Patton (1970)
According to the film Patton, General George S. Patton was a man of contradictions. He believed in God but also reincarnation. He loved war but also wrote poetry. He could be tough and mean to a soldier but also gentle and kind. Patton was an easy man to respect but a hard man to love. This 1970 film is based on two biographies on Patton and one suspects it’s more truthful than not. George C. Scott gives a towering, Oscar-winning performance as the larger-than-life general, a man who felt he was born to be at war.
As the film opens Patton (George C. Scott) has just been promoted to Lieutenant General and already has a reputation as a hard ass. He takes over command in North Africa after a crushing American defeat at the Battle of the Kasserine Pass. His leadership results in a successful campaign to invade Italy. But when Patton slaps around a soldier suffering from bad nerves, he is relieved of his command. Assigned to duties such as speaking to the ladies of the “Doughnut Dugout,” Patton cannot stand the idea of not being in battle, and begs General “Brad” Bradley (Karl Malden), a close associate, to give him another chance at command before the war ends.
Patton is a fascinating portrait of a man who believes he was meant for great things. He reads and studies past leaders and their accomplishments – he seems to know about every battle ever fought. He realizes he’s a prima donna but also knows his abilities. He speaks his mind without regard to consequence. And he believes God is on his side – why else would the weather suddenly clear up so he can march his troops into Germany? He doesn’t really have friends, but he is generally admired by those who work for him. He is clearly a born leader. But it is disturbing that he seems to need war so much, to fight some enemy. As soon as World War II is over he wants to go after the Russians, allies during the war who now, as Patton sees it, pose a threat. “God, how I love it so,” he says while observing the aftermath of battle.
The film opens with the now-classic scene of Patton addressing the military while a large American flag hangs in the background. His message is essentially to kick the Nazi’s collective asses and take no prisoners. Americans love to fight; we love it so much that we can’t possibly lose. It’s a savage but stirring call to arms. It’s the best scene in the movie. But there are many other memorable scenes, such as Patton shooting two mules and having them tossed over a bridge so the troops can continue their march. There’s his deliberate insult to the Russian commander as Patton refuses to drink with this, “son of a bitch.” There’s the moment where he berates a weeping soldier, accusing him of cowardice. Scott grabs the role of Patton by the throat and never lets it go. He famously refused his Best Actor Oscar since he did not feel acting was meant to be a competition.
Director Franklin J. Schaffner stages some intense battle sequences during Patton. Some of them are mixed with humor, such as when Patton fires a handgun at German fighter planes, which completely miss hitting him. Patton wonders aloud how they missed. The pacing at times seems off, however, as Schaffner lets certain scenes (marching troops, for example) continue longer than need be. Another minor quibble relates to what comes off as a Hollywoodized version of the German headquarters, with impeccably dressed Nazi officers who always look well groomed and never appear to sweat. These brief but regular glimpses at the enemy serve really to show the impact Patton is having on Hitler’s forces. Perhaps subsequent grittier war films such as Saving Private Ryan have made Patton seem too "clean" to a 21st Century audience.
But the true focus of Patton is on the general himself, and in this regard the film does not disappoint. Anchored by Scott’s riveting performance Patton remains a fascinating look at one of the most complex World War II heroes.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1969
Midnight Cowboy (1969)
The only X-Rated film to ever win Best Picture, Midnight Cowboy is an engrossing character study of two losers who form a friendship out of necessity. One of them finds himself without a place to live, while the other grows sicker by the day and needs someone to take care of him. What results is a touching story about two people whom, in real life, the average person would want nothing to do with.
Joe Buck (Jon Voight), a native Texan who thinks of himself as quite the stud, heads to New York City to make a living as a hustler. He plans to find wealthy women who will pay him for sex. But his total ignorance of the New York populace empties his wallet quickly. At a coffee house he meets a low-level con man, Enrico “Ratso” Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman) who tricks him out of twenty dollars by promising to put Joe in contact with a pimp. Joe eventually catches up with Ratso, who offers to let Joe stay with him in his room in a condemned building. The two start to look out for each other as they work small cons and engage in petty thefts to survive. But as Ratso’s health continues to decline, Joe remembers what happened to the girl (Jennifer Salt) he loved, and is determined to protect his friend from the same fate.
It is very clear from the beginning that Joe is not cut out for what he plans on doing. His first conquest actually gets money out of Joe to pay for cab fair. Later a client at a movie theater confesses he cannot pay, but successfully pleads with Joe not take his watch, the only thing of value he has. Joe is too much of a nice guy to get tough with anyone - that is, until he needs bus fare to get himself and Ratso to Florida. It’s a shocking moment of violence that is uncharacteristic of Joe, but shows how he has come to care about Ratso. Voight plays Joe as a sunny, bright, positive and cheerful person who always thinks success is just around the corner.
Hoffman’s Rizzo, on the other hand, is something of a weasel. He speaks in a whiny, nasally voice and immediately comes across as someone to avoid. But as we get to know Rizzo we start to understand him. Polio has left him a cripple and his father’s shoeshine job did not provide Rizzo with any kind of financial security. He is clearly ill (characters who cough in the movies are always doomed) and he is all alone. Joe may be Ratso’s first real friend. At first their relationship is a business arrangement. Joe can stay with Ratso as a way for Ratso to make up for the $20. They can work together to get funds need to buy food and cigarettes. But their shared, often humorous experiences (Joe getting thrown out of a posh apartment building, the two attending a trendy photography affair) bring them closer together. Voight and Hoffman have real chemistry as Joe and Ratso, and the audience starts to feel tenderness towards this unlikely duo.
John Schlesinger’s direction is full of quick cuts, hallucinatory images, and vivid nightmares. Joe is haunted by a gang rape of himself and his girlfriend, and by the sudden death of his grandmother. These memories will suddenly burst on the screen in black and white or unsteady focus. The sex scenes are energetic but chaotic. But, in spite of the stylish visuals, Midnight Cowboy remains focused on the two leads.
The result is a unique film experience, one that has the audience wrapped up in a story that deals in the exploits of unsavory characters. But the film reveals the humanity of these two misfits and that humanity is what makes their journey together compelling. Thus Midnight Cowboy emerges as one of the great films of the 1960s.
The only X-Rated film to ever win Best Picture, Midnight Cowboy is an engrossing character study of two losers who form a friendship out of necessity. One of them finds himself without a place to live, while the other grows sicker by the day and needs someone to take care of him. What results is a touching story about two people whom, in real life, the average person would want nothing to do with.
Joe Buck (Jon Voight), a native Texan who thinks of himself as quite the stud, heads to New York City to make a living as a hustler. He plans to find wealthy women who will pay him for sex. But his total ignorance of the New York populace empties his wallet quickly. At a coffee house he meets a low-level con man, Enrico “Ratso” Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman) who tricks him out of twenty dollars by promising to put Joe in contact with a pimp. Joe eventually catches up with Ratso, who offers to let Joe stay with him in his room in a condemned building. The two start to look out for each other as they work small cons and engage in petty thefts to survive. But as Ratso’s health continues to decline, Joe remembers what happened to the girl (Jennifer Salt) he loved, and is determined to protect his friend from the same fate.
It is very clear from the beginning that Joe is not cut out for what he plans on doing. His first conquest actually gets money out of Joe to pay for cab fair. Later a client at a movie theater confesses he cannot pay, but successfully pleads with Joe not take his watch, the only thing of value he has. Joe is too much of a nice guy to get tough with anyone - that is, until he needs bus fare to get himself and Ratso to Florida. It’s a shocking moment of violence that is uncharacteristic of Joe, but shows how he has come to care about Ratso. Voight plays Joe as a sunny, bright, positive and cheerful person who always thinks success is just around the corner.
Hoffman’s Rizzo, on the other hand, is something of a weasel. He speaks in a whiny, nasally voice and immediately comes across as someone to avoid. But as we get to know Rizzo we start to understand him. Polio has left him a cripple and his father’s shoeshine job did not provide Rizzo with any kind of financial security. He is clearly ill (characters who cough in the movies are always doomed) and he is all alone. Joe may be Ratso’s first real friend. At first their relationship is a business arrangement. Joe can stay with Ratso as a way for Ratso to make up for the $20. They can work together to get funds need to buy food and cigarettes. But their shared, often humorous experiences (Joe getting thrown out of a posh apartment building, the two attending a trendy photography affair) bring them closer together. Voight and Hoffman have real chemistry as Joe and Ratso, and the audience starts to feel tenderness towards this unlikely duo.
John Schlesinger’s direction is full of quick cuts, hallucinatory images, and vivid nightmares. Joe is haunted by a gang rape of himself and his girlfriend, and by the sudden death of his grandmother. These memories will suddenly burst on the screen in black and white or unsteady focus. The sex scenes are energetic but chaotic. But, in spite of the stylish visuals, Midnight Cowboy remains focused on the two leads.
The result is a unique film experience, one that has the audience wrapped up in a story that deals in the exploits of unsavory characters. But the film reveals the humanity of these two misfits and that humanity is what makes their journey together compelling. Thus Midnight Cowboy emerges as one of the great films of the 1960s.
Best Picture Winner: 1968
Oliver! (1968)
Upon until its final acts of violence, Oliver! is about as sweet a film that could be made about orphans being lured into a life of crime. Adapted from the stage musical based upon Charles Dickens’ novel Oliver Twist, Oliver! is a giddy enterprise with lively song and dance numbers, engaging performances, and an eager-to-please approach.
Young Oliver (Mark Lester), an orphan who died shortly after his mother gave birth, works at the Workhouse, a place where boys are subjected to grueling labor and inadequate nutrition. When Oliver asks for another helping of gruel he is sold to an undertaker. Oliver escapes to the streets of London where he meets Dodger (Jack Wild), a boy about Oliver’s age who makes his living picking pockets. Dodger takes Oliver to meet his boss and provider, Fagin (Ron Moody, in a delightful performance), who allows Oliver to join the gang of young thieves under his wing. Danger comes from Bill Sikes (Oliver Reed), a former pupil of Fagin’s who has continued his life of crime well into adulthood. When Sikes suspects Oliver may tell all he knows to the police after being falsely arrested, Sikes plans to kidnap Oliver, and perhaps, do even worse.
Oliver! is a real treat that features several infectious set pieces. The opening song, “Food, Glorious Food,” has the orphans longing for something other than the tasteless mash they are being served. “Pick a Pocket or Two” has Fagin humorously demonstrating the craft of lifting sundry goods. “Who Will Buy?” which opens the second act, is a lovely sequence showing the beginning of the busy day for those who hawk their wares on the streets. And “Reviewing the Situation” has Fagin trying to decide if he should leave his life of crime. All of these numbers are energetically choreographed and wittily written. They bring a smile to the face in spite of the fact that there is a dark side to the subject matter, specifically, abuse and poverty.
Thus when Oliver! turns nasty during the climax it’s rather jarring. There’s a brutal attack and lives are at stake. And while the requisite happy ending does follow, there is still a bit of a sour taste left over.
Of the cast, Ron Moody is the stand out. In spite of his wild, glazed eyes and Satan-like beard, Fagin is really a sweetheart in that he abhors violence and has a fondness for his lads. Technically Fagin is a villain, albeit a minor one. But Moody makes him loveable. Mark Lester makes a fine Oliver and never overplays him or mugs for the camera. And Oliver Reed is appropriately intense as that no-good Sikes.
But it’s the engaging music and largely pleasant tone that make Oliver! so rewarding. It would be the last true musical to win Best Picture until Chicago in 2002. Chicago also deals with unsavory types and violence but isn’t nearly as much fun as Oliver! Today Oliver! looks better than ever.
Upon until its final acts of violence, Oliver! is about as sweet a film that could be made about orphans being lured into a life of crime. Adapted from the stage musical based upon Charles Dickens’ novel Oliver Twist, Oliver! is a giddy enterprise with lively song and dance numbers, engaging performances, and an eager-to-please approach.
Young Oliver (Mark Lester), an orphan who died shortly after his mother gave birth, works at the Workhouse, a place where boys are subjected to grueling labor and inadequate nutrition. When Oliver asks for another helping of gruel he is sold to an undertaker. Oliver escapes to the streets of London where he meets Dodger (Jack Wild), a boy about Oliver’s age who makes his living picking pockets. Dodger takes Oliver to meet his boss and provider, Fagin (Ron Moody, in a delightful performance), who allows Oliver to join the gang of young thieves under his wing. Danger comes from Bill Sikes (Oliver Reed), a former pupil of Fagin’s who has continued his life of crime well into adulthood. When Sikes suspects Oliver may tell all he knows to the police after being falsely arrested, Sikes plans to kidnap Oliver, and perhaps, do even worse.
Oliver! is a real treat that features several infectious set pieces. The opening song, “Food, Glorious Food,” has the orphans longing for something other than the tasteless mash they are being served. “Pick a Pocket or Two” has Fagin humorously demonstrating the craft of lifting sundry goods. “Who Will Buy?” which opens the second act, is a lovely sequence showing the beginning of the busy day for those who hawk their wares on the streets. And “Reviewing the Situation” has Fagin trying to decide if he should leave his life of crime. All of these numbers are energetically choreographed and wittily written. They bring a smile to the face in spite of the fact that there is a dark side to the subject matter, specifically, abuse and poverty.
Thus when Oliver! turns nasty during the climax it’s rather jarring. There’s a brutal attack and lives are at stake. And while the requisite happy ending does follow, there is still a bit of a sour taste left over.
Of the cast, Ron Moody is the stand out. In spite of his wild, glazed eyes and Satan-like beard, Fagin is really a sweetheart in that he abhors violence and has a fondness for his lads. Technically Fagin is a villain, albeit a minor one. But Moody makes him loveable. Mark Lester makes a fine Oliver and never overplays him or mugs for the camera. And Oliver Reed is appropriately intense as that no-good Sikes.
But it’s the engaging music and largely pleasant tone that make Oliver! so rewarding. It would be the last true musical to win Best Picture until Chicago in 2002. Chicago also deals with unsavory types and violence but isn’t nearly as much fun as Oliver! Today Oliver! looks better than ever.
At the Cineplex: The Wrestler (2008)
As someone who came into their love of film, or at least the acknowledgement that the movies were something more than just a way to kill two hours, during the 1980s, Mickey Rourke was a favorite. His brief but important role in Body Heat (1981) as Teddy, an ex-con bomb expert, made such an impression because Teddy really seemed like a sweet guy. Then came Diner (1982), a heartfelt comedy about college friends in 1950s Baltimore. Rourke moved onto more controversial films such as Year of the Dragon (1985) and Nine 1/2 Weeks (1986) due to their respective themes of racism and sexuality. But 1987’s Angel Heart is the film that features a criminally underrated performance by Rourke, as 1955 New York private detective Harry Angel who travels to New Orleans to find a missing person. Then the bodies start piling up. What makes the ending of Angel Heart so powerful is that we really have come to like Harry Angel. His fate is emotionally devastating. Rourke is in every scene in Angel Heart, and his is a terrific performance.
Mickey Rourke is also in every scene of The Wrestler, a film which just landed Rourke his first Oscar nomination. He deserves it and I hope he wins. His Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson is one of those seemingly unenviable guys who have nothing left, living day to day hoping he doesn’t get evicted from his rented trailer. His daughter hates him. His supervisor at the supermarket makes fun of him. The only pleasure for Randy is reliving his glory days as a 1980s iconic wrestler by taking low-paying gigs at reunions and community centers. He likes a stripper (Marisa Tomei, also Oscar nominated) who calls herself Cassidy but refuses to date any customers. When a turn of events threatens Randy’s future in the ring, Cassidy may be his only shot at happiness.
I was never a wrestling fan but the bouts dramatized in The Wrestler match with my recollection of what I did see. I always figured these events were staged, but I don’t think I realized just how physically brutal they truly were for the participants. Professional wrestlers made good money, became celebrities, and knew what they were doing. But like all professional sports figures, one wonders what happens when they physically cannot perform anymore.
The Ram’s glory days may be behind him, but he still gets much enjoyment, in spite of the pain, by hanging out with his peers and hearing the cheering crowds. He lives for those weekend gigs. And suddenly we do find ourselves envying Randy – even if only a little bit – because he has found something so special in his life. Maybe we don’t agree with it, or some of the choices Randy makes during the film. But Rourke makes us understand and ultimately feel for this guy. And this connection with the character overrides whatever familiarity we may have with the story itself. The Wrestler is a character piece about a man who finds he must now wrestle with certain decisions that are literally matters of life and death.
Director Darren Aronofsky uses hand-held cameras to give The Wrestler a documentary feel, made even more so by having Rourke work along side real wrestlers. The several bouts that are filmed are realistic and brutal. They involve not only head locks and back flips, but also broken glass, staples and ladders. The result is that Aronofsky creates a realistic world in which Rourke can work. And Randy ‘The Ram’ feels as authentic as any wrestler ever seen on pay-per-view.
The Wrestler may well earn Rourke the gold. And like Randy, the actor will hopefully be on the comeback trail. I say, “Welcome back, Harry Angel. I hope your time in hell is over.”
Mickey Rourke is also in every scene of The Wrestler, a film which just landed Rourke his first Oscar nomination. He deserves it and I hope he wins. His Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson is one of those seemingly unenviable guys who have nothing left, living day to day hoping he doesn’t get evicted from his rented trailer. His daughter hates him. His supervisor at the supermarket makes fun of him. The only pleasure for Randy is reliving his glory days as a 1980s iconic wrestler by taking low-paying gigs at reunions and community centers. He likes a stripper (Marisa Tomei, also Oscar nominated) who calls herself Cassidy but refuses to date any customers. When a turn of events threatens Randy’s future in the ring, Cassidy may be his only shot at happiness.
I was never a wrestling fan but the bouts dramatized in The Wrestler match with my recollection of what I did see. I always figured these events were staged, but I don’t think I realized just how physically brutal they truly were for the participants. Professional wrestlers made good money, became celebrities, and knew what they were doing. But like all professional sports figures, one wonders what happens when they physically cannot perform anymore.
The Ram’s glory days may be behind him, but he still gets much enjoyment, in spite of the pain, by hanging out with his peers and hearing the cheering crowds. He lives for those weekend gigs. And suddenly we do find ourselves envying Randy – even if only a little bit – because he has found something so special in his life. Maybe we don’t agree with it, or some of the choices Randy makes during the film. But Rourke makes us understand and ultimately feel for this guy. And this connection with the character overrides whatever familiarity we may have with the story itself. The Wrestler is a character piece about a man who finds he must now wrestle with certain decisions that are literally matters of life and death.
Director Darren Aronofsky uses hand-held cameras to give The Wrestler a documentary feel, made even more so by having Rourke work along side real wrestlers. The several bouts that are filmed are realistic and brutal. They involve not only head locks and back flips, but also broken glass, staples and ladders. The result is that Aronofsky creates a realistic world in which Rourke can work. And Randy ‘The Ram’ feels as authentic as any wrestler ever seen on pay-per-view.
The Wrestler may well earn Rourke the gold. And like Randy, the actor will hopefully be on the comeback trail. I say, “Welcome back, Harry Angel. I hope your time in hell is over.”
Best Picture Winner: 1967
In the Heat of the Night (1967)
Officer Sam Wood (Warren Oates) is on patrol one night when he comes upon the body of Philip Colbert, a wealthy industrialist who was going to bring many jobs to Sparta, Mississippi. Looking for suspects Wood comes upon Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier), a lone black man waiting in the train station to return to Philadelphia. Tibbs is arrested, for no reason except for his race, and presented to Police Chief Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger) as the likely killer. But Gillespie is shocked to learn that Tibbs is a well-paid homicide detective in the City of Brotherly Love. What’s more, Tibbs’ Captain suggests that Tibbs help out on the investigation. A black man investigating murder does not sit well with many citizens of Sparta.
Effective as a mystery/drama, In the Heat of the Night gets its real strength from the racial subplot and the sparks that fly between Poitier and Steiger. Or perhaps it’s fairer to say that the mystery is the subplot, and the real reason to see this culturally important film is to witness a turning point in cinema. As Tibbs is investigating the murder he politely insinuates that a rival of Colbert’s had a strong motive for committing the crime. The outwardly racist Eric Endicott (Larry Gates) slaps Tibbs across the face. Tibbs responds in kind. Gates, virtually in tears, tells Tibbs there was a time he would have been shot for something like that. Even after 40 years, that scene packs a wallop.
It’s shocking to see that a man, minding his own business quietly waiting for a train, could be arrested for absolutely no reason except for his skin color. And even though that, today, there are strict laws against such things, we continue to read about such things happening. As a result, In the Heat of the Night feels as relevant as ever, and is a wake up call to what minorities continue to face in certain areas of this country and the world at large.
That Tibbs has come to accept this type of treatment is even more chilling. He calmly submits to being searched, accused, and dragged to police headquarters, which results in him missing his train. He’s called “Boy” and worse constantly. He’s assaulted at least twice. But Tibbs keeps his cool and dignity, and earns respect from Gillespie, himself something of an outcast as the Chief nobody wants. Poitier and Steiger are excellent and they crackle during several heated exchanges. Steiger won an Oscar for his role.
The mystery itself is engrossing enough, with Tibbs stunning the authorities with his knowledge of forensics and powers of deductive reasoning. He finds proof why a prime suspect (arrested after Tibbs is cleared) could not have committed the murder but meets with resistance. The problem plot wise though is how muddled the time line becomes. We’re not clearly told who was where when the murder occurred and the villain turns out to be someone who appeared to have an alibi. It feels a bit of a cheat. (Of course it’s possible I missed something that was said or established early in the movie. A second viewing may necessitate a reassessment on this point.)
But In the Heat of the Night succeeds because the tension is not really generated by whether Tibbs will solve the crime but rather will he survive the investigation. In the Heat of the Night remains a riveting drama about racism that, sadly, could just as easily been made last year.
Officer Sam Wood (Warren Oates) is on patrol one night when he comes upon the body of Philip Colbert, a wealthy industrialist who was going to bring many jobs to Sparta, Mississippi. Looking for suspects Wood comes upon Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier), a lone black man waiting in the train station to return to Philadelphia. Tibbs is arrested, for no reason except for his race, and presented to Police Chief Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger) as the likely killer. But Gillespie is shocked to learn that Tibbs is a well-paid homicide detective in the City of Brotherly Love. What’s more, Tibbs’ Captain suggests that Tibbs help out on the investigation. A black man investigating murder does not sit well with many citizens of Sparta.
Effective as a mystery/drama, In the Heat of the Night gets its real strength from the racial subplot and the sparks that fly between Poitier and Steiger. Or perhaps it’s fairer to say that the mystery is the subplot, and the real reason to see this culturally important film is to witness a turning point in cinema. As Tibbs is investigating the murder he politely insinuates that a rival of Colbert’s had a strong motive for committing the crime. The outwardly racist Eric Endicott (Larry Gates) slaps Tibbs across the face. Tibbs responds in kind. Gates, virtually in tears, tells Tibbs there was a time he would have been shot for something like that. Even after 40 years, that scene packs a wallop.
It’s shocking to see that a man, minding his own business quietly waiting for a train, could be arrested for absolutely no reason except for his skin color. And even though that, today, there are strict laws against such things, we continue to read about such things happening. As a result, In the Heat of the Night feels as relevant as ever, and is a wake up call to what minorities continue to face in certain areas of this country and the world at large.
That Tibbs has come to accept this type of treatment is even more chilling. He calmly submits to being searched, accused, and dragged to police headquarters, which results in him missing his train. He’s called “Boy” and worse constantly. He’s assaulted at least twice. But Tibbs keeps his cool and dignity, and earns respect from Gillespie, himself something of an outcast as the Chief nobody wants. Poitier and Steiger are excellent and they crackle during several heated exchanges. Steiger won an Oscar for his role.
The mystery itself is engrossing enough, with Tibbs stunning the authorities with his knowledge of forensics and powers of deductive reasoning. He finds proof why a prime suspect (arrested after Tibbs is cleared) could not have committed the murder but meets with resistance. The problem plot wise though is how muddled the time line becomes. We’re not clearly told who was where when the murder occurred and the villain turns out to be someone who appeared to have an alibi. It feels a bit of a cheat. (Of course it’s possible I missed something that was said or established early in the movie. A second viewing may necessitate a reassessment on this point.)
But In the Heat of the Night succeeds because the tension is not really generated by whether Tibbs will solve the crime but rather will he survive the investigation. In the Heat of the Night remains a riveting drama about racism that, sadly, could just as easily been made last year.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1966
A Man for All Seasons (1966)
Sir Thomas More (Paul Scofield) finds himself in a difficult position. As Lord Chancellor of England and a devout Roman Catholic he refuses to support King Henry VIII (Robert Shaw) in the latter's quest to get divorce approval from the Pope. When Henry decides to break from Rome and declare himself Supreme Head of the Church in England, More puts his life at risk by remaining loyal to the Pope and his own convictions.
Based on the true story of More, A Man for All Seasons is an engrossing look at power and corruption in 16th Century England, where both church officials and government leaders conspired to appease the king. While others left their consciences behind in order to move up the hierarchy, Sir Thomas More remained steadfast in his loyalty to God first, even if it meant defying the King of England. Scofield (Oscar winner for Best Actor) is excellent in his portrayal of More. Completely understanding where his conviction may take him, Scofield never plays More as arrogant or with an air of superiority, or even as a hero. More is simply a man who has certain principles and beliefs from which he will not deviate, even at the risk of his own life. No matter what political season he finds himself in, More will remain true to his beliefs. The film becomes a bit repetitive as More is warned by his friends, loved ones, peers, and even enemies that his refusal will only lead to his demise. Still, Scofield is so commanding in the lead that this is a minor quibble.
The supporting cast boasts strong performances from Leo Kern as Thomas Cromwell, Wendy Hiller as More’s wife Alice, Nigel Davenport as More’s friend the Duke of Norfolk, John Hurt as the conniving Richard Rich, and Orson Welles as a corrupt Cardinal, to name a few examples. Scofield’s More verbally duels with each at some point and all make for convincing opponents.
Cinematographer Ted Moore and Art Director Terence Marsh help bring 16th Century England to vivid life. Beautifully filmed with picturesque landscapes and ornately decorated castles, A Man for All Seasons looks and feels authentic. Director Fred Zinnemann allows Robert Bolt’s script to play out in slow-burn fashion, as the tension steadily builds, More’s situation becoming more and more desperate. Visually, A Man for All Seasons is a rich film that provides a stunning backdrop to the events taking place.
A Man for All Seasons does not sugarcoat the cost for standing by one’s morals. But it certainly raises the point that, for those that believe in an afterlife, deviating from personal integrity for riches in this world will have consequences in the next. The final scene shows More as someone who has no regrets for the decisions he made. More may have lost an earthly battle, but he won a spiritual war.
Sir Thomas More (Paul Scofield) finds himself in a difficult position. As Lord Chancellor of England and a devout Roman Catholic he refuses to support King Henry VIII (Robert Shaw) in the latter's quest to get divorce approval from the Pope. When Henry decides to break from Rome and declare himself Supreme Head of the Church in England, More puts his life at risk by remaining loyal to the Pope and his own convictions.
Based on the true story of More, A Man for All Seasons is an engrossing look at power and corruption in 16th Century England, where both church officials and government leaders conspired to appease the king. While others left their consciences behind in order to move up the hierarchy, Sir Thomas More remained steadfast in his loyalty to God first, even if it meant defying the King of England. Scofield (Oscar winner for Best Actor) is excellent in his portrayal of More. Completely understanding where his conviction may take him, Scofield never plays More as arrogant or with an air of superiority, or even as a hero. More is simply a man who has certain principles and beliefs from which he will not deviate, even at the risk of his own life. No matter what political season he finds himself in, More will remain true to his beliefs. The film becomes a bit repetitive as More is warned by his friends, loved ones, peers, and even enemies that his refusal will only lead to his demise. Still, Scofield is so commanding in the lead that this is a minor quibble.
The supporting cast boasts strong performances from Leo Kern as Thomas Cromwell, Wendy Hiller as More’s wife Alice, Nigel Davenport as More’s friend the Duke of Norfolk, John Hurt as the conniving Richard Rich, and Orson Welles as a corrupt Cardinal, to name a few examples. Scofield’s More verbally duels with each at some point and all make for convincing opponents.
Cinematographer Ted Moore and Art Director Terence Marsh help bring 16th Century England to vivid life. Beautifully filmed with picturesque landscapes and ornately decorated castles, A Man for All Seasons looks and feels authentic. Director Fred Zinnemann allows Robert Bolt’s script to play out in slow-burn fashion, as the tension steadily builds, More’s situation becoming more and more desperate. Visually, A Man for All Seasons is a rich film that provides a stunning backdrop to the events taking place.
A Man for All Seasons does not sugarcoat the cost for standing by one’s morals. But it certainly raises the point that, for those that believe in an afterlife, deviating from personal integrity for riches in this world will have consequences in the next. The final scene shows More as someone who has no regrets for the decisions he made. More may have lost an earthly battle, but he won a spiritual war.
Best Picture Winner: 1965
The Sound of Music (1965)
Inspired by the true story of the von Trapp Family Singers, The Sound of Music is one of the high points of the musical genre. With a mesmerizing Julie Andrews in the lead and one memorable song after another, The Sound of Music is a celebration of the power of song.
At an abbey located in Austria in the late 1930s, Maria (Julie Andrews), in preparation for taking her final vows, is having difficulty living the life of a cloistered nun. Sensing Maria’s struggle the Mother Abbess (Peggy Wood) sends Maria to work for widower Captain von Trapp (Christopher Plumber) as governess to his seven children. Horrified to see the children being ordered about as if they were navy personnel, Maria decides to educate the young ones in the ways of song and play. But while warmth is filtering through the von Trapp household, and the Captain’s heart, the threat of Nazi occupation looms over Austria, something of which the Captain wants no part.
Director Robert Wise wastes no time getting to the musical numbers in The Sound of Music. The opening shots glide silently through the Swiss Alps. Suddenly, in a sweeping camera pan we encounter Julie Andrews twirling about singing the title song. Not long after we are treated to several nuns crooning about the strengths and weaknesses of “Maria.” Later, as a thunderstorm brews outside, the children gather in Maria’s room and she eases their fears by sharing “My Favorite Things.” To aid in her charges’ musical education Maria teaches them "Do-Re-Mi." Other highlights include "Sixteen Going On Seventeen," "The Lonely Goatherd," "So Long, Farewell," and "Climb Ev'ry Mountain." The Sound of Music is practically a greatest hits album of movie musicals.
Julie Andrews, who the previous year had won Best Actress for Mary Poppins (1964), shines as Maria. Maria is a thoroughly charming character, and Andrews is perfectly matched with the role. Generally sweet natured and eager to please, Maria nevertheless will stand up for her beliefs if need be, such as when she challenges the Captain on his child rearing. As Andrews does her own singing, we’re never taken out of the story when the film segues to another of its first rate musical set pieces. While the rest of the cast is fine (Richard Haydn is a hoot as Max Detweiler, the agent who sets the von Trapps to sing at a music festival) it's Andrews’ joyful turn as Maria that gives The Sound of Music its emotional resonance.
One of the refreshing elements of The Sound of Music is its treatment of the nunnery and the Mother Abbess. Eschewing the stereotype of the hardened, humorless Mother Superior for an observant, thoughtful one who knows God’s will can be served in various ways, The Sound of Music avoids what may have been a predictable glimpse in the abbey. Such an approach leads to a humorous punch line involving certain nuns who “sin.”
While The Sound of Music involves the audience in several plot complications – the threat to the Captain by the Nazis, Maria’s competition with a baroness for the Captain's heart, the eldest child’s romance with a boy who joins the Third Reich – the film emerges as the ultimate feel-good movie as the von Trapp family truly bring the sound of music to the hills in the film’s closing shot. Only a sour puss could fail to be enchanted by The Sound of Music.
Inspired by the true story of the von Trapp Family Singers, The Sound of Music is one of the high points of the musical genre. With a mesmerizing Julie Andrews in the lead and one memorable song after another, The Sound of Music is a celebration of the power of song.
At an abbey located in Austria in the late 1930s, Maria (Julie Andrews), in preparation for taking her final vows, is having difficulty living the life of a cloistered nun. Sensing Maria’s struggle the Mother Abbess (Peggy Wood) sends Maria to work for widower Captain von Trapp (Christopher Plumber) as governess to his seven children. Horrified to see the children being ordered about as if they were navy personnel, Maria decides to educate the young ones in the ways of song and play. But while warmth is filtering through the von Trapp household, and the Captain’s heart, the threat of Nazi occupation looms over Austria, something of which the Captain wants no part.
Director Robert Wise wastes no time getting to the musical numbers in The Sound of Music. The opening shots glide silently through the Swiss Alps. Suddenly, in a sweeping camera pan we encounter Julie Andrews twirling about singing the title song. Not long after we are treated to several nuns crooning about the strengths and weaknesses of “Maria.” Later, as a thunderstorm brews outside, the children gather in Maria’s room and she eases their fears by sharing “My Favorite Things.” To aid in her charges’ musical education Maria teaches them "Do-Re-Mi." Other highlights include "Sixteen Going On Seventeen," "The Lonely Goatherd," "So Long, Farewell," and "Climb Ev'ry Mountain." The Sound of Music is practically a greatest hits album of movie musicals.
Julie Andrews, who the previous year had won Best Actress for Mary Poppins (1964), shines as Maria. Maria is a thoroughly charming character, and Andrews is perfectly matched with the role. Generally sweet natured and eager to please, Maria nevertheless will stand up for her beliefs if need be, such as when she challenges the Captain on his child rearing. As Andrews does her own singing, we’re never taken out of the story when the film segues to another of its first rate musical set pieces. While the rest of the cast is fine (Richard Haydn is a hoot as Max Detweiler, the agent who sets the von Trapps to sing at a music festival) it's Andrews’ joyful turn as Maria that gives The Sound of Music its emotional resonance.
One of the refreshing elements of The Sound of Music is its treatment of the nunnery and the Mother Abbess. Eschewing the stereotype of the hardened, humorless Mother Superior for an observant, thoughtful one who knows God’s will can be served in various ways, The Sound of Music avoids what may have been a predictable glimpse in the abbey. Such an approach leads to a humorous punch line involving certain nuns who “sin.”
While The Sound of Music involves the audience in several plot complications – the threat to the Captain by the Nazis, Maria’s competition with a baroness for the Captain's heart, the eldest child’s romance with a boy who joins the Third Reich – the film emerges as the ultimate feel-good movie as the von Trapp family truly bring the sound of music to the hills in the film’s closing shot. Only a sour puss could fail to be enchanted by The Sound of Music.
Saturday Night at the Frights: January 17, 2009
The Mad Monster (1942)
This low budget shocker stars George Zucco as a vengeance-minded scientist who transforms simpleton Glenn Strange into a wolf man. He uses Glenn to murder the fellow scientists who scoffed at his idea to create a wolf man army. Zucco cuts it thick as the mad medico, and Strange overplays the idiot shtick. But there are some effective moments, such as when a ball rolls out of a child’s bedroom signaling a murder. One wonders if this would have been more fun with Bela Lugosi or Lionel Atwill in the lead.
The Devil’s Messenger (1961)
Three installments of a Swedish television program called 13 Demon Street were cut together to make this anthology film. Lon Chaney, Jr. was brought in to connect the segments together. He plays the Devil himself! The stories concern a photographer who’s haunted by a murder victim, a woman frozen in ice, and a fortune teller who predicts murder. The stories have neither the style nor wit of an average Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, and the cast is merely OK. Chaney is fun as Beelzebub but is not around that much.
My Bloody Valentine (1981)
The town of Valentine Bluffs is holding its first Valentine’s Day party in nearly twenty years. Apparently a deranged coal miner named Harry Warden murdered the two supervisors he held responsible for a mining accident that claimed the lives of Harry’s fellow miners on Valentine’s Day. Harry warned he’d be back if the town ever celebrated the romantic holiday. When the police discover a heart-shaped box bearing a real human heart, they try to stop the celebration until they can find Harry Warden.
This Canadian slasher film is an above average entry in the subgenre. Director George Mihalka nicely captures the blue collar mining town atmosphere and forgoes stereotypes. The new Lionsgate DVD release reinstates the previously cut gore footage making for a much more gruesome and effective thriller. The formulaic nature of the script, however, prevents My Bloody Valentine from scoring a complete bullseye.
This low budget shocker stars George Zucco as a vengeance-minded scientist who transforms simpleton Glenn Strange into a wolf man. He uses Glenn to murder the fellow scientists who scoffed at his idea to create a wolf man army. Zucco cuts it thick as the mad medico, and Strange overplays the idiot shtick. But there are some effective moments, such as when a ball rolls out of a child’s bedroom signaling a murder. One wonders if this would have been more fun with Bela Lugosi or Lionel Atwill in the lead.
The Devil’s Messenger (1961)
Three installments of a Swedish television program called 13 Demon Street were cut together to make this anthology film. Lon Chaney, Jr. was brought in to connect the segments together. He plays the Devil himself! The stories concern a photographer who’s haunted by a murder victim, a woman frozen in ice, and a fortune teller who predicts murder. The stories have neither the style nor wit of an average Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, and the cast is merely OK. Chaney is fun as Beelzebub but is not around that much.
My Bloody Valentine (1981)
The town of Valentine Bluffs is holding its first Valentine’s Day party in nearly twenty years. Apparently a deranged coal miner named Harry Warden murdered the two supervisors he held responsible for a mining accident that claimed the lives of Harry’s fellow miners on Valentine’s Day. Harry warned he’d be back if the town ever celebrated the romantic holiday. When the police discover a heart-shaped box bearing a real human heart, they try to stop the celebration until they can find Harry Warden.
This Canadian slasher film is an above average entry in the subgenre. Director George Mihalka nicely captures the blue collar mining town atmosphere and forgoes stereotypes. The new Lionsgate DVD release reinstates the previously cut gore footage making for a much more gruesome and effective thriller. The formulaic nature of the script, however, prevents My Bloody Valentine from scoring a complete bullseye.
Best Picture Winner: 1964
My Fair Lady (1964)
A thoroughly delightful musical version of George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, My Fair Lady is a treat for Audrey Hepburn and musical fans alike. Sumptuously filmed with memorable songs and enthusiastic performances, My Fair Lady is a joy from start to finish.
Professor Henry Higgins (Rex Harrison) is renowned for his book on phonetics. Just by listening to a person speak he can pinpoint from where that person comes. Colonel Pickering (Wilfrid Hyde-White), an expert on Indian dialects, is visiting Higgins when a strange opportunity presents itself. Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn), a Cockney flower girl, wants Higgins to teach her to speak like a lady so she’ll be able to open her own flower shop. Because Higgins has bragged he could pass any woman off as a duchess at an embassy ball, Pickering agrees to pay Eliza’s lesson costs if in fact Higgins can do such a thing with Eliza.
My Fair Lady is a deft blend of humor, song, and dance. Harrison’s stuffy Higgins is such an arrogant, sexist chap (“Why can’t a woman be more like me?”) that he is the film’s de facto villain. But his biting, self-serving soliloquies (“An Ordinary Man,” “A Hymn to Him”) are so witty and humorous that he becomes a character you love to hate. Not surprisingly Eliza starts to warm up this cold fish, even though the film’s final line suggests he could use some more thawing.
Hepburn is perfectly cast as Eliza. Already known for her beauty and classy roles she’s really something to behold when we first encounter Eliza, unkempt and speaking a thick-as-London-fog accent. She mines many laughs as Eliza overplays her plight, wailing at the slightest suggestion she’s not “a good girl.” On the flip side, her enthusiasm is contagious as she sings "I Could Have Danced All Night" after a breakthrough with Higgins. Her improvised monologue at a race track, about how a fictitious aunt was poisoned, is hilarious, as is her exclamation at the end of the race. And of course she’s absolutely stunning in her embassy gown. Hepburn is clearly having fun here, and the audience is behind her every step of the way.
Adding to the fun is Stanley Holloway as is Eliza’s no-good father, Alfred. He hits her up for drinking money when needed and extorts money from Higgins for using Eliza. (Alfred wouldn’t necessarily mind if Higgins intentions were not honorable. Higgins would just have to pay him more.) Alfred’s presence isn’t really necessary, unless it is to explain how Eliza could handle someone like Higgins. But Holloway contributes two of the best numbers in the film: "With A Little Bit of Luck," about how if you’re lucky you might be able to shirk your responsibilities, and “Get Me to The Church on Time," about how, even though a strange twist of fate has pushed him into respectability, he plans on having fun the night before his marriage. Alfred is wonderful in a horrible sort of way.
Other highlights of My Fair Lady include Hyde-White’s charming characterization of Pickering, and Gladys Cooper’s stern take on Higgins mother, which provides some clues on why Henry may have turned out so rigid. This viewer’s favorite song is "On the Street Where You Live", performed by a would-be suitor who waits outside Higgins’ house for a chance to spend time with Eliza. Director George Cuckor stages the musical numbers with verve, with the introduction of the stuffy upper class ("Ascot Gavotte") a particular standout. The gentry are presented in static cuts (instead of the flowing camera moves during other numbers) and are clad in outfits of strictly black, white and gray. It’s a clever visualization of the coldness present in a society based on appearance and convention.
But even the stuffed shirts in My Fair Lady have their good points. And ultimately My Fair Lady is too good natured to foster resentments. Rather the film is a treat for the eyes and ears. My Fair Lady is a great entertainment.
A thoroughly delightful musical version of George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, My Fair Lady is a treat for Audrey Hepburn and musical fans alike. Sumptuously filmed with memorable songs and enthusiastic performances, My Fair Lady is a joy from start to finish.
Professor Henry Higgins (Rex Harrison) is renowned for his book on phonetics. Just by listening to a person speak he can pinpoint from where that person comes. Colonel Pickering (Wilfrid Hyde-White), an expert on Indian dialects, is visiting Higgins when a strange opportunity presents itself. Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn), a Cockney flower girl, wants Higgins to teach her to speak like a lady so she’ll be able to open her own flower shop. Because Higgins has bragged he could pass any woman off as a duchess at an embassy ball, Pickering agrees to pay Eliza’s lesson costs if in fact Higgins can do such a thing with Eliza.
My Fair Lady is a deft blend of humor, song, and dance. Harrison’s stuffy Higgins is such an arrogant, sexist chap (“Why can’t a woman be more like me?”) that he is the film’s de facto villain. But his biting, self-serving soliloquies (“An Ordinary Man,” “A Hymn to Him”) are so witty and humorous that he becomes a character you love to hate. Not surprisingly Eliza starts to warm up this cold fish, even though the film’s final line suggests he could use some more thawing.
Hepburn is perfectly cast as Eliza. Already known for her beauty and classy roles she’s really something to behold when we first encounter Eliza, unkempt and speaking a thick-as-London-fog accent. She mines many laughs as Eliza overplays her plight, wailing at the slightest suggestion she’s not “a good girl.” On the flip side, her enthusiasm is contagious as she sings "I Could Have Danced All Night" after a breakthrough with Higgins. Her improvised monologue at a race track, about how a fictitious aunt was poisoned, is hilarious, as is her exclamation at the end of the race. And of course she’s absolutely stunning in her embassy gown. Hepburn is clearly having fun here, and the audience is behind her every step of the way.
Adding to the fun is Stanley Holloway as is Eliza’s no-good father, Alfred. He hits her up for drinking money when needed and extorts money from Higgins for using Eliza. (Alfred wouldn’t necessarily mind if Higgins intentions were not honorable. Higgins would just have to pay him more.) Alfred’s presence isn’t really necessary, unless it is to explain how Eliza could handle someone like Higgins. But Holloway contributes two of the best numbers in the film: "With A Little Bit of Luck," about how if you’re lucky you might be able to shirk your responsibilities, and “Get Me to The Church on Time," about how, even though a strange twist of fate has pushed him into respectability, he plans on having fun the night before his marriage. Alfred is wonderful in a horrible sort of way.
Other highlights of My Fair Lady include Hyde-White’s charming characterization of Pickering, and Gladys Cooper’s stern take on Higgins mother, which provides some clues on why Henry may have turned out so rigid. This viewer’s favorite song is "On the Street Where You Live", performed by a would-be suitor who waits outside Higgins’ house for a chance to spend time with Eliza. Director George Cuckor stages the musical numbers with verve, with the introduction of the stuffy upper class ("Ascot Gavotte") a particular standout. The gentry are presented in static cuts (instead of the flowing camera moves during other numbers) and are clad in outfits of strictly black, white and gray. It’s a clever visualization of the coldness present in a society based on appearance and convention.
But even the stuffed shirts in My Fair Lady have their good points. And ultimately My Fair Lady is too good natured to foster resentments. Rather the film is a treat for the eyes and ears. My Fair Lady is a great entertainment.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1963
Tom Jones (1963)
The reason why some have lavished so much praise on Tom Jones escapes this viewer. A chaotic, characterless period piece that delights in its sexual audacity, Tom Jones reminds me of a Benny Hill episode, except it isn’t nearly as funny. The first hour or so is at times almost painful. Luckily the second half picks up nicely thanks to some plot complications and an increase in laughs. But that’s not enough to make it a film that demands more than one viewing.
Tom Jones (Albert Finney) is an illegitimate child who is raised by a wealthy squire in 19th Century England. A dashing, handsome figure he is a hit with the ladies and is unable to turn any adoring woman down, even though he is in love with Sophie Western (Susannah York). He is intensely disliked by the squire’s nephew Blifil (David Warner) who plots to have Tom ejected from the family home. Can the flawed but decent Tom Jones find true love and clear his name?
For much of Tom Jones’ first half the movie feels utterly formless. Incident is stacked upon incident as director Tony Richardson’s camera careens merrily catching every tryst and confrontation, and at times speeds up to move things along. Drunken and stuffy character types are overplayed. Sometimes an off-screen narrator will make pithy observations. The problem is that this is all not that funny. Nor is there any real attempt at character. It’s hard to get involved in the story and Tom Jones never connects with the audience the way he should.
Finney is handsome and strapping as Tom Jones but fails to make this guy the ingratiating cad he’s supposed to be. He does not so much act as be acted upon, giving in to any lass who desires him. Only when he’s forced out on his own does he get to show some canastas, such as dueling with a soldier in defense of a lady’s honor. But most of the time he seems so aloof that it’s hard to really care about him.
Even if we’re not to take this all seriously there is still the problem that Tom Jones isn’t terribly humorous. Hugh Griffith is fun as Sophie Western’s besotted, belligerent father. But it seems like the film makers take it for granted that the audience will find any challenges to the aristocracy and social conventions amusing. Sure, the cast seems to be having a good time. The same cannot be said for the viewer.
With few laughs and no characters Tom Jones succeeds neither as a comedy or drama, or some combination of both. Perhaps to a 1963 audience this was something new. But today Tom Jones is a film where seeing it once is more than enough.
The reason why some have lavished so much praise on Tom Jones escapes this viewer. A chaotic, characterless period piece that delights in its sexual audacity, Tom Jones reminds me of a Benny Hill episode, except it isn’t nearly as funny. The first hour or so is at times almost painful. Luckily the second half picks up nicely thanks to some plot complications and an increase in laughs. But that’s not enough to make it a film that demands more than one viewing.
Tom Jones (Albert Finney) is an illegitimate child who is raised by a wealthy squire in 19th Century England. A dashing, handsome figure he is a hit with the ladies and is unable to turn any adoring woman down, even though he is in love with Sophie Western (Susannah York). He is intensely disliked by the squire’s nephew Blifil (David Warner) who plots to have Tom ejected from the family home. Can the flawed but decent Tom Jones find true love and clear his name?
For much of Tom Jones’ first half the movie feels utterly formless. Incident is stacked upon incident as director Tony Richardson’s camera careens merrily catching every tryst and confrontation, and at times speeds up to move things along. Drunken and stuffy character types are overplayed. Sometimes an off-screen narrator will make pithy observations. The problem is that this is all not that funny. Nor is there any real attempt at character. It’s hard to get involved in the story and Tom Jones never connects with the audience the way he should.
Finney is handsome and strapping as Tom Jones but fails to make this guy the ingratiating cad he’s supposed to be. He does not so much act as be acted upon, giving in to any lass who desires him. Only when he’s forced out on his own does he get to show some canastas, such as dueling with a soldier in defense of a lady’s honor. But most of the time he seems so aloof that it’s hard to really care about him.
Even if we’re not to take this all seriously there is still the problem that Tom Jones isn’t terribly humorous. Hugh Griffith is fun as Sophie Western’s besotted, belligerent father. But it seems like the film makers take it for granted that the audience will find any challenges to the aristocracy and social conventions amusing. Sure, the cast seems to be having a good time. The same cannot be said for the viewer.
With few laughs and no characters Tom Jones succeeds neither as a comedy or drama, or some combination of both. Perhaps to a 1963 audience this was something new. But today Tom Jones is a film where seeing it once is more than enough.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1962
Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
My initial reaction to seeing Lawrence of Arabia for the first time was twofold: I was emotionally overwhelmed by the experience, and I wanted to immediately start the movie over and watch it again. Here is a complex epic that explores the many aspects of war – the physical, the political, the strategical, the psychological, concepts of loyalty - and its effects on the enigmatic T.E. Lawrence, a British soldier whose wartime exploits became world known thanks to an American war correspondent. What T.E. Lawrence experiences during his tenure makes for an all-consuming film experience.
During World War I, the British army recruits Lieutenant T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole), known to be well educated if a bit eccentric, to assess the prospects of a British alliance with Prince Feisal (Alec Guinness) against the Turks. Lawrence meets Feisal and suggests an attack on Aqaba, a town near the ocean that could be used by Great Britain to ship wartime supplies. By traveling across the treacherous Nefud Desert, Aqaba could be taken by surprise. But Lawrence is not totally prepared emotionally for the atrocities he will witness and the measures he will have to take to persevere in this volatile part of the world.
The images in Lawrence of Arabia are frequently stunning, as director David Lean pans over picturesque desert landscapes or guides us through the architecturally rich housing for the army. There are several actions set pieces such as the attack on Aqaba and the assault of a Turkish caravan. And there is much scheming as the British leaders plan their double crosses (they never have the intention of letting the Arabs rule their own land) of which Lawrence is not aware. The cumulative impact on Lawrence of the events dramatized in Lawrence of Arabia is what gives the film its ultimate power.
When we first meet Lawrence he is a pleasant sort with a twinkle in his eye, although his attitude does not sit well with his superior officers. But when Lawrence witnesses his desert guide being shot and killed for drinking from another man’s well, he realizes he is amongst people he does not fully understand. Later he will be forced to kill people to avoid a tribal war and prevent an injured man from being captured. He will be attacked and (by implication) raped. And he will ultimately learn how impossible it is to remain loyal to both his commanders and the Arab people he hoped to help. While his rank continually increases as he achieves the military’s goals, Lawrence is actually on a downward spiral emotionally. He tries to leave several times but is lured back not just by flattering remarks from his superiors, but also by his own seemingly contradictory love of war. Lawrence is such a rich, intriguing character that the final shot of him in the film packs a wallop.
Peter O’Toole delivers one the great screen performances. He shows us Lawrence tortured and exhilarated, confused and self confident, frustrated and determined. Several times these conflicting emotions can be occurring at the same time. We feel Lawrence’s desperation to return to a more normal way of life after being molested by a Turkish leader. And O’Toole perfectly plays the devastation when Lawrence realizes what his commanders’ intentions for Arabia really were.
O’Toole is supported by a first rate cast including Alec Guinness, Claude Rains, Omar Sharif, Anthony Quinn, Jack Hawkins, Anthony Quayle, and José Ferrer. It’s hard to imagine how the casting could have been improved upon. The scene between O’Toole and Quinn, as Lawrence tries to persuade Quinn’s tribal leader to join the revolt, is just one example of how these actors bring out the best in each other. Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson’s screenplay (based on T.E. Lawrence various publications) balances incident and exposition in such a way that the film never loses its grip on us during the three and half hour running time. And the technical aspects are so well handled there are times we feel like we’re in the desert right along with the cast.
The best films invite the audience to be participants, not mere observers. Lawrence of Arabia pulls us into its time and place and never lets us go.
My initial reaction to seeing Lawrence of Arabia for the first time was twofold: I was emotionally overwhelmed by the experience, and I wanted to immediately start the movie over and watch it again. Here is a complex epic that explores the many aspects of war – the physical, the political, the strategical, the psychological, concepts of loyalty - and its effects on the enigmatic T.E. Lawrence, a British soldier whose wartime exploits became world known thanks to an American war correspondent. What T.E. Lawrence experiences during his tenure makes for an all-consuming film experience.
During World War I, the British army recruits Lieutenant T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole), known to be well educated if a bit eccentric, to assess the prospects of a British alliance with Prince Feisal (Alec Guinness) against the Turks. Lawrence meets Feisal and suggests an attack on Aqaba, a town near the ocean that could be used by Great Britain to ship wartime supplies. By traveling across the treacherous Nefud Desert, Aqaba could be taken by surprise. But Lawrence is not totally prepared emotionally for the atrocities he will witness and the measures he will have to take to persevere in this volatile part of the world.
The images in Lawrence of Arabia are frequently stunning, as director David Lean pans over picturesque desert landscapes or guides us through the architecturally rich housing for the army. There are several actions set pieces such as the attack on Aqaba and the assault of a Turkish caravan. And there is much scheming as the British leaders plan their double crosses (they never have the intention of letting the Arabs rule their own land) of which Lawrence is not aware. The cumulative impact on Lawrence of the events dramatized in Lawrence of Arabia is what gives the film its ultimate power.
When we first meet Lawrence he is a pleasant sort with a twinkle in his eye, although his attitude does not sit well with his superior officers. But when Lawrence witnesses his desert guide being shot and killed for drinking from another man’s well, he realizes he is amongst people he does not fully understand. Later he will be forced to kill people to avoid a tribal war and prevent an injured man from being captured. He will be attacked and (by implication) raped. And he will ultimately learn how impossible it is to remain loyal to both his commanders and the Arab people he hoped to help. While his rank continually increases as he achieves the military’s goals, Lawrence is actually on a downward spiral emotionally. He tries to leave several times but is lured back not just by flattering remarks from his superiors, but also by his own seemingly contradictory love of war. Lawrence is such a rich, intriguing character that the final shot of him in the film packs a wallop.
Peter O’Toole delivers one the great screen performances. He shows us Lawrence tortured and exhilarated, confused and self confident, frustrated and determined. Several times these conflicting emotions can be occurring at the same time. We feel Lawrence’s desperation to return to a more normal way of life after being molested by a Turkish leader. And O’Toole perfectly plays the devastation when Lawrence realizes what his commanders’ intentions for Arabia really were.
O’Toole is supported by a first rate cast including Alec Guinness, Claude Rains, Omar Sharif, Anthony Quinn, Jack Hawkins, Anthony Quayle, and José Ferrer. It’s hard to imagine how the casting could have been improved upon. The scene between O’Toole and Quinn, as Lawrence tries to persuade Quinn’s tribal leader to join the revolt, is just one example of how these actors bring out the best in each other. Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson’s screenplay (based on T.E. Lawrence various publications) balances incident and exposition in such a way that the film never loses its grip on us during the three and half hour running time. And the technical aspects are so well handled there are times we feel like we’re in the desert right along with the cast.
The best films invite the audience to be participants, not mere observers. Lawrence of Arabia pulls us into its time and place and never lets us go.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Best Picture Winner: 1961
West Side Story (1961)
In 1950s’ New York City a gang war is starting. The Caucasian Jets feel the Hispanic Sharks are muscling in on their territory. At a dance that both the Jets and Sharks are attending, Tony (Richard Beymer), the estranged co-founder of the Jets, spots Maria (Natalie Wood) and instantly falls in love, a feeling she reciprocates. Tony does not realize she is sister to the Sharks’ leader Bernardo (George Chakiris). Bernardo forbids the relationship, so the lovers must keep their courting secret, as Bernardo and Jets leader Riff (Russ Tamblyn) plan a rumble that will determine which gang will rule the neighborhood.
West Side Story was adapted from the hit Broadway play, a variation on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. The film opens with a lengthy overhead tracking shot that flies over New York and then drops us off at a basketball court where the Jet members are gathering. There is no dialogue, but rather a whistle that signals a gang meeting. They snap their fingers and gracefully make their way to the street, where they come in contact with members of the Sharks. Soon the gangs are at fisticuffs, at least to the extent they can be since this is all played out to co-director Jerome Robbins’ dazzling choreography. Little is said, but the situation is made clear and the audience knows they are not in for a typical gang war film. Later, when the Tony and Maria meet at the dance, everything around them goes out of focus. It’s a clever visualization of what happens when lovers first meet.
But it’s the song and dance numbers that bring West Side Story to life. Rita Moreno’s character’s number “America” is a highlight, where she spars with her brother Bernardo in a snappily-written back-and-forth about her love for her new home, a love Bernardo does not share. Tony croons the lovely “Maria” after he meets the girl of his dreams, and the two join together for the classic “Tonight” on Maria’s tenement stairs. There’s also the humorous and delightful "Gee, Officer Krupke" where the Jets have fun mocking a police officer who nags the group of juvenile delinquents. The hypnotic “Cool” is a rather intense number where the Jets try to compose themselves after a killing stirs them to even more violence. In spite of the atmosphere of death, West Side Story feels so alive thanks to the unwavering energy of its musical numbers.
Romantic leads Beymer and Wood are attractive, but they lack chemistry when they are engaged in dialogue. Luckily most of their moments together are spent in song. The rest of the cast is excellent, especially Russ Tamblyn as the agile and playful Riff. Ned Glass brings real heart to his role as the candy store owner who pleads for the youths to end their violent ways. And Rita Moreno makes a strong impression in her role as Anita, especially in the scene in the coffee shop where she must deliver a message to Tony.
But it’s the vitality of the musical set pieces of West Side Story which gives the film its passion. And West Side Story emerges as a dramatically powerful update of Shakespeare’s tragedy.
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.
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.
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