figure, in their lives to guide them the challenges they face growing up amongst violence. But Gran Torino never gets preachy or pretentious. This is a film where we know the destination, but find the journey getting there oh so enjoyable.
Walt Kowalski (Clint Eastwood) has just lost his wife, and he now lives alone in a neighborhood where he is in the minority. Wanting to be left alone he is nevertheless drawn into the life of his Hmong neighbors when a gang tries to abduct Thao (Bee Vang), a teenaged boy who lives next door to Walt and is the gang leader’s cousin. Walt eventually lets down his defenses to help Thao and his sister Sue (Ahney Her) try to evade the world of violence that is closing in on them.
Not much of what happens in Gran Torino is very surprising. We know that Walt’s seemingly innocuous cough during his wife’s funeral means what such a thing always means in the movies. We know that Thao will eventually be more of a friend to Walt than Walt's own sons or grandchildren. And we know that Walt will eventually do what his late wife wanted him to do regarding the parish priest.
But Eastwood the actor puts so much conviction, and eventually heart, into Walt that he rises above stereotypes. Walt is a racist, a bigot, ornery, unpleasant, sour, etc. But ultimately he gets interested in life again by helping a young man who, without some kind of guidance, will eventually either succumb and join a gang, or die trying to avoid that very fate. Walt sees this as a chance to perhaps assuage some of the guilt he feels over killing young men in South Korea. There is genuine warmth in sweetness in the scene in Walt’s backyard where he barbecues for his young neighbors. And the film has earned its tears by the end.
The greater theme here, of course, is that young men need a father figure, or at least a respectable authority figure, in their lives to guide them the challenges they face growing up amongst violence. But Gran Torino never gets preachy or pretentious. This is a film where we know the destination, but find the journey getting there oh so enjoyable.
Best Picture Winner: 1956
Around the World in Eighty Days (1956)
Around the World in Eighty Days is a technical marvel with its stunning, Oscar-winning photography and travelogue approach. We’re taken to London, Paris, Spain, India and China. We travel by balloon, train, boat, and elephant. We witness a bullfight, a deadly religious ceremony, an Indian attack, and a Chinese circus. What we do not do, however, is get involved in the story – because there really isn’t one. Around the World in Eighty Days is a film that dazzles our eyes but leaves our heart cold.
Phileas Fogg (David Niven) is a cold, eccentric, wealthy man who, on a bet, says he can travel around the world in eighty days. While several fellow members of the men-only Reform Club in London make bets against him, Phileas gathers his new valet Passepartout (Cantinflas) and a bag full of pound notes and starts his journey. Along the way he saves a princess (Shirley MacLaine) from death, and maybe finds love. Meanwhile, a not particularly able detective (Robert Newton) pursues Phileas thinking he is the man who robbed the Bank of England and has used the bet to cover his escape.
The film attempts three things to beef up its nonexistent plot: to introduce tension by having Phileas hunted, to have Phileas fall in love with the princess he saved, and to populate the film with cameo appearances by then-famous stars. The first attempt fails because Phileas is able, ever so quickly, to dodge the detective, which means we never feel apprehensive about Phileas’ fate. Basically Detective Fix serves as Wile E. Coyote to Phileas’ Road Runner. The second attempt does not work because the character of Phileas is never explored. We first hear about him via a former valet who talks about how horrible a master Phileas is. The rest of the film is so preoccupied with the scenery that we never get a sense of Phileas the man. The whole romantic angle feels perfunctory. And the third attempt just takes us out of the story as we think, "Hey there's Frank Sinatra!"
While Around the World in Eighty Days is a jolly and good-looking entertainment, it depends only on its sense of visual scale to engage the viewer. While it’s easy to appreciate the effects it has on one viewing the film on the big screen, it’s not so easy to regard this as anything but a superficial exercise.
Around the World in Eighty Days is a technical marvel with its stunning, Oscar-winning photography and travelogue approach. We’re taken to London, Paris, Spain, India and China. We travel by balloon, train, boat, and elephant. We witness a bullfight, a deadly religious ceremony, an Indian attack, and a Chinese circus. What we do not do, however, is get involved in the story – because there really isn’t one. Around the World in Eighty Days is a film that dazzles our eyes but leaves our heart cold.
Phileas Fogg (David Niven) is a cold, eccentric, wealthy man who, on a bet, says he can travel around the world in eighty days. While several fellow members of the men-only Reform Club in London make bets against him, Phileas gathers his new valet Passepartout (Cantinflas) and a bag full of pound notes and starts his journey. Along the way he saves a princess (Shirley MacLaine) from death, and maybe finds love. Meanwhile, a not particularly able detective (Robert Newton) pursues Phileas thinking he is the man who robbed the Bank of England and has used the bet to cover his escape.
The film attempts three things to beef up its nonexistent plot: to introduce tension by having Phileas hunted, to have Phileas fall in love with the princess he saved, and to populate the film with cameo appearances by then-famous stars. The first attempt fails because Phileas is able, ever so quickly, to dodge the detective, which means we never feel apprehensive about Phileas’ fate. Basically Detective Fix serves as Wile E. Coyote to Phileas’ Road Runner. The second attempt does not work because the character of Phileas is never explored. We first hear about him via a former valet who talks about how horrible a master Phileas is. The rest of the film is so preoccupied with the scenery that we never get a sense of Phileas the man. The whole romantic angle feels perfunctory. And the third attempt just takes us out of the story as we think, "Hey there's Frank Sinatra!"
While Around the World in Eighty Days is a jolly and good-looking entertainment, it depends only on its sense of visual scale to engage the viewer. While it’s easy to appreciate the effects it has on one viewing the film on the big screen, it’s not so easy to regard this as anything but a superficial exercise.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
And the Best Picture Nominees for 2008 Will Probably Be...
The Producers and Directors Guilds of America have weighed in with their picks for the best of the year that was 2008. They completely agree. The films in alphabetical order are:
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Dark Knight
Frost/Nixon
Milk
Slumdog Millionaire
While I would swap Slumdog (Number 6 on my list of 2008's best) for Changeling (Number 3), I couldn't be happier with the list. And with The Dark Knight nominated by the directors, producers, and writers guilds, I'm completely expecting the Best Picture nominees (to be announced January 22) to match the list above.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Dark Knight
Frost/Nixon
Milk
Slumdog Millionaire
While I would swap Slumdog (Number 6 on my list of 2008's best) for Changeling (Number 3), I couldn't be happier with the list. And with The Dark Knight nominated by the directors, producers, and writers guilds, I'm completely expecting the Best Picture nominees (to be announced January 22) to match the list above.
Best Picture Winner: 1955
Marty (1955)
As someone who didn’t meet Ms. Right until he was 33, I was especially moved by Marty. In 1955, if you were Marty’s age – 34 – your marital prospects were somewhere between slim and none. Today, of course, people do get married later. But that does not mean there aren’t lonely souls out there who desire, as Marty does, to find love.
Marty Piletti (Ernest Borgnine) is a butcher in an Italian neighborhood in New York. He lives with his mother (Esther Minciotti) and spends Saturday nights hanging out with his best friend Angie (Joe Mantell). At his mother’s urging, Marty attends the Stardust Ballroom where he notices that a homely schoolteacher, Clara (Betsy Blair), has been deserted by her date. When Clara leaves the ballroom to cry, Marty follows her and asks her to dance. The two are attracted to each other, but this does not sit well with Marty’s friends – or his mother, who has changed her tune about Marty’s marriage because her sister Catherine (Augusta Ciolli) has been forced out of the small apartment she shared with her son and daughter-in-law.
Marty’s themes are as relevant today and they were fifty years ago. Marty wants love, but feels his physical traits (“I’m a fat, ugly man.”) will prevent such a relationship. Clara is called a “dog” by Marty’s friends, none of whom can claim a Mr. America title themselves. Marty’s mother fears she’ll be abandoned if Marty does move out. And Marty’s cousin Tommy must make the tough choice of asking his mother to move out because she is making life difficult for Tommy’s wife. All of this is handled with gentle humor and understanding. But there is much truth here with regards to the old, the middle-aged, and the young.
Ernest Borgnine delivers an Oscar-winning performance, and makes the pain and hurt Marty’s feeling truly palpable. Marty is a decent, honest person who is easy to root for. An absolutely charming scene has Marty walking with Clara to get some coffee and he cannot shut up. Even when he realizes he’s talking too much he cannot close his mouth. It’s a funny, thrilling scene because we know Marty has finally made a connection and we feel his excitement.
Delbert Mann directs in a simple, unflashy style, letting the cast deliver Paddy Chayefsky’s wonderful dialogue. But perhaps the most powerful scene in the film is one with neither camera movement nor dialogue. At the ballroom, Marty knows Clara is about to be dumped. Mann’s camera remains stationary as Clara’s date goes over to Clara who is seated alone to tell her he’s leaving. Marty can be seen watching as this happens. The only sound we hear is the band’s music. The date leaves and for what seems like agonizing minutes we watch as Clara sits humiliated while Marty stands still trying to decide what to do. We can sense what both characters are thinking, and our hearts ache for Clara. There is such emotion and power in these few moments that it’s a relief when Marty makes his move and asks Clara, who has run to a deserted balcony, to dance.
Since we live in a culture that, more so than in the 1950s, is obsessed with youth and beauty, Marty has lost none of its ability to tug on the heartstrings. Marty is a romantic gem.
As someone who didn’t meet Ms. Right until he was 33, I was especially moved by Marty. In 1955, if you were Marty’s age – 34 – your marital prospects were somewhere between slim and none. Today, of course, people do get married later. But that does not mean there aren’t lonely souls out there who desire, as Marty does, to find love.
Marty Piletti (Ernest Borgnine) is a butcher in an Italian neighborhood in New York. He lives with his mother (Esther Minciotti) and spends Saturday nights hanging out with his best friend Angie (Joe Mantell). At his mother’s urging, Marty attends the Stardust Ballroom where he notices that a homely schoolteacher, Clara (Betsy Blair), has been deserted by her date. When Clara leaves the ballroom to cry, Marty follows her and asks her to dance. The two are attracted to each other, but this does not sit well with Marty’s friends – or his mother, who has changed her tune about Marty’s marriage because her sister Catherine (Augusta Ciolli) has been forced out of the small apartment she shared with her son and daughter-in-law.
Marty’s themes are as relevant today and they were fifty years ago. Marty wants love, but feels his physical traits (“I’m a fat, ugly man.”) will prevent such a relationship. Clara is called a “dog” by Marty’s friends, none of whom can claim a Mr. America title themselves. Marty’s mother fears she’ll be abandoned if Marty does move out. And Marty’s cousin Tommy must make the tough choice of asking his mother to move out because she is making life difficult for Tommy’s wife. All of this is handled with gentle humor and understanding. But there is much truth here with regards to the old, the middle-aged, and the young.
Ernest Borgnine delivers an Oscar-winning performance, and makes the pain and hurt Marty’s feeling truly palpable. Marty is a decent, honest person who is easy to root for. An absolutely charming scene has Marty walking with Clara to get some coffee and he cannot shut up. Even when he realizes he’s talking too much he cannot close his mouth. It’s a funny, thrilling scene because we know Marty has finally made a connection and we feel his excitement.
Delbert Mann directs in a simple, unflashy style, letting the cast deliver Paddy Chayefsky’s wonderful dialogue. But perhaps the most powerful scene in the film is one with neither camera movement nor dialogue. At the ballroom, Marty knows Clara is about to be dumped. Mann’s camera remains stationary as Clara’s date goes over to Clara who is seated alone to tell her he’s leaving. Marty can be seen watching as this happens. The only sound we hear is the band’s music. The date leaves and for what seems like agonizing minutes we watch as Clara sits humiliated while Marty stands still trying to decide what to do. We can sense what both characters are thinking, and our hearts ache for Clara. There is such emotion and power in these few moments that it’s a relief when Marty makes his move and asks Clara, who has run to a deserted balcony, to dance.
Since we live in a culture that, more so than in the 1950s, is obsessed with youth and beauty, Marty has lost none of its ability to tug on the heartstrings. Marty is a romantic gem.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1954
On the Waterfront (1954)
After years of glossy, polished Best Picture winners comes On the Waterfront, a gritty, stark look at corruption and murder plaguing a town that survives on its longshoremen trade. By shooting on location and utilizing multiple close-ups to provide a feeling of intimacy, director Elia Kazan makes the audience feel like they are participants in the action, not just witnesses.
Terry Malloy (Marlon Brando) is having a crisis of conscience. Having followed his older brother Charley (Rod Steiger) into the clutches of corrupt union boss Johnny Friendly (Lee J. Cobb), Terry has unwittingly participated in the murder of Tommy Doyle, a longshoreman who has testified against the union for the Waterfront Crime Commission. An emerging romance with Tommy’s sister Edie (Eva Marie Saint) and a determined priest (Karl Malden) urging the dock workers to unite and fight against Friendly cause Terry to reevaluate both his past and present circumstances.
On the Waterfront casts aside the typically attractive Hollywood aesthetics to provide a bleak, urgent look at characters seemingly caught in no win situations. Terry knows the danger he faces by becoming a rat. But he also knows that without telling the truth he will not be able to stay with the woman he loves. When Johnny asks Charley to “talk” to Terry about a potential betrayal, Charley knows if he doesn’t persuade Terry to keep quiet, it could mean both their lives. Later in the film we learn that Charley, on behalf of Johnny Friendly, asked Terry to take a few dives in the boxing ring, thereby ending what could have been a prosperous career for Terry. These two brothers’ demons are unleashed during the classic scene in a taxicab where Terry, teary-eyed, tells Charley, “You shoulda looked out for me a little.”
Brando is an actor who so immerses himself in his roles that he becomes the character. His Terry Malloy is character we feel for because we completely understand the circumstances that put him on the wrong path. Terry’s evolution into someone poised to risk his life to stand up against evil is one of the great character arcs of the cinema. Brando never overplays Terry. There are several instances where the actor could have delivered dialogue full of thunder and rage but instead chose quiet and sadness. It is a deservedly praised performance.
The rest of the cast is in top form. Steiger convincingly portrays a man who must decide whether to sacrifice his own for his brother’s. Karl Malden’s Father Barry delivers a stirring emotional plea to the dock workers after an “accident” claims the life of one of their own. And Eva Marie Saint perfectly balances her character’s naïveté and outrage.
In spite of the film’s bleak subject matter, On the Waterfront is ultimately an uplifting experience due to its resolution. The film plays as well today as it did more than fifty years ago since its subject matter is as timely as ever. What we need now are some more Terry Malloys.
After years of glossy, polished Best Picture winners comes On the Waterfront, a gritty, stark look at corruption and murder plaguing a town that survives on its longshoremen trade. By shooting on location and utilizing multiple close-ups to provide a feeling of intimacy, director Elia Kazan makes the audience feel like they are participants in the action, not just witnesses.
Terry Malloy (Marlon Brando) is having a crisis of conscience. Having followed his older brother Charley (Rod Steiger) into the clutches of corrupt union boss Johnny Friendly (Lee J. Cobb), Terry has unwittingly participated in the murder of Tommy Doyle, a longshoreman who has testified against the union for the Waterfront Crime Commission. An emerging romance with Tommy’s sister Edie (Eva Marie Saint) and a determined priest (Karl Malden) urging the dock workers to unite and fight against Friendly cause Terry to reevaluate both his past and present circumstances.
On the Waterfront casts aside the typically attractive Hollywood aesthetics to provide a bleak, urgent look at characters seemingly caught in no win situations. Terry knows the danger he faces by becoming a rat. But he also knows that without telling the truth he will not be able to stay with the woman he loves. When Johnny asks Charley to “talk” to Terry about a potential betrayal, Charley knows if he doesn’t persuade Terry to keep quiet, it could mean both their lives. Later in the film we learn that Charley, on behalf of Johnny Friendly, asked Terry to take a few dives in the boxing ring, thereby ending what could have been a prosperous career for Terry. These two brothers’ demons are unleashed during the classic scene in a taxicab where Terry, teary-eyed, tells Charley, “You shoulda looked out for me a little.”
Brando is an actor who so immerses himself in his roles that he becomes the character. His Terry Malloy is character we feel for because we completely understand the circumstances that put him on the wrong path. Terry’s evolution into someone poised to risk his life to stand up against evil is one of the great character arcs of the cinema. Brando never overplays Terry. There are several instances where the actor could have delivered dialogue full of thunder and rage but instead chose quiet and sadness. It is a deservedly praised performance.
The rest of the cast is in top form. Steiger convincingly portrays a man who must decide whether to sacrifice his own for his brother’s. Karl Malden’s Father Barry delivers a stirring emotional plea to the dock workers after an “accident” claims the life of one of their own. And Eva Marie Saint perfectly balances her character’s naïveté and outrage.
In spite of the film’s bleak subject matter, On the Waterfront is ultimately an uplifting experience due to its resolution. The film plays as well today as it did more than fifty years ago since its subject matter is as timely as ever. What we need now are some more Terry Malloys.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1953
From Here to Eternity (1953)
A few months before the attack on Pearl Harbor, Private Robert E. Lee Prewitt (Montgomery Clift) arrives at his new station in Hawaii and immediately runs into problems. His captain (Philip Ober) wants him to box but Prewitt refuses, making him an object of harassment for the rest of the boxing team. Sergeant Milton Warden (Burt Lancaster), the second in command, doesn’t seem to care for “Prew” and his lone wolf attitude. Prew does find a friend in the happy-go-lucky Private Angelo Maggio (Frank Sinatra). When Maggio takes Prew with him to a social club, Prew meets and falls for Lorene (Donna Reed). Meanwhile, Warden starts an affair with the captain’s wife Karen (Deborah Kerr).
From Here to Eternity is an unexpectedly powerful film, unexpectedly because, on paper, the plot sounds like a traditional soap opera. But because of the strong cast, and because the film explores such various themes such as individualism versus group (Prew doesn’t want to box even though it may lead the company to victory, Warden resists becoming an officer), bigotry (Maggio encounters prejudice from the sergeant in charge of the stockade), and class discrimination (Lorene is saving money so she can return home and marry someone “proper”), the film becomes much more than simply a few soldiers and their love lives. And because we the audience know that the attack is coming, we are aware that the days of certain characters may be numbered. When the attack does come, it’s as compelling a sequence as in any film about the horrors of war.
The cast is exceptional. Sinatra and Reed won Oscars for their performances, while Kerr, Lancaster and Clift were nominated. Under Fred Zinnemann’s sure direction, all are utterly convincing in their roles, none are caricatures. The now classic scene of Lancaster and Kerr on the beach (as the waves sweep in and “consume” the lovers) remains one of the best visualizations of passion in the cinema. This moment will be hauntingly paralleled later when the Japanese bombers sweep over the military base claiming the lives of several soldiers.
The film ultimately poses several troubling questions once we know certain characters’ fates. Did Prew make the right decision, or should he have given in to Holmes’ request? What was Lorene’s motivation for the story she tells Karen on the boat, or was she repeating something Warden told her? From Here to Eternity is one of those rare films where we’d like to know how the characters’ lives turned out: did Karen and Lorene find happiness back in the States, what was Warden’s role in World War II and did he survive? Some movies leave our senses as soon as the film is over. From Here to Eternity leaves us wanting to know more.
A few months before the attack on Pearl Harbor, Private Robert E. Lee Prewitt (Montgomery Clift) arrives at his new station in Hawaii and immediately runs into problems. His captain (Philip Ober) wants him to box but Prewitt refuses, making him an object of harassment for the rest of the boxing team. Sergeant Milton Warden (Burt Lancaster), the second in command, doesn’t seem to care for “Prew” and his lone wolf attitude. Prew does find a friend in the happy-go-lucky Private Angelo Maggio (Frank Sinatra). When Maggio takes Prew with him to a social club, Prew meets and falls for Lorene (Donna Reed). Meanwhile, Warden starts an affair with the captain’s wife Karen (Deborah Kerr).
From Here to Eternity is an unexpectedly powerful film, unexpectedly because, on paper, the plot sounds like a traditional soap opera. But because of the strong cast, and because the film explores such various themes such as individualism versus group (Prew doesn’t want to box even though it may lead the company to victory, Warden resists becoming an officer), bigotry (Maggio encounters prejudice from the sergeant in charge of the stockade), and class discrimination (Lorene is saving money so she can return home and marry someone “proper”), the film becomes much more than simply a few soldiers and their love lives. And because we the audience know that the attack is coming, we are aware that the days of certain characters may be numbered. When the attack does come, it’s as compelling a sequence as in any film about the horrors of war.
The cast is exceptional. Sinatra and Reed won Oscars for their performances, while Kerr, Lancaster and Clift were nominated. Under Fred Zinnemann’s sure direction, all are utterly convincing in their roles, none are caricatures. The now classic scene of Lancaster and Kerr on the beach (as the waves sweep in and “consume” the lovers) remains one of the best visualizations of passion in the cinema. This moment will be hauntingly paralleled later when the Japanese bombers sweep over the military base claiming the lives of several soldiers.
The film ultimately poses several troubling questions once we know certain characters’ fates. Did Prew make the right decision, or should he have given in to Holmes’ request? What was Lorene’s motivation for the story she tells Karen on the boat, or was she repeating something Warden told her? From Here to Eternity is one of those rare films where we’d like to know how the characters’ lives turned out: did Karen and Lorene find happiness back in the States, what was Warden’s role in World War II and did he survive? Some movies leave our senses as soon as the film is over. From Here to Eternity leaves us wanting to know more.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1952
The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)
This colorful ode to the circus and those who bring us “the greatest show on earth” stars Charlton Heston as manager Brad Braden who’s having problems with the circus’ Board of Directors. They want him to cut the circus’ season to maximize profits. Brad wants to do a full season so as not to demoralize the performers and deny smaller towns the joy of the circus. To this end he hires a notorious trapeze artist know as The Great Sebastian (Cornel Wilde), notorious because trouble seems to follow him everywhere. However, hiring Sebastian means Holly (Betty Hutton), the girl whom Brad loves, will lose center ring, the place where the most notable acts perform. Throw in a clown (James Stewart) with a secret (he’s never seen without his makeup), Sebastian’s old girlfriend (Gloria Grahame), some crooked circus folk, and some actual circus performances and you have what might be called, “As the Circus Turns.”
In a year that saw such classics as High Noon and The Quiet Man, The Greatest Show on Earth is looked upon by some as a blunder in voter thinking. But it’s not too hard to understand why the Academy went with this spectacle of a film. It’s lively, is well cast, features impressive feats from the performers, is ultimately upbeat, and features a spectacular catastrophe near films end. The cast is energetic and attractive. And James Stewart’s Buttons the Clown provides the pathos.
The film, however, sets up a challenge for itself that it cannot overcome. Watching the circus live is a totally different experience from watching a film of an audience watching the circus live. Or, to put it another way, we’re supposed to have fun watching other people have fun. The film clocks in at about two and half hours and there is too much time spent on just watching circus acts. Unfortunately, The Greatest Show on Earth does not successfully capture the atmosphere or sense of danger that a real circus provides.
There is intermittent suspense in scenes such as Gloria Grahame being threatened by a jealous elephant trainer (with a real elephant) and the battle of dangerous trapeze stunts between Holly and Sebastian. And the train crash provides excitement. But, The Greatest Show on Earth is an uneven film, trying to mix character stories with mostly unrelated circus acts. Nearly all of it is watchable but only occasional moments involve us emotionally. But man, now I want to go see the circus next time it comes to town.
This colorful ode to the circus and those who bring us “the greatest show on earth” stars Charlton Heston as manager Brad Braden who’s having problems with the circus’ Board of Directors. They want him to cut the circus’ season to maximize profits. Brad wants to do a full season so as not to demoralize the performers and deny smaller towns the joy of the circus. To this end he hires a notorious trapeze artist know as The Great Sebastian (Cornel Wilde), notorious because trouble seems to follow him everywhere. However, hiring Sebastian means Holly (Betty Hutton), the girl whom Brad loves, will lose center ring, the place where the most notable acts perform. Throw in a clown (James Stewart) with a secret (he’s never seen without his makeup), Sebastian’s old girlfriend (Gloria Grahame), some crooked circus folk, and some actual circus performances and you have what might be called, “As the Circus Turns.”
In a year that saw such classics as High Noon and The Quiet Man, The Greatest Show on Earth is looked upon by some as a blunder in voter thinking. But it’s not too hard to understand why the Academy went with this spectacle of a film. It’s lively, is well cast, features impressive feats from the performers, is ultimately upbeat, and features a spectacular catastrophe near films end. The cast is energetic and attractive. And James Stewart’s Buttons the Clown provides the pathos.
The film, however, sets up a challenge for itself that it cannot overcome. Watching the circus live is a totally different experience from watching a film of an audience watching the circus live. Or, to put it another way, we’re supposed to have fun watching other people have fun. The film clocks in at about two and half hours and there is too much time spent on just watching circus acts. Unfortunately, The Greatest Show on Earth does not successfully capture the atmosphere or sense of danger that a real circus provides.
There is intermittent suspense in scenes such as Gloria Grahame being threatened by a jealous elephant trainer (with a real elephant) and the battle of dangerous trapeze stunts between Holly and Sebastian. And the train crash provides excitement. But, The Greatest Show on Earth is an uneven film, trying to mix character stories with mostly unrelated circus acts. Nearly all of it is watchable but only occasional moments involve us emotionally. But man, now I want to go see the circus next time it comes to town.
Saturday Night at the Frights: January 3, 2009
The Brain (1962)
This remake of Donovan’s Brain (1953) stars Peter van Eyck as Peter Corrie, a scientist working to keep animal brains alive once the bodies have stopped working. He is called to provide medical assistance to a plane crash survivor, and even though the survivor, a wealthy international financier whose plane was sabotaged, appears dead, Corrie realizes he can keep the victim’s brain alive. Problems arise when the strong-willed brain overtakes Corrie’s personality and has Corrie try to solve his murder.
More of a murder mystery with supernatural elements than an outright horror film, The Brain served as award-winning cinematographer Freddie Francis’ horror film directing debut. He adopts an eerie, noirish style to tell the story and maintains a taut pace. He uses close-ups on Eyck to signal the personality changes, but these are kept to a minimum. As a result, The Brain plays more like a detective story, with Corrie interviewing suspects and occasionally upsetting them by adopting Holt’s (the victim) mannerisms or voice. Still, the ending provides a surprise or two (at least as to motivation) and the movie is enjoyable if not particularly memorable. However, those looking for an outright horror tale will likely be disappointed.
The Cabinet of Caligari (1962)
When Jane’s (Glynis Johns) car breaks down, she seeks assistance from a nearby estate. Her host promises help, but the next day she wakes up and finds herself a prisoner. Who is this mysterious Caligari who wants to question her about her life and why is he holding her captive?
The 1960s were loaded with twisty, black and white thrillers thanks the success of Psycho (1960). Robert Bloch, on whose novel Hitchcock’s 1960 classic was based, wrote the script for this one, and it’s a mixed bag. Johns hits the right notes of hysteria and Dan O’Herlihy is captivatingly sinister as the mysterious Caligari. But the film itself is a half hour Alfred Hitchcock Presents or Twilight Zone episode stretched to an hour and forty-five minutes. There’s a two-pronged twist at the end that half works. But there are too many scenes that seem like the same ground is being covered again and again. The title suggests it’s a remake of the 1920 classic, but this is not the case. The Cabinet of Caligari is a modest success thanks to its cast.
The Flesh Eaters (1964)
Pilot Grant Murdoch (Byron Sanders) is flying an alcoholic actress (Rita Morley) and her secretary (Barbara Wilkin) to the former’s next performance when they must make an emergency landing. Little do they know that the island they picked is home to a Nazi-inspired mad scientist (Martin Kosleck) and his flesh eaters.
This grandly entertaining low-budget feature serves as a showcase for Martin Kosleck, who became something of a second-tier horror star of the 1940s with performances in The Mummy’s Curse (1944), The Frozen Ghost (1945) and House of Horrors (1946). While the rest of the cast, most of whom spent their careers playing minor roles in episodic television, are merely adequate, Kosleck gets to pull out all the stops as the seemingly concerned and helpful biologist who is secretly plotting the unwanted visitors’ doom. The audience is well aware of the duplicity, and The Flesh Eaters is a lot of fun for those of us who have a taste for mad scientist pictures.
The other item worth noting is the rather gory nature of some of the deaths. This film and Blood Feast (1963) helped launch the gore films that started replacing the gothic horrors of the 1960s. The bloody effects, shown mostly in quick cuts, are effective if not spectacular. And while the presentation of the mammoth flesh eater won’t win any technical awards, it somehow suits the film given the subject matter and style. Add to all of this a dose of intentional humor, and The Flesh Eaters is any easy recommendation for fans of more outlandish horror fare.
This remake of Donovan’s Brain (1953) stars Peter van Eyck as Peter Corrie, a scientist working to keep animal brains alive once the bodies have stopped working. He is called to provide medical assistance to a plane crash survivor, and even though the survivor, a wealthy international financier whose plane was sabotaged, appears dead, Corrie realizes he can keep the victim’s brain alive. Problems arise when the strong-willed brain overtakes Corrie’s personality and has Corrie try to solve his murder.
More of a murder mystery with supernatural elements than an outright horror film, The Brain served as award-winning cinematographer Freddie Francis’ horror film directing debut. He adopts an eerie, noirish style to tell the story and maintains a taut pace. He uses close-ups on Eyck to signal the personality changes, but these are kept to a minimum. As a result, The Brain plays more like a detective story, with Corrie interviewing suspects and occasionally upsetting them by adopting Holt’s (the victim) mannerisms or voice. Still, the ending provides a surprise or two (at least as to motivation) and the movie is enjoyable if not particularly memorable. However, those looking for an outright horror tale will likely be disappointed.
The Cabinet of Caligari (1962)
When Jane’s (Glynis Johns) car breaks down, she seeks assistance from a nearby estate. Her host promises help, but the next day she wakes up and finds herself a prisoner. Who is this mysterious Caligari who wants to question her about her life and why is he holding her captive?
The 1960s were loaded with twisty, black and white thrillers thanks the success of Psycho (1960). Robert Bloch, on whose novel Hitchcock’s 1960 classic was based, wrote the script for this one, and it’s a mixed bag. Johns hits the right notes of hysteria and Dan O’Herlihy is captivatingly sinister as the mysterious Caligari. But the film itself is a half hour Alfred Hitchcock Presents or Twilight Zone episode stretched to an hour and forty-five minutes. There’s a two-pronged twist at the end that half works. But there are too many scenes that seem like the same ground is being covered again and again. The title suggests it’s a remake of the 1920 classic, but this is not the case. The Cabinet of Caligari is a modest success thanks to its cast.
The Flesh Eaters (1964)
Pilot Grant Murdoch (Byron Sanders) is flying an alcoholic actress (Rita Morley) and her secretary (Barbara Wilkin) to the former’s next performance when they must make an emergency landing. Little do they know that the island they picked is home to a Nazi-inspired mad scientist (Martin Kosleck) and his flesh eaters.
This grandly entertaining low-budget feature serves as a showcase for Martin Kosleck, who became something of a second-tier horror star of the 1940s with performances in The Mummy’s Curse (1944), The Frozen Ghost (1945) and House of Horrors (1946). While the rest of the cast, most of whom spent their careers playing minor roles in episodic television, are merely adequate, Kosleck gets to pull out all the stops as the seemingly concerned and helpful biologist who is secretly plotting the unwanted visitors’ doom. The audience is well aware of the duplicity, and The Flesh Eaters is a lot of fun for those of us who have a taste for mad scientist pictures.
The other item worth noting is the rather gory nature of some of the deaths. This film and Blood Feast (1963) helped launch the gore films that started replacing the gothic horrors of the 1960s. The bloody effects, shown mostly in quick cuts, are effective if not spectacular. And while the presentation of the mammoth flesh eater won’t win any technical awards, it somehow suits the film given the subject matter and style. Add to all of this a dose of intentional humor, and The Flesh Eaters is any easy recommendation for fans of more outlandish horror fare.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1951
An American in Paris (1951)
When Jerry Mulligan (Gene Kelly) left the army in 1945, he stayed in Paris to pursue being a successful painter because, “all my life, that’s what I wanted to do.” He’s caught the attention of Milo Roberts (Nina Foch), a wealthy American from Baltimore who resides in Paris and has much influence in the art world. But her interest in him is not strictly professional. One night while Jerry and Milo are out networking, Jerry spots Lise Bouvier (Leslie Caron), and falls instantly in love. But she is involved with one of Jerry’s friends, popular cantor Henri Baurel (Georges Guetary), and Henri plans to marry Lise and take her with him when he tours America.
You can probably already guess who ends with whom. The enjoyment of An American in Paris comes from the song and dance sequences featuring Kelly, Caron, Guetary, and/or the American in Paris Ballet. Kelly is as graceful as ever as he performs “Our Love is Here to Stay” and “S Wonderful.” The adorable staging of “I Got Rhythm” has Kelly teaching several French children how to say "I Got," and then have them come in on cue. Lise is introduced to the audience in an inventive dance montage whereby Henri describes Lise’s many traits and moods while Caron dances in various routines with changes in color, costumes, and dance styles. The finale lasts almost twenty minutes, as Jerry imagines himself and Lise together and apart, dancing through the streets of Paris. And Oscar Levant is on hand as an acerbic concert pianist, who’s never had a concert, to provide several laughs.
While it’s easy to enjoy the film today, the character of Jerry is a bit problematic. First, he’s a bit to self-satisfied and overly confident to the point of being a bit obnoxious. He is harsh and rude when dealing with Milo at times. And the way he uses Milo at the end, leading her on, is cruel. Maybe in 1951 this would have passed muster. But today Jerry isn’t a slam dunk in the likeability department. We’re supposed to be rooting for him and Lise to find happiness together. Jerry’s basically a good guy, but he needs to be taught some manners.
Still, An American in Paris it too genial a film to get to upset with old fashioned attitudes. The song and dance numbers work their magic and the film can still put a smile on the face and a spring in the step. But it’s Kelly’s next musical, Singin’ in the Rain (1952), that remains the best showcase for his talents.
When Jerry Mulligan (Gene Kelly) left the army in 1945, he stayed in Paris to pursue being a successful painter because, “all my life, that’s what I wanted to do.” He’s caught the attention of Milo Roberts (Nina Foch), a wealthy American from Baltimore who resides in Paris and has much influence in the art world. But her interest in him is not strictly professional. One night while Jerry and Milo are out networking, Jerry spots Lise Bouvier (Leslie Caron), and falls instantly in love. But she is involved with one of Jerry’s friends, popular cantor Henri Baurel (Georges Guetary), and Henri plans to marry Lise and take her with him when he tours America.
You can probably already guess who ends with whom. The enjoyment of An American in Paris comes from the song and dance sequences featuring Kelly, Caron, Guetary, and/or the American in Paris Ballet. Kelly is as graceful as ever as he performs “Our Love is Here to Stay” and “S Wonderful.” The adorable staging of “I Got Rhythm” has Kelly teaching several French children how to say "I Got," and then have them come in on cue. Lise is introduced to the audience in an inventive dance montage whereby Henri describes Lise’s many traits and moods while Caron dances in various routines with changes in color, costumes, and dance styles. The finale lasts almost twenty minutes, as Jerry imagines himself and Lise together and apart, dancing through the streets of Paris. And Oscar Levant is on hand as an acerbic concert pianist, who’s never had a concert, to provide several laughs.
While it’s easy to enjoy the film today, the character of Jerry is a bit problematic. First, he’s a bit to self-satisfied and overly confident to the point of being a bit obnoxious. He is harsh and rude when dealing with Milo at times. And the way he uses Milo at the end, leading her on, is cruel. Maybe in 1951 this would have passed muster. But today Jerry isn’t a slam dunk in the likeability department. We’re supposed to be rooting for him and Lise to find happiness together. Jerry’s basically a good guy, but he needs to be taught some manners.
Still, An American in Paris it too genial a film to get to upset with old fashioned attitudes. The song and dance numbers work their magic and the film can still put a smile on the face and a spring in the step. But it’s Kelly’s next musical, Singin’ in the Rain (1952), that remains the best showcase for his talents.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Most Overrated Film of 2008?
When a film succeeds both artistically/critically and financially, there are always those more than willing to slap the term “overrated” upon it and proceed to tell everyone how wrong they are for loving it. As The Dark Knight, for example, is one of the most commercially successful films of the year, has a 94% positive score on Rotten Tomatoes, and has landed on many critics top ten lists, it is certainly a candidate for the title. (I do not share the opinion that this film is overrated.) But there is a more deserving film for title of Most Overrated Film of 2008: Slumdog Millionaire.
Now, I liked Slumdog Millionaire. It is an enjoyable, old-fashioned film with a nifty gimmick: accused of cheating on the Hindi version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, an impoverished Mumbai orphan, Jamal Malik, must recount his life in order to explain how he knows the answers. That the sequence of the questions exactly mirrors the events in his life is an obvious construct, but is of minor consequence to the overall enjoyment of the film. The major problem with the story is the stacking of the emotional deck: the film surrounds Jamal with villains at every turn, as if the makers don’t have confidence in the audience sympathizing with Jamal without constant threats.
The two main baddies are Maman, who kidnaps orphans and forces them to sing on the streets for money, and Javed, the gangster who holds Latika, the girl Jamal loves. These are villains of the Snidley Whiplash variety who have no characterization beyond them being villains. (Contrast this with Heath Ledger’s Joker or Aaron Eckhart’s Two Face in The Dark Knight). Javed, for example, walks into the house he shares with Latika and berates her, orders food from her, has a temper tantrum while watching a sporting event on television, etc. He is a caricature, not a character. Maman intentionally blinds children to better increase their earning potential. Is there any real challenge here to dislike these guys?
But that’s not enough for screenwriter Simon Beaufoy. It’s not enough that Jamal is falsely arrested for cheating. No, he has to be tortured in the opening scene. It’s not enough that the game show host is an egotistical lout. He must also attempt to mislead Jamal into giving the wrong answer. And then there’s Jamal’s older brother Salim, who alternately protects and persecutes his younger brother. But Salim’s actions feel more like plot functions (time to have Jamal suffer another setback, so let’s have Salim rape Latika) than feeling like a natural part of the story. Salim’s final actions seem wholly contrived and are not at all convincing.
Thus I was never genuinely moved by this film. The film never overcame its artificial constructs and made me forget I was watching a scripted piece. I enjoyed if for its realistic depiction of poverty, its romanticism, its story of the underdog making good. But I did not enjoy, in the end analysis, feeling like I was being pushed instead of being guided.
Now, I liked Slumdog Millionaire. It is an enjoyable, old-fashioned film with a nifty gimmick: accused of cheating on the Hindi version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, an impoverished Mumbai orphan, Jamal Malik, must recount his life in order to explain how he knows the answers. That the sequence of the questions exactly mirrors the events in his life is an obvious construct, but is of minor consequence to the overall enjoyment of the film. The major problem with the story is the stacking of the emotional deck: the film surrounds Jamal with villains at every turn, as if the makers don’t have confidence in the audience sympathizing with Jamal without constant threats.
The two main baddies are Maman, who kidnaps orphans and forces them to sing on the streets for money, and Javed, the gangster who holds Latika, the girl Jamal loves. These are villains of the Snidley Whiplash variety who have no characterization beyond them being villains. (Contrast this with Heath Ledger’s Joker or Aaron Eckhart’s Two Face in The Dark Knight). Javed, for example, walks into the house he shares with Latika and berates her, orders food from her, has a temper tantrum while watching a sporting event on television, etc. He is a caricature, not a character. Maman intentionally blinds children to better increase their earning potential. Is there any real challenge here to dislike these guys?
But that’s not enough for screenwriter Simon Beaufoy. It’s not enough that Jamal is falsely arrested for cheating. No, he has to be tortured in the opening scene. It’s not enough that the game show host is an egotistical lout. He must also attempt to mislead Jamal into giving the wrong answer. And then there’s Jamal’s older brother Salim, who alternately protects and persecutes his younger brother. But Salim’s actions feel more like plot functions (time to have Jamal suffer another setback, so let’s have Salim rape Latika) than feeling like a natural part of the story. Salim’s final actions seem wholly contrived and are not at all convincing.
Thus I was never genuinely moved by this film. The film never overcame its artificial constructs and made me forget I was watching a scripted piece. I enjoyed if for its realistic depiction of poverty, its romanticism, its story of the underdog making good. But I did not enjoy, in the end analysis, feeling like I was being pushed instead of being guided.
Best Picture Winner: 1950
All About Eve (1950)
I first saw this film last February and it became an instant favorite, mainly due to the sharp-as-a-razor-blade dialogue. With Bette Davis, George Sanders, and Thelma Ritter hurling out zingers left and right, All About Eve is one of cinema’s most audibly captivating movies. But it’s also one of the most vicious looks at what some people will do to get their break in show business.
When Broadway sensation Margo Channing (Bette Davis) is first introduced to Eve Manning (Anne Baxter), she takes pity on this poor, lonely woman, whose only pleasure in life seems to come from watching Margo on the stage. Margo offers Eve not only a job in her employ, but also a place to stay at Margo’s swank New York apartment. But before long Eve’s plan becomes clear: she wants to be on Broadway too, and she will do anything to get there.
Eve lies, backstabs, blackmails and double-crosses throughout the entire film, and we know she succeeds because the film opens with her about to receive the coveted Sarah Siddons Award for Distinguished Achievement. The fact is Eve turns out to be a terrific actress, and just needed a break to prove it. But her methods are horrific, turning friend against friend and threatening marriages. She is not a sympathetic character by any stretch of the imagination, and there is pleasure to be derived when Eve receives her comeuppance from George Sanders’ acidic theater critic Addison DeWitt as he delivers a tongue-lashing as fine as there’s ever been in the movies.
One of the joys of the film is that is populated by intelligent people. Bette Davis’ Margo Channing knows she is growing older and, now in her 40s, can no longer play 25 year-olds. Her wrestling with this issue is what makes her vulnerable to Eve, who picks and exploits Margo exactly because of the age issue. The characters in this film don’t make their mistakes because they’re stupid. Rather, they are taken advantage of by a shrewd personality who caters to egos and tells people what they want to hear. And perhaps the script’s most ingenious stroke is to have the loathed Addison DeWitt actually be the one who takes the winds out of Eve’s sails. She may go on to have a successful career in the theater and perhaps even Hollywood, but her alliance with DeWitt will forever leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth. The film’s final scene, where a fan shows up in Eve’s room after the awards ceremony, suggests none of this is lost on Eve.
All About Eve plays as well today as it did in 1950 because we non-theater folk can imagine this kind of backstabbing going on today. In 1950 this story may have been looked upon as cynical, a sort of extreme situation. Today, All About Eve is viewed as standard operating procedure.
I first saw this film last February and it became an instant favorite, mainly due to the sharp-as-a-razor-blade dialogue. With Bette Davis, George Sanders, and Thelma Ritter hurling out zingers left and right, All About Eve is one of cinema’s most audibly captivating movies. But it’s also one of the most vicious looks at what some people will do to get their break in show business.
When Broadway sensation Margo Channing (Bette Davis) is first introduced to Eve Manning (Anne Baxter), she takes pity on this poor, lonely woman, whose only pleasure in life seems to come from watching Margo on the stage. Margo offers Eve not only a job in her employ, but also a place to stay at Margo’s swank New York apartment. But before long Eve’s plan becomes clear: she wants to be on Broadway too, and she will do anything to get there.
Eve lies, backstabs, blackmails and double-crosses throughout the entire film, and we know she succeeds because the film opens with her about to receive the coveted Sarah Siddons Award for Distinguished Achievement. The fact is Eve turns out to be a terrific actress, and just needed a break to prove it. But her methods are horrific, turning friend against friend and threatening marriages. She is not a sympathetic character by any stretch of the imagination, and there is pleasure to be derived when Eve receives her comeuppance from George Sanders’ acidic theater critic Addison DeWitt as he delivers a tongue-lashing as fine as there’s ever been in the movies.
One of the joys of the film is that is populated by intelligent people. Bette Davis’ Margo Channing knows she is growing older and, now in her 40s, can no longer play 25 year-olds. Her wrestling with this issue is what makes her vulnerable to Eve, who picks and exploits Margo exactly because of the age issue. The characters in this film don’t make their mistakes because they’re stupid. Rather, they are taken advantage of by a shrewd personality who caters to egos and tells people what they want to hear. And perhaps the script’s most ingenious stroke is to have the loathed Addison DeWitt actually be the one who takes the winds out of Eve’s sails. She may go on to have a successful career in the theater and perhaps even Hollywood, but her alliance with DeWitt will forever leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth. The film’s final scene, where a fan shows up in Eve’s room after the awards ceremony, suggests none of this is lost on Eve.
All About Eve plays as well today as it did in 1950 because we non-theater folk can imagine this kind of backstabbing going on today. In 1950 this story may have been looked upon as cynical, a sort of extreme situation. Today, All About Eve is viewed as standard operating procedure.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Best Picture Winners: 1947 - 1949
And the last quick recaps from films viewed in Feburary 2008:
Gentleman's Agreement (1947)
Gregory Peck stars as a journalist who poses as a Jewish man to write a magazine article about antisemitism. He encounters it everywhere from where he works, to private clubs, to swanky dinner parties - even maybe in his own girlfriend! It's shocking to realize that as recently as the 1940s people could be so overt about their bigotry, and thus the film is still compelling today, even if it seems self-congratulatory in its telling.
Hamlet (1948)
Sir Laurence Olivier directed himself to a Best Actor Oscar in this riveting adaptation of one of Shakespeare's best-know plays. Young Hamlet is told by the ghost of his father that his death was murder, and Hamlet must figure how to avenge the crime. The photography and art direction make this feel like a film noir, and given the outcome that's entirely appropriate.
All the King's Men (1949)
Broderick Crawford stars as Willie Stark, a man so fed up with corrupt politicians that he enters politics himself, and becomes just as corrupt. Loosely based on Louisiana senator Huey Long, this story of how power corrupts is just as relevant today as it was sixty years ago, with a mesmerizing performance by Crawford at its core.
Gentleman's Agreement (1947)
Gregory Peck stars as a journalist who poses as a Jewish man to write a magazine article about antisemitism. He encounters it everywhere from where he works, to private clubs, to swanky dinner parties - even maybe in his own girlfriend! It's shocking to realize that as recently as the 1940s people could be so overt about their bigotry, and thus the film is still compelling today, even if it seems self-congratulatory in its telling.
Hamlet (1948)
Sir Laurence Olivier directed himself to a Best Actor Oscar in this riveting adaptation of one of Shakespeare's best-know plays. Young Hamlet is told by the ghost of his father that his death was murder, and Hamlet must figure how to avenge the crime. The photography and art direction make this feel like a film noir, and given the outcome that's entirely appropriate.
All the King's Men (1949)
Broderick Crawford stars as Willie Stark, a man so fed up with corrupt politicians that he enters politics himself, and becomes just as corrupt. Loosely based on Louisiana senator Huey Long, this story of how power corrupts is just as relevant today as it was sixty years ago, with a mesmerizing performance by Crawford at its core.
Best Picture Winners: 1945 - 1946
More recaps from films viewed in January/February 2008:
The Lost Weekend (1945)
While cinema's first real look at alcoholism may have packed a punch in 1945, today it seems rather silly. Ray Milland is the New York writer who has problems with drink, and he's fine. But his soliloquies to the wonders of intoxication get repetitive and silly. And the fever pitch presentation of certain plot points is over-the-top.
The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
Engrossing and moving film of life for three servicemen who meet while returning home after WW II, and their attempts to return to normal lives. Al Stephenson (Frederick March) is a family man with two children; Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) was married just before he left and find his wife may not be that excited about his return to being a soda jerk; and Homer Parish (Harold Russell) tries to figure out if he should marry his long-time love. Flawless performances by all involve the audience from star to finish, as well as serving a reminder that veterans problems don't end when they leave the battlefield.
The Lost Weekend (1945)
While cinema's first real look at alcoholism may have packed a punch in 1945, today it seems rather silly. Ray Milland is the New York writer who has problems with drink, and he's fine. But his soliloquies to the wonders of intoxication get repetitive and silly. And the fever pitch presentation of certain plot points is over-the-top.
The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
Engrossing and moving film of life for three servicemen who meet while returning home after WW II, and their attempts to return to normal lives. Al Stephenson (Frederick March) is a family man with two children; Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) was married just before he left and find his wife may not be that excited about his return to being a soda jerk; and Homer Parish (Harold Russell) tries to figure out if he should marry his long-time love. Flawless performances by all involve the audience from star to finish, as well as serving a reminder that veterans problems don't end when they leave the battlefield.
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