Casabla's Cafe Americain

The Mummy/Bride of Frankenstein

2007-06-01T14:28:00.000-07:00

After early successes with “Dracula” and “Frankenstein”, Universal immediately put more horror films into production, hoping to capitalize on their previous films’ success and build a stable of profitable franchises. Next up was “The Mummy”, followed shortly by the first sequel of the bunch, “The Bride of Frankenstein”. “The Mummy” is noteworthy because it is not based on an existing novel, such as “Dracula”, “Frankenstein”, or HG Wells’ “The Invisible Man”, which was also in production at the time. Instead, given the public’s fascination with all things ancient Egyptian after the much publicized uncovering of King Tut’s tomb, Universal simply transposed elements of the “Dracula” storyline to 1920’s Egypt, concerning a reincarnated villain in search of his long lost love. Universal, confident now in Boris Karloff as a bankable star, simply advertised “Karloff….THE MUMMY” and the people came. After two big successes, casting him in “The Bride of Frankenstein” was a slam dunk. The studio also wisely brought back director James Whale and true title character Colin Clive to reprise his role as troubled scientist Henry Frankenstein, this time bringing in Elsa Lanchester to play the bride (note, the monster’s bride, not the ‘real’ Frankenstein’s bride). With two smash franchises leading to three prominent roles, Karloff parlayed this into a lengthy career, almost always in horror films, but sometimes branching out (still playing that type though) in other classics such as “Scarface” and “Arsenic and Old Lace” (he did not appear in the film, but played the role of Jonathan Brewster to great acclaim on Broadway and his persona largely influenced Raymond Massey’s screen portrayal). Conversely, Bela Legosi only appeared in the first “Dracula” film and while he too would have a long career, he soon was recognized as a lesser star than Karloff, a fact which brought about severe depression and drug addiction if the allegedly factual Tim Burton film “Ed Wood” is to be believed. Either way, Karloff’s profile continued to rise throughout the 1930’s and Universal, which began the decade seeking an identity with the transition to sound, had one thanks to their horror films.

After directing their smash success “Dracula”, Carl Laemmle must have liked what he saw from the celebrated German cinematographer (having made his reputation shooting Fritz Lang and F.W. Murnau films), because he gave him the reins of his next monster franchise, “The Mummy”. Opening with an expedition in the deserts of Egypt around 1920, a group of scientists have just made a startling discovery, unearthing a tomb of a cursed priest and a mystical book buried amongst the sarcophagus. One of the scientists, Dr. Muller, the wizened and eldest of the group (played by Edward Van Sloan, essentially repeating his role from “Dracula” and “Frankenstein”), warns against disturbing the find, while the others disregard him and his antiquated belief in the power of the ancient Egyptian customs. Reading aloud the curse they are warned not to awakens the priest Imhotep from his slumber and instead of a scene crammed with flashy special effects like Stephen Sommers’ remake would have almost 70 years later, Imhotep simply opens his eyes, caked shut with thousands of years of dust and dirt and subtly twitches his fingers. Fully revived, the mere sight of him causes one member of the expedition to lose his mind and the last we see of Imhotep is him wandering deep into the desert. Cut to ten years later and the son of one of the members of the original expedition, Frank Whemple has taken up his father’s work, and is leading one of his own on the outskirts of Cairo. Acting on a tip by the mysterious Ardeth Bay, Imhotep in human form, Whemple unearths an incredible find, the sarcophagus of an Egyptian princess. What Whemple does not know, besides the fact that Ardeth Bay is really a 3000 year old priest sentenced to death for sleeping with the Pharoah’s wife (portrayed in a fascinating flashback done entirely in ‘silent movie’ style, i.e. stark lighting, elaborate makeup, acting and posturing, and a quicker shutter speed to give it the ‘flicker’ effect), is that Ardeth Bay believes a modern woman, Helen Grosvenor, to be his beloved Anck-es-en-Amon, reincarnated. Whemple is of course in love with Helen and struggles to protect her from the mysterious forces compelling her towards the expedition’s artifacts being housed in the Egyptian Museum. After witnessing the effects of Imhotep’s power (driving the native Nubians insane, killing several museum guards and Whemple’s father who get in his way), Whemple and Dr. Muller make the difficult decision of using Helen as bait, allowing her to follow her ancient impulse and go to Imhotep. Following her to the museum, Frank and Dr. Muller burn the room down, trapping Imhotep, at least until the franchise’s sequel, “The Mummy’s Hand”.

Contemporary audiences like to debate the question (more and more topical given the abundance of choices) “what is the best sequel ever made?” While “The Godfather Part II” is often cited as an acceptable response, James Whale definitely topped himself with 1935’s “Bride of Frankenstein”. Given greater freedom, both physically and artistically, “Bride of Frankenstein” expands on all fronts from its predecessor. Lavish sets (the wreckage of the windmill, from the finale of the first film, Dr. Frankenstein’s far more elaborate castle and laboratory, and several forest set pieces), more for the monster to do (he even gets to speak!), and a wonderful new addition to the franchise, Dr. Pretorius. While, for good reason, the Bride is cited as the biggest attraction from this film, Ernest Thesiger’s portrayal of the morbid Dr. Pretorius is what really gives the film its creepier, more effective tone. A sinister scientist who shares Dr. Frankenstein’s desire to create life, but lacking the moral dilemma that stopped Frankenstein from continuing his experiments from the first film, Dr. Pretorius visits Dr. Frankenstein early on and blackmails him into helping him with his experiments by threatening to implicate him in the death and destruction caused by the monster, who has lived from the events of the first film and is again terrorizing the countryside. Pretorius’ plan: give him a companion. Pretorious demonstrates his early experiments in a bizarre scene in which he produces a half dozen or so little people he keeps in glass bottles. This scene is a perfect example of the baroque sense of humor which runs throughout the film, a darker, edgier bent that most early films, comedy or otherwise, did not often employ. After blackmailing Dr. Frankenstein into joining his research, again estranging his beloved Elizabeth, the two ultimately create ‘the Bride’, played by Elsa Lanchester, who also appears as Mary Shelley in a framing prologue, in which Lord Byron and Percy Shelley (no Keats though) compliment her on her horror tale. The Bride is regarded as a Universal monster, even though she only appears on screen for barely 10 minutes and has no lines other than hissing and screeching. The Monster however is given plenty of lines, learning to speak by a blind hermit who befriends him temporarily (a scene spoofed to great effect 40 years later by Mel Brooks in “Young Frankenstein”), and before killing himself, the Bride and Dr. Pretorious, utters one of cinema’s classic lines “We belong dead”, a mournful decree that offers a dramatic climax to the film. While the franchise would spawn three further sequels, this arguably stands as its finest.

Dracula/Frankenstein

2007-05-07T13:29:00.000-07:00

In the early 1930’s, as studios made their transition into sound, each tried to find its identity in the rapidly changing film world. Universal, along with Paramount already a longtime tenant in Hollywood, made a marked decision at that time: to create popular franchises out of classic horror stories, allowing the monsters to be the stars. Envisioned as a cost cutting measure (a forward thinking strategy that is almost der rigeur in today’s Hollywood of tentpole/franchise filmmaking), Universal quickly discovered they were sitting on a goldmine and throughout the 1930’s and 1940’s would bring Dracula, Frankenstein, the Mummy, the Wolfman, the Invisible Man, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon, among others, to the big screen. The first horror icons to make it to the big screen were Dracula and Frankenstein, based on the gothic novels by Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley, respectively. Released only a few months apart, the films catapulted their otherwise anonymous stars (both of whom had done extensive work in silent film and theater, but nothing history would have remembered them for) to genre superstardom: Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula and Boris Karloff as The Monster, and for the next 20-30 years, each would star in countless horror films, many of which made at Universal and unfortunately almost all of declining quality (to the point that Legosi ended up starring in a few Ed Wood films, dramatized poignantly in Tim Burton’s “Ed Wood”). After each film’s smash success, Universal wasted no time launching their next franchises and soon “The Mummy” and “The Invisible Man” were in theaters. In terms of iconic films though, 1931’s “Dracula” and “Frankenstein” are the pinnacle of Universal’s monster conveyor belt, thanks mainly to their dynamic source material, whereas their sequels were inevitably watered down (if still entertaining) retellings of the previous tales. For Legosi, this would be the only time he played the role of Dracula on film, and the subsequent depths to which his career plummeted makes this performance all the more entrancing. For Karloff, who much to Legosi’s dismay, enjoyed a stronger, longer, more diverse career, his first turn as The Monster would not be his last, and it was not even a year later before he was back in makeup for Universal as The Mummy.

The film version of “Dracula” almost did not make it to the big screen. Bram Stoker’s widow controlled the rights to the film and was seeking an exorbitant price for any adaptation. Universal, always thinking frugally first and creatively second, instead bought the rights to Hamilton Deane’s stage play of the same name, itself an unofficial adaptation that drastically scaled down the novel’s expansive action. Fearful of a lawsuit, Universal acquired the novel’s rights as well, after Stoker’s widow reduced her asking price; in an interesting twist, Bela Legosi, the pending star of the film and former star of the stage adaptation, personally visited Stoker’s widow to convince her to lower her price, such was his desperation at possibly losing out on the star making role. Despite having access to Stoker’s elaborate and colorful plot, the film still stuck closely to Deane’s stripped down storytelling, foregoing, among other things, the novel’s action climax back in the forests of Transylvania. What Universal did not cut costs on was the film’s sets, especially Dracula’s castle, which is quite elaborate, and would be used for a number of subsequent films for the studio, including the Spanish language version of the film shot concurrently. While the action is pared down, the plot is still Stoker’s: a young real estate broker journeys to Transylvania on behalf of his client, the mysterious Count Dracula, who is purchasing extensive land in England. Upon arriving at the castle, the broker, Jonathan Harker, quickly finds he is imprisoned by Dracula, a creature of evil who sails to England in a coffin which he must return to at sunrise every day. Upon arriving in England, Dracula quickly seeks out Mina Harker, Jonathan’s fiancée, who it is suggested is the reincarnated love of Count Dracula’s long dead wife. Dracula appears in her window one night while she is asleep and soon Mina falls gravely ill with a mysterious ailment (notice the popularized Dracula trademarks of biting his victims on their necks is not portrayed here). A beleaguered Jonathan returns, and with the help of Dr. Seward, Mina’s private doctor, and the enigmatic Professor Van Helsing (played by early character actor Edward Van Sloan, who portrayed the same “wise, old, ‘insert monster here’ expert in “Frankenstein” as well as “The Mummy”), they seek out Dracula’s crypt and kill him by a stake through the heart (one of the now famous trademarks that does make an appearance here). The real story of the film is Legosi, however, who so clearly relishes his role, and the mystery and sinister nature of the character is given a big lift by Karl Freund’s moody cinematography (extensive closeups of Legosi’s piercing eyes), which so impressed Universal they rewarded him with directing duties on “The Mummy”.

For “Frankenstein”, Universal stepped further away from the source material, instead relying on another play, but one which differed extensively from the novel of the same name. Watching the film, it is apparent how closely Universal wanted to stick to the simple formula used in “Dracula”, eschewing far flung locations for a streamlined tale. As the film opens, Dr. Henry Frankenstein is performing mysterious science experiments that involve grave robbing and stealing brains from medical colleges. Late one evening, his fiancée, Elizabeth (natch), best friend, Victor (natch twice) and former mentor, Dr. Waldman, played by Edward Van Sloan (natch thrice) show up unannounced at the castle Frankenstein is conducting his research, demanding to know what he is doing and why he has shut himself away for months, withdrawing from the university, shunning his fiancée and father and foregoing the advice of his teacher and friend. Reluctantly Frankenstein admits them and the crew is shocked to discover the full extent of his plans: to re-animate a dead human being, a composite actually of human body parts, through thousands of volts of electricity channeled directly to the brain via a lightning bolt. Upon successful completion of the experiment, the monster’s hand twitches with life, Frankenstein erupts with his now classic line “Its alive!” and the more controversial “Now I know what it’s like to BE God!”, which was muffled from subsequent re-releases of the film by a convenient thunderclap, but restored when the film was released on dvd some 70 years later. Frankenstein’s euphoria is short lived however, as he quickly realizes the brain the Monster possesses is that of a violent criminal, prompting the monster to kill Frankenstein’s assistant and go on a rampage throughout the countryside, controversially killing a small girl by throwing her into a lake after innocently playing with her moments before. It should be noted that the director, James Whale, attempts to sympathize with his monster, portraying him as merely confused and scared; these traits are further established in the film’s superior sequel “The Bride of Frankenstein”. After murdering the child, the monster is chased into a remote windmill, where Frankenstein attempts to subdue him while a violent mob forms outside. Unable to overwhelm the physically superior monster, he is thrown from the roof of the windmill, and in what must have been shocking for the time, is splayed across one of the blades before crashing to the ground. Frankenstein no longer at risk, the mob launches torches onto the thatch roof of the windmill, burning it to the ground with the monster trapped inside. An unconscious Frankenstein is brought back to his family’s castle to recuperate as his father toasts to the family name, an ending far more optimistic than Shelley’s original, and one that is largely ignored considering the sequel produced two years later.

Ivanhoe/The Knights of the Round Table

2007-04-13T11:28:00.000-07:00

While not as famous as his contemporaries, like Errol Flynn and Tyrone Power, Robert Taylor was still a sizable star of Old Hollywood, and one who can legitimately be recognized for three distinct periods of his long career spanning over three decades. Upon arriving on the scene in the mid 1930’s, he was cast primarily due to his matinee idol good looks, most notably starring alongside Greta Garbo in “Camille”. When World War II broke out, Taylor became very active in the efforts at home, starring in one of the most popular and realistic films of its time, “Bataan”, before joining the Naval Air Corps in 1943. For the next three years, at the peak of his career, Taylor taught flight schools and even managed to rely on his film experience, directing several training videos. Upon returning to Hollywood he found himself in the middle of the on-going House Un-American Committee’s Communist “witch hunt”, causing headlines by being one of the biggest “friendly” witnesses called by the prosecution. The 1950’s saw an older, more refined Taylor step into more dignified roles, such as “Quo Vadis” and two of his biggest hits for MGM (his longtime studio), “Ivanhoe” and its de facto sequel “Knights of the Round Table”. Three solid decades of work in Hollywood, all for MGM, saw him go from matinee idol, to Army proponent, to stoic leading man, and while he continued working into the 1960’s, his output declined and died in 1969 after a bout with lung cancer. Despite his long, illustrious body of work, Taylor dabbled in different genres, never making a true name for himself as Flynn and Power were able to do. Instead he is lumped in with actors like Ray Milland and John Garfield, solid actors who never really distinguished themselves enough to make “history” take notice, which is a shame since “Ivanhoe” and “Knights of the Round Table” are such fine entries in the period swashbuckler sub-genre. Typical lush productions by MGM, shot in vibrant Technicolor and populated with strong supporting casts (Joan Fontaine, Elizabeth Taylor, George Sanders, Mel Ferrer, Ava Gardner), both films were directed by capable studio hand Richard Thorpe and were smash hits for the studio, which saw the quality and returns of their non-musical films begin to decline in the 1950’s, the first sign that the glory days were coming to an end for the legendary studio.

“Ivanhoe”, the first of Taylor’s two smash swashbucklers, begins with Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe roaming the mountainsides of Europe, in search of King Richard, who on his way back to England after the Crusades is abducted and held ransom in Austria. Ivanhoe finds him and learns that Richard’s brother John, who is wearing the crown in his brother’s absence, is refusing to pay the ransom to maintain his position as sovereign. A deep political rift exists between the two factions in England, the “conquering” Normans, who are currently in power, and the “native” Saxons, who represent deposed nobility (like Ivanhoe and his father, Sir Cedric) and the common folk, such as rabble rouser Sir Robin of Locksley. Ivanhoe seeks help from his estranged father, who disowned him when he joined the Crusades against his wishes and despite the attempt at mediating by Cedric’s ward and Ivanhoe’s beloved, Lady Rowena, Ivanhoe is turned away by Cedric without any help with the ransom. Fate brings Ivanhoe upon Isaac of York, the main banker for the Jews of England and in exchange for religious freedom which he grants them in Richard’s name, they agree to help pay the ransom from amongst the Jewish community. Ivanhoe also plans on raising support for his cause by defeating the Saxon nobles in a jousting tournament Prince John is hosting, and this is where the first encounter between Ivanhoe and the conniving Brian de Bois Gilbert (played with a suitable snarl by the great George Sanders) takes place. Armored as the mysterious black knight, Ivanhoe defeats all Saxon challengers, until he is knocked off his horse by Bois Gilbert in a close contest. Ivanhoe is seriously injured in the match and is taken to the home of Isaac, where he is cared for by his lovesick daughter, Rebecca (an impossibly beautiful nineteen year old Elizabeth Taylor). While he is being cared for, Prince John learns of Ivanhoe’s plans and has his father, Rowena, Rebecca and Isaac captured and imprisoned in Bois Gilbert’s castle. With the help of Robin Hood, Ivanhoe leads an assault on the castle (Ivanhoe fighting from within after a botched prisoner exchange, and Robin Hood’s archers advancing from outside in a stunning scene), freeing Cedric, Rowena and Isaac, but losing Rebecca to the lustful Bois Gilbert, who escapes with her. Prince John, in an attempt to win back the people, plots to have Rebecca killed for witchcraft and alleging Richard was in league with the Jews and their black magic; however Ivanhoe offers his life in battle against the King’s champion, to clear her name. Prince John names Bois Gilbert, and the two have a vicious fight, in which Ivanhoe ultimately emerges victorious. Rebecca is freed and the ransom Ivanhoe raised with the help of the Jews frees Richard, who returns to his country amidst great pomp (both on screen and off, thanks to Miklos Rozsa’s pounding score).

Filmed almost immediately after, and largely due to the success of “Ivanhoe”, “Knights of the Round Table” takes the now familiar tale based on Thomas Mallory’s “La Morte D’Artur” and gives it the sweeping epic 1950’s Technicolor treatment. Reuniting Robert Taylor, not as Arthur, but as the noble yet doomed knight Lancelot, and his director, Richard Thorpe, the film was shot on gorgeous location in England and Ireland, and features a strong supporting cast including the ravishing Ava Gardner as Guinevere, Mel Ferrer as Arthur, Stanley Baker as the villainous Mordred and from “Ivanhoe”, Felix Aylmer as the wise sage Merlin. The story, which seems so redundant now, was fresh and new to audiences of the time as a dramatic interpretation of the events featuring such pop culture touchstones as Camelot and Excalibur had never been done to such an expensive extent. In the early going, Arthur is simply one of many embattled chieftains, fighting for a united Britain, which has been in divided chaos since the Romans left. As illegitimate son of Uther Pendragon, the last recognized king; his claim to the throne is challenged, most adamantly by Mordred, who is aligned with Arthur’s half sister Morgan Le Fay. Desperately seeking to unite Britain, through bloodshed if he must, Arthur, with the help of Merlin and Lancelot, who arrives early on from France seeking to aid Arthur in his noble quest, defeats his combined enemies in an epic (especially for the time) battle and sees his dream realized. Arthur sets up court at Camelot and rules benevolently with his queen, Guinevere. Directly under Arthur’s nose, however, Lancelot and Guinevere begin a clandestine love affair. While Mallory’s poem dramatizes their love affair as quite passionate, restrictions of the time prevented any such portrayal, which hurts the film while viewing in a contemporary context, as their love seems more platonic (they don’t even share a kiss until “the dye has been cast” as it were). Fearful of being found out and disgracing Arthur, Lancelot accepts a post in the far North, which enables the film another rousing action set piece, but after a period of peace, he must return to Camelot. Entrapped by Mordred and Morgan, who still have designs on the throne, Lancelot is banished and Guinevere relegated to a nunnery, while Arthur again must fight fellow Britons. After being mortally wounded in battle, Arthur summons Lancelot back and in a climactic duel, dramatically shot on a brilliant cliff in Ireland, Lancelot defeats Mordred. The film takes the “safe” way out and segues into a pseudo epilogue in which Lancelot passes on the crown to Arthur and Guinevere’s son, Galahad, destined to be the bravest and noblest knight ever. Nevermind that Mallory implies that Galahad is the son of Lancelot and Guinevere, and other history implies that Galahad was in fact Lancelot’s brother, a good ending was what audiences craved in the 1950’s and that is what they got.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes/How to Marry a Millionaire

2007-03-21T12:54:00.000-07:00

In the early 1950's Marilyn Monroe starred in a number of successful musical comedies for 20th Century Fox. Not counting her later work with Billy Wilder at MGM (and "The Seven Year Itch", which was a Fox film, but differs greatly from her standard Fox fare, largely because of Wilder's touch), these films would stand as the apex of her career, based on the film's overall quality and the performances she turned in. Two of the best were “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”, directed by the legendary Howard Hawks and co-starring equally buxom Jane Russell. Remembered for all time as the film in which Monroe sings “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” in her sleeveless pink dress and long pink gloves, the film’s strength lies in the fact that Monroe has better chemistry with Jane Russell than she ever did any of her male co-stars. The two deftly play off each other, Monroe doing her trademark innocence and naiveté shtick, while Russell excels as the “ballsy, brassy dame”, who knows a thing or two about men and constantly has to impart her knowledge onto Monroe’s Lorelei Lee. The other is “How To Marry A Millionaire”, though not a comedy, combines Monroe with a stellar supporting cast, featuring Lauren Bacall and Betty Grable as her partners in the titular crime and the legendary William Powell, in a fine knowing performance, as one of their marks. The fun of this film is the premise: three millionaire chasing women move into an apartment they could never afford with a limited budget, planning on marrying for money way before that ever becomes an issue. Obviously things do not go as planned, and the film stands as a fine comedic showcase for the three women; suave, sophisticated Lauren Bacall, nearly blind Marilyn Monroe, and impulsive ditz Betty Grable. Both films were hits in their day, solidifying Monroe’s stature as leading lady of romantic comedies and leading to bigger roles in the aforementioned Wilder films.

“Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” introduces its two chorines; Lorelei Lee and Dorothy Shaw, as they are performing their nightclub act together, singing “We’re Two Little Girls From Little Rock”. The reason it sounds so good is because it, along with several other songs used in the film, was written by Jule Styne, acclaimed composer of songs from such classic shows and films as “Gypsy”, “Anchors Aweigh”, and “Funny Girl”. After their act, Lorelei’s fiancé, Gus Esmond visits them backstage and expresses his reluctance to let the girls go to Europe unaccompanied. To make matters worse, Gus’ father, and provider of his considerable fortune, thinks Lorelei is nothing but a golddigger, and warns that any misconduct on her part will result in Gus being cut off. What he does not tell Gus is that he is sending a private detective along to follow the girls and make sure Lorelei gets into trouble. The fact that they are traveling with the Olympic track team, all of whom appeal to the always-looking-for-a-good-time Dorothy, does nothing for Gus’ nerves. Soon after the ship sets sail Lorelei immediately begins looking for a sugar daddy (something to tide her over I suppose) and settles on Henry Spofford III, based on his regal sounding name. Little does she know that Mr. Spofford is actually an extremely precocious 7 year old boy, and his one-liners, delivered in a deadly serious monotone, comprise the film’s funniest moments. Lorelei soon settles on a different type of sugar daddy, Sir Francis “Piggy” Beekman, played by famed character actor Charles Coburn. After the private detective, Ernie Malone, who cozies up to the ladies by coming on to Dorothy, gets his pictures of Lorelei and Piggy together (in an innocuous act of course), Mr. Esmond pulls the plug, which sends a desperate Gus to Paris, where the ladies are performing in a variety show. Complicating matters is Ernie’s growing affection for Dorothy and a missing diamond tiara which Piggy gives to Lorelei in a moment of weakness, then disappears when his wife starts asking about it. Everything is resolved in an elaborate courtroom scene in which Dorothy poses as Lorelei, sings a reprise of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” and clears everyone’s name. Ernie destroys his evidence, winning back Dorothy’s heart and Gus and Lorelei are free to be together (while she does love him, her intentions remain strictly monetary, sending a troubling message, especially considering the next film).

“How To Marry a Millionaire” plays out much the same way, with the three women, working as models, set themselves as bait to lure in three millionaires. All three quickly find suitable marks, Loco (Betty Grable) ends up with J. Stewart, domineering banker only to happy to cheat on his wife, but desperate to avoid word of it getting out, Pola (Marilyn Monroe) lands mysterious eye-patched playboy Waldo, and ostensible leader Schatze (Lauren Bacall) lands Texas oilman JD Hanley, a debonair (much) older man, played with requisite charm by William Powell. Loco and Pola quickly find their men not worth their time, both through hilarious circumstances. Loco immediately falls ill upon arriving at the rustic Elk lodge Stewart takes her to, and is nursed back to health by Eben, the handsome park ranger/valet who works for Stewart. She mistakenly assumes he is wealthy when he tells her thousands of acres of timber are “his”, referring of course to his duty to protect them. Pola, who is constantly at a severe disadvantage thanks to her insistence on not wearing her glasses, lets her poor vision cloud her judgment with Waldo, ignoring her friends’ comments that he is no good. Her poor vision however is ultimately what gets her out of trouble. Schatze is at first the happiest of the three. She truly loves JD (and his money) and his noble intentions and refined manner suit her perfectly. All the while she has to reject the advances of Tom Brookman, a millionaire who never wears a suit and prefers cheeseburgers, thus she assumes he works at a gas station. All three realize their unhappiness, though not without one final push of common sense (Stewart’s paranoia about being seen with Loco explodes as they have the unfortunate distinction of being the 1 millionth car to cross the George Washington Bridge, resulting in a massive photo op, while Pola, thinking she is getting on a plane to Atlantic City to meet the shady Waldo, instead ends up on a plane to Kansas City sitting next to Freddie Denmark, the on-the-lam millionaire owner of the apartment the girls have been renting!) and end up with their new men. Schatze has the hardest decision to make. She ends up not marrying JD, who handles the entire thing with diplomacy, even putting in a good word for Tom, resulting in Schatze giving him a chance and ultimately falling in love with him (she only finds out her is a millionaire after he throws down a $1,000 bill to cover the gang’s tab at his favorite cheeseburger place). As opposed to “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”, here, all three women end up in loving relationships, although, they have to some fun, two of the three of them are still millionaires!

San Francisco

2007-03-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

One of the best of the "disaster film” sub-genre that was popular in the 1930's, “San Francisco” was an MGM production that boasts two incredible stars and award winning, revolutionary special effects recreating an event only 30 years old at the time. Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy were two of the biggest stars of the time when MGM first paired them together for this film. The duo would subsequently appear on screen together in "Test Pilot" and "Boom Town", but never as successfully, with both actors comfortably playing roles that suit them perfectly. Gable is "Blackie" Norton, one of the bosses of the Barbary Coast, San Francisco's gambling and otherwise “illicit” district, whose counsel comes from his boyhood friend and priest, Father Tim Mullin, played by Spencer Tracy. With Gable as a charismatic rogue and Tracy as a compassionate man of faith (roles they would play many times throughout their respective careers), plus the dynamic singing of rising star Jeanette MacDonald (soon to be illustriously paired with Nelson Eddy in a popular series of MGM operettas) and the aforementioned special effects (taken for granted today, but cracking a believable city street was no small feat in 1936), all under the smooth direction of W.S. "One Take Woody" Van Dyke, made this one of MGM's biggest hits of 1936. While the sub-genre would go on to include "In Old Chicago", "The Hurricane" and "The Rains Came", “San Francisco” and Schoedsack/Cooper's "The Last Days of Pompeii" were among the first to dazzle audiences with spectacular recreations of historic events, but still barely scratching the surface of what cinematic innovators would ultimately accomplish. However, when considering older films, one must place them in their proper context, and in 1936, there was no bigger film than MGM's "San Francisco".

The film begins on New Year’s Eve, 1905. As the town celebrates, a house burns down on the Barbary Coast, the “red light” district of San Francisco, which is saying something considering San Francisco was regarded as the “wickedest” city in the world at the time. The next morning, several area “politicians” come to see Blackie Norton, owner of the Paradise saloon and dance hall, as well as de facto leader of the Coast, and urge him to run for city council. Blackie reluctantly accepts but soon is caught up in his fight abolish the fire trap buildings that populate the Coast, such as the one that burned down on New Year’s Eve. His political fighting soon takes a back seat to his romantic fighting with upper class politician and manager of the Tivoli Opera House, Jack Burley. Burley hears Blackie’s newest singer, Mary Blake, perform one night at his club and instantly recognizes her operatic voice is being wasted performing in a saloon and implores Blackie to tear up his contract with her and let her go to the Tivoli. Burley also loves Mary and his jealousy rivals Blackie’s who fiercely and selfishly forbids her from breaking her contract. Initially Mary, a naïve young girl new to San Francisco, thinks of Blackie as a thug and gambler, but she begins to see the good in him thanks to his best friend, Father Tim Mullin, who informs her of Blackie’s good deeds he does for the community anonymously. Mary soon falls in love with Blackie, but Burley does not give up and soon Father Mullin begins pressuring Blackie to let her go to the Tivoli. Blackie reluctantly lets her go, but after one performance schemes to get her back, threatening to use his new political clout against Burley. The scheme works temporarily, but when Father Mullin learns of it, he forces Blackie to let her go back, resulting in Blackie punching his best friend, but Father Mullin’s point has been made, and Blackie again lets her go to the Tivoli. Leaving her time at the Paradise behind, Mary soon becomes an opera sensation and is soon engaged to Burley, while a bitter Blackie sees the Paradise shut down by politicians in an attempt to “clean up” the Coast.

Soon after, Mary and Burley are attending an annual society gala which honors the best variety act in San Francisco. All of the dance halls perform, except for the Paradise, which has been shut down. Mary jumps up at the last moment and announces she will sing on behalf of the Paradise and leads the crowd in a rousing rendition of the song “San Francisco”, enough to win the event for the Paradise. A resentful Blackie storms on stage and says “no thanks”, shunning Mary and the honor, but the uneasy mood quickly changes as the most devastating earthquake in California history hits. Tearing the theater apart, toppling tall buildings, breaking open city streets, splitting water mains, and causing massive fires, the earthquake completely ravages the city. Blackie emerges from under a pile of rubble and quickly begins looking for Mary. He grows despondent when he finds the body of Burley and Mary’s hat, wandering aimlessly around town looking for her, trying to avoid deadly aftershocks, and the raging fire, which the army tries to stop by dynamiting debris into its path (in reality, the water main breaking was the worst of the fallout, as the raging fires could not be adequately fought, thus the archaic practice of dynamiting, which ended up doing much more harm than good). Blackie stumbles into a Red Cross tent and finds Father Mullin caring for the wounded. Thinking Mary is dead, Blackie slumps to the ground and sheds a few tears (much would be made of Clark Gable refusing to do a scene in which he had to cry in “Gone With the Wind” three years later, allegedly threatening to walk off the film until Olivia de Havilland convinced him otherwise, however here oddly, no such stories exist), but Father Mullin says he knows where Mary is and takes him to her. Blackie and Mary are reunited in a large refugee camp, and as a boy runs through the camp telling everyone the fire is out, Blackie and Mary walk hand in hand with the swelling crowd back into their ruined city, which, as the film fades to black, dissolves into a shot of contemporary San Francisco, leaving the viewer with a feeling of resiliency and hope.

Irma La Douce

2007-03-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

Only Billy Wilder could write a sweet, charming, hilarious romantic comedy where his leading lady plays an indifferent prostitute. The man who made a living churning laughs out of the most cynical of situations made it four for four when he followed up his masterpieces “Some Like It Hot” and “The Apartment”, and the vastly underrated “One, Two, Three!” with “Irma La Douce”, a delightful fable reuniting his two stars from “The Apartment”: Shirley MacLaine as the titular heroine (taking her one step further to ruin from a confidence-less working girl/mistress in “The Apartment”) and Jack Lemmon in a dynamic double performance as exasperated Nestor Patou and his alter ego, Lord X. The film also features a wonderful supporting performance by Lou Jacobi (in a role intended for Charles Laughton) as Moustache, the de facto narrator and conscience of the piece. The plot, if handled by anyone else, would be written off as convoluted and superfluous, but Wilder and his writing partner I.A.L. Diamond were masters of the five (or six) act structure, as the film deliberately plays out, milking every situation for all its worth. Really though, the story is Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine playing off each other, possessing chemistry most directors would kill for. Attention must also be given to the film’s elaborate Rue Casanova set as well. While the majority of Wilder’s films are mostly static, this film plays out across the gorgeous set, as well as some fine Parisian exteriors which give the film an extra cache. Running at a leisurely 147 minutes (a hefty running time for any film, let alone a romantic comedy), the film sprawls through four distinct story arcs, which basically boil down to boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. The genius of Billy Wilder was that even when he was brushing with excess and indulgence (his later films’ padded running times hint at greater creative freedom, and a growing displeasure with studio imposed edits), his jokes were always funny and his characters always true. Jokes and gags that would come off as superfluous and unnecessary in other films are always inspired and worthwhile in Wilder’s, a forgiveness which few directors are granted from critics and audiences.

As the film begins, Nestor Patou is an overly enthusiastic patrolman, walking his first beat on the Rue Casanova. Recently promoted after rescuing a boy from drowning at his previous beat (a tame childrens’ park, a joke amongst the other policemen), Nestor is shocked when he discovers the rampant prostitution. He proceeds to arrest the entire network of pimps, girls and their johns, capturing his captain in the process; all this despite the protest of Moustache, the owner of the bar that serves as unofficial headquarters of the Rue Casanova. Fired from the police force for embarrassing the captain and disrupting standard business practices, Nestor sadly returns to the Rue Casanova looking for Irma, the pretty red head he noticed during his arrest. After witnessing her being roughed up by her pimp, Nestor steps in on her behalf and in a hilarious “fight” completely inadvertently manages to knock the pimp (the local tough, natch) out, securing Irma’s affection and the respect of all the other pimps who elect him their new leader. Swept up in a new career, Nestor hatches a new scheme to keep Irma from selling herself on the street: posing as a wealthy, mysterious, older Englishman, known as Lord X. Jack Lemmon throws himself into the more unrestrained role of Lord X, with a maniacal cackle and herky jerky walk, as well as referencing pretty much every popular film about the British of the past 30 years (“Gunga Din”, “Lives of a Bengal Lancer”, “The Charge of the Light Brigade”, etc). Initially flush with a loan from Moustache, Lord X agrees to visit Irma twice a week, each time giving her 500 francs and in exchange she does not sleep with any other men. Irma is at first confused by Lord X’s intentions, he seems content simply talking and playing solitaire with her, but soon she falls in love with the mysterious gentleman, never suspecting he is Nestor trying simply to do the right thing. To sustain the 1000 francs he has promised to Irma as Lord X, Nestor begins waking up early in the morning, sneaking out of the apartment and working several jobs before returning home just as Irma awakens. During this time Irma gets increasingly frustrated with Nestor, as she cannot figure out why he is constantly exhausted and disinterested in her. Nestor soon realizes she may prefer Lord X to him, which results in him taking drastic action.

Nestor plans on “retiring” the Lord X character to win back Irma’s affections, but as he throws the Lord X costume in the river, a passerby suspects that Nestor, who emerges from behind the tree Lord X just went behind moments before, has killed him, and soon Nestor is arrested for the murder of Lord X. Nestor thinks he can explain everything to the police, but Moustache hatches a plan: the only way to convince Irma of your love is to admit to killing Lord X in a fit of jealous passion. This being Paris, he claims, they will be compelled to free you to be with the woman you love. Moustache’s plan half works; Irma’s love for Nestor is rekindled, but Nestor is throw in jail. A few months later Moustache breaks him out and in a hilarious moment, Lord X is reborn (literally emerging from the Siene at the exact spot Nestor was to have killed him), and vindicates Nestor. Nestor and Irma are free to marry and in the background of the wedding a mysterious stranger watches the proceedings: Lord X! As the audience wonders what is going on, Moustache appears and says “but that’s another story”, a refrain of a phrase he has used several times throughout the film, each time usually to get Nestor to go along with a scheme of his (when he convinces Nestor he can get him off for the murder of Lord X by rationalizing he was once a lawyer, “but that’s another story”). Noting that this was Billy Wilder’s highest grossing film is surprising considering some of his classics like “Some Like It Hot” and “Sunset Boulevard”, but when you consider the two stars at the peak of their careers, the overwhelming amount of chemistry they shared on the heels of “The Apartment”, and the sheer number of laughs the film has, its not that big a shock. One can wonder how different the film would have been with Marilyn Monroe in the lead, Billy Wilder had a longstanding love/hate relationship with the star, always coaxing an incredible performance from her, but using every last strain of patience in the process and in the end he opted for the more stable Shirley MacLaine. Watching the film today, it appears quite perfect.

Inherit the Wind

2007-01-19T11:36:00.000-08:00

With the gradual liberal shift beginning to prevail in Hollywood in the mid 1950's, thanks to the strong opposition within the filmmaking community of the radical conservative policies regarding Communism, a new wave of court room dramas, steeped in realism, yet paced like action films, arrived. The best example of this type is Sidney Lumet's riveting "12 Angry Men", a film translation of a hit Broadway play in which a seemingly slam dunk guilty verdict dissolves over the course of one chaotic day of arguing in a jury room, thanks largely to the curiousity of one juror, played by Henry Fonda. Another film worth mentioning in this small sub-genre, also based on a successful Broadway play, is 1960's "Inherit the Wind". Directed by Stanley Kramer, the film is a dramatic interpretation of the infamous Scopes Monkey Trial of the 1920's, one of the first significant clashes of culture in American society, a theme that is even more topical today as that rift has widended significantly in the 70 year interim. The Scopes Monkey trial concerned a high school biology teacher, John Scopes, imprisoned because he taught his students the theory of evolution (hence the monkey), in effect "renouncing" religious monotheistic doctrine, which states that God created the world, man included. The prosecution was headed by William Jennings Bryan, three time loser of the presidency of the United States, but still one of the most influential and powerful conservative politicians of the time. For the defense, Scopes was represented by celebrated trial lawyer Clarence Darrow. The trial became a national fascination, thanks to the larger than life personalities on either side of the case, and its legacy is incredibly important, considering the gap between the religious right and the liberal left today. The film version was no less celebrated, thanks to Spencer Tracy and Fredric March as Henry Drummond (Darrow) and Matthew Harrison Brady (Bryan) respectively, giving typical towering performances; their courtroom scenes are positively spellbinding, and the film as a whole is a startling depiction of problems we still see affecting politics today.

As the film opens, biology teacher Bertram Cates has just made his fateful decision, knowing full well the consequences that await him as the local police stand in the back of the classroom. Held in the town jail, the impending trial begins to attract national attention, thanks to newspaper columnist E.K. Hornbeck, writer for the Baltimore Sun. Played by Gene Kelly in a delightful, different turn for the actor, Hornbeck is ostensibly the film’s narrator, (somewhat) impartially observing from the vantage point of reporter, but really as invested as the entire town is. He chides the locals for their superstitious ways regarding religion, believing Cates is doomed to burn in Hell for his sins, and Kelly maintains a perfect sarcastic, comedic wit, making you wish he had stepped outside of his bread and butter zone more often. Hornbeck, like the two lawyers, is based on acclaimed satirist/columnist of the time H.L. Mencken, and in reality his paper did help pay for Scopes’ defense. The film portrays Matthew Harrison Brady as an old war horse, eager to remain relevant even as the times are passing him by. He jumps at the opportunity to prosecute in the case and enters the small town to a hero’s welcome (so much for an impartial jury). Also implied is a longstanding friendship between Brady and his ultimate adversary, Henry Drummond, who seemingly accepts the case more as a last duel with Brady than anything else. A devout agnostic and firm believer in modern science, Tracy plays Drummond with an air of reluctant enthusiasm, the once proud king of the jungle in the twilight of his career, but whose interest grows as the case becomes more heated. Brady’s main argument is that Cates broke the state law, forbidding the teaching of anything contrary to the theory of Divine conception. To him, it is a slam dunk. Drummond, like a fight, absorbs the obvious blows early, rolling with the punches as it were, until he launches into his (both Darrow the lawyer and Tracy the actor) signature speeches. As the trial plays out, the town slowly begins to take sides. Cates’ fiancee is daughter to the town’s preacher, and this is played out in a somewhat melodramatic subplot, but the friendship explored between Drummond and Brady is quite compelling. A quiet scene between the two men sitting on the porch of the lodging house they are sharing is so sublime it feels improvised, just two great actors, speaking as their respective characters would have.

The film’s climax comes when Drummond calls Brady to the stand as a witness for the defense. The move stuns the courtroom, but Brady, confident in an apparent victory, steps forward. Drummond proceeds to bombard him with questions concerning events regarded as biblical fact. Brady begins by curtly answering each question with a similar response, essentially “I believe everything in the Bible”. But Drummond keeps chiseling away, asking about Jonah and the whale, asking about turning water into wine and walking on water, and other miracles. His questions begin to create contradictions as an increasingly frustrated Brady attempts to answer in greater detail. Eventually Drummond gets the answer he wants, Brady throws his hands up and cries ignorance. Drummond has proved his point: no one can confirm biblical events, and a law attempting to do so will create a multitude of problems concerning interpretation. Despite a compelling case, one that leaves Brady visibly shaken, thanks to the stress, his age, weight and the crippling heat of the courtroom, the jury finds Cates guilty. However they impose a lenient fine, prompting a last gasp from Brady, before he drops dead from exertion. As the courtroom dismisses, Drummond and Hornbeck share a moment, each offering their thoughts on Brady; Drummond says he was “once a great man”, while Hornbeck is less kind, referring to the cause of death as a “busted belly”, broke by too much hot air. Despite the verdict, Drummond knows he has won, and the film definitely plays towards a victory for progressive thought, and a criticism towards religious bigotry and relative simple mindedness. In addition to its significant subject matter, the film also is celebrated for its two lead performances. Spencer Tracy and Fredric March were two long time veterans of Hollywood and Broadway, in an odd coincidence, both men had even portrayed the title roles in different film versions of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”, and their performances here are typically impressive. The film was nominated for only four Academy Awards, Fredric March (whom I consider the more impressive of the two in this film) was not even nominated, nor was the picture or Stanley Kramer’s skilled direction. No matter though, the film has achieved its status as an American classic, one that is still relevant today.

Forbidden Planet

2007-01-10T12:49:00.000-08:00

Throughout the golden age of Hollywood, MGM was the studio most known for putting the “dream” in the term “dream factory. Famous for their splashy, colorful musicals, and rousing adventure pictures, MGM is also responsible for one of the classic films of the science fiction genre, which boomed in the 1950’s. Fueled by America’s “space race” with the USSR and the scary possibilities of atomic weapons, science fiction films became very popular, tapping into the public’s fear and fascination. “Forbidden Planet”, released in 1956, is regarded today as one of the smartest science fiction films of its time, thanks mostly to a dignified lead performance by Walter Pidgeon. Most of the sci fi films of the 1950’s, such as “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”, involved humans coming into contact with aliens, either on Earth, or through space exploration, and the results were rarely peaceful. This ingrained equation of aliens equal bad was a trope Spielberg played with in his 1977 film “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, and he can look to the films of the 1950’s for giving that film its power and emotion. “Forbidden Planet” was different, even though its plot sounds familiar (a crew is sent to investigate the disappearance of another crew some twenty years before on a small, distant planet), the film features an ingenious script, which incorporates elaborate themes of philosophy, an unconventional antagonist, and a unique setting (the distant planet, Altair-5, filled with incredible technology, wild animals, and two humans), and introduces audiences to arguably the biggest star of the film, Robby the Robot. Recently released in a sparkling two disc special edition, “Forbidden Planet” is a brainy, fascinating science fiction adventure film, that does not rely on atomic fears (a giant monster emerging from the ocean), or interplanetary suspicions (are there men on the Moon that might mean us harm?), instead telling a strong story, with decent special effects and an interesting score comprised entirely of electronic tonal sounds.

As the film begins, Commander J.J. Adams and his crew come into orbit with Altair-5, a small planet where an exploration crew of scientists had been sent to years before, but have since ceased contact. Commander Adams makes contact with the enigmatic Dr. Morbius, who claims to be the sole survivor of the previous crew and who adamantly urges Adams not to land on the planet, ominously warning them of some unspecified danger. Adams, played with a cocky sense of bravado by Leslie Nielson(!), lands anyway and with two members of his crew is escorted to the home of Dr. Morbius by an incredible robot, named Robby (a creation so beloved, the character went on to appear in additional movies and television shows, most inexplicably an episode of “The Thin Man”!). Upon arriving, Morbius introduces his daughter, Altaira, the only other living resident of the planet. Morbius tells Commander Adams of a mysterious monster that killed the entire crew after a few weeks of their inhabitance on the planet. The monster was never seen, yet it tore the other crew members limb from limb. Soon Morbius and his young daughter were all that remained, and the monster mysteriously retreated, having not returned since. The threat is still ever present though, and Morbius demonstrates the elaborate safety measures he has taken with his house (despite taking place some 1,000 years in the future, his home decor looks remarkably 1950’s), remote controlled shields cover the windows and doors, and Robby himself serves as a potentially deadly, if otherwise benevolent, guard dog. A nagging feeling that Morbius is hiding something remains with Commander Adams as he returns to his ship, specifically the mysterious monster, and the incredible Robby, who can replicate any chemical compound after a few seconds of analysis, a scientific marvel that would take centuries to innovate, yet something Morbius completed, alone, in the span of a few years. Adams is skeptical of Morbius’ story, and plans on staying for a week to properly assess the situation; his other reason being his blossoming romance with the beautiful Altaira. After their ship is ransacked one evening and two of their men killed by an unseen force, Adams returns to Morbius’ home and demands more information on the monster.

Morbius instead reveals a subterranean layer of his home, which he explains belonged to an alien race known as the Krell, who lived several thousand years before. The Krell possessed an intellect exponentially greater than that of humans, their tools for measuring the amount of brain power being used barely registers a blip when tapped into Morbius. Limited by his relatively feeble brain capacity, Morbius experimented with one of their machines and after knocking himself unconscious for several days, awoke with an IQ several hundred points higher than it was previously, a change he immediately put to use, producing Robby. Now being able to comprehend more of their writings and instruments, Morbius discovered they were on the brink of their greatest discovery before they were entirely wiped out, he guesses by the same force that killed his crew. Adams demands that the tools be brought back to Earth for analysis, but Morbius forbids it, explaining that he alone can fully decipher the mystery of the Krell and expels Adams and his men from the compound, threatening the return of the monster if they do not leave immediately. Adams returns later with the help of Altaira and tries to plug into the same machine Morbius used to increase his IQ, but his first mate does so before he can and is immediately knocked out. He briefly comes to and issues a dire warning “monsters from the id”. Adams and Morbius realize that the monster is actually coming from his own sub-conscious, the desire for more power manifesting itself as an unstoppable monster. Morbius implores Adams to escape and take his daughter with him, remaining behind to blow the planet up, destroying the Krell’s deadly technology forever. The film ends with some philosophizing by Commander Adams, which would not sound so hokey if Leslie Nielson had not gone on to star in “The Naked Gun” and “Airplane!”, yet it perfectly encompasses the film’s ambitious breadth, of exploring a menace other than nuclear powered monsters or moon men/pod people. The film was regarded as a brainy space spectacle for its day, a tag that still applies today.

Yankee Doodle Dandy

2007-01-01T11:31:00.000-08:00

James Cagney made a career out of playing tough guys and gangsters. His roles as Tom Powers and Cody Jarrett are classic cinematic portrayals. However the film James Cagney won his only competitive Academy Award for was a musical. Beginning his career on the Broadway stage Cagney was no stranger to song and dance, and while his legacy today is that of a tough guy, he was actually known throughout the 1930's for both types of roles, starring in frothy musicals such as "Footlight Parade" in tandem with the gangster films. Credited with kick starting the "biography" musical sub-genre of the 1940's, "Yankee Doodle Dandy" is the story of George M. Cohan, the flag waving vaudeville and stage star who wrote some of America's most patriotic anthems, such as "Over There" and "You're a Grand Old Flag". From his early career touring the country in vaudeville acts with his family, through his own superstar solo career playing opposite his wife, the film celebrates the life of the man, played to dynamic perfection by Cagney. In perhaps an even more curious move, the film is directed by Michael Curtiz, Warner Bros. jack of all trades, who in the years surrounding this backstage musical would also direct several war themed action films, a western, a period swashbuckler, a hybrid noir/"woman's picture" and a little film called "Casablanca". Never one to rest on his laurels, Curtiz was always eager to try new things, like his contemporaries Howard Hawks and William Wyler, and his range is truly incredible, especially compared with filmmakers of today. As solid as Curtiz' direction is (considering he had no musical background, the film has perfect pacing and staging), the film belongs to Cagney, whose magnetic performance illustrated the star's inherent charisma as well as any of his gangster roles. This feat did not go unnoticed at the time either, as Cangey was awarded Best Actor of 1942.

Told in flashback, the film's story is told by Cohan to Franklin Delano Roosevelt on a rainy night at the White House. FDR summons the star, at this time a longtime veteran just out of retirement and starring in a new show "I'd Rather Be Right", a comedy spoofing the country's politics of the time, and is instantly engaged by his energy, enthusiasm and compassion. Cohan tells "the head man" of his early days trooping with his family as "The Four Cohans" (and his apropos date of birth: July 4!), and his tough decision to leave the act when it became apparent George had the talent and ambition for bigger and better things (the scene where he talks his way into an early audition perfectly captures the smooth control Cangey had over the character, while demonstrating Cohan's drive and charismatic personality). A nice scene early on in his solo career shows his first meeting with Mary, his future wife; initially a star struck fan, eager to meet the old man who was captivating on stage, Mary is entirely unaware that the role was played by a 25 year old George. George tricks her for a little while, performing incredible gymnastic feats before revealing himself. Soon the two are married and George's career skyrockets, thanks to his passion for the country he calls home. Applying his talents towards the war effort, George writes several of his standards in the wake of World War I and becomes an American icon. However he quickly becomes disenchanted with showbusiness, int he waning days of vaudeville many acts found themselves being phased out, while few had acheived even a fraction of what Cohan had, and he simply retired, living a relaxed life in the country with his wife. A chance encounter with some young people who had never heard of him or his songs prompts Cohan out of retirement and in typical Cohan fashion, he writes, directs and stars in a new show, "I'd Rather Be Right", where he plays a bumbling president. Intending to spoof the political machines and not the man himself, Cohan is somewhat nervous when summoned into the Oval Office, but is humbled when he realizes he has been brought in to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor for his patriotic work during his illustrious career.

Touched deeply by the gesture by the president, Cohan literally dances down the steps of the White House, a remarkable feat considering the act is captured in one medium shot, with Cagney never once looking down. Cohan had never considered his songwriting anything more than doing his patriotic duty, he wrote songs that celebrated his country, inspired by tough times when he felt people needed to be cheered up. The overwhelming success of "Yankee Doodle Dandy" would inspire several other biographical musicals about songwriters, such as "Til The Clouds Roll By", "Three Little Words" and another Michael Curtiz effort, "Night and Day", about the great Cole Porter. None of these subsequent films could duplicate the success of "Yankee Doodle Dandy" for one obvious reason: they lacked a dynamic star presence like James Cagney, giving a tour de force performance. Great music is another thing the film has in its favor; Cohan's USA anthems are not the only famous songs the film utilizes, "Give My Regards to Broadway", "Forty Five Minutes From Broadway", "Mary" and the titular number all add to the film's longstanding appeal. The film ends perfectly, Cohan having received his medal, he thanks "the head man" the same way he famously thanked every audience he ever performed for with his family, saying "my father thanks you, my mother thanks you, my sister thanks you, and I thank you". Winner of two additional Academy Awards in addition to Cagney's slam dunk, the film was nominated for five others, including Best Director and Best Picture (oddly enough, that team, Michael Curtiz and Hal B. Wallis, would win the following year for "Casablanca"). Somewhat forgotten today because of Cagney's beign synonymous with the gangster genre, "Yankee Doodle Dandy" is a wonderful period musical well worth revisiting today.

Only Angels Have Wings

2006-12-21T12:15:00.000-08:00

With escapism at its peak in the 1930’s, movies about brave men doing noble things were quite common. This theme of bravado and derring-do was prevalent in a number of the films of director Howard Hawks. One such film is “Only Angels Have Wings”, a love letter to aviators, who defy death for the love of being in the air. The film simply glorifies the aviators and their devil-may-care lifestyle. Of course, this being the 1930’s, and this being a Howard Hawks film, there is more to it; the film’s location is an exotic South American location, Barranca, and is peppered with many familiar faces, including leading man Cary Grant, leading lady Jean Arthur, an early supporting turn from recently dubbed Rita Hayworth (previously billed as Rita Cansino), silent film star Richard Barthelmess, and a great turn by celebrated character actor Thomas Mitchell, who appeared in several other classic films that same year: “Gone With the Wind”, “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” and “Stagecoach”, for which he would win a Supporting Actor Oscar. Somewhat forgotten today, given that 1939 is generally regarded as the greatest year in cinema history, “Only Angels Have Wings” is a fine collection of acting, directing, and writing, a typical studio picture of the time and as with most neglected gems of the time, one that is well worth revisiting today. There are a few troubling aspects of the film which reflect poorly on it today however: a jingoistic tone permeates throughout (the natives and their culture are acknowledged, but definitely not embraced) and there is one truly shocking scene in which condors are dispatched with a surplus of nitroglycerine that has to be seen in all its blissful ignorance to be believed. Most films of the old studio era come with a few caveats today, but they should not prevent this film from being remembered.

As the film opens, Bonnie Lee, improbably a chorus girl on layover in Barranca, and even more improbably played by wholesome Jean Arthur, is followed by two of the fliers. Vying for her affections they both invite Bonnie back to the bar/restaurant/hotel they frequent, which is owned and operated by Dutchy, played by another great character actor, Sig Ruman, better known for his clowning with the Marx Brothers and other comedic turns. Dutchy also owns the mail-by-air company all the fliers work for, and the company is not doing well. Managed on a day to day basis by Geoff Carter, the improbably swashbuckling aviator played by Cary Grant, Geoff understands the sacrifices he and his men must make, most significantly taking their life in their hands every time they take off. Given the financial troubles Dutchy is embroiled in with the company, Geoff has been pushing his men hard to insure Dutchy gets his contract renewed and subsidized; that means a higher number of dangerous flights, through driving rain, dense fog and blinding snow higher up in the Andes. When one of the fliers (sent on the mission by shrewd ladies man Geoff so he can make time with Bonnie) becomes impatient, fearing if he does not land quickly he will lose his chance with Bonnie, he plans a reckless landing. Despite Geoff’s warning, a landing is almost impossible given the thick fog and the plane comes down in a spectacular crash. Bonnie is horrified, blaming herself for the terrible accident, but she is even more revolted by the apparent lack of compassion the men show, immediately returning to dinner, drinks and music. Geoff explains that dwelling on the dangers would be even worse for the men, that they are all well aware of the dangers inherent with the job. Bonnie also learns from ‘the Kid’, Geoff’s best friend and fellow flier, that he usually takes the most dangerous flights himself, risking his own safety over that of his men. This softens Bonnie’s heart somewhat, and she, of course, becomes attracted to the charismatic Geoff and his “daring young men in their flying machines”.

Amidst the blossoming love affair between Bonnie and Geoff comes a mysterious new flier, Kilgallen, and his beautiful young wife, Judy. Complicating things is the history each of them has with Kid and Geoff, respectively. Borrowing from a true story Howard Hawks was familiar with, Kilgallen (an assumed name) has been largely blacklisted from the aviator community after he parachuted from a plane going down, leaving his co-pilot to crash. That co-pilot was the Kid’s brother. Judy, played by the devastatingly beautiful Rita Hayworth, was Geoff’s old girlfriend, but he ended things when he fell too in love with her that it was affecting flying. He has sworn never to tell a woman what to do ever again, complicating things with Bonnie when he obviously wants her to stay, but cannot bring himself to ask her to. While minor sparks fly between Geoff and Judy, the real drama is between the Kid and Kilgallen. To make matters worse, Geoff has grounded the Kid because of failing eyesight, however after a series of circumstances leaves only the Kid and Kilgallen available to make the last flight needed to insure Dutchy’s contract, the two reluctantly partner up. After encountering bad weather while navigating a treacherous pass in the Andes, their plane sustains major damage and they have to crash land. The Kid is fatally wounded, but with his last breath instructs Kilgallen to jump to safety. Kilgallen refuses and lands the plane, suffering serious burns himself. After landing, Kilgallen has the respect of the men of the company now, including Geoff, who had treated him as a necessity, not a friend until then. The film ends with Bonnie, exasperated with Geoff’s commitment phobia, imploring him to just say the word and she will stay. Geoff offers to flip a coin to decide whether she will or not, before he takes off on another flight. Geoff wins and Bonnie is frustrated that he found a loophole to get her to stay, until she realizes the coin was the Kid’s trick coin, with both sides ‘heads’, meaning she was staying no matter what. Lost in the shuffle among films such as “Gone With the Wind” and “The Wizard of Oz” from the same year, “Only Angels Have Wings” is a perfect example of classic “Old Hollywood” filmmaking.

It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World

2006-12-08T12:57:00.000-08:00

Having already covered larger than life studio spectacles such as “Cleopatra”, “Giant” and “Doctor Zhivago”, it should be noted that the romantic drama/war were not the only genres covered by this method of filmmaking. The comedy, perhaps a peculiar choice for lavish, some would say overblown treatment, also benefited from the style, most successfully with 1963’s “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World”. Directed by the usually politically conscious filmmaker Stanley Kramer, the film boasts arguably the greatest comedic cast ever assembled. Where other studio epics spent their money on lavish sets, costumes and locations, MGM instead gathered every comedian from the current and previous generation, and threw them into a high concept premise: mysterious outlaw Smiler Grogan dies while eluding police. After crashing his car on an isolated stretch of California highway, he tells the random group of people who stopped to help of a buried treasure some hundred miles south. The group sets off on an all out race, covering land, sea and air, all while being pursued unbeknownst to them by Captain T.G. Culpepper, the lawman who had been chasing Smiler Grogan for years. In a clever twist, this is the only role played by a non-comedian, but to give credit, they found quite a capable actor: Spencer Tracy. Released at a whopping 192 minutes, “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” definitely offers plenty of laughs, although as with most “bigger is better” comedies, not all of them always work. The difference is that this film has over three hours or material, as opposed to 90 minutes, so while you may end up feeling overwhelmed, the laughs are still there, provided by such luminaries as Sid Caesar, Milton Berle, Buddy Hackett, Phil Sivers, Jonathan Winters and Jimmy Durante as Smiler Grogan, plus a multitude of cameos by, among others Buster Keaton, the Three Stooges, Buddy Ebsen, Don Knotts and Jerry Lewis.

The film really can be described as a three hour mad dash. The first 15 minutes establish Smiler Grogan, Captain Culpepper, and the four parties that stumble upon him: vacationing dentist Melville Crump (Sid Caesar) and his wife, hen pecked husband J. Russell Finch (Milton Berle), his wife, and her domineering mother, Mrs. Marcus (a screeching Ethel Merman, subject of perhaps the longest gestating gag payoff in cinema history), two dim bulb buddies (Buddy Hackett and Mickey Rooney), and a furniture mover, Jonathan Winters. Over the course of the film the group grows to include Mrs. Marcus’ overprotective son, Sylvester, an exasperated British military man, J. Algernon Hawthorne (played by the great Terry-Thomas), a smarmy salesman (the suitably smarmy Phil Silvers), a stuttering cab driver (played by famed black comedian Eddie Rochester Anderson), and Mr. Magoo himself, Jim Backus, as blind, oblivious millionaire Tyler Fitzgerald. A knock on the film is that the comedy is not based on jokes and situational comedy as much as it is huge set pieces, arguably huge set pieces that are played for maximum laughs. My favorite of the bunch involves Jonathan Winters’ character, Lennie Pike. After being swindled into telling about the buried treasure by Phil Silvers’ Otto Meyer and being left on the highway, Lennie is in quite a bad mood when he arrives (via a little girl’s bicycle) at a gas station seeking a phone and a means of transportation. Suspected of stealing by the two grotesques working the station, they subdue Lennie in a stack of tires, only to see his rage boil over. Lennie absolutely trashes the station, destroying everything that will break, knocking down all the walls, and the highway sign in his wake. This scene epitomizes the comedy of the film: big and broad. There is nothing witty about Lennie smashing through walls, but the scene is undeniably funny. Similar scenes such as Crump and his wife stuck in the basement of a hardware store trying every means possible to escape (jackhammer, blowtorch, dynamite) and the outrageous finale which finds the entire cast clinging to a seriously unstable fire escape, follow this same brand of humor, which is light years removed from the sophisticated laughs of a Woody Allen film, or the stylized word play of the Marx Bros., yet hilarious in its own right.

After allowing the characters to pursue the treasure for the majority of the film, Culpepper, we find out, has his own plans. An underpaid, overworked lawman his whole life, with a nagging wife and chaotic children, Culpepper plans on following the gang to the scene, arresting them all, and making off with the loot himself. And he very nearly does, until spotted at the scene too soon (two palm trees, crossed to form a gigantic W), setting off the chase that results in every hanging from the precarious fire escape. After violently depositing everyone in various locales, a brief epilogue shows all of the characters in full body casts laid up in the same hospital room. After 191 minutes of physical humor and broad slapstick, the film throws in one last gag, one of the oldest gags: slip on a banana peel. The recipient is Mrs. Marcus, who has berated Finch the entire film, and who slips as only someone in the movies can, full body up off the ground, before crashing loudly on her caboose, prompting spontaneous laughter from all. This method of bigger is funnier filmmaking would show up again throughout the years, in films such as “The Great Race” starring Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis and Natalie Wood, and Steven Spielberg’s underrated “1941” starring John Belushi. Essentially disregarded by critics because of a perceived lack of wit, these films actually embrace the anarchy inspired by comedians like the Marx Brothers more than the sophisticated “ha ha” style of Woody Allen, a celebrated disciple of the Brothers. Re-watch the last scene of “Duck Soup” or “A Night at the Opera”, and you will see remarkable similarities between that comedy and Stanley Kramer’s epic, yet it is largely forgotten today. The long running time is enough to scare off most people today, however anyone curious enough is in for quite a treat, given the broad laughs and the chance to see scores of classic comedians acting on the same screen; remember, “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World”!

From Here to Eternity

2006-09-26T12:55:00.000-07:00

Based on James Jones’ seminal novel of life in the military, “From Here to Eternity” was one of the most popular films of the 1950’s, and is still regarded today for its realistic depictions of life in the barracks. Set during the months leading up to the attack on Pearl Harbor, the film depicts the life of several men and women whose life revolves around the Schofield barracks. The star studded cast included Montgomery Clift, Burt Lancaster, Deborah Kerr, Donna Reed, Ernest Borgnine and in a career defining performance, Frank Sinatra, as Maggio. Known today for mostly two reasons (the dramatic embrace between Lancaster and Kerr amidst a crashing wave on the beach, and the allegedly apocryphal rumors that Sinatra was awarded the meaty role of Maggio only after some persuading by his friends in the Mafia, a story popularized in the film “The Godfather”), “From Here to Eternity” is an intense drama, filled with exceptional acting and skillful direction by Fred Zinneman. Admittedly the compelling story was already constructed by James Jones, whose novel was deemed too difficult to translate to the big screen for several reasons, among them: the excessive profanity (which was unfortunately a Production Code casualty, resulting in a less accurate portrayal of the life), the grim depiction of the Military, specifically the immoral actions of a prominent commanding officer character, and the overall lack of success by realistic, dramatic films in general. Columbia Pictures’ chief Harry Cohn was ridiculed for paying the exorbitant fee of $82,000 for the rights to the novel, but thanks to a strong cast (which, as will be discussed later, almost wasn’t, thanks to typical mogul meddling) and direction, the film went on to be a resounding success, winning 8 Oscars, including Best Picture, and became the 10th highest grossing film of the 1950’s, a decade filled with larger than life blockbusters such as "The Ten Commandments", "Ben-Hur", and "Giant".

As the film begins, Private Robert E. Lee Prewett is just arriving at Schofield barracks in Hawaii. Quiet and something of a loner, played by the quiet and enigmatic actor Montgomery Clift, Prew resists his Captain's wishes that he represent their company in the barracks informal boxing competition. The Captain knows about Prew's past success as a boxer, but does not know that Prew killed the last man he fought in the ring and is haunted by the memory. Ostracized by everyone in the company for his decision (which he keeps private), Prew instead finds himself subjected to torment from the Captain's men, who constantly pick fights with him, and give him endless chores to do, like digging a deep hole, only to immediately fill it. Prew finds sympathy in a few men, namely Sergeant Warden, played with conviction by Burt Lancaster and the amiable Angelo Maggio, played by a brilliant Frank Sinatra. Whereas Maggio is more of a buddy, Warden becomes Prew's sounding board, and the closest he gets to an actual confidante. Maggio and Warden each have problems of their own though: Maggio too finds himself under scrutiny from the Army brass, and Warden undertakes a dangerous affair with the Captain's wife, Karen. While Prew struggles internally with his past and externally with his labor, Maggio is constantly avoiding confrontation with the menacing MP Fatso Judson. To think, only two years later Ernest Borgnine would win an Academy Award for playing the shy, utterly sympathetic titular character in "Marty"; here he is practically evil incarnate, bullying and insulting the much smaller Maggio into a fight, by repeatedly calling him "wop" and other slurs. The stiff Sergeant Warden finds a release from the pressures of military life in the arms of Karen Holmes, who is also feeling the effects of military life, from the other perspective, as wife to an absentee husband. Their relationship doomed from the beginning, they still have time to share one truly classic screen moment, as their romantic romp on the beach is emphatically punctuated with a wave crashing onto their interlocked bodies. Ultimately Maggio kills Fatso Judson in a brutal knife fight (which, in the days before fight choreographers, took almost 2 weeks to shoot) and the emotionally conflicted Warden and Karen realize they simply are not suited for each other, something far more significant occurs: the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor.

During the attack, which while not nearly as visceral as audiences today are used to, must have been quite shocking for audiences who had just experienced the event live barely 10 years prior, Prew decides to race back to his company to join the counter attack. After the constant harassment by the Captain, Prew had found some solace at the New Congress Club, a whorehouse in James Jones' novel dressed up as a "night club" in the film. There he meets Lorene, played by the innocent Donna Reed (arguably the most unbelievable hooker in screen history) and while the troubled Prew confuses her, she cannot deny her attraction to him. The army life clearly agonizes Prew, yet he refuses to leave it, a point of contention which finally ends their relationship when the bombs begin dropping. Lorene implores Prew to stay with her and go AWOL, but the honorable Prew refuses, especially after the hard time he gave Maggio for suggesting he do it, and instead blindly runs back to the barracks. Unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of the warning a guard shouts at him, Prew is gunned down in the chaos of the attack by an American soldier. The Captain too is killed and Warden and the rest of the men are sent off to war, and in the final, somber scene of the film, on a boat bound for America, Lorene and Karen share a sad moment together, mourning their stupid lost soliders. One of the true powerhouse dramas put out by Hollywood in the golden era, "From Here to Eternity" still stands up today thanks to its strong characterizations by its entire cast. Montgomery Clift is appropriately intense and conflicted as Prewett, and his off screen dedication to his craft inspired both co-stars Burt Lancaster and Frank Sinatra, each of whom had only appeared in light action films and musical comedies, respectively to that point. The women also stand out, with fine performances from Deborah Kerr as Karen and a good, if unrealistic portrayal by Donna Reed as Lorene. And enough cannot be said about Ernest Borgnine's performance as Fatso Judson. The juxtaposition of this role and "Marty" is an emphatic display of the actor's range. Even in its somewhat sanitized form, the film version of "From Here to Eternity" is still a definite must see classic.

Roman Holiday

2006-08-20T12:53:00.000-07:00

After appearing in several small roles in movies that are largely obscure today, Audrey Hepburn received the role that effectively makes one a star over night. And thanks to her command performance, Hepburn became just that. At the age of 24, in her first starring role, Audrey Hepburn toplined William Wyler's romantic comedy "Roman Holiday", and went on to win Best Actress. Hepburn would later become known for her gamine features and innocent, winsome nature on screen, but it was here that audiences first fell in love with her, playing royalty on the run: Princess Anne. In Rome for a diplomatic meeting, Anne tires of the pre-arranged ceremonies, appearances and other stuffy functions she is to attend, and sneaks out into the gorgeous city of Rome for a 24 hour crash course in normal living. What she does not anticipate is falling in love, which happens as a result of bumping into Gregory Peck's international news reporter, Joe. In a time when studios saved money by recreating exotic locales on sound stages in Hollywood, Paramount is to be commended for sending cast and crew to Rome, which give the movie a stunning, authentic look even the best production designer could not replicate. Regarded as a classic today, I have to wonder what audiences at the time thought about this film; William Wyler's track record at the time was already extremely impressive, but Audrey Hepburn was essentially an unknown and Gregory Peck, while an established actor and Best Actor recipient, was venturing into his first comedy, kind of a reverse Tom Hanks career choice. While Peck is satisfactory (drama really was his strong suit, his stern look and imposing voice do not really translate into soft comedy), Hepburn immediately cast her spell over audiences, and would remain a mega star for the next 25 years, until she withdrew from movies to lend her celebrity to UNICEF. But before all that, this was the film which propelled her into the stratosphere.

When Joe Bradley's editor starts giving him a hard time about a fresh story at the beginning of the film, Joe has no idea that the story of his life will soon be falling into his lap. After a chance encounter brings him upon Anne, who believes cutting her hair is enough of a disguise, Joe plays along, intending on using his time with the princess as his next story. Of course what he does not count on is the beautiful and beguiling Anne to fall in love with him, and for he to feel the same affection. The two share a beautiful day throughout the city of Rome, and Wyler makes the most of his location, capturing his stars in front of every Roman tourist attraction. There are several charming vignettes, such as the classic Vespa riding lesson Joe gives Anne through the crowded streets, and their encounter with the stone monster that legend says will bite off your hand. Despite their growing attraction towards each other, Joe and Anne are each harboring their own secret, and the inevitable romantic comedy confrontation is always on the horizon. A running subplot throughout the film begins early on when Joe enlists the aid of a photographer friend of his, Irving, to take discreet pictures of the two throughout the day. While dancing aboard a ship later on that evening, Joe and Irving have to save Anne when some over zealous Italian young men each wish a dance with the charming Anne, prompting an elaborate fight scene, which results in Irving's camera being smashed. He warns Joe of falling in love with his story, and Joe assures him he will end their affair soon. Anne too begins to feel the demands of her title pulling her back, and their romantic evening in Rome takes on a bittersweet pall.

The next day, with Anne's royal entourage due to move on from Rome, Anne admits to Joe who she is. Joe as well admits his original intentions, prompting Anne to return to the palace, ashamed of herself for falling in love with a newspaper man only out for a story. Upon returning however, she knows she really does love Joe, and realizes Joe really does love her. At her farewell press conference, Anne is shocked to find Joe in attendance, and when asked which city on her royal tour she enjoyed visiting the most, one member of her party goes into a canned response of each city being equally enjoyable, before Anne blurts out "Rome! I will cherish my visit here in my memory as long as I live!". The crowd is somewhat taken aback by Anne's impulsive honesty, but the look she and Joe exchange is enough to convince him she is telling the truth. Where most films of this nature would take the implausible way out (see "Notting Hill" for a perfect example), "Roman Holiday" stays true to its title; Anne is on holiday, and all good things end badly, otherwise they would not end. She cannot just run off and be with Joe, even though it is what they both want. Conveying with her eyes what few actresses could with a perfectly written monologue, Audrey Hepburn sealed her Oscar win with Anne's dramatic exit at the film's end. Joe takes a moment to reflect on what he just went through and kind of laughs to himself, then simply walks off, his life to continue, knowing full well it will without her. While the romantic comedy's biggest crutch is the happy ending, "Roman Holiday" acheives that rare thing: classic status while bucking convention. Anne and Joe should be together, but they cannot, and it is a credit to Audrey Hepburn, Gregory Peck and William Wyler that we feel so strongly at this point, but also that we accept the natural ending of things. A sad side note to this otherwise heart warming film is the story of its writer, Dalton Trumbo. One of Hollywood's blacklisted writers, Trumbo had to watch his name be stricken from the final cut of the film and consented to his friend accepting his Best Original Screenplay Oscar the following year. His widow was awarded a posthumous award for him in 1993, but having died in 1976, this did little for the man himself. This unforutnate history aside, Trumbo's writing, Wyler's direction and the two stars great performances are all the reasons one would need to seek out "Roman Holiday".

Carousel

2006-08-04T12:51:00.000-07:00

While not as historically popular as "The Sound of Music" or as revered among the theateratti as "Oklahoma!" or "The King and I", "Carousel" is still a wonderful musical, filled with timeless music and incredible production values. Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein, the preeminent hit makers of the 1940's on Broadway saw three of their stage smashes transferred to the big screen via 20th Century Fox in the same of two years, from 1955-1956. After a rousing success with "Oklahoma!" in 1955, Fox immediately commissioned versions of "The King and I" and "Carousel" for the following year. And while "The King and I" reaped most of the glory (critically and commercially), "Carousel", which retained the lovely starring couple of "Oklahoma!", Gordon MacRae as the brutish Billy Bigelow and Shirley Jones as the innocent Julie Jordan, and when viewed with the benefit of hindsight, is a wonderful film translation of a classic stage production. In the 1950's Fox spared no expense on its musicals, and the productions of these three films show that committment, especially "The King and I" and "Carousel". With much of the shooting done on location in Maine, coupled with dazzling forest sets (compare these to the ones Jack Cummings unfortunately had to use in "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" and you can see just how impressive these sets were) and a solid cast directed by Fox veteran Henry King, "Carousel" has all of the earmarks of an A list film from the studio. And anyone who listens to that music and is not at least partially swayed has something in their ears, particuarly the melody, "Carousel Waltz", quite simply one of the most beautiful pieces of American music ever written. Word recently appeared that Hugh Jackman is going to produce and star in a remake of this film, so what better time to revisit it?

As the film begins, Billy Bigelow is in heaven (which looks more like the set of a 1950's game show!) telling his tragic story to an angel. The events flash back to the coastal Maine town where the towns folk derive their pleasure from a local carnival; the prize attraction of which is the carousel. Billy is the macho barker for the Carousel, and equally attracts and wards off women with his swagger and machismo. The antithesis of his character is Julie Jordan, an innocent beauty who has been told to stay away from men like Billy Bigelow her whole life, but is drawn to him nonetheless. When Billy loses his job at the carousel he steps up his pursuit of Julie and soon the two are married, but Billy quickly chafes at married life. As with "Oklahoma!", Rogers and Hammerstein are uncredited for taking the musical genre to places it had not explored much before, and "Carousel" is no exception, with its depiction of a troubled marriage thanks to the fairly unsympathetic romantic male lead a revolutionary concept considering what your typical MGM musical romance consisted of. Billy's pride begins to get the better of him when the couple, Julie also pregnant, has to move in with Julie's friend, and he vows that if he cannot be a good husband, he must be a good father. Portrayed in a dramatic seven minute number titled simply "Soliloquy", Billy expresses all of his pent up emotion, and we begin to see the desperate nature that ultimately dooms him.

Teaming up with his equally shady friend, Jigger Craigin, the two plan to rob a wealthy merchant, however the robbery is foiled when the man pulls a gun and Billy inadvertently falls on his knife, dying an untimely death. Moved by his story and unfulfilled committment to his unborn child, the Starkeeper (Billy's story telling companion in heaven) allows Billy one day on Earth to help his daughter, now a troubled teenager. Louise Bigelow has suffered an unfortunate upbringing, being raised fatherless, but also haunted by her father's bad reputation. She chides under her mother's caring rule and longs to be understood. Little does she know that it is her father who happens upon her one day, and even though he slaps her, cowardly turning invisible after doing so, but more out of shame, Louise forgives him, and somehow accepts her father. Staying invisible, Billy visits Julie at Louise's high school graduation and sings to her (a reprise of their anthem "If I Loved You"), and watches his daughter one last time, before returning to heaven, finally redeemed for his past transgressions. While the ending of the story is ultimately uplifting (and tear-jerking, thanks to the song "You'll Never Walk Alone"), the path Billy takes to ultimately get there is not one audiences were used to in 1956, and the film disappointed. Perhaps original star Frank Sinatra would have helped the box office, or second choice Gene Kelly? While I cannot rule out Sinatra's legendary voice, or Kelly's natural ability in the musical genre, Gordon MacRae was the natural choice after his success with "Oklahoma!" and his chemistry with Shirley Jones is perfect. "Carousel" is perhaps one musical that, thanks to Hugh Jackman, may deservedly be getting its second chance at glory.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

2006-07-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

“This will out-Disney Disney” is the tagline star Dick Van Dyke applied to his enormous family musical “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”, which came after a string of successful projects with Disney, specifically the definitive children’s film, “Mary Poppins”. While the Disney company did not take kindly to Van Dyke’s assessment, the film has not lasted as well as “Mary Poppins”, and while that is certainly fair considering the two, “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” still offers tons of entertainment for families, as well as lovers of big splashy musicals. Released in 1968, at the tale end of “Old Hollywood”, the film cannot help but wear its heart on its sleeve throughout its prolonged 145 minute running time; perhaps it is the presence of Dick Van Dyke as absent minded professor Caractacus Potts, or the rousing score by the Sherman brothers (who previously hit gold with their work on “Mary Poppins”), but this film is an unabashedly fun, charming time. Van Dyke, who while wonderful, was squarely second banana in “Mary Poppins”, gets his chance to shine in this film, playing a less resourceful, but ultimately as winning a character as Bert the chimney sweep. Caractacus Potts is an inventor with two children who love him and his endless imagination. He lives in a windmill/laboratory with them and his father, who thinks he is still in Her Majesty’s Army. The real star of the film however is the titular car, an abandoned heap Potts seriously refurbishes to please his children, then dazzles them with a story (or is it?) in which the car swims, flies, and rescues them, all during a fantastic encounter to Vulgaria. Lost in the shuffle of the studios’ transition to edgier, “New Hollywood” fare, “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” is a classic that definitely deserves to be revisited today.

As the film begins, Caractacus’ children, Jeremy and Jemima, are playing in the broken down exterior of what was once the top racing car in all England. They implore their father to buy the heap so that it will not be sold for scrap metal, and softie that he is, Caractacus obliges. Caractacus lives for his children and is constantly inventing new gidgets that both serve a practical purpose and bring a smile to their faces. His love for his children is what wins over the heart of Truly Scrumptious, a beautiful young woman who at first admonishes Caractacus for not making his children go to school, but warms to him after she sees how the children adore him and his inventions (like “toot sweet”, his candy whistle). During their mild (this being a family film) courtship, Caractacus completely rebuilds the children’s car, and upon unveiling it, the children name it “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”, based on the noises it makes. Unbeknownst to the family, two spies from Vulgaria are keeping tabs on the car, well aware of its prolific past and become even more interested when they see the upgrades Caractacus has made to it. While on a family outing to the beach, Caractacus begins to tell the children a story involving Chitty and the spies from Vulgaria, when suddenly the party is under attack from a Vulgarian warship! The group piles into the car and narrowly avoids capture thanks to Chitty inexplicably spouting wings and flying off of a cliff. Returning home, Caractacus finds that his father has been kidnapped by the Vulgarians, who believe he is the actual inventor of the car, and thus off they go to Vulgaria to rescue him.

The second of the film is where the more bizarre touches (which I attribute to screenwriter Roald Dahl) come into play. The country of Vulgaria is run by the villainous Baron Bomburst, a tyrant obsessed with toys and his equally devious wife, the Baroness. Because of her hatred of children, Vulgaria is patrolled by ‘the Child Catcher’, a frightening personality (he looks like Max Schrek from the film “Nosferatu”!) who creeps around the country, smelling out children with his extra large nose and imprisoning them underneath the royal castle. Jeremy and Jemima of course are captured while Caractacus and Truly are out investigating, and with the help of a kindly toy maker, duo infiltrate the castle, pretending to be parts of an elaborate present the toy maker has created for the Baron. In the film’s most inspired sequence, to protect their cover, Caractacus and Truly act out their roles as toys, Caractacus as a marionette (an amazing display of Dick Van Dyke’s incredibly elastic body and dancing skills) and Truly as a robotic doll. Of course everything falls apart when Grandpa Potts and the rest of the scientists the Baron has imprisoned to invent a flying car for him launch their attack, in the process freeing the children (who get their revenge on the Child Catcher and the Baroness), and finally everyone is rescued by Chitty. Flying back to England, the film goes into a dissolve and small children (and perhaps big ones too) are left to imagine whether or not the adventure really happened, or was simply part of Caractacus’ story. Either way, the mixture of fun, songs (my personal favorites include the aforementioned scene featuring Caractacus and Truly as toys, as well as Truly’s song “Truly Scrumptious” and the infectious title number) and adventure make this a rousing family film, one I would recommend to every member of the family though, not just the little ones.

Ninotchka

2006-07-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

Arguably the greatest tag line ever: "Garbo Laughs". Incredible that such a simple statement would provide more than ample marketing hook; Greta Garbo is perhaps cinema's most enigmatic star, and one who was known for being serious almost as much as she was known for being mysterious. Coming to the United States in the early 1930's amidst great ballyhoo, Garbo was the ultimate foreign import: beautiful, exotic, seductive, and mystifying. Immediately put under contract at MGM, Garbo starred throughout the 1930's in a wave of hit dramas for the studio, her first prompting the tagline "Garbo Talks", and then she shocked audiences in 1939 by starring in her first comedy, hence "Garbo Laughs". "Ninotchka" is a film with an impressive comedic resume; directed by famed director Ernst Lubitsch and written by a young Billy Wilder (with his early parnter Charles Brackett), "Ninotchka" plays as you would expect: elegant, smooth, and funny. Despite the unorthodox casting of Garbo in a comedy, she really is quite perfect for the role: her serious nature and stoic demeanor are the butt of most of the film's best gags, the film also benefits from its other unorthodox casting choice, featuring Melvyn Douglas as the suave playboy Count Leon. Pundits have argued since the film's release that had someone like William Powell played this part (hard to argue with really), the film would have been better, but Douglas does his role, and the film justice, and really, the film is all about its leading lady: the great Garbo.

The concept of the film is brilliant, Garbo, playing Nina Ivanovna Yakushova, later dubbed "Ninotchka" is dispatched to Paris to oversee the sale of jewels that used to belong to the royal family of Russia. The agents initially sent to complete the transaction, a hilarious trio of rambunctious older men, Buljanoff, Iranoff and Kopalski, quickly succumbed to the pleasures of western capitalism, and instead of selling the jewels and returning to the Mother Land, have been living the lives of playboys, enjoying luxurious suites, champagne and limousines, all at the expense of the Kremlin. Also delaying the sale is Count Leon, a rougish character, who represents the Grand Duchess Swana, the jewels former owner. Intent on securing the jewels for his employer (and mistress, as the film alludes to), Leon introduces the three Russians to the romantic side of Paris, quite an appealing deterrent considering its Paris. All the fun stops however, when Ninotchka arrives. She immediately relieves the three agents of their duty (much to their dismay), and also bristles at the advances of Count Leon, who quickly turns on his charm. A funny vignette early on in Leon’s pursuit of Ninotchka occurs when the two return to Leon’s suite, both somewhat intoxicated, and Ninotchka sympathizes with Leon’s put upon manservant, then asks if Leon wants to see her battle scar. Imagining something quite different, Leon agrees and is disappointed when Ninotchka reveals a wound on the back of her neck, and regales him with the tale of when she killed the men who gave her that scar. All of this sounds serious, but when you consider Leon is trying desperately to woo her, coupled with Garbo’s impeccable deadpan, these scenes really play quite well. At first resistant to Leon’s advances, Ninotchka’s inner romantic soon reveals itself, and her icy façade begins to melt.

Leon, of course, is playing both sides of the game. But this being a romantic comedy, he soon finds himself really falling for the frosty Russian agent and plans on betraying his loyalty to the Duchess, quite the icy personality herself. Ninotchka’s transformation to full fledged capitalist comes when she purchases an obnoxious hat, see in a shop window, which she condemned upon initially arriving in Paris. The Duchess, however, is not about to lose to a Russian, and relinquishes her protest of the jewels’ transaction, on the condition that Ninotchka return to Russia immediately, without a final word to Leon. Let me say that the scene in which Leon attempts to procure a Russian visa has got to be one of the funniest Wilder ever wrote (he does not exactly take “no” for an answer). Ninotchka is wracked with guilt over her decision to leave Leon, and in a funny bit, cannot even console herself with Leon’s love letters, which the Communists have completely censored, leaving her with pages filled with thick black bars. All is resolved however, when Ninotchka convinces the cold Communist Commissar (played, strangely by Bela Lugosi!) to send her on another mission, this time to Istanbul, again on the pretext of cleaning up a mess created by the three bumbling Russian agents. Awaiting her arrival in Istanbul is Count Leon, and the odd couple is happily reunited, able to spend the rest of their days in western decadence. “Ninotchka” was unfortunately the second to last film Garbo would ever make. A few years later she made another romantic comedy, “Two Faced Woman”, but spurned by this film’s tepid reaction, she completely withdrew from Hollywood, and spent the rest of her life living in New York, never to return to movies, despite near constant requests for small roles and cameos, such was the allure Garbo possessed well into her life. The fact that this film comes at the tail end of her career gives it an extra special cache; while the famed actress was about to disappear from the silver screen, Billy Wilder’s career was just taking off. After seeing what they could achieve together, it is unfortunate they were never afforded another opportunity.

Show Boat

2006-05-21T12:34:00.000-07:00

In the history of Broadway musicals, a few productions are at the top of everyone's all time classics list: Lerner and Loewe's "My Fair Lady", Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Oklahoma!" and "Carousel", but the granddaddy of them all is Kern and Hammerstein's "Show Boat". Originally performed on Broadway in 1927, the musical was produced by legendary showman Florenz Ziegfeld and is widely regarded as a landmark production, the first to incorporate both serious thematic material into its plot and an operatic score. Before "Show Boat", Broadway musicals were all frothy confections, filled with paper thin plots, broad characterizations, and light scores that articulated the production's overall flighty nature. "Show Boat" changed all that; featuring an incredible, emotionally and artistically complex score by two titans of musical theater, Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II (who, like his other famous collaborator, Richard Rodgers, also had an illustrious career prior to their more celebrated working relationship) and a startlingly progressive plot involving a mixed race entertainer (although it should be noted, it was not until the 1983 revival of the show, after three film versions and three different Broadway mountings did an actual mixed race actress play the role), and realistically portrayed human suffering. The story revolves around the titular show boat, the Cotton Blossom, which tours up and down the Mississippi River, and the colorful cast of characters aboard. Arthur Freed, known for his lavish productions, typically spared no expense here, peppering the cast with familiar faces: Ava Gardner as the tragic Julie, Howard Keel and Kathryn Grayson (a duo Jack Cummings would subsequently utilize in another Broadway to Hollywood production, "Kiss Me Kate") as the tempestuous lovers Gaylord Ravenal and Magnolia Hawks, Joe E. Brown and Agnes Moorehead as the show boat's proprietors, Cap'n Andy Hawks and his wife Parthy, and acclaimed stage couple Gower and Marge Champion as the film's "B" couple, all under the sure handed direction of MGM's jack of all trades director George Sidney. Despite two previous film versions (the 1936 version is also justly celebrated, thanks to Paul Robeson's definitive rendition of "Ol' Man River"), neither can dim the great cast, rousing score and brilliant Technicolor of an Arthur Freed MGM production, who knew how to align stars for his films.

The film begins with an incredible vignette, as the show boat rounds the bend into Natchez, Mississippi, the entire company, positioned on every square inch of the boat's deck space, launches into the song "Cotton Blossom", alerting seemingly the entire town of their arrival. Cap'n Andy Hawks and his wife, Parthy own and operate the vessel, and Julie LaVerne is their star attraction, a great beauty and renowned singer, who also happens to be of mixed race. Once this is found out (the show takes place in the latter half of the 19th century, when such things were illegal) Cap'n Andy is forced to remove Julie from the show. What makes the show so progressive is the display of loyalty that Julie's husband, Steve, demonstrates, pricking her finger so he can drink her blood and possess African American blood as well. The show's star duo now cast adrift, Cap'n Andy reluctantly casts his daughter, Magnolia, as the star attraction, with the ship's new leading man, Gaylord Ravenal as her co-star. Played with perhaps a bit too much charm by Howard Keel (on stage Ravenal truly is a heel, who, while he loves Magnolia, is also an unapologetic gambler and carouser), Ravenal smooth talks his way onboard and immediately makes Magnolia swoon. Soon the couple secretly marry, and with the blessing of Cap'n Andy, move to Chicago where Ravenal can make a go at being a "professional gambler". Despite having immediate success, Ravenal soon finds himself riding a long bad streak, and leaves Magnolia. This action too is played differently on screen that it is on stage. The movie portrays Ravenal as a disgraced husband who has failed his wife and retreats into his own depression. The stage version portrays a restless man, frustrated with his own bad luck, who deserts his wife in the hopes of starting anew. Either way, neither version knew one thing: Magnolia is pregnant (see, progressive!). Still needing to provide for herself, Magnolia gets the chance to audition at a nightclub in Chicago, where a broken down, alcoholic Julie is performing. Julie immediately brightens upon seeing her old friend Magnolia, and encourages her to sing the song she taught her years before "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man". Magnolia is very shy at first and the club owner dismisses her, but Julie walks out on her contract (deliberately) forcing the owner to hire on Magnolia as the new attraction.

The night of her first performance, New Year's Eve, Cap'n Andy happens to be in the audience and is shocked to see his daughter on stage. Magnolia sings a beautiful song "After the Night is Over" (a song written for the film, and retained in subsequent stage productions), timidly at first, but gains more confidence when she sees her father encouraging her from the audience. Magnolia had been too heart broken to tell her father that Ravenal had left her, especially in her condition, but Cap'n Andy warmly welcomes her back, and she returns to the show boat. Shortly after, Magnolia has her baby, a girl named Kim, and while docked at some port along the Mississippi, Kim happens to meet Ravenal, who has recognized the Cotton Blossom. After talking with the girl for a few moments, Ravenal notices Magnolia on deck, and after receiving her look of forgiveness, returns to her, reuniting the family. While the stage version ends this way, Magnolia's decision is a more strained here, which makes the film's ending somewhat more satisfying. As the boat pulls away, we see Julie looking on one last time, Magnolia's guardian angel seemingly, and the rousing song "Ol' Man River", sung by the MGM chorus (a device very popular in Old Hollywood musicals, have one on screen singer, in this case William Warfield, as boat hand Joe, accompanied by an off screen chorus) swells to a finale. Despite receiving a cool reception from critics, the film was a box office success, thanks to Arthur Freed's shrewd casting, and of course, the show's enduring popularity. One odd note; the film's poster, not the one picture here however, featured Howard Keel and Ava Gardner, not uncommon to portray the film's two biggest stars, except for the fact that the two have nothing to do with one another in the film! That small inconsistency aside, "Show Boat" is a gorgeously photograped film, emblematic of MGM in the 1950's and features one of the great American scores. A true classic, on both the stage and the screen.

Kiss Me Kate

2006-05-20T12:34:00.000-07:00

What Gene Kelly was to Arthur Freed, Howard Keel was to Jack Cummings. Cummings, the "B" level producer on the MGM lot during the reign of Freed, sometimes got the upper hand on his more successful rival, but only rarely. After all, there is a reason Arthur Freed is regarded as a genius. However, that should not discount the work Jack Cummings did, all with significantly less resources. While "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" is regarded as the pinnacle of the Cummings unit, his work with leading man Howard Keel the year before that film is also quite good. "Kiss Me Kate", based on the truly wonderful stage musical by the incomparable Cole Porter, was released in 1953, and featured quite the collection of talent. In addition to Keel, the film starred Kathryn Grayson (something of a casting coup for Cummings, he managed to secure the star duo of one of Freed's previous hits, "Showboat"), and in her largest role to date, Ann Miller. The film was also directed by George Sidney, director of such MGM hits as "Showboat" and "Scaramouche". I like to think of George Sidney as a poor man's Michael Curtiz; he successfully worked in many different genres, and his work here is exceptional, not always a given when adapting a popular Broadway show to the big screen. Of course, when your characters can break into Cole Porter songs every scene, things come a little easier, and this show has a healthy number of standards, including my personal favorites "Always True To You" and "Tom, Dick or Harry" as well as "Too Darn Hot", "Wunderbar" and "So In Love" (which, it should be noted, was used perfectly in "De-Lovely", the biopic of Cole Porter). While the movie changed elements of the extremely successful stage musical (most significantly moving "Too Darn Hot" from the opening number of Act Two, to the very beginning of the movie, where it is used as an "audition" number, with "Cole Porter" in attendance), the film still plays very well, thanks to the dynamic presence of Keel and Grayson (who plays the obnoxious, tempermental Lilli quite well, considering her roles were usually chaste and innocent), and of course, that incomparable score by Cole Porter.

As the film opens, Cole Porter has invited Fred Graham, a pompous theater hyphenate, to his apartment to hear a young chorus girl sing a song from his new musical, "Kiss Me Kate". What he has not told Fred is that he has also invited Fred's ex wife, the domineering Lilli Vanessi, as well, in the hopes of convincing the two on a collaboration. Fred and Lilli used to be a happily married couple, as well as the biggest male and female stars of the stage, until their marriage deteriorated thanks to Fred's inflated ego and Lilli's diva like behavior. What Fred has not told Lilli is that he and the chrous girl, Lois Lane (you have to love it when characetrs in old movies had names which would subsequently take on greater pop culture status) are now an item (while she has not told him of her own tempestuous relationship with gambler/dancer Bill Calhoun), and Lilli has not told Fred that she too is on the verge of remarrying, in her case, a Texas millionaire. And for good measure, Bill has not told Lois that he signed an I.O.U. in Fred's name to a couple of gangsters. All of these secrets initially converge in Cole Porter's apartment, as Lois' "Too Darn Hot" numbers wows the assembled financial backers and Fred convinces Lilli to sign on as the production's leading lady (with an unhappy Lois and Bill as the "B" couple). It is obvious from the first scene that despite Fred's big head and Lilli's bad attitude, the two still love each other. Where Cole Porter's libretto truly attains its classic status though is the way he incorporates elements of Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew" into his plot. In "The Taming of the Shrew", there are two beautiful daughters, Bianca, the younger, guy crazy one, and Katherine, the older, man-hating one. Enter boastful ladies man Petruchio, who teams up with lovesick Lucentio to "tame the shrew"; by winning the hand of the monstrous Kate, Bianca is free to marry her sweetheart Lucentio. While all this is playing out on stage, "off stage" Fred finds himself taming a real shrew, Lilli. Throw in song and dance (Ann Miller and Tommy Rall as Lois and Bill might not have the voices that Howard Keel and Kathryn Grayson have, but they are twice the dancers, talents featured in their number "Why Can't You Behave?"), and some gangsters with a theatrical itch, and you have a marvelous confection.

The show's opening night finds the company with no shortage of trouble. Lilli is threatening to leave after one performance to marry her Texas millionaire fiancee and Fred has to deal with the gangsters who have moved in backstage to make sure Fred makes good on the I.O.U. Bill signed in his name. To Fred, the gangsters are the least of his problems; the show is all that matters. Early on in the evening Lilli started to warm to Fred's charm again and you see why the two were so in love with each other. They sing of their early days in the theater to the tune of the great song "Wunderbar", itself a joke of the ways Fred used to ingratiatingly play to the crowds. The good will quickly evaporates as a flower bouquet from Fred intended for Lois ends up in Lilli's dressing room, hence Lilli's threat to leave the company immediately. This latest conflict is played out brilliantly, in Lilli's woman-scorned anthem, "I Hate Men" and Fred/Petruchio's taming of the shrew on stage (a great scene when paralleled with the hysterics back stage). Meanwhile Bill is dismayed that Lois would leave him for the pompous Fred, and the romantic subplot is actually worthwhile, thanks to the splendid performances of Miller and Rall, and the fact that they get some great numbers. The aforementioned "Why Can't You Behave?" is good, but "Always True To You" is arguably the film's most infectious song and "Tom, Dick and Harry" is, in true Porter fashion, an incredible use of lyric with a catchy tune to go with it. This being "Kiss Me Kate", everyone gets their big number, even the gangsters, who steal the film (and the show, this number on stage always gets the biggest cheers) with "Brush Up Your Shakespeare", which they sing to Fred. Porter's lyrics are perhaps never more inspired than in this song, which incorporates virtually every title and character name Shakespeare ever put down on paper. Of course by the end Fred and Lilli have fallen back in love, Bill and Lois have put their differences behind them (mainly Lois is over her Fred infatuation and Bill has resolved to stop gambling), and the gangsters give up their life of crime for life in show business! It should be noted that the film was the first musical to utilize the latest technological fad of the time: 3D, a device used throughout the film, as characters constatly pitch things "at" each other (more accurately at the camera). The ending gives the format an opportunity to be worthwhile though, as confetti and streamers explode in the air to celebrate Petruchio and Katherine and Lucentio and Bianca's weddings. A rousing ending to, in my opinion, the best film to utilize the music of Cole Porter.

Carmen Jones

2006-05-08T12:27:00.000-07:00

In the early 1950's while vixens such as Ava Gardner and Marilyn Monroe were smoldering on screen, one actress who possessed the same burning charisma and gorgeous features saw her career fizzle for the most part. Dorothy Dandridge was a beautiful woman, an accomplished singer, dancer, and actress, who dated some of the Hollywood's most eligible bachelors and was up for some of its biggest roles. Yet for the most part she toiled in obscurity, the public, both at the time and today, only getting fleeting glances at what a talent Dorothy Dandridge was. The reason, of course, is that Dorothy Dandridge was black. Despite having all of the necessary attributes to be a star, Dandridge was only able to truly shine in a few films, due to the hateful prejudices of the time, and studios being unwilling, for the most part, to do something bold. Otto Preminger is one of the few individuals who put his career on the line for Dorothy Dandridge, directing her in the two biggest films of her career, 1954's "Carmen Jones" and 1959's "Porgy and Bess". The enigmatic director not only had a love affair with the star, he played Svengali throughout her career, advising her on roles and protecting her from studio exploitation. When the duo commenced work on "Carmen Jones", it was to be a landmark production: a big budget musical from a major studio with an all black cast. Oscar Hammerstein II, the lyrical genius behind the Broadway smashes "Show Boat", "Oklahoma!" and "Carousel" adapted Georges Bizet's romantic opera "Carmen" for the 20th century, retaining Bizet's incomparable music and story, but added English lyrics to the songs, allowing it to the film to feel familiar, but at the same time creating something completely fresh and new. Joining Dorothy Dandrige in the titular role, was Harry Belafonte, a promising black actor who would go on to greater acclaim as her tormented lover Joe. Together these two stars would burn up the screen much as Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford did six years prior in "The Loves of Carmen", thanks to the confident direction of Preminger, whose love for his leading lady is evident, and the incredible job done by Hammerstein, whose work here is not nearly as celebrated as it should be. The real story though, is the leading lady. In "Carmen Jones", Dandridge delivers an absolute tour de force performance as one of history's most infamous teases.

As the film opens, Joe, a lovestruck young private, is eagerly awaiting the arrival of his hometown sweetheart Cindy Lou. While the two have lunch at the army base's cafeteria, Carmen Jones struts in. Something of a local legend, she works in the parachute factory adjoining the base and is lusted after by virtually every man in uniform. Every man except Joe. Carmen sings her first song here, (despite being an accomplished singer, Dorothy Dandridge did not do her own singing; neither did Harry Belafonte or Joe Adams, who plays the cocky boxer Husky Miller) a provocative number in which she paints herself as every bit the harlot she is known to be, and reminds every man in the room that they cannot resist her. The entire room is transfixed with the exception of Joe, who calmly eats his food, his eyes never straying from Cindy Lou's gaze and his coffee cup. Shortly after her number Carmen gets into a fight with another woman in the cafeteria, and is sent to the MP jail some miles away from the base. Sergeant Brown (played by a young Brock Peters) orders Joe to accompany Carmen, deliberately foiling Joe's plans with Cindy Lou, since he had begun his furlough that morning. Swearing he will return as soon as he can, Joe and Carmen are no more than a few moments from the base before Carmen turns on her charms and wiles. Initially Joe rebuffs her, keeping his focus on his assignment and returning to Cindy Lou. But after their car gets straded in a creek, Joe is forced to escort Carmen home, a "short cut" she claims will aid their endeavor. Of course Carmen has no intentions on going to jail, and she pours on the charm, quickly ensnaring Joe as she has many men before him. After Carmen cooks Joe dinner and sleeps with him, the two agree to meet at a local bar where they plan on running away together.

Later that night Carmen convinces Joe to give up his life in the army and run away with him. At this moment you begin to think maybe Carmen really does love Joe. She rebuffs the advances of Husky Miller, a big boxing star and heavyweight champion, who rolls into town with his entourage, immediately setting his sights on Carmen. Two members of his "management" convince two of Carmen's friends to join them in Chicago, where Husky is going for his next bout. Joe meanwhile kills Sergeant Brown, who threatens to throw Joe in jail for his role in helping Carmen escape, and tries to force himself upon her. Now a murderer, and in desperate need of money, the two confused lovers reluctantly latch on with Husky's entourage, seeking to disappear in Chicago. After a few weeks of laying low, however, Joe and Carmen grow increasingly at odds with one another. Joe cannot leave their small apartment for fear of being caught by the police, and Carmen, as is her nature, quickly grows bored with one man in her life, in this case an increasingly paranoid and jealous Joe. Carmen decides to leave Joe and join up with Husky as his girl, which enrages Joe. He follows Carmen to Husky's hotel and challenges the heavyweight to a fight, which Husky easily wins, knocking Joe senseless with one punch. It is only the interceding of Carmen that keeps Husky from killing Joe and Cindy Lou, who has followed Joe to Chicago, begging him on behalf of her and his mother, to return home. Joe brushes off Cindy Lou's warmth, completely infatuated with Carmen at this point and follows the group to the stadium where Husky's fight is. Amidst the patrolling police, Joe grabs Carmen and strangles her to death, before being overwhelmed by the police, their tempestuous love affair finally over. This film would prove to be a highpoint in Dorothy Dandridge's career, earning her a Best Actress nomination, extremely rare at the time for an African American. A few years later Dandridge would appear in another Preminger opera, George Gershwin's "Porgy and Bess", but after that she would fall into obscurity, and in 1965, at the age of 43, she succumbed to her crippling depression, killing herself with an overdose of prescription drugs. A sad, tragic end for a true talent who never glowed as brightly as she could have.

House of Wax

2006-04-23T12:26:00.000-07:00

In the early 1950's television had erupted into the pop culture world, initially devouring cinema, which suffered greatly at the expense of the new medium which customers could get for free from the comfort of their own living room. The great innovators that they were, studio heads began plotting ways to get people back into theaters, and this thinking if what led to the 1950's and early 1960's being the golden age of the epic. Studios had to give people something they couldn't see on a small, black and white 16 inch screen. Another, more kitschy, but less remembered ploy to win back customers was 3D. Used today as more of a gag, 3D was an honest attempt to distinguish cinema, and Warner Bros. poured a lot of money into the innovation. Their most ambitious gamble was 1953's "House of Wax". A remake of the studio's own 1933 film "Mystery of the Wax Museum", "House of Wax" is a virtual scene for scene remake of that film, with a few key differences. For one, it is in lush technicolor, it also has the added appeal of being filmed in 3D (which serves for some rather superfluous shots while viewing it at home now, 50 years later), but most significantly, it stars Vincent Price as Prof. Henry Jarrod. Lionel Atwill was the mysterious doctor in the 1933 original, but he cannot possibly compete with the handsome and charismatic Price, who would go on to become a horror icon throughout the 1950's and 1960's. As the brilliant sculptor a little too in love with his creations, Price perfectly balances the artistic genius with the sadistic madness his character is ultimately consumed by. At the time every studio was struggling from the effects of television, but Warners had been in a rut for several years in addition, and "House of Wax" turned into a huge money maker for them (their biggest hit since 1947's "Life With Father"), turning Price into a bona fide star. While watching today, the film can come across as somewhat campy, mostly because of the poorly staged setups for 3D, and the stilted acting from virtually everyone other than Price, but enjoying it for what it really is: a showcase for Vincent Price and a visually stunning film by director Andre De Toth, the film is a horror masterpiece.

As the film opens, Henry Jarrod is showing his business partner his latest prized creations, all painstaking recreations from history, including Joan of Arc and Marie Antoinette, two statues he has spent particular time and attention to. His partner, Matthew Burke, keeps trying to convince Jarrod to focus more on gory, sensational stuff, to give the public a show, but Jarrod sees his work as art, not as cheap thrills for the amusement park crowd. The two start arguing over money, and Burke considers burning down the museum to collect the insurance money, an idea Jarrod vehemently opposes. Their argument soon turns violent as the two begin to fight. Burke subdues Jarrod and manages to light fire to a number of the statues, before narrowly making it out of the building before it is completely consumed by the flames. Jarrod however is not believed to have escaped. Cut to some years later and a new wax museum is nearly ready to open, except no one knows who its mysterious benefactor is. Of course it is Jarrod, now confined to a wheelchair and with a decidedly maniacal streak to him, but otherwise appears healthy considering the last time he was seen. Now seemingly taking his partner's advice, Jarrod's new museum is almost entirely comprised of shocking, violent scenes, some eerily recreated from actual events, such as Jarrod's partner, who was found hanged to death in an elevator shaft. Running parallel with Jarrod's re-emergence into society is a gruesome figure who stalks the streets at night, and two mysterious men who steal bodies from the city's morgue. While the astute viewer will realize that the gruesome figure is in fact Jarrod himself, exacting his revenge first on Burke, then setting his sights on two pretty young women, Sue Allen and Cathy Gray, De Toth keeps this information concealed, dropping clues, but for the most part keeping the two stories (Jarrod and the re-opening of the museum, and the mysterious figures prowling the streets) seperate. Soon after Sue Allen disappears, her distressed friend Cathy Gray makes the acquaintance of Henry Jarrod, thanks to her friend, Scott Andrews, a promising young art student himself and admirer of Jarrod's work. Cathy too is impressed by Jarrod's charisma and devotion to his art, but is taken aback when she thinks Jarrod's new Joan of Arc statue bears a striking resemblance to her missing friend Sue.

Cathy is troubled by the Joan of Arc statue, and begins snooping around Jarrod's museum after its grand opening, lingering at the base of it and staring at what she thinks is her friend. Jarrod keeps pursuing her to model for his new Marie Antoinette statue, and Scott tries convincing her too, as he is now apprenticing in Jarrod's workshop with Igor, Jarrod's mute assistant (played by an impossibly young, and quite scary looking Charles Bronson, billed as Charles Buchinsky). Eventually Cathy relents, and cannot help but be placated by the charismatic Jarrod, who seems so in love with his statues that she is willing to forgive the strange coincedence. That is until she realizes, amidst continuing newspaper coverage of bodies snatched from the morgue, the phantom figure who chased her through the streets, and Jarrod's ability to recreate real life crimes with uncanny accuracy, that Joan of Arc is Sue, a point confirmed by a birthmark the statue would never simply have. Cathy is now convinced of the diabolical methods Jarrod employs to supply his museum with the latest marvels, and when Scott confronts Jarrod about it, he strikes him, revealing the hideous figure who had been stalking the streets. After the fire, his face horribly disfigured, Jarrod fashioned for himself a wax mask of his old face, and continued his artistry, albeit with a twist of the macabre. Jarrod captures Cathy and has her bound in his laboratory, in preparation to be covered in the scalding hot wax, while Igor and Scott fight in the museum above. Scott very nearly is beheaded by the all too real guillotine in one of the exhibits, and manages to subdue Igor. With the help of the police, Scott bursts into the laboratory moments before Cathy is to be killed and pushes Jarrod into the boiling vat of wax, ironically killing the crazed artist. Finally, in an epilouge befitting modern day horror movies, the police are discussing the fallout of the case and how Igor is in prison, still practicing his teacher's craft. One of the policeman then displays a terrifying wax mask of Igor, thrusting it at the audience (aided by the 3D technology) for a final "boo!" scare, as well as setting up a sequel (which never happened, thankfully). While Vincent Price would unfortunately go on to become somewhat of a caricature in horror movies, long after his nickname the 'Grand Guingol" became outdated, his work here, is incredible, and the film itself is a true horror classic.

Jezebel

2006-04-20T12:09:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing to remember from William Wyler's antebellum soap opera, "Jezebel", it is that red dress. The dress (actually black to create greater contrast given the black and white cinematography) is an icon, on par with Judy Garland's ruby slippers, and James Dean's fire engine red jacket. Today relegated as a smaller, black and white version of "Gone With the Wind", "Jezebel" does bear several on screen similarities, as well as off screen connections, to its more famous counterpart, but that does not diminish its impact upon viewing. It is true, the film takes place in roughly the same time period (New Orleans instead of Atlanta), and impressively (through sets and costumes) recreates the antebelleum South on the sets of Warner Bros. backlot. The most popular rumor though, revolves around how Bette Davis came to star in this film. Under contract with Warners, Davis was one of the first stars to chafe under the studio system, taking Jack Warner to court over her contract and threatening to move to England to void her contract. The two sides settled; Warner promised Davis better roles and in return, probably ruined Davis' chances of starring in "Gone With the Wind". The casting of the main role of Scarlett O'Hara contains enough drama to be a compelling film of its own, and at the time Bette Davis made it known loud and clear that she wanted it. Warners was not about to let its biggest female star make a guarenteed box office smash for another studio without compensation of some kind, and insisted that MGM take on Errol Flynn as Rhett Butler if they were to have Davis. Knowing that this stipulation would be a poison pill (Davis had already made a film with Flynn, "The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex", and hated him after that experience), and that MGM would never take on two combatant stars to play two of the screen's greatest lovers (even if theirs is a tumultuous relationship), Warner allegedly "made it up to" Davis with the role of Julie Marsden in "Jezebel", a role oddly enough Vivien Leigh (who would ultimately play Scarlett) turned down. Still with me?

As the film opens, Julie Marsden is the belle of New Orleans. She is young, beautiful, wealthy and engaged to Preston Dillard, also young, handsome, and wealthy (played by Henry Fonda). While we never doubt Julie's love for Preston, we certainly doubt his love for her. Preston is as stoic and proper as they come, and it is instantly obvious that he chafes under the free spirited Julie's ways. Julie would rather die than be told what to do, an ultimatum put to the test when she refuses to compromise for tradition. The Olympus Ball, attended by all of New Orleans society, dictates that the women wear white. Julie insists on wearing a blood red gown to the dance, dismissing the objections of her family, and especially Preston. She shows up at the ball seemingly invincible, then learns just how grave a mistake she made. Immediately ostracized from society for her blatant faux pas, Julie has her heart broken by Preston, who calls off their engagement. The severity of Julie's mistake is compounded when she goes an entire year without seeing Preston, who moves to the North to attend to his family's banking matters. Just as he is to return, New Orleans is in a panic because of an anticipated yellow fever outbreak. Julie's family plans to move out to their country estate, Halcyon, but Julie is entirely preoccupied with Preston's return, thinking he is coming back to marry her. Julie is absolutely stunned when Preston instead introduces his wife, Amy to the family. She immediately reverts to her scheming ways, and sets Buck Cantrell, a family friend and former lover of Julie's, against Preston and his new Yankee wife. When Preston is called back into the city to help Dr. Livingston, another family friend, Julie goads Buck and Preston's brother Ted into a duel, in which Ted kills Buck. Julie's guardians, specifically her Aunt Belle who always took her side, renounce their guardianship of her for what she did, and it is here that Aunt Belle refers to Julie as a "jezebel", for using her femininity to fool men into killing each other. Julie is to be thrown out of her own home by her family, but everything is halted when word arrives that the fever has reached epidemic level in the city and the governor is forbidding anyone outside its limits from re-entering. The reality soon sets in amongst Julie and Amy: Preston is behind the fever line.

Back in New Orleans, the city is in chaos. Martial law has been instated and troops are patrolling the streets, piling up the sick and the dead together and shipping them to Lazarette Island, a former leper colony in the Mississippi delta. Preston and Dr. Livingston find refuge in the bar of a hotel, where all those not infected have seemingly turned. Just as Preston learns of Buck's death at the hands of his brother, he collapses, and Dr. Livingston makes his unfortunate prognosis: yellow fever. Removing Preston to his family's home in the city, word gets back to Halcyon of Preston's condition. Julie immediately sneaks back into the city with the help of one of the family's slaves, a treacherous row boat ride through the bayou, and takes up vigil by his bedside. A few days later, Amy, Aunt Belle and the rest of the family are permitted inside the city limits, but Preston's condition is the same, which means he must be taken to Lazarette island. Amy insists on going with him, but Julie, in an impassioned speech, offers up her own life to be with him, arguing that she has a chance of nursing him back to health and helping them both survive the horrors of the island. The film ends with Julie, an unconscious Preston on her lap, being driven away in a wagon, presumably doomed, but finally together. The arc of Julie's character is very similar to that of Scarlett O'Hara; she begins the film as a spoiled and petulant child, who through complete loss and utter humiliation emerges as a strong, selfless character. Of course Scarlett O'Hara throws it all away again when her vices return, driving the love of her life, Rhett Butler, away from her, while Julie is ultimately reunited with Preston. This film was a huge success for Warner Bros., and it won Bette Davis her second Oscar for Best Actress, and secured Fay Bainter Best Supporting Actress for her portrayal of Aunt Belle. At the time Warner Bros. was second only to MGM in terms of star power and quality productions, and it was films like these, which combined a strong cast, meticulous sets and art direction, gorgeous costumes (by famed designer Orry Kelly) with an immesenly talented director (not Warners' go-to director for A-list films, Michael Curtiz, but the extremely capable William Wyler, whose long, illustrious career was just getting started). "Jezebel" may be dismissed as "Gone With the Wind" lite today, but it packs enough power and prestige to firmly stand on its own.

Doctor Zhivago

2006-04-18T09:10:00.000-07:00

David Lean is perhaps the only director to combine Old Hollywood style with New Hollywood sensibilities. His epics were as long, star studded, and flat out big as any Cecil B. DeMille directed, yet he infused them with subtext and subtlety that DeMille never knew he never knew. Lean's "Lawrence of Arabia" is arguably the most impressive film ever made, considering Lean crafted this incredibly nuanced epic, anchored by one of the greatest performances ever (by a virtual unknown no less) and he did it all in the middle of the Arabian desert! One would think then, that after the resounding success he experienced with "Lawrence of Arabia", Lean would have tried something a little different, perhaps a drawing room piece, with no mind boggling exteriors and casts of thousands. One would think wrong. Barely a year after finally completing the staggering undertaking that was "Lawrence of Arabia", Lean gathered much of the same crew, including such notables as screenwriter Robert Bolt, composer Maurice Jarre, cinematographer Freddie Young, and production designer John Box, and this time took them to the other extreme, the bitter cold. "Doctor Zhivago" is a great big sprawling romantic epic, complete with the stunning visuals Lean made himself famous for with "Lawrence of Arabia" but also managing the same intimate moments which elevated him to the elite class of epic directors. Lean was seemingly begging for trouble when he got back behind the camera of such a behemoth, but he pulled it off a rare second time in a row. Considering that this film was met with a fraction of the critical acclaim he received for "Lawrence of Arabia" but several times its box office take proves that not everyone agreed with me, yet I have to salute Lean for denying the odds and pulling off an impossible production not just twice in a career, but twice in a row!

The epic begins with a close up of one of Lean's regulars: Alec Guiness. Told through extremely extended flashback, the story is that Guiness, as General Yevgraf Zhivago, believes he has found the illegitimate child of his half-brother, the titular Dr. Zhivago, and his lover, the beautiful Lara Antipova. Flashing back to some 35 years prior, the recently orphaned Yuri Zhivago has just been adopted by the generous Gromeko family and moved from his home in the desolate tundras of northern Russia to the regal splendor of artistocratic Moscow. The Gromeko's raise Yuri as their own son, nurturing his love of medicine and blessing his relationship with their daughter, Tonya. Flash forward about fifteen years and Yuri and Tonya are now engaged to be married, he a successful young doctor and romantic poet in Moscow, and she the radiant daughter of a wealthy family. Everything is fine, until one day fate intercedes on a personal and historical level. Soon after catching a glimpse of the stunningly beautiful Lara (played by the stunningly beautiful Julie Christie) on a street car, the fire of revolution begins to burn inside Yuri as he witnesses the Czar's troops cut down a peaceful protest of the artistocracy. Later, we learn that Lara, the woman Yuri cannot help but be intrigued by, is the daughter of a seamstress, who stays financially afloat through her relationship with the morally corrupt, but politically rich Victor Komarovsky. Lara's mother no longer good enough, Komarovsky begins making overt sexual advances on young Lara, escorting her to dinners and operas, much to the chagrin of Pasha, Lara's idealistic fiancee, also unfortunately a callous wimp. One night, after being nearly raped by Komarovsky, Lara finds him at the home of a wealthy couple for a Christmas party, the same party attended by Yuri and Tonya, and she shoots him. Pasha follows her and escorts her out after the scene she has made startles everyone into inaction. This is the night that all of their lives first converge, and despite the cataclysmic events that are to follow, their paths will keep converging for the rest of their lives.

Yuri and Tonya get married and have a child, establishing themselves in Moscow as a prominent couple. Lara and Pasha get married and move away from Moscow. Komarovsky disappears, after being rejected by Lara. Soon though the event foreshadowed the night of the protest comes to fruition: the Russian Revolution. Yuri, on medical assignment for the Czar's troops, meets Lara again. He is instantly reminded of the smoldering courage and determination she showed that night at the party, and the two fall into a platonic love with one another. Neither wanting to dishonor their spouses, they instead bond over Yuri's poetry, two romantic souls together in the wild. When revoltion strikes, Lara leaves to her husband and Yuri returns to Moscow, where the elegant mansion he was raised in has been seized by the Bolsheviks, and divided into living quarters for some eleven families! Barely welcome in their own home, the outsiders resent the Gromeko's for their past decadence, Yuri, Tanya, their son Sasha and Tonya's father seek respite in the Gromeko's summer estate, in the distant countryside. After surviving a treacherous train ride to the distant outpost, dodging the warring Bolshevik factions the Red Guards and the White Guards, the beleagered family arrives at the estate, where they live in relative peace for sometime. However this soap opera is far from over. On one of his routine trips into town Yuri discovers that Lara is living there, and this time, he cannot avoid falling into a sexual relationship with her.

Living a double life of course gets Yuri into trouble soon enough. One day going into town Yuri is abducted by mercenary troops and forced into servitude as their doctor. He goes several years without seeing Tonya, his son, or Lara, as he is forced to participate in the merciless raids the troops conduct. Finally sneaking away, Yuri famously crosses seemingly all of Russia to get back to the summer estate he had been staying at. Certain critics seem to harbor a certain degree of animosity towards Yuri for cheating on his quite lovely wife, but it should be noted that when he is faced with the decision to return to one woman, he chooses his wife. However he returns to find the estate deserted. Devastated he wanders into town and finds Lara and her daughter still there. Their tearful reunion is short lived however. Komarovsky, somehow still with plenty of money and influence despite the complete destruction of the artistocracy, emerges, offering Lara and her daughter safe passage, since the Bolsheviks are allegedly pursuing Yuri for his romanticized poetry. Yuri convinces Lara to go with the lecherous Komarovsky, vowing to find her again, and the haunting shot of her being driven away in a sleigh, knowing full well it is the last time she will ever see him again, is one of the film's most powerful. Devastated a second time, Yuri returns to Moscow, finds his wife and son, and lives in relative obscurity. Until one day, while riding the same street car he first spotted her on, Yuri sees Lara walking in the street. He quickly disembarks and gets within a few yards of her when suddenly, he suffers a fatal heart attack, collapsing dead on the street. After treking hundreds of miles on foot to be reunited with her, he ends up missing her forever by a few feet. And so we return to Alec Guiness, still questioning the girl, of whom he is now completely confident is his step niece. He allows her to leave, his conscience satisfied. I always find it interesting, personally, in a movie that exceeds three hours, what the first and last shot is, and here, we simply have a medium shot of the dam the girl is crossing as Guiness looks on, a rather inconspicuous end to a truly incredible film.

North by Northwest

2006-04-10T09:04:00.000-07:00

Alfred Hitchcock's nickname was "The Master" because his films were simply good enough to warrant such a hyperbolic name. Hitchcock's genius is even more regarded today as scholars point out the limits to which he was able to push certain boundaries, incorporating sexually and psychologically subversive elements into his films right underneath the noses of the clueless censors, albeit resorting to clever ways in most instances. But in the latter stages of Hitchcock's career, after he burst onto the Hollywood scene in the early 1940's, and his less distinguished period after the allure wore off a bit from the mid 1940's through the early 1950's, Hitchcock became more overt with his subversiveness. "Vertigo" might as well be a David Lynch movie, considering the extremes it goes to depicting a man obsessed with his dead lover. And "Psycho" is arguably the first film to to graphically depict the mind of a serial killer. Sandwiched neatly between these two endlessly debated films came arguably Hitchcock's most easily accessible Hollywood vehicle ever, "North by Northwest". Starring Cary Grant as Roger O. Thornhill, a dashing, debonair older gentlemen who looks great in a suit (he might as well have been playing himself), an ad man mistaken for a double agent after another agent turns up dead, Thornhill literally races across the country, dodging a shadowy villain named Vandamm, government agents, and a mysterious blonde (a staple of Hitchcock's, among others he uses here). "North by Northwest", while light years removed from the brooding, cerebral drama of "Vertigo" and the audacious and probing suspense of "Psycho", proves Hitchcock's greatness. His ability to jump back and forth between heavy and light, without mortgaging quality in the process, is a trait demonstrated by precious few filmmakers.

As the film opens, we meet Roger Thornhill, a seemingly absentminded advertising executive. He is twice married (and divorced) and reluctantly accepts constant supervision and advice from his mother. After he is kidnapped by a mysterious figure named Vandamm, played with typical cold steel by the great George Mason, who thinks he is a CIA agent named George Kaplan, Thornhill is released, and in the first of many memorable set pieces, finds himself framed for murder in the lobby of the U.N. From here on, the film operates at a break neck speed. Thornhill quickly finds himself being pursued by both Vandamm's men, who think he is Kaplan, and the government and other authorities, who think Thornhill killed the man in the U.N. Aboard a train to Chicago Thornhill meets Eve Kendall, a prototypical Hitchcock blond. Portrayed by Eva Marie Saint, oozing equal parts sex appeal and elegance (a Hitchcockian must), Kendall soon draws Thornhill into her web, convincing him she is an ally, amidst their (for the time) scandalous banter. Of course, nothing is what it seems, and soon Thornhill comes to suspect Kendall is involved in what is going on more than she initially intimated. After parting ways, Thornhill, in perhaps the film's most celebrated sequence, matches wits with a crop duster. After disembarking a bus on a deserted stretch of highway, Thornhill is chased down by the diabolical plane (perhaps influencing Spielberg's "Duel" some fifteen years later with the faceless vehicular terror!) and narrowly escapes.

He next finds himself forced to think fast when he is cornered at an auction house by both the government and Vandamm's men, led by ruthless henchman Martin Landau. (For years, rumors have persisted that Landau's character is gay, however I have seen this film several times and still fail to pick up on any such attributes) Realizing that the government is the lesser of two evils, Thornhill begins to make a scene at the auction house, bidding a couple dollars for priceless antiques and artifacts, to the point that he is finally escorted off the premises by the police, much to the chagrin of Vandamm's goons. Now in government custody, Thornhill is told that there is no George Kaplan. The name is made up, an elaborate government ruse to confuse and entrap Vandamm, with Thornhill as the patsy. Thornhill tries to act offended and walk out, until he is told that Eve Kendall is also a government agent, and her association with Thornhill has jeopardized her cover. Forced back into the deadly game, all the players converge at Mount Rushmore. (Hitchcock was denied his request to shoot there, thus the scenes in the visitor's center are set against an elaborate matte painting, and the actual scenes atop the rock are carefully constructed sets) As Thornhill and the goons tangle on the top of the monument, providing Hitchcock's tongue-in-cheek working title for the film "The Man in Lincoln's Nose", the film takes a pretty wild cut, going from Thornhill's outstretched hand, in a will-he-or-won't-he reach Eve moment, to his pulling her up into the sleeping rack aboard their train cabin. Presumably the chase is over, Hitchcock ends with one of his celebrated "slip by the censors" moments: as Thornhill and Eve embrace, pulling the sleeping bunk shut with them in it, we quick cut to the train's exterior, rushing into a tunnel! The perfect sublime moment to Hitchcock's most sublime entertainment.

Rebel Without a Cause

2006-02-27T08:51:00.000-08:00

Much like James Cagney, James Dean was another Hollywood star who wasted no time toiling away in bit parts. At the ripe old age of 24, Dean acheived cinematic immortality in only his second major role (his first was the role which put him on the map, the charismatic lead in Elia Kazan's "East of Eden" earlier that year). In actuality, immortality came a few weeks before his role was ever seen. Weeks before audiences would forever remember Dean and his fire engine red jacket in "Rebel Without a Cause", Dean was killed in a car accident. This tragic death turned Dean into a cult obsession, first among girls, and then years later as rumors of his personal life surfaced, amongst gay culture. His life certainly was interesting, albeit extremely and unfortunately brief, and a microcosm of that is his brooding portrayal of Jim Stark in Nicholas Ray's seminal examination of teenage-dom "Rebel Without a Cause". In addition to James Dean, Ray assembled an impressive cast of young actors, including Natalie Wood, who lobbied hard for the role of Judy, Sal Mineo, who gave an excellent portrayal of the tragic character Plato, and an impossibly young Dennis Hopper, as a gang member (rumor has it that Hopper's affair with Natalie Wood cost him Sal Mineo's larger role, thanks to director Ray's jealousy). For its time "Rebel Without a Cause" was an intense look at its difficult subject matter, and it holds up surprisingly well today, thanks mostly to Dean's incendiary performance, as well as the grim epilogue life administered for the film; in addition to Dean's premature death, both Sal Mineo and Natalie Wood also died young under tragic circumstances.

As the film begins, Jim Stark has been arrested for being drunk in public. The opening scene plays out in a series of long takes (which killed director Ray, who had to indulge his Method obsessed star by holding up shooting until Dean emerged from his trailer realistically drunk and enraged from wine and pounding Wagner music!) and it introduces us to both the three main characters as well as their relationships with their parents (or in Plato's case, parental guardians). Jim is taken home by his controlling mother and henpecked father, who means well but never stands up to his wife, a point which drives Jim crazy. Judy, who has run away, is taken home by her distant mother and hateful father, who refuses to show his daughter any affection, disgusted at the "slut" he thinks she has become. Plato, arrested for shooting squirrels with a bee bee gun, is in the most depressing of situations. Parents divorced, ostensibly living with his mother, who is always gone, Plato's only source of authority and parental guidance and affection is an overwhelmed maid/nanny, who means well but cannot possibly cope with the emotional problems plauging Plato. Jim is by nature a shy, introverted kid, but he is prone to violent outbursts, particularly when he feels the need to assert his father's authority for him, be it by standing up to his mother, or challenging the old man himself. Jim also allows himself to be goaded into a knife fight and a "chicken run", a deadly game of chicken involving driving cars towards a cliff, testing the other's nerves to see who bails out first. Jim's nemesis both times is Buzz, a hulking jerk, who happens to be Judy's boyfriend, if for no other reason than because she is so desperate for affection, she would rather subject herself to Buzz than attempt winning back her father's long forgotten love. After Buzz' accidental death in the chicken run, Judy is surprised to find warmth and kindess from Jim, who, while new to their high school, seems to understand Judy better than anyone else. Together with Plato, a pathetic figure ridiculed by kids his own age and ignored by adults, they form a bizarre trio, but establish a new age functional family unit, with Jim and Judy as mother and father, and Plato as their adoring son.

The new family's happiness is fleeting however. Buzz' gang comes after Jim, seeking revenge and end up chasing the trio to the Griffith Observatory (a stunning use of a real life Los Angeles landmark) where they hide out, at first from the gang, and then after Plato shoots one of the members, from the police. The ending is a tense standoff. Plato refuses to come out of the Observatory, and Jim bargains with the police to bring him out if there is no more violence. In the ultimate show of compassion Jim gives the frightened Plato his bright red jacket, an article of clothing Plato has cherished from the beginning of the movie, and which clearly touches his heart. As the two exit the Observatory, Plato gets frightened by the flood lights on him and tries to run, tragically prompting a volley of fire from the police. Jim and Judy are distraught, but together, the two leave the scene, arm in arm, no longer looking for, or expecting understanding and affection from their parents. This ending, of Jim and Judy seemingly striking off on their own, set the country's teenage hearts on fire. Between this and Marlon Brando's "The Wild One" from the year before, which ellicited the classic exchange "What are you rebelling against?", "Whaddya got?", teenagers began to feel as if they were being included. These films spoke directly to them, and not surprisingly, the number of teen oriented "message" movies spiked in the late 1950's with films such as "The Blackboard Jungle" which went a step further, incorporating a new teen craze: rock and roll music. For its mark on Hollywood, inspiring an entire new demographic's worth of films, as well as unfortunately being the brightest the James Dean star would ever burn on film, "Rebel Without a Cause" is a true classic.

The Public Enemy

2006-02-27T08:38:00.000-08:00

Becoming a star in Hollywood is a tricky business. However, for a select few, that once-in-a-lifetime role comes along early and overnight they are the new sensation. James Cagney was a moderately successful theater actor, whose credits were primarily musicals and comedies. However his first drama, "Satan's Holiday" on Broadway, caught the attention of some Hollywood producers, and he was brought west to do the film version. Then, at the ripe old age of 32, after a decent but thoroughly unspectacular theatrical career, James Cagney got that once-in-a-lifetime role, as Tom Powers in "The Public Enemy". In 1930 the gangster movie craze began with Edward G. Robinson's own star-making turn as Rico "Little Caesar" Bendello in "Little Caesar". The very next year the genre would do likewise for Cagney. As the psychotic Tom Powers, Cagney announced to the world that there was a new star in town. Impossibly charismatic, Cagney absolutely dominates the screen, chewing scenery with his tough guy patois and shooting up scenery with his signature tommy guns. Oddly enough, the new tough guy leading man almost ended up being Edward Woods, who was signed for the role of Tom Powers. But after only a few days of shooting, director William Wellman noticed how Cagney was overwhelming his co-star and promptly switched roles. The rest of course is history. Woods went on to cinematic obscurity and Cagney became the defining star of a new genre.

As the film opens, Tom and his buddy Matt Doyle are just kids. However the dark path their lives are going to take is unmistakable, as Tom is already a delinquent, and Matt is too meek to stand up to the brash Tom. As the action shifts to the boys as teenagers, they are now established in the underworld, working for a low level fence Putty Nose. Their first major job is robbing a fur company, and during the theft a policeman is shot and killed by Tom. Putty Nose deserts the boys who come to him looking for help, a betrayal Tom remembers vividly, when he catches up with Putty Nose, now a pathetic old man, years later and cold bloodedly kills him. The sensational theft of the fur company earns the boys respect in the underworld however, and soon they are working for someone a little higher on the pecking order, Paddy Ryan. Ryan is a bootlegger, and Tom and Matt quickly become top enforcers for his racket, mostly thanks to Tom's brutal instincts and tactics. Inevitably a bigger fish gets wind of Tom Powers, whose reputation is vastly preceding him by this point, and it is not long before Tom and Matt are working for Nails Nathan, based on Dion O'Bannon, a notorious gangster in Chicago and chief rival of the Capone gang. In addition to fighting the war on the streets, Tom also has to deal with two other adversaries: his brother, and his women. Tom's brother Mike is a straight arrow type, just back from serving in World War I, when he learns Tom is a quickly rising force in the underworld. He forbids Tom from visiting home and helping out their mother, who despite Mike's good intentions, cannot bring herself to disown Tom, despite his violent lifestyle. Tom also has to deal with the women in his life. Initially he and Matt find two girls, Kitty and Mamie, respectively. Tom's girl Kitty, played by Mae Clarke, just one of the many victims Tom Powers leaves in his path throughout the film, suffers an indignity far worse than being gun downed however. In perhaps the most famous use of fruit in cinematic history, Tom dismisses the pushy Kitty by shoving a half of grapefuit in her face during breakfast, but he does so with such fury and malice that he might as well have killed her, his intent is that diabolical. Soon after Tom finds Gwen, a fast living materialistic dame, who while an incredibly shallow character, is significant for being the first major role portrayed by Jean Harlow, who would go on to become a huge star.

This being the 1930's, the studios had to be careful not to glorify the criminal lifestyle too greatly, or else face the wrath of the conservative majority. Thus in all of the 1930's gangster epics, the main character always gets it in the end, albeit in spectacular fashion. "The Public Enemy" provides an ending as bombastic as any of the others, with Tom getting cornered by the police, blasting his way out, but not before being riddled with bullets and slumping into the gutter he remarks the classic line: "I ain't so tough." Still alive from the shootout he is put into intensive care with police protection from the underworld interests that would love to see the great Tom Powers dead. They soon get their wish as back at Tom's family's home, Mike is trying to console their hysterical mother when they are interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Mike goes to answer it and is shocked when he finds Tom, wrapped up in his hospital blankets, slumped in the door way. Thinking somehow Tom escaped he begins to lecture him, then suddenly realizes he is wrong as his body crashes to the floor. Tom has been killed, his body smuggled out and deposited at his mother's home as a message: Tom Powers ain't so tough anymore. The image of Tom's pathetic corpse wrapped in his blankets, dead on his mother's floor, is a stark message Hollywood (had to) impart on the film going public. The film, like "Little Caesar" before it, and "Scarface" after it, contains a silly epilouge in which a policeman, speaking directly to the screen, deplores the actions of Tom Powers in the film, as well as those who would act like him in real life. Howard Hawks was even forced to add the ridiculous subtitle "Shame of the Nation" onto his film, when censors complained about its unprecedented levels of violence, as well as a incest subplot, played out completely in Brian DePalma's subtlety free remake 50 years later. While "Little Caesar" came first, and "Scarface" is ultimately the most sensational of the genre, "The Public Enemy" deserves lasting credit though for establishing James Cagney as a huge star, and while he would go on to make several other classic gangster films, such as "Angels With Dirty Faces" and "White Heat", he proved his versatility in musicals such as "Footlight Parade" and "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and comedies such as "One, Two, Three". He would later admit to feeling trapped by the tough guy roles he was pigeonholed in, but the reality of it is, no one was tougher than James Cagney.

Sunset Boulevard

2006-02-27T08:22:00.000-08:00

While Billy Wilder made a name for himself directing cynical comedies, such as "The Apartment", he is forgotten as a great dramatic director. The few times he stepped completely into the genre he made some classics, among them "The Lost Weekend" which garnered star Ray Milland a Best Actor Oscar and still stands as an unflinching look at the effects of alcoholism, and "Stalag 17", a gritty war movie. However, his best dramatic effort is "Sunset Boulevard", another unflinching examination, this time of his very own craft. Watching "Sunset Boulevard" you get the distinct impression that Wilder either had a severe ax to grind or really was as cynical as his films would indicate, as everyone is shown in an extremely unflattering light. Demented and forgotten silent film star Norma Desmond (played by the forgotten, possibly demented silent film star Gloria Swanson in an amazing performance) takes in struggling screenwriter Joe Gillis and initially hires him to rewrite her 200 page script, "Salome". Soon their relationship turns sordid, as Norma falls madly (literally and figuratively) in love with the handsome young Joe, who tries playing both sides, taking Norma's money, but also telling himself he will bolt the first real chance he gets to pursue "Blind Windows", a script he is writing with Betty, a pretty young script girl at the studio. Both of the main characters are pretty unlikeable, nothing new for a Billy Wilder film, but he also crams in Norma's creepy butler Max (played by forgotten silent film director Erich von Stroheim, another absolutely brilliant bit of casting), a cigar chomping, "Action!" barking Cecil B. DeMille (playing himself!), a bunch of other forgotten silent film stars playing a bunch of forgotten silent film stars (that Joe calls "the wax works", an extremely apropos description), and a dead monkey's funeral, all to create an atmosphere that Hollywood is a bitter, depressing, backstabbing, delirious, disastrous place to work and live. Not exactly Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in drag.

As the film opens Joe Gillis is lying face down in a swimming pool, dead. Take that "American Beauty". We flash back though, with this knowledge purposely in our heads, to when Joe has just had his latest idea (and last chance) shot down by the studio chief. Out of money and chased by repo men after his car, Joe ducks into a winding driveway up in the Hollywood Hills and loses the men. He wanders into the seemingly shut up mansion but finds its occupant, an eccentric older woman in mourning for her dead monkey. After serving as pall bearer in the bizarre ritual, Joe realizes the woman is Norma Desmond, the actress. He quickly comes to understand that Norma is convinced she is still a star, thanks to an elaborate ruse put on by her butler, Max, also her ex-husband and director of some of her greatest films from her glory days. For years Max has been humoring her as she writes her epic "Salome", lying to her about studio interest in her and the project, writing her fake fan mail, and allowing her to indulge her vanity through home screenings of her old movies (Interestingly, Wilder uses clips of "Queen Christina", a legendarily unfinished film Stroheim, a legendarily extravagent director, had shut down on him due to exorbitant costs that starred the real Gloria Swanson). In the history of Hollywood there are few, if any, more fully realized roles than that of Norma Desmond, and give Gloria Swanson credit; she came out of retirement and absolutely transcended, blurring the line between herself and her on screen alter ago to the point that one had to wonder, was Gloria Swanson really crazy? She is that good, and the role is that perfectly delineated. For a while Joe manages to keep Norma happy by working on her script (and, as the film alludes, indulging her sexually) by day and sneaking away to work on his script with Betty back at the studio by night. Finally completing the epic, Norma thinks she can just put in a call to C.B. DeMille, her old friend at Paramount, and walk right in with the cameras ready to roll. Calls from the studio have convinced her this is the case (when in fact they really want to borrow her hideous 1920's beast of a car for a Bing Crosby movie!), and Max is too devoted to tell her the truth.

After realizing her dream project is not going to happen (thanks to a disastrous visit to the studio) Norma becomes hysterical and tries to kill herself. Joe can sense the situation spiraling out of control, Norma is incredibly unstable and this latest (and probably last, in an interesting parallel to Joe's situation at the beginning of the film) defeat is too much for her to bear, so he tries to break off their "relationship" by returning everything she bought him, packing his suitcase and just walking out the front door. Norma has been forgotten by everyone in Hollywood, but she absolutely refuses to be forgotten by Joe Gillis, a nothing screenwriter she gave everything she had to, and responds by shooting him dead. This all sets up the film's stunning and now famous finale: with (news)cameras rolling, Norma makes her final appearance for her fans, boldly announcing "Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up!" as DeMille, Hollywood tabloid queen Hedda Hopper, and dozens of others look on in utter curiousity, watching this train wreck proceed past them, the public suddenly very interested in Norma Desmond once again. Predictably the film created quite a sensation in Hollywood, prompting Louis B. Mayer, head of MGM, to publicy vilify Wilder for the cinematic condemnation he gave the industry. But Wilder, always ready with a snappy comeback, simply responded to Mayer's outburst with a curt "Fuck you". The final film really is a masterpiece, and watching it, you completely forget that it is a Billy Wilder film. The understanding of the studio system, the absolutely perfect realization of a scorned older woman, the exquisitely detailed attention to time and place, all seems like too much credit to give to an obscure Polish immigrant who came to Hollywood twenty years before not knowing a single word of English. Watching this film now though, keeping in mind that Wilder could create something as powerful as this, something as hysterical as "Some Like It Hot" and something as touching as "The Apartment" and one has to wonder: when considering the list of the greatest directors of all time, along with John Ford, Howard Hawks, and Alfred Hitchcock, one really must include Billy Wilder, a true master of his craft.

The Apartment

2006-02-01T09:53:00.000-08:00

Billy Wilder was an extremely interesting director. He was inherently a comedic director, but he was arguably the first director since Chaplin to inject actual pathos into his films that were basically designed to make people laugh. Comedy is always looked down upon for being inferior to drama, but Wilder had the distinct ability to give his comedies something deeper, and perhaps his deepest "comedy" is his Academy Award winning film "The Apartment". Lacing every single scene with a tinge of cynicism and bitterness, the film can easily be mistaken for a Woody Allen film, as its characters are all filled with problems, neuroses and imperfections. The protagonist, the always appealing Jack Lemmon as Bud Baxter, is a corporate schlub who hatches the perfect scheme: instead of toiling away for years, rising up the ladder the old fashioned way, he plans on using his boss' vices for his own benefit, by exchanging his apartment for their extramarital affairs for a little favortism when it comes to promotions. Imagine, a comedy in which the mild mannered, endearing main character's primary goal is to get ahead by aiding his superiors in having affairs with their wives. Only Billy Wilder would expect (and more significantly get) the audience's support for Baxter; of course it does not hurt that Jack Lemmon plays Bud as a generally nice guy who has figured out a loophole, something any one can relate to. His perfect plan however collides head on with his personal feelings when, after a series of promotions, he is loaning the apartment to the company president who chooses as his next fling Fran Kubelik, the pretty elevator girl that Baxter is secretly in love with. In an ordinary romantic comedy the outcome would never be in doubt, but with Wilder, well, it always pays to watch until the very end.

The film opens with an introduction to Baxter in his midtown office building. He is portrayed as the only nice guy in a sea of jerks. This is demonstrated by the fact that he removes his hat when addressing Fran in the elevator, something none of the other men do, and that, despite his immoral means of getting ahead, he really does go out of his way to make the situation work. He is constantly rearranging his schedule to accomodate the sexual proclivities of his bosses, and must endure the scorn of his neighbors, who see a parade of men, women and booze coming and going from his apartment every night. What makes Baxter likeable is that his intentions are good; if he could get ahead the old fashioned way, through hard work and paying one's dues, he would, but he knows that is not often the case. His plan works up until a point; after getting all the way up to assistant to the top man, company president Jeff Sheldrake, Baxter is finally forced to make a decision: his morals, or his job. The dilemma comes in the form of Sheldrake's new girl, Fran. Sheldrake, played by Fred MacMurray in what must have shocked audiences of the time, since MacMurray was usually more suited to goofy supporting roles or light hearted family comedies, here plays the smug, smarmy suit that initially tempts Baxter with tokens of appreciation for his complicity, tickets to the hot Broadway musical for instance, but then, when Baxter tries sabotaging the relationship because of his own feelings for Fran, the snake inside Sheldrake bares its fangs and threatens Baxter's job. Complicating things is that Fran, despite having Baxter, an all around nice guy who genuinely loves her, right in front of her the entire time, spends most of the movie blissfully unaware of his noble intentions towards her, and actually tries deluding herself into thinking Sheldrake cares for her, and that it could work between them. When Sheldrake refuses to break an engagement with his wife to see her, right around Christmas, Fran swallows a bottle of pills at Baxter's apartment, and thanks to the kindly but suspicious next door neighbor who happens to be a doctor, Baxter is able to nurse her back to health.

The audience's frustrations are taken even higher, as another woman informs Sheldrake's wife of his affairs, and she promptly kicks him out of the house, leaving him free to pursue Fran, which she stupidly falls for. Baxter is furious, both at Sheldrake, to whom he has confessed his feelings for Fran by this point, and to Fran, for falling back under Sheldrake's slimy spell. Predictably, Sheldrake almost immediately brushes off Fran's big plans for them, and she wanders aimlessly back to Baxter's apartment. After losing his job over Fran, then proceeding to pour his heart out to her when she finally comes back to him, the only response Fran has for him is "cut the cards", a joke concerning the unfinished gin game the two have throughout the movie. Then the credits roll. Wilder ends his film without any confirmation that Baxter and Fran end up together, a move even Woody Allen would consider too cynical. Yet, leaving it up to the audience's imagination (while the majority of people, the optimists, would see Fran's return as a sign that they will end up together, the ending can most certainly be read as sign that while the two absolutely should be together, they absolutely never will) somehow works in this film. For every cute, romantic scene, such as the famous dinner Baxter prepares for Fran while nursing her back to health (straining spaghetti with a tennis racket) there is one of melancholy and cynicism, such as Baxter getting drunk with a stranger at a bar, trying to bring her back to his apartment, only to find that it is in use. This film serves as both a pinnacle for Billy Wilder (he won three Oscars for it, writing, directing and producing it) and also a turning point. While he was never a fluffy director, even his more light hearted comedies, like "Sabrina" and "Love in the Afternoon" feature attempted suicide, adultery and other dark topics not usually found in frothy entertainment, from here on, he only made films like these, sweet confections with a bitter aftertaste. And while he had worked for nearly 30 years to this point and would work for nearly 20 more, "The Apartment", directly on the heels of his other masterpiece "Some Like It Hot", is his undisputed apex.

Life With Father

2006-01-26T08:49:00.000-08:00

There are many famous snubs throughout the nearly 80 year history of the Academy Awards. Some are more famous than others, such as Henry Fonda losing for "The Grapes of Wrath", or more recently "Shakespeare in Love" beating "Saving Private Ryan". One injustice which has not been given much press, but I feel is just as glaring, is William Powell losing Best Actor in 1947 for "Life With Father". Based on the Howard Lindsay play (itself based on the memoirs of Clarence Day, Jr., the oldest son character in the film) that ran on Broadway for years, "Life With Father" is an absolute tour de force by William Powell as Clarence Day Sr., an impossibly stubborn, but also extremely loving father and husband in late 19th century New York. One of Warner Bros. all star productions of the late 1940's, the film rivals any of MGM's Technicolor films of the time, given the same remarkable use of color, as well as incredibly detailed period appropriate sets by Warner's old reliable decorator Robert Haas. But all of this is secondary whenever William Powell is on screen. Powell dominates everyone around him, no easy feat considering the film provides him with a strong foil in the radiant Irene Dunne, as well as silent screen star Zasu Pitts in a nice supporting role and an impossibly gorgeous teenage Elizabeth Taylor (the only person in Hollywood history to be a super star as both a child, teenager, and adult). Clarence Day is a man whose life is built around routine, his fanatical obsession with order, punctuality and discipline, yet throughout the course of the movie you realize just how willing he is to compromise to please his wife and children, despite his stern exterior. Powell simply owns the role and frankly, losing Best Actor to Ronald Colman for "A Double Life", a long since forgotten noirish drama, is as great as injustice, given the juxtaposition of the two roles then, as well as their respective legacies now, as Marlon Brando losing for "A Streetcar Named Desire".

Directed by Michael Curtiz, the man responsible for virtually every Warners classic of the 1930's and 1940's (Captain Blood, The Adventures of Robin Hood, Casablanca, Mildred Pierce, the list goes on and on), the film was a guarenteed box office smash given its popular source material (see, nothing has changed in Hollywood). Still, notorious fiddler Jack Warner took no chances, securing his top director, his top decorator, an all star cast and Max Steiner, one of the most talented composers of the classical Hollywood era. It should then come as no surprise that Powell, Haas, and Steiner all received Oscar nominations, as did the film's color cinematography. Beginning with the credits over stereopticon slides of turn of the century New York, we are introduced to the world according to one man, Clarence Day. He doesn't appear on screen for about the first 20 minutes, but his presence is definitely felt, as every character is bustling about desperately trying to please him. The film does not really have a narrative arc, so much as Powell's character does. Sure things happen, such as his wife's Vinnie constantly trying to circumvent his tight fisted ways. Some memorable vignettes are Vinnie trying to convince him to take a carriage to Delmonico's or to keep an antique pug dog she bought on impulse (a hilarious running gag throughout the film, Clarence cannot stand his wife's impulsive spending, usually because it results in something as grostesque as the pug dog). There is also the small matter of Vinnie's cousin Cora coming to visit and her teenage guest, Mary Skinner (Clarence also cannot stand relatives imposing and several of the film's greatest lines come from him verbally expressing this pet peeve). Another problem is Clarence's youngest son Clarence Jr. who is plauged both by trying to impress his impossible father as well as the aforementioned impossibly gorgeous Mary Skinner. And finally, there is the small fact of Clarence's never having been baptized, which becomes significant when Vinnie has an unfortunate brush with death after consuming some of younger son Harlan's cheap elixir, which he is selling to make his industrious father proud of course.

Watching Clarence barrel through each of these problems is equally hilarious and touching. He is stern but caring with his children, short but polite to his relatives, and exasperated but always loving to his wife. We see the real man, buried underneath layers of structure and etiquette, when the reverend comes to their house to pray for the damned soul of Vinnie. Clarence considers this affront from God and demands(!) that God leave his poor wife alone. This scene sums up Clarence Day: a man who refuses to budge when it comes to his family, specifically his wife, even if it means challenging God himself. After Vinnie recovers, she implores Clarence to get baptized, something which he has steadfastly refused to do thus far, reasoning that God "can't keep him out of heaven on a technicality", but eventually agrees to, even letting Vinnie book them a carriage to the church for the special occasion. By the end of the film we realize Clarence is hardly the tyrant he appears to be. His brusque manner and biting wit are merely ways he burns off steam, after all, trying to appease a wife and four children is taxing. He even does not mind cousin Cora and Mary staying with them, after he launched a tirade against it earlier ("that is what hotels are for!"), he mellows. Vinnie's sickness shook him, and he realized that perhaps lightening up a little would do everyone a bit of good. This change, from domineering patriarch to agreeable family man, is expertly realized by Powell's larger than life portrayal. Powell's trademark comic timing and equisite line delivery serve him well in his early scenes, but it is truly a testament to his fine acting that we come to care for Clarence by the film's end. He makes his character's change one the audience does not necessarily want. When he is cutting down house maids and relatives in the first half, we love it. However when he is imploring God to spare his wife's soul, we realize this is the man we really want him to be, keeping that fire and brimstone tone, but harnessing it. Based on the incredible true life of Clarence Day Jr. (his father must really have been some man, even with some poetic license taken), "Life With Father" is a wonderful film, featuring one of the greatest actors of all time in his best (not signature, but he plays Clarnece Day better than Nick Charles) role.

Meet Me In St. Louis

2006-01-26T08:40:00.000-08:00

There is a feeling that I cannot truly put into words that I feel when watching an old "chestnut" such as this. It is a mixing of nostalgia and optimism, completely irrational, and if you think about it too long, even some guilt at being so blissfully ignorant, but the feeling, at least for me, is unmistakable. While watching "Meet Me In St. Louis", one of MGM's most heart warming musicals ever, I cannot help but experience this feeling overwhelm me. The movie is just so warm, literally. A gorgeous "slice-of-life" tale about an ordinary family in picture perfect St. Louis (a cynic would argue that no where, let alone St. Louis, was ever as beautiful and idyllic as it is portrayed here) at the turn of the last century, the film concerns the Smith family: passionate and idealistic Esther, her over bearing older sister Rose, her adorable younger sister 'Tootie', her caring mother, her workaholic father, and her cantankerous old grandfather, played with spirit by the legendary Harry Davenport. The movie is exceedindly simple, fitting every small time cliche you can think of, sort of, for example, in this, the girl falls for the guy next door, not the more conventional other way around. The main conflict of the film is the father, Alonzo's, decision to accept a job in New York and move the family there, causing them to miss the World's Fair exhibition in their own home town. How can a movie string out a problem like that over 100 some odd minutes and still end up endearing and entertaining? Perhaps it is the marvelous attention to detail, courtesy of the legendary Arthur Freed and the time and money he spent on his "Freed Unit" productions. Or maybe the fine cast he assembled, including Judy Garland singing her second most famous song ever, the aforementioned Harry Davenport, Mary Astor, and little Margaret O'Brien, who won a special Oscar for her charming work as 'Tootie'. My vote is because of the music; "The Trolley Song" and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" are American standards now, thanks to this film, and the mood each of them sets helps give this film something other musicals of the time just did not have, that you were watching something special. That, above all, is the sentiment you get from watching this film.

The film begins with a shot of picaresque post card of St. Louis that comes to life, and we realize that it is the Smith's block. Everyone is excited about the coming World's Fair (an anomaly exclusive to essentially the fifty years from 1900 to 1950. A "World's Fair" today cannot be imagined in terms of the excitement, preparation, and wonder it inspired. St. Louis' of 1903 and Chicago's of the 1930's are the two most celebrated ones, and the last one of note was in New York in the 1960's, but by that point the wonder and excitement had long faded. However, it is to note that the sentiment of a World's Fair was Walt Disney's inspiration for Tomorrowland at his Disneyland theme park), particuarly the Smith family. Everything with the world is seemingly at ease, and the Smith family is a microcosm of that. However, trouble is brewing, in the name of New York. Successful banker/father Alonzo thinks he will be pleasing his family by telling them of his promotion to the New York office, instead the entire family is devastated by the news. Oldest sister Rose is in a tumultuous relationship in town and cannot simply bear to leave. Middle sister Esther too is interested in John Truett, their new neighbor, and youngest daughter Tootie possesses all the wonder and exuberance a World's Fair would bring on in a young child. Even the girl's mother is sad ot hear the news, knowing how much the children love St. Louis and are looking forward to the Fair. Arthur Freed went on record in subsequent interviews as saying that the real villain in this fim is the name "New York". Just the sense of having to uproot and leave fills the Smith girls with dread and anxiety. Alonzo, being the stubborn father these type movies always employ, initially refuses to budge, failing to see how much the Fair, and home, means to his family. He also fails to notice Esther's blossoming romance with John, a feat not lost on the viewer. Vincente Minnelli was a brilliant artist and his sets and shots were composed as an artist would fill a canvas. He too was clearly enamored with his young star and thus it comes as no surprise that Judy Garland never looks as beautiful as she does in this film thanks to Minnelli's eye for flattering angles and lenses.

The family's objections aside, as Christmas rolls around the plan is still to move, which puts everyone in a semi state of depression. Tootie goes around knocking over snowmen she is so upset, and even Esther, who is the optimist in the family, can only manage as depressing a song as "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" to cheer up Tootie. Now of course the viewer derives enormous pleasure from this song due mainly to its legacy as a Christmas staple. Second only to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", this song is also one of Judy Garland's standards, and she sings it beautifully. But listening to the lyrics, you realize just how well it fits both the plot of the film, as well as the mood the characters are all in at the time. It is a song of reluctant optimism, of taking comfort in your few remaining joys (not surprisingly, the song was a huge hit during the War, as it connected with millions of families who were disjointed due to combat). Finally, as spring comes, Alonzo's frosty demeanor melts with the snow and he decides St. Louis is the place for his family, and the film ends with the family taking in the Fair, the great event they had spent the past year waiting in anticipation for. If the ending sounds a little familiar, the family so grateful to be "at home", it should come as no surprise that Arthur Freed also produced "The Wizard of Oz", which coined the phrase "there's no place like home". While today this film can be seen as incredibly corny and slight, the film's strong points are still there; Arthur Freed's famous generosity in regards to his productions, which resulted in collaborations with the finest crasftmen, is in full employ here, as Cedric Gibbons' gorgeous art direction and the fine score clearly set this apart from other musicals of the era. Freed was very proud of his films and his pride was also on display on screen. He was also, they say, a very kind, compassionate man, who favored his pool of talent, both in front of and behind the camera, and thus it is not surprising that his films always have such a fine polish about them. "Meet Me in St. Louis" is no exception.

Gaslight

2006-01-25T08:16:00.000-08:00

On par with Hitchcock's finest, "Gaslight" is a working definition of the term "psychological thriller". Not a drop of blood is spilled in the movie, yet it crackles with tension and suspense. It features the stellar Ingrid Bergman as Paula, a wealthy young woman who is slowly convinced she is insane by her duplicitous husband, Gregory, exceptionally played by the suave Charles Boyer. "Gaslight" is also a notable departure for director George Cukor, who favored light romantic comedies and musicals for his entire career, with this being pretty much the only exception. "Gaslight" is also notable for being one of mega producer David O. Selznick's films, the mogul whose influence rippled through Hollywood like shockwaves, yet who remained autonomous throughout his entire career, never bowing down under any studio regime. Considering he was responsible for such epic productions as this, "Gone With the Wind" and "Duel In the Sun", it is even more remarkable. Instead, much like Scott Rudin and Brian Grazer do today, he would secure the hottest material and talent, and bring "his" production to a studio, for such amenities as sound stages and distribution resources. Selznick's operating outside of the studio regime left him more time to develop his projects, which is usually the reason his films were so successful, both critically and commercially. "Gaslight" was no exception, as it scored seven Oscar nominations and two wins, for Cedric Gibbons' incredible art direction, and for Ingrid Bergman's captivating performance. As word trickles in that a remake is in the works, moving the location from foggy, atmospheric London, to smoggy, modern day Los Angeles, I can only help but yawn. Check out the original "Gaslight" and realize that there is no need for a remake.

In the film's prolouge, a young girl is taken from her home by the police. Her aunt, and guardian, a famous opera singer, has just been murdered and the girl is shipped off to Italy, away from the sensational scene of the crime. Years later we realize this girl is Paula, a budding singer in her own right. A handsome young piano player, Gregory, soon takes notice of the young beauty and the two quickly fall in love, and marry. As Paula comes of age she inherits her aunt's fortune and on Gregory's recommendation they move back to London, back to her aunt's old house, which has been locked up for all these years. Initially the young couple are happily married, but after a few months, strange things begin to happen. Paula keeps forgetting things, misplacing items, and is prone to other bouts of irrational behavior. That is, she keeps being told so by Gregory. Paula cannot understand what is happening to her, since of course, there is nothing wrong with her. In a move which Hitchcock probably would have made, Cukor lets the audience in on the twist far too soon, whereas "The Master" would have kept dropping red herrings and let the audience figure it out for themselves, such as he did in "Rebecca" and "Suspicion". Obviously Gregory has some sort of scheme, which we know because he keeps insisting to Paula that she is forgetting things and misplacing items, as well as sneaking off late at night. The erratic behavior coming from the house, chilly master and potentially mad mistress, soon aroses suspicion from some of the neighbors. In an inspired role, Dame May Witty plays Miss Thwaites, a busy body who suspects something is up from the very beginning and who is prone to just barge in, unannounced, and see what gossip she can sniff out. Then there is Brian Cameron, a detective played by fellow Selznick contract player Joseph Cotton, who is initially suspicious of Gregory's late night business and is perplexed when he follows him down a dark alley from which he does not re-emerge. Gregory, in the one plot twist Cukor does keep hidden for some time, each night sneaks into the house's attic in a roundabout way. Whenever he is up there Paula notices the gaslight dim in her part of the house and hears her husband rummaging around up there, two points which convince her she is losing her mind, since Gregory obviously denies it and the maid (played by a slutty Angela Lansbury!) is too interested in flirting with the constable to notice any irregularities.

Eventually Cameron figures out Gregory's scheme. Convinced Paula's aunt was in possession of a large collection of priceless jewels which she hid amongst her worthless costumes and props from her opera days, he desperately tears through the attic each night searching for them. In true Hitchcockian form, the jewels are in plain sight the entire time, sewn onto one of her aunt's old dresses, which Gregory disregards for being too obvious. Cameron tells Paula what has been happening the entire time and suddenly it all makes sense: Gregory's insistence on moving back to London, back to her aunt's old house, the way an old letter of her aunt's which referenced a handsome young piano player mysteriously disappeared. It was Gregory who murdered her aunt, and Paula finally gets her payback, as she plays dumb in response to Gregory's plea for support as the police are dragging him away. Having seen "Gaslight" both on film and on stage, the tension and mood the piece creates is exquisite. Cukor coaxes perfect performances from virtually everyone involved, with the exception being Joseph Cotton, an otherwise fine actor, but who is stuck in the cliched cop role here. Ironically enough, the film almost did not happen at all. MGM, the studio Selznick frequently collaborated with, would not budge on Charles Boyer's contract stipulation that he was to receive top billing in any of his films, fine print which needless to say, Selznick had a hard time swallowing. He insisted his star Ingrid Bergman be given top billing, and he was probably right in demanding it; Bergman was hot off of "Casablanca" and was a major star, whereas Charles Boyer had a nice career playing handsome men, but was never the anchor of major films. Thankfully Selznick checked his ego (settling for second billing) and the film was able to go into production. A film which still holds up marvelously today.

In Old Chicago

2006-01-25T08:12:00.000-08:00

One of the most interesting things to study in film history are the cycles popular opinion goes in. Usually one big film can start a trend, and then a genre is reborn, or in some cases, a mini-genre is born altogether. In 2000, "Gladiator" swept the Oscars and over the next five years there have been, to varying degrees, a multitude of "swords-and-sandals" epics. The 1930's were no different. When "San Francisco", a dynamic combination of an all star cast and incredible special effects, was released in 1936, the craze for disaster movies was on. Much like studios do today, films were rushed into production by other studios to capitalize on the new trend, and the first successful result was 1937's "In Old Chicago". Much like "San Francisco", "In Old Chicago" assembled a strong cast (Fox's big star trio of Tyrone Power, Alice Faye and Don Ameche, as well as solid supporting players Brian Donlevy, Alice Brady and the incomparable Andy Devine) and combined that with a spectacular recreation of a historical event, in the former's case the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, and in this case, the 1871 Chicago fire. Using one of Hollywood's five or six timeless narrative blueprints, "In Old Chicago" features fictional characters involved in the film's narrative until history intervenes. It has been used countless times throughout cinema history, from "Gone With the Wind" through to "Titanic". It gives the story greater drama and grounds the fictional circumstances in something audiences can relate to. "In Old Chicago" features Dion and Jack O'Leary, two brothers who have each made a name for themself, but in vastly different ways, and who each disapprove of the other. Before the two can settle their differences the "Chicago" way, their mother's cow kicks over a lantern and one of the most impressive set pieces ever put to film follows (the nearly 70 year old fire effects and ravaged sets, as well as one particular explosion, still hold up incredibly well today). "In Old Chicago" is a fine example of a classic story, interwoven with some history, and told with the ingredients money could buy, thus it should come as no surprise that the film is incredibly entertaining.

As the film begins, the O'Leary clan is just arriving in Chicago. Their father is killed in a freak accident, leaving their mother to raise the three O'Leary boys on her own. Each son swears to make something of themself and honor the family name. Cut to 20 years later and each has, in a way. The youngest helps their mother around her house, which she turned (somehow) into Chicago's most successful laundry. Jack, the straight arrow, is a muckracking lawyer out to scourge Chicago of its rampant vice, and his main target is Gil Warren, a menacing nightclub owner and racketeer (played by menacing Hollywood character actor Brian Donlevy) who has just taken on a new protege, Jack's brother Dion. Dion, played with a devil-may-care attitude by matinee idol Tyrone Power, is the town playboy, who loves money almost as much as he loves opportunity. Upon learning that the intersection he was planning on putting up his own nightclub had already been purchased by Belle Fawcett, a volutuous singer, instead of muscling in on her, Dion used his good looks and rakish charm, and seduced her into letting him be her partner. Gil likes Dion, but is wary of the young man's ambition, as well as his crusading brother. After butting heads over money and Belle, Dion decides to join forces with his brother Jack, and the two plan to shut down Gil's operations, using the reform platform to catapult Jack into City Hall and the mayor's office. What he doesn't count on is Dion's knack for trouble. Dion sees this as his opportunity to make a play for the entire Patch, seeing as how his brother, the most honest man in Chicago, has his back, he does not fear retribution. Jack draws the line though and insists Dion give up his vice rackets and become an honest businessman. While all of this is going on, Ma O'Leary's cow (which is established as having a nasty kick) knocks over a lantern, and the cheap wooden houses of the Patch are in flames almost instantly. Gil Warren plans to kill both Dion and Jack in the ensuing chaos, as well as preventing Jack and the firemen from saving the Patch, preferring to let it all burn down and impose his grip on the "new" Chicago that is sure to built over its ashes.

The fire scenes are incredible, specifically one shot of a firing wall being established to block the fire's path by dynamiting an entire city block. In a perfect example of the now abandoned rear projection matting process, poor Andy Devine, as Dion's loyal friend/bodyguard Pickle Bixby, is trapped in the wake of the explosion and for those tired of characters depicted against green screen looking cartoonish, check out how realistic it looks when an entire row of buildings explodes right in front of Pickle. Gil Warren and his mob succeed in killing Jack, who dies valiantly saving the life of Dion, but Dion is able to escape, and grabs his mother and Belle before the fire consumes them. Dion vows revenge for his brother's death, and with his mother and Belle by his side, he plans to help rebuild Chicago in his brother's image, working to rid the city of gangsters like Gil Warren. The film today comes across as fairly hoaky (Jack is extremely idealistic and Dion, while played by the handsome Tyrone Power, is portrayed as a god among men) and is almost devoid of subtlety (does the infamous cow that started the fire really have to belong to the main character's family?) but all of that is secondary to the film's entertaining story, which even though a bit broadly played, is still acted very well by Power, Ameche and Faye. 20th Century Fox had the rights to all three stars and used them together numerous times, Power and Faye especially (since Ameche was one of the earliest critics of the studio system's control of actors he was blacklisted until the system fell almost 40 years later) and their easy going chemistry shows. The supporting cast also scores here, with Donlevy one of the cinema's greatest "evil" villains, Alice Brady's Oscar winning turn as the boy's noble mother, and Andy Devine hamming it up. Still, nothing can top the fire effects, and though Hollywood would crank out several more disaster epics, ("The Hurricane" and "The Rains Came" in the next few years), "San Francisco" and "In Old Chicago" are the best.

Anchors Aweigh

2006-01-24T14:07:00.000-08:00

Much like "Holiday Inn" being remembered today only for the inclusion of the song "White Christmas" or "The Seven Year Itch" being remembered as the movie in which Marilyn Monroe stands over the subway grate with her skirt billowing up, "Anchors Aweigh" is remembered mainly as the film in which Gene Kelly dances with Jerry the Mouse. Considering the dramatic advances in motion picture technology in the past 60 years, this sequence still is extremely impressive, and was one of the first seamless on-screen pairings of animation and live action. And while this sequence is rightly remembered, the rest of the film is a lot of fun too. Done while MGM was still working on the perfect formula for their musicals, "Anchors Aweigh" shows a bit of the fat that would subsequently be trimmed from more streamlined product in later years; the film's running time is a bit much at around 145 minutes, and at times it plays almost as an MGM catalog musical instead of an actual narrative film. There is still plenty of things to enjoy here though, mainly its two main stars: Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly, ostensibly playing their sailor roles they would reprise four years later in "On the Town", are wonderful together, displaying great chemistry and each showcasing their respective talents (Sinatra sings, Kelly dances). The plot is light, two sailors get shore leave in Hollywood for a few days and plan on finding girls, but instead get involved in a pretty young singer and her dreams of becoming famous. Kathryn Grayson plays the young singer, Susan, and despite she too being largely forgotten over the years, actually gets billing above Gene Kelly in this film. MGM was still trying to figure out what to do with Kelly, and after he scored big with Columbia's "Cover Girl" the year before, the studio developed this as a vehicle for him to show off his dancing. Of course Kelly would go on to great acclaim, laregly thanks to his role here, yet still, "Anchors Aweigh" is mostly written off, despite featuring two legendary actors, launching the career of one. Oh the fickle nature of a film's legacy.

Upon first landing in Los Angeles, ladies man Joe (Kelly) plans on meeting up with his hot time girl, Lola, while his buddy Clarence (Sinatra) is too shy to actually chase girls, so seems content with just looking at them. After being brushed off by Lola, Joe agrees to help Clarence get a girl, and sets him up with a pretty singer after they inadvertently end up in charge of her young nephew. Joe promises her Clarence get can her an audition with Jose Iturbi, a famed conductor of the time who plays himself in the movie, as a ploy to keep her and Clarence together. Clarence however, is clueless in terms of how to talk to girls, and how to go about getting for Susan what Joe promised her he could. Stuck in a dive Mexican restaurant having a cheap dinner, Clarence bemoans his present situation with the song "I Fall In Love Too Easily", which gave audiences their first real sense of the power and clarity of Frank Sinatra's incredible voice. It is there however that he meets a girl from Brooklyn (oddly, the film does not give her a name, Clarence merely refers to her as "Brooklyn") and finds himself falling for her because they both are so homesick. This soon presents a problem though, because he is supposed to be helping Susan because he likes her, and Joe, who begins to have feelings for Susan, has to refrain from letting her know how he feels to honor his friend's alleged intentions. The two happen upon Jose Iturbi after sneaking onto the MGM lot and convince him to let Susan audition for him, which makes Susan extremely grateful to Clarence, even though it was Joe's cocky nature and fast talking which got them this far. Joe too has his moments of reflection towards the love triangle (soon to become a disjointed quadrangle type shape as "Brooklyn" and Clarence see each other again), and gets to express his feelings in two knockout numbers, the aforementioned dream sequence where he dances with Jerry the Mouse, and another elaborate set piece back at the Mexican cantina to the song "I Begged Her". Eventually everything is straightened out, as Clarence and Brooklyn inevitably end up together, and Susan, who nails her audition with Iturbi and is given a part in his show at the Hollywood Bowl, ends up with Joe, the duos locked in each others arms on screen together as the credits roll.

Considering this film as an early attempt at the big, colorful, splashy musicals MGM would ultimately go on to make to great critical and commercial acclaim, you can see a number of the themes established here. The silly circumstances which keep the two lovers apart, Sinatra's soft spoken, "simple life" kind of a guy character, and Kelly's out going, skirt chasing foil, which would be revived in "On the Town" as well as "Take Me Out to the Ball Game", to smaller things like the MGM art direction department's "look" of these musicals (always sets, but exquisitely dressed ones) and of course, a fine collection of songs. What interests me most about this movie is how the actors on screen personas were so different from their real life ones. Frank Sinatra might have early on been the shy kid with the great voice that he would play in a number of MGM musicals, but apparently the fame went to his head, as by all accounts he became a domineering, diva like force of nature on both movie sets as well as in his infamous stints in Las Vegas, and this was reflected in his later film roles. From the mid 1950's on, pretty much after he won his Oscar for playing Maggio in "From Here to Eternity", the MGM Frank Sinatra was gone, and the new one was born. Playing only hard boiled tough guys, from his non-musical roles in such classics as "The Manchurian Candidate", "Von Ryan's Express" or much later in "The Detective", even into his later musical films. After becoming the ring-a-ding leader of the Rat Pack (or the Clan as they called themselves), even his characters in musicals were tougher, more confident in their role as leader as well as with the ladies, and while not necessarily less charming or sympathetic, definitely less "gee whiz, aw shucks" cute. Gene Kelly also was by all accounts quite different from his on screen persona. While I am sure he had his romances, Kelly, like Fred Astaire, was in love with one thing: his craft. A consummate perfectionist and innovator, Kelly often quarrled with his studio assigned leading ladies who were not classicaly trained dancers (he famously clashed with Debbie Reynolds during the filming of "Singin' in the Rain"). The fast talking Joe Brady, or dashing Don Lockwood, his signature role in "Singin' in the Rain" were mere development department facades. None of this though, should take away from the fine performances Sinatra and Kelly give here, it merely serves as an interesting slice of film lore, and "Anchors Aweigh", a film unfairly forgotten today, is a film steeped in it.

The Thin Man

2006-01-24T13:45:00.000-08:00

Fred and Ginger were not the only wildly popular cinematic couple of the 1930's. William Powell and Myrna Loy were slightly more prolific then their dancing contemporaries, appearing in thirteen films together between "The Thin Man" in 1934 and "Song of the Thin Man" in 1947. Handsome and charming William Powell matched perfectly on screen with the beautiful and elegant Myrna Loy, and the two had little trouble convincing audiences they were in love with each other, as the banter between them flowed effortlessly. Of course it also helped that the two of them were very gifted comedic actors; one liners were fired nearly as often as drinks were thrown back, and that is saying something. For as much as people rememeber Nick and Nora (their defining roles from "The Thin Man" series) as a handsome couple that tossed zingers back and forth at each other, they are also remembered for constantly drinking. Much like "Top Hat", "The Thin Man" was made at the height of the Great Depression, yet Nick and Nora are a happily married couple, very much in love, very rich (thanks to Nora's family's fortune) and very tipsy. The American public adored "The Thin Man" films, specifically the pairing of Powell and Loy, which prompted MGM to commission scripts for the two even when there was not a "Thin Man" film in production, resulting in such classics as "Libeled Lady" and "I Love You Again". But "The Thin Man" was the film they would forever be remembered for, and in spite of financial limitations, the film boasts more than just a pitch perfect starring duo; its script is extremely clever and hilarious (based on the great Dashiell Hammett novel of the same name) and it even features a charming dog: Asta (who would go on to his own acclaim in films such as "The Awful Truth" and "Bringing Up Baby"). Filmed in only two weeks by the legendary W.S. "One Shot" Van Dyke, "The Thin Man" is pure entertainment.

Subsequent Hollywood legend has decreed that the titular thin man is Nick Charles, William Powell's character. This, such as Ingrid Bergman saying "Play it again, Sam", is in fact, false. The thin man is really Clyde Wynant, a mysterious inventor whose disappearance sets the film in motion. Nevermind that this character only appears in "The Thin Man", thus rendering the subsequent films' titles completely ridiculous; by that point, people associated William Powell and Myrna Loy with "The Thin Man", whether he was in it or not. After Wynant disappears, his daughter appeals to Nick for his help in finding him. Nick politely declines because he is retired from the sleuthing business, spending the majority of his time these days bantering and drinking with his wife. Nora likes Dorothy, Wynant's daughter, though, and thinks Nick should take the case, if only so that she can see him do something other than mix a drink. Thus Nick reluctantly begins asking some questions and knocking on some doors. Soon it is revealed that Wynant's mistress has been murdered and that she had been in possession of some bearer bonds, which are also missing. The police suspect it is Wynant, who killed the mistress when she would not give up the bonds. Nick, always one step ahead of everyone, including the viewer, finds Wynant's body buried in his laboratory though, and knows that the real killer is still on the loose. After working his way through a variety of shady characters, Nick invites the ever growing cast involved in the case to a dinner party hosted by he and Nora, where he plans to expose the true culprit. What is funny is that the film breezes through Nick's actual sleuthing as if it were nothing really; even while working he is rarely seen without a drink in his hand, almost as if he would be doing this sort of thing anyway.

The dinner party scene is significant for a number of reasons. It plays out like an Agatha Christie novel, with all the principal players together in one room. Nick emcees the proceedings, working his way through every scenario: Wynant's ex-wife and her new gigolo boyfriend, his bizarre son, even his sympathetic daughter. The scene is a showcase for Nick, and in typical W.S. Van Dyke style, plays very fast as you realize just how good a detective Nick is. After identifying the killer (not nearly as striking as a young Jimmy Stewart being revealed as the criminally insane killer in the first sequel, 1936's "After the Thin Man"), Nick and Nora finally can get down to more important things: like drinking! For the next fifteen years, "The Thin Man" would come to define not only detective stories but also screwball comedies. Audiences clamored for more Powell and Loy and MGM responded, churning out "Thin Man" movies, adding a son to the proceedings and increasing Asta's part (really!); rival studios also sought to duplicate the rapid fire banter/chemistry between the two stars, sometimes succeeding, like in Howard Hawks' hard boiled newspaper story "His Girl Friday". What makes "The Thin Man" even more remarkable is that initially MGM had no faith in it. If you really consider the film, you can tell the neglect the studio showed it: bare sets, no exteriors, a small cast, and One Shot Woody at the helm to make sure there were no expensive delays. All of this actually aides the film though; by streamlining it, the dynamic pairing of William Powell and Myrna Loy becomes even more prominent, and that is certainly the main attraction, even 70 years later.

Raintree County

2006-01-24T13:44:00.000-08:00

A film that has been written off as a pale imitation of "Gone With the Wind" and thus largely forgotten over the years, "Raintree County" is in fact a sprawling epic about love and life as seen through the eyes of one man, John Shawnessy. John is a philosopher and an unapologetic romantic and idealist, who longs to discover the meaning of life, which he associates with a mysterious golden rain tree. Pretty heady stuff for a big dumb epic. Which is why there is so much more to "Raintree County". The film chronicles John's life from his modest beginnings in the titular Indiana county, where he graduates from high school with a passion for discovering life's secrets, fueled by eccentric his eccentric professor, Jerusalem Webster Stiles, and follows him through his rocky marriage to Southern belle Susanna Drake, the Civil War and ultimately back to Raintree County. Much of the film's negative reactionary legacy is due to its then record budget (although in its defense, you can see every penny on screen, as clearly no expense was spared) and the fact that star Montgomery Clift was nearly killed in a horrific car accident in the middle of filming. The production had to shut down for three months while Clift's face was surgically repaired, but even though he was able to resume working, he and the production operated underneath a dark cloud for the remainder of the shoot. While this unfortunate accident definitely leaves its mark on the production (half of Clift's face was rendered immobile, and his speech pattern changed significantly) both literally and figuratively, the film is still incredibly impressive because it not only is a gorgeous, sprawling story filled with scenic backgrounds, beautiful music and colorful costumes and characters, but it is also grounded in profound ideas and intensely dramatic problems and situations. "Raintree County" is hardly the empty spectacle history would have you believe it is today.

As the film opens, John and Nell are two idealistic young lovers. Inspired by the legend of the raintree Johnny Appleseed was said to have planted deep in a local swamp, John attempts to find the tree, which his favorite professor tells him holds the meaning of life. After his search yields embaressing results, Nell is the only one to comfort John, who is ridiculed by the town braggarts and toughs. John is desperate to find the answers to life, and believes he can do this by acheiving greatness, which prompts him to challenge the leader of the town's scoundrels, Flash Perkins, self proclaimed "fastest man in the county", to a foot race. After winning the race, John is struck by the vision of Susanna Drake, a beautiful young woman in town to settle the estate of her aunt and uncle. Immediately forsaking the chaste love of the less attractive Nell, John falls deeply in love with Susanna, and follows her back to her home town of New Orleans. It is there he learns of Susanna's family's dark past; her parents died in a mysterious fire when she was a little girl, a horrible memory Susanna has buried underneath layers of guilt, paranoia and psychosis. She also seems to have inherited her mother's illness: extreme mental instability, as well as the South's perspective on slavery, which clashes with the abolitionist minded John. Turned off to the advances of Susanna, John returns to Raintree County, only to be followed by Susanna who tells him she is pregnant and that they must marry, which John consents to. It would prove to be the biggest regret of his life.

Soon after they are married Susanna confesses to John that she is not pregnant and that she only said that because she needs him. John is clearly upset at Susanna, but he also pities her, so they remain together and eventually do have a son. John even convinces them to move back to Raintree County with him, where he becomes a teacher. Everything is relatively peaceful until Susanna is overcome by one of her fits and makes off with their son, smuggling them across the Mason-Dixon line. The significance of that being that the Civil War has just begun and John now must face a choice: go against his pacifist ideals and join the war to get access across the border between North and South, or remain in Raintree County and never see his wife and son again. John chooses the former and sets off to the deep South, determined to find his wife and son. Eventually John does find Susanna, at an institution where she has been committed, and learns what really happened to her parents. After he mother became an invalid, her father began an affair with Susanna's maid, a slave woman. During a brief time when her mother regained her senses, she learned of her husband's lover, trapped both of them in their large house and burned it to the ground. A house slave managed to rescue young Susanna, and it is with him that John finds his son and learns the whole truth. The war now over, John returns home to Raintree County with Susanna and their son, but Susanna is beyond the point of saving. She tries to run away with their son a final time, and when the search party finds them, deep in the swamp John explored years ago, Susanna is dead. Ironically enough, John finds his son nearby, but fails to notice that he is hiding under the shade of the rain tree. The film's conclusion is extremely bleak: anyone seeking to gain complete understanding of the mysteries of life is doomed to suffer for their lofty goals. Much like Icarus, who was blessed with flight thanks to his father's invention and died when he got too close to the sun he sought to understand as no mortal had before, John's search for the rain tree only left him a broken hearted man, wondering what happened to the blissful days before he became consumed by his journey. "Raintree County" is an incredibly thought provoking film which unfortunately did not find its audience in 1957; as I said before, it was dismissed as MGM's blatant attempt to cash in on the memory of "Gone With the Wind", yet "Lawrence of Arabia" grappled with the same philosophical ideals to great acclaim only four short years later. It just goes to show that sometimes a film is unjustly maligned, and I only hope that one day this film is given its proper recognition.

Top Hat

2006-01-19T12:26:00.000-08:00

While "Swing Time" may be the duo's funniest film, the main attraction at a Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers musical was one thing: elegance. The two dancing together is the absolute epitome of elegance, and none of their films is more elegant than "Top Hat". Steeped in Art Deco design (which was huge at the time), "Top Hat" is Astaire and Rogers at their most simplistic: rich people in tuxedos and gowns who go from luxury hotel to luxury hotel in exotic countries, dancing all the time, yet the grace, sophistication, and elegance of how it is done is breathtaking. This was the duo's first lavish outing and it shows. RKO realized the gold mine they were sitting on and spared no expense; the Art Deco inspired Venice set at the end of the film, complete with canals(!) is stunning. And, like "Swing Time", the film is aided immeasurably by its strong supporting cast featuring Edward Everett Horton, Helen Broderick, Eric Blore, and Erik Rhodes. The plot is nonsense (Rogers mistakes Astaire for her friend Broderick's husband, who is actually Astaire's friend Horton....), but everyone knows how to dance and the music is lovely. Written by Irving Berlin, "Top Hat" features the song perhaps most often associated with Astaire and Rogers: "Cheek to Cheek". Much like "The Way You Look Tonight" would in "Swing Time" the next year, "Cheek to Cheek" creates such a special mood in the film that you are willing to forgive all of the film's shortcomings for just one more frame of the two of them singing and dancing together. Featured in "The Green Mile", "Cheek to Cheek" is just one of many wonderful moments in "Top Hat", for my money, the most romantic of the Astaire/Rogers romantic comedies.

It is inconceivable today in these (relatively speaking) gaudy financial times to think of film as pure escapism. Movies in the 1930's had no other choice, unless they were about dirt poor workers, anything was an escape. Watching an Astaire/Rogers movie, you would never imagine that millions were out of work. The world they lived in was champagne, tuxedos, music and romance. Not to say that the studios were ignorant of the Depression; they gave the public what they wanted. The last thing America needed was cinema verite. They wanted glamorous stars jet setting about. They wanted period spectacles and fantastic monsters. Anything but bread lines and unemployment rates. The world of Jerry Travers and Dale Tremont is exactly what they wanted. Jerry (Astaire) is a successful dancer and notorious playboy. His friend and producer Horace (Horton) desperately wants to avoid any bad press Jerry might get himself into via female entanglements, so he plans on bringing Jerry with him to visit his wife at their estate in Venice until the contract is made official. What neither man knows though is that Horace's wife Madge (the wonderful Helen Broderick) is planning on bringing her friend Dale (Rogers) along too to set up with Jerry. Of course Jerry and Dale meet while still in London and playboy Jerry (a feat which is fairly silly in its own regard; Astaire is hardly handsome enough to be considered playboy, and even though he always ended up with beautiful women, it was his modest charm, not his brash confidence, that did the trick, but for this film, it works) of course gets involved with her. After the two share a dance while hiding out together from a thunderstorm (to the tunes of "Isn't It a Lovely Day?") Dale realizes she is falling for Jerry, except she does not know who he is. This is only made worse when she thinks she has been flirting for the past couple of days with Horace, who she knows to be married to her friend, and subsequently slaps Jerry for being so openly interested in her. Jerry is confused, and when he finds out Dale is going to be in Venice, immediately agrees to go with Horace, who is of course oblivious to it all.

Upon arrival in Venice Madge finds it hilarious that her husband is not only flirting with pretty young women, but succeeding in gaining their affection. After a series of circumstances keep the foursome from being together at the same time for another day, thus preventing them from clearing everything up, the relationship almost falters. Dale's patron, the pompous Italian designer Beddini takes great offense at "Horace" and vows to kill him in a sword fight. He also is in love with Dale and intends to marry her, which he nearly succeeds in doing. The two think they are married, but thanks to the quick thinking of Horace's valet Bates (played with perfect exasperation by character actor Eric Blore), the ceremony is actually presided over by Bates in a priest's frock. Jerry and Dale find each other, have Madge and Horace explain the whole thing, and breath a sigh of relief, knowing that the feelings that had been developing between them (beautifully realized during the "Cheek to Cheek" number, which as I said before, perfectly illustrates the relationship between beautiful music, dancing and just sheer elegance that made them such a popular pairing) are not at the expense of Madge and Horace. While "Cheek to Cheek" is the song that everyone remembers from this film, the movie actually concludes with "The Picolino", which I think was intended to be the film's big knockout number. For whatever reason (imdb surmises that it was because Astaire was not fond of the song) it is done as a Rogers solo (a rare experience in and of itself) and then the duo, with a large ensemble, dances to it. The tune is catchy, even if the lyrics are ridiculous, and the number is impressively staged, as the dancers weave their way throughout the elaborate Venice set. While this number is entertaining, and concludes the film, "Cheek to Cheek" serves as not only the film's highlight, but also the number which insured the legendary duo's place in cinematic history.

The Music Man

2006-01-19T12:21:00.000-08:00

A charming slice of life set in an idyllic America of days gone by. Robert Preston, in the role of a lifetime, stars as Prof. Harold Hill, a con man who sweeps through the Midwest selling the simple townsfolk he ingratiates himself with on the notion of a boys' band. After collecting their payments for instruments and uniforms Hill hops on the next train out of town, just ahead of the tar and feather mobs which usually accompany him to the train station. Written and scored entirely by Meredith Wilson, based on his own life in Mason City, Iowa (River City for the show), and a huge hit on Broadway, "The Music Man" was one of Warner Bros.' big films for 1962; that is, if the notoriously meddlesome Jack Warner could be convinced to keep his hands off of the property. Similar to the tweakings he had imagined for "My Fair Lady" (trying to cast Cary Grant as Henry Higgins instead of Rex Harrison, who owned the role), Jack Warner initially sought Frank Sinatra to play the fast talking ne'er do well Harold Hill. Sinatra balked and other actors were considered. In true Hollywood "putting the cart before the horse" fashion, the studio had already locked up Shirley Jones to play Marion the Librarian, the film's female lead, and thus were considering younger actors whose romantic chemistry would be more palpable than that of the older Robert Preston. Nevermind that Preston dominated the role on Broadway, won the Tony, and was the choice everyone wanted to see. Finally cooler heads prevailed, Preston was given the part and "The Music Man" could go on to become the huge success everyone knew it would.

From the very first number in the movie, you can tell Meredith Wilson was a genius. Perfectly timing an extended sequence of syncopated speaking amongst a group of traveling salesmen bemoaning Harold Hill for giving all of them a bad name. The sequence goes on for more than 5 minutes, all of it done to a beat, and it really is quite remarkable. As the train the group is riding pulls into the next town, River City, Iowa, Harold Hill, who was sitting right in their midst the entire time, disembarks, ready to conquer another tiny hamlet. River City is the quintessential small town; extremely conservative, stubborn, and unhappily content with how the town is run. Its mayor is a pompous blowhard named George Shinn, who freqently mispronounces words, and his wife is an obnoxious browbeater, who with her gaggle of ladies resemble a flock of clucking hens (which Wilson brilliantly realizes later in the film when Hill has them sing together). The only one in town with a mind of her own is Marian, the pretty librarian who on the outside is buttoned up and stand offish, but on the inside is a romantic yearning for her white knight. Marian is an outcast in the town for allowing children to read the classics, which are chock full of vice and sin, and initially Hill uses this to his advantage. Relying on the town's intense fear of sin, he convinces them that the new pool hall is the first step towards the downfall of civilization in the rousing number "Trouble". The answer to the rampant degredation: a boys band, of course.

The plan going well, Hill turns his attention to other matters, namely winning over the beautiful Marian. She warms to him after Hill befriends young Winthrop, her troubled younger brother with a bad speech problem played by an 8 year old Ron Howard with a full head of red hair. Hill also ingratiates himself with the rest of the town by doing other good civic deeds: keeping town troublemaker Tommy out of trouble by putting him to work as the band's leader and organizing the four constantly bickering town elders into a barbershop quartet. The entire town is so excited by the prospect of the band (especially after Hill so vividly convinces them of it with the show stopping number "76 Trombones") and Hill is so smooth, that they continually neglect to check his references or even to ask anything specific of the man. At first Marian was suspicious of him, to the extent that she did some research on his purported alma mater, "Gary, Indiana, Conservatory of Music, Class of 'aught ten!", but soon she too falls under his spell. It is not until an anvil salesman comes to town and confirms Marian's initial doubts that Hill's scheme is foiled. Hill makes a break for the train station, but cannot bring himself to leave Marian, and the rest of the town that he has gron extremely fond of. Marian speaks up on behalf of Hill, imploring the town to forgive the man who, despite lying to them, also created a genuine air of kindness and compassion while he was in town. The town reluctantly forgives Hill, who agrees to stay on as band leader. The film ends with the band playing horribly, but the boys' parents are so proud that the clueless band, to their ears, segues into a tremendous orchestra, which Hill gallantly leads down the street. Perhaps the greatest compliment that can be bestowed upon "The Music Man" is that "The Simpsons" greatest episode in their long run was a direct parody of the classic film, with a con man trying to convince the citizens of Springfield that they need a monorail. That episode is truly classic, as is the film which inspired it.

One, Two, Three

2006-01-19T12:17:00.000-08:00

I thought "His Girl Friday" was the fastest machine gun-style screenplay I had ever seen done on film. I was wrong. Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond topped them, going to almost ludicrous (but always hilarious) extremes in their 1961 film "One, Two, Three". Bringing new meaning to the term "everything but the kitchen sink" (actually, this screenplay includes even that), Wilder and Diamond's screenplay leaves you breathless after watching it. Set in Berlin, with the Wall playing a very significant role, in the late 1950's, the film concerns C.R. MacNamara (played brilliantly by consummate professional James Cagney) who is trying desperately to scheme his way into a promotion for Coca Cola. When he learns that his boss' daughter will be staying with him in Berlin for a few weeks he sees this as his opportunity to impress, that is until she marries a Communist. On the verge of losing his job and his wife, Mac hatches an elaborate plan to convince the parents their new son in-law is a good match for their partying daughter, that is, after he has had the young man jailed to initially dispose of him. The plot is frenzied, and the entire cast is surprisingly up to the task. Not one actor or actress in this film suffers from the frenetically paced screenplay, and the final 30-40 minutes of the film, where Mac's plan is put into motion is a tour de force for not only Cagney, but everyone else involved. Billy Wilder made many classics throughout his career, and this is one of, if not the, most underrated of them all.

As the film begins, Mac is a bored executive angling for the top spot. He has a cushy job which he does well, lives a cushy life, and has a gorgeous secretary (literally, damn!). But he still resents the fact that he was passed over for promotion over ten years before and has been working his way back up since. When his boss tells him his daughter is coming, a real southern belle named appropriately Scarlett, and that he must host her and not let her run off with any men, Mac only sees opportunity. However he soon realizes that keeping the flirty Scarlett under control is going to be harder than he anticipated. When she blissfully informs Mac that she married a card carrying member of the Communist party, he sees his dreams of a promotion go up in smoke. He shrewdly arranges to have the Commie (an angry young man named Otto Piffl) arrested for distributing Capitalist propaganda, until Scarlett again blissfully informs everyone she is having his baby! Now Mac must really start thinking, but not before bemoaning "Mother of Mercy, is this the end of Rico?" (in one of the film's three amazing references to Cagney's gangster movie past). He sneaks into East Berlin with his top assistant and gorgeous secretary, and after a night of partying, is able to make a mad dash back to West Berlin with Otto. The young lovers are reunited, but Scarlett's parents are coming to town, leaving Mac with only a few hours to turn Otto into a dignified Western gentleman, which Otto steadfastly opposes.

As the final hours count down (with reminders and tightening of the pacing brought about by the chime of an obnoxious American cuckoo clock) Mac seemingly involves everyone in West Berlin in his plot to transform Otto. He purchases him clothing, a wedding ring, hats, shoes, a car, a fake royal father, a family crest, everything. He does all this while dodging the MPs who begin sniffing around after getting wind of Mac's stealing Otto back across the East/West border. One of the MPs, after getting brushed off by Mac, responds with a flawless Cagney impression, complete with sneer and brush-off-of-the-lapels-motion Cagney made famous in his gangster films such as "The Public Enemy" and "Angels With Dirty Faces" nearly 30 years prior. (The last of the three great references comes when Otto dares give up the whole ordeal; Mac threatens him with a grapefruit to the face and that calsm him down) At first Otto fights Mac over every little point, cherishing his Communist upbringing, but finally he is cowed by the relentless Mac and his rat-a-tat-tat barking of orders. Finally the entire group meets Scarlett's parents at the airport, Otto plays the part well enough, and Mac is rewarded with his promotion--not to London, that goes to the new favored son Otto(!); instead Mac is given a job in America, which is what his wife wanted all along. Billy Wilder was the king of cynical comedy and this film is no different, as he mercilessly pokes fun at Communism, East Berlin, Russia, etc (a fact given greater significance considering Wilder had fled Nazi Germany 30 years earlier), but also skewers American/Western capitalism as well. Leaving no subject unscathed it is no surprise that this film is absolutely hilarious, and is a true showcase for James Cagney, the great actor who, though he always played the parts well, was too often pigeon holed into the tough guy-gangster role, and rarely got to display his immense comedic ability. "One, Two, Three" though is an absolute triumph, for all involved.

Swing Time

2006-01-19T12:16:00.000-08:00

While most of the films Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made together contained light humor, "Swing Time" is the only one that is outright hilarious. Of course it features sublime dancing and for my money, some of the greatest songs the duo (both able, but by no means great singers) ever got to sing. Just try and listen to "The Way You Look Tonight" and not fall in love with the melody, lyrics and mood it sets. The plot is typical nonsense, but the set pieces are incredible, the supporting cast is impeccable (I truly believe that is what sets this film and "Top Hat" apart from the duo's other films) and again, that music! Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields both had very nice careers, but never reached the level of stardom acheived by George Gershwin, Irving Berlin or Cole Porter, each of whom also contributed songs to an Astaire/Rogers film, but they simply cannot match the score Kern and Fields put together for this film. But getting back to the comedy; many of their movies featured humor revolving around a mistaken identity plot (the go-to comedic trope of 1930's comedies) and Astaire and Rogers each had decent comedic timing and banter (probably the result of their vaudevillian backgrounds which would have accounted for a well rounded theatrical education), but the jokes in this film are actually laugh out loud funny, mostly thanks to the strong supporting work of Victor Moore, Helen Broderick and Eric Blore. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers would ultimately make ten films together, but their absolute best work (not just my opinion, Rogers is on the record too) is "Swing Time".

As the film opens, Lucky Garnett is running very late to his wedding. While Astaire usually plays a confident hoofer in his movies, Lucky is fun because he is positively cocky. A born winner who gambles for a living and dances to pay the bills (an interesting twist, which the film employs several times throughout), he gets caught up in a game of craps and misses his wedding to rich socialite Margaret, whose father strongly disapproves of the union. When Lucky strolls in hours late, her father sees this as his opportunity to chew the young man out, and he does, along with the cat who hisses at him, the dog who barks, and the portrait on the wall that scowls. Ever the smooth talker, Lucky convinces the father and his fiancee that he was simply seeing to his latest business endeavor, and that he is going to New York to make $25,000, after which time he will return to marry Margaret. Ably dodging that bullet, Lucky and his good friend Pop sneak onto a train bound for New York, Lucky bringing nothing with him except the tuxedo he is wearing. For two con men like Lucky and Pop, that is hardly a problem. No sooner are they in New York, then Lucky has gotten himself and a pretty young lady an audition at a hot night spot. The pretty young lady is of course Ginger Rogers, playing the exasperated Penny, who in tow with her cynical friend Mabel, get caught up in the smooth charm of Lucky and the improbable charm of Pop.

After nearly costing Penny her job as dance instructor (Lucky bombs the lesson to keep talking to her, then turns it on when her imperious boss fires her, to the tune of "Pick Yourself Up"), he and Penny get the chance to audition at the club where Ricardo Romero and his orchestra are playing. "Ricky" is in love with Penny though and refuses to play for them, so Lucky and Pop take matters into their own hands and in a high stakes game of high card, win Romero's contract from shady nightclub owner Dice Raymond. Lucky and Penny are a huge success and are given top billing, but Lucky knows when he makes $25,000 he will be expected to go home and marry Margaret, so he keeps drawing out their engagements, as well as the blossoming romance between he and Penny. Penny perfectly sums up her frustration with the hot and cold Lucky in the song "A Fine Romance", which offers Rogers a rare opportunity to get some laughs at Astaire's expense. Everything falls apart though when Dice Raymond strong arms Pop into giving up the contract to Romero's orchestra, followed immediately by Margaret suddenly showing up in New York and walking in on him and Penny. This being a silly musical though, everything gets worked out: the contract ends up back in the hands of its original owner, who insists that Lucky and Penny dance together, and Margaret tells him she only came to New York to call the wedding off. The foursome now finally together, with no secrets between them, "Swing Time" ends, and the career of Astaire and Rogers, while still in tact for several more years, would only be going down from this point on. But remember "Swing Time" as the way they looked "that" night.

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

2005-12-09T07:14:00.000-08:00

If Arthur Freed was the king of MGM during the 1940's and 1950's, his closest competitor was Jack Cummings. Despite operating for most of his career in the shadow of Arthur Freed, who always was given the best actors and actresses, directors, technical crew and most importantly, money, Jack Cummings still managed to carve out an impressive career as essentially producer of MGM's "B" musicals. However, in a couple instances, he was able to secure enough talent that the finished product is so good, one might mistake it for a Freed unit production, a distinction which probably killed Jack Cummings. The pinnacle of the Cummings' unit was 1954's "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers". Starring Howard Keel and Jane Powell, two sizable MGM stars in their own right (each of whom had already starred in a lavish Freed unit production; Keel in "Show Boat" and Powell in "Royal Wedding"), directed by A-list director Stanley Donen, featuring choreography by rising Broadway star Michael Kidd, and even borrowing frequent Freed musical mainstays Saul Chaplin and Adolph Deutsch, "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" was quite simply a collection of talent that Jack Cummings never usually had, and the result thus is not surprising. Despite being buried by MGM initially, after asking for a long location shoot where he could accurately capture the changing of the seasons, Stanley Donen saw his film's budget get slashed, the shoot allocated entirely to the backlot, and the money earmarked for his film transferred to "Brigadoon", produced by, of course, Arthur Freed. In spite of all of this, the talented group was able to combine their impressive skills and produce a tune filled, rousing musical that still entertains today.

The film begins with mountain man Adam Pontipee confidently strolling into town looking for a wife. He does not know who that wife will be, but sings "Bless Your Beautiful Hide" to "her" anyway, an enormously catchy song among others written by Johnny Mercer and Gene de Paul for the film that helped Saul Chaplin and Adolph Deutsch win an Oscar for scoring. Not in town more than a few hours, he meets Milly, a beautiful young woman with no family who longs for a home of her own. She immediately falls for the ruggedly handsome Adam and his promise of their own farm. What he neglects to tell her is that he shares that farm with his six brothers, all of whom are dirty, brawling, obnoxious brutes. Milly is furious at Adam for not being honest with her, but also sad that she still does not have her vision of an idyllic home, instead she is a cook and maid to a household of unruly men. Acting outside the normal musical parameters though, Milly grows a backbone and banishes Adam from her bed, and demands that the brothers all shave, wash, and act civilized around the dinner table. They grudgingly accept her rules of the house and soon turn to her for advice on how to get the attention of girls. Adam laughs at how Milly is domesticating them, vowing that she will never be the boss of him. Milly teaches each of the brothers how to act around girls, and implores them to not get into a fight when they attend the barn raising, a big event in the territory at which all of the town's pretty young girls will be. The Pontipee clan arrives and each naturally pairs off with a girl, but each girl has their own suitor from town, and the two groups square off in a heated, spectacular dance sequence involving essentially everything but the kitchen sink. The barn raising sequence is justifiably famous in musical history for being one of the most prolonged scenes of dancing featuring an entire cast, similar to the ballet finale in "An American in Paris", and it still generates excitement to this day. Unfortunately for the brothers though, the town suitors soon turn the rivalry dirty and a large fight breaks out. The brothers are spurred on by Adam who relishes the opportunity for him and his brothers to get their hands dirty again and soon the brothers are forced to flee to the mountains, leaving their sweethearts behind.

Back in their isolated farm, the brothers all feel intense melancholy over not being able to see their girls again. Adam gives them the bright idea of sneaking into town and snatching them, similar to what the Romans did to the the "Sobbin' Women" (actually the Sabine women, and hardly as romantic as this movie makes it out to be; the Roman soldiers essentially kidnapped and raped the entire female population of a town under their control, but the basis is what inspires this film oddly enough). The brothers do just that, and for added measure they cause an avalanche, insuring that the girls' suitors will not be able to catch up with them until the following spring. However the girls' reaction is hardly what the brothers imagined, and Milly brings all of the girls into the cabin while banishing all of the brothers to the barn to sleep with the animals. She harbors particular anger towards Adam for giving the brothers the idea, and Adam responds with his typical bluster and exiles himself to the hunting cabin, buried even deeper in the wilderness for the entire winter. Soon though, the girls' anger turns to affection, as their true feelings for the brothers returns with the spring thaw. Even Milly softens her stance on Adam, brought on mostly by the fact that she is going to have a baby. Just before the pass clears Adam returns and begs Milly's forgiveness when he sees their daughter. He also convinces the brothers that if they ever want to have the girls for wives they must return them to town. Before they can do so the town posse arrives and hears the baby crying in the cabin. Assuming the worst (and this being the sexually pre historic times of the 1950's) the girls refuse to acknowledge who the baby belongs to, forcing their fathers to allow each to marry their respective choice of Pontipee. Despite the plot being rather silly, the film contains beautiful music, amazing dance sequences, and even though Stanley Donen did not get his wish to shoot on location, the sets (with a few exceptions) look wonderful. And it had to give Jack Cummings a certain degree of satisfaction to see his film, which MGM cut funds for remember, beat "Brigadoon", which received the budget surplus earmarked for "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers", pretty handily at the box office. Unfortunately for Cummings, that was probably the only time he could make that distinction, but for this film, the stars were aligned, and he was responsible for a wonderful film that trumped the legendary Arthur Freed.

Holiday Inn

2005-12-08T08:50:00.000-08:00

More famous today for being an answer to a trivia question, "Holiday Inn" is actually a really fun musical comedy, with great performances from Fred Astaire and Bing Crosby and a memorable score by Irving Berlin. The question of course is, "What movie did the song "White Christmas" first appear in?" The answer, you might not have known, is "Holiday Inn" and not the commonly confused sequel with the more obvious title: 1954's "White Christmas". The plot is your typical nonsense, with Astaire and Crosby playing versions of themselves; Astaire is the restless hoofer, always looking for a new partner, on stage and off, and Crosby is the happy-go-lucky crooner, perfectly at ease sitting by the fire singing a song with his girl. Despite starring two lesser known female foils (a product of the film coming in between the two more prominent stages of Astaire's career: the Ginger Rogers 1930's and the Technicolor 1950's which found him with different co-stars, among them Judy Garland and Cyd Charisse) the film is still a delight, mostly due to the flawless chemistry between Astaire and Crosby, but it also helps that they get to sing and dance to classic songs. Again, now known merely as the answer to a trivia question, and perhaps dusted off at Christmas time for viewings on Turner Classic Movies, "Holiday Inn" is a wonderful musical that deserves recognition greater than being a nugget of trivia.

When the film opens, Ted and Jim are two thirds of a successful act. The third is Lila, who is secretly engaged to Jim, but even more secretly planning on leaving him to be with Ted. Jim has decided to give up the hectic life in show business and settle down on a farm in Conneticut. While Lila does love him, she also loves Ted (and her own career) more, and Ted promises her nothing but work. They drop the bombshell on Jim on Christmas Eve, right after their last performance together. Jim is heartbroken, but is adament about leaving show business and says his goodbyes to Ted and Lila before setting off for the rustic, simple life. Ted and Lila go on to continued success, meanwhile Jim finds that life on a farm is hardly what he imagined; over a montage covering the next year, we find that his chores around the farm are more demanding than show business ever was (and there is just something funny about watching Bing Crosby try to milk a cow and chop wood). After a year of frustration on the farm, Jim returns to New York to try and talk Ted into joining him in his next endeavor: the Holiday Inn. Since his plan was to get away from show business so that he could enjoy all of the holidays, instead of doing two shows on them, Jim decides that the Holiday Inn will only be open on holidays; giving him 355 days off each year! Ted is reluctant to commit to Jim's idea, but Jim goes ahead with it anyway, ending up with a beautiful young singer and dancer as his main attraction: Linda Mason.

Soon after Holiday Inn opens, Lila leaves Ted for a Texas millionaire, and Ted shows up at the Inn's opening night drunk. Proving the old axiom that to look good doing something bad you have to be really good at it, Astaire's drunken dance with Linda is incredible, considering he had to "act" drunk and still dance very well. The crowd loves Ted and Linda together, and naturally they assume she is his new partner. Jim has visions of Lila leaving him again, and for most of the next year he is able to hide Linda from Ted's prowling eyes. Finally he can no longer keep her hidden and when Linda finds out he had been hiding her, in essence keeping her from making "the big time" with Ted as his partner, she leaves him for Hollywood and the movies with Ted. Jim is heartbroken again, and it is only when he agrees to sell the rights to the Holiday Inn to be turned into a movie (a very rare post modern twist in Old Hollywood) that he decides to go to Hollywood and win Linda back. Arriving on the set of the "Holiday Inn" movie, Jim surprises Linda by singing "White Christmas" to her. The take is ruined, but Jim wins Linda back and she agrees to return to the real Holiday Inn with him and get married. At the big New Years Eve party even Lila returns and the new foursome performs one final number together, a reprise of the opening number "I'll Capture Her Heart Singing", which is a great comedic number. "White Christmas" is a great song, but "Holiday Inn" is also a great musical, one definitely worth visiting on any major holiday.

The Good Fairy

2005-12-08T08:38:00.000-08:00

Another forgotten gem, much like "What a Way to Go!", "The Good Fairy" is almost light years ahead of its contemporaries in terms of how it holds up to today's standards of comedy. Written by the genius Preston Sturges, and directed by Hollywood legend William Wyler (very early in both of their careers) "The Good Fairy" takes a simple story and mines it for every laugh imaginable. There is plenty of slapstick, expertly crafted banter, sublime jokes, and pitch perfect situational humor. This story of a poor girl from an orphanage in Budapest(!!) who is plucked from obscurity to work at a movie theater, only to be sought after by a sex crazed millionaire, all the while innocently doing good deeds for a perfect stranger does not sound funny, but Sturges crams it with tons of humor and even more heart. The sad turn of events in the life of Margaret Sullavan would come later and now unfortunately overshadows her incredible comic skills which were featured in several of her early films, most notably this one. Herbert Marshall exudes sophistication and the proper amount of confusion as the unwitting object of Luisa's (Margaret Sullavan) kindness. And then there's Frank Morgan. There is funny, and then there is the character Frank Morgan portrays here. As Konrad, the sexually charged millionaire, Frank Morgan bumbles, stumbles and belly flops through his role. It is nearly impossible to resist Morgan in this role, as he plays the blundering blowhard so well, the audience inevitably loves him. Fans today will remember him more for his roles in "The Wizard of Oz", most notably as the title character, but his skills of comic timing and the ability to simply sound funny while stuttering, which he would do as both the Wizard and Professor Marvel, were perfected here. Not too many people are familiar with "The Good Fairy" today which is a shame, because it truly is a comedic masterpiece.

The film opens in an orphan in Budapest (the reason for the exotic location is ostensibly because the film is adapted from a Turkish play; I think Sturges just thought it would be funny to set this movie in Budapest and left it there) where movie theater mogul Maurice Schlopkohl is looking for a new usher for his theater. He selects Luisa Ginglebusher (another Sturges trademark, make the names as ridiculous as possible) and she is both delighted and scared to be leaving the safety of the orphanage. Her first night at the theater she is hit on by a number of men, including a hilariously out of place Cesar Romero (again, I think Sturges and Wyler included the Latin matinee idol in a film that takes places in Turkey because it would be funny), and manages to avoid all of their advances with the exception of Konrad. Konrad simply does not take no for an answer and insists on taking Luisa out to a lavish dinner the next night. Soon he is showering her with expensive presents, and Luisa in turn decides to give the money away to a perfect stranger, as a good fairy would do. She randomly picks Dr. Max Sporum's name out of the phone book and informs him that he is now in the employ of Konrad and has the salary to match that distinction. Konrad of course is oblivious to what Luisa is doing with the money he lavishes on her and Sporum is too confused to completely understand what is going, but being able to move into a new office, buy new furniture and a new car, he is quite happy to go with the flow. Luisa also manages to convince him to shave off his scary beard because he will "frighten children" otherwise, which he does and it is then she realizes how handsome he is. Soon the two of them fall in love, and when all is said and done, the flustered Konrad adamently insists on keeping Sporum on his payroll because he will not have anyone else telling him how to run his business and Luisa and Dr. Sporum live happily ever after, with Luisa finally getting to live her fairy tale.

Real life for Margaret Sullavan was hardly a fairy tale however. She was a natural born troublemaker and rebel and by the time filming began on "The Good Fairy" she had already married and divorced Hollywood hunk Henry Fonda after a very brief marriage. Sullavan and William Wyler fought extensively throughout the production (which is nearly impossible to believe considering the finished product is so perfect) but still somehow fell in love and were married for about 18 months around the time the film was being made. Unable to contain her wild ways, the pair divorced and Sullavan married her agent Leyland Howard, and managed to stay married to him for eleven years. However her reputation for being impossible to deal with found her completely out of work by 1943 after only sixteen films, "The Good Fairy" improbably only her third! Tragedy struck Sullavan hard in the 1950's, as two of her children spent extensive time in mental institutions, and it was during that time that Sullavan too began to lose her grip on reality. Always potentially "crazy", the toll of two children suffering mental illnesses devastated her led to a complete breakdown. She ultimately died from a drug overdose which was ruled accidental, but the circumstances would indicate a suicide. The sad tale of Margaret Sullavan is even more perplexing when considering that on screen her characters were so innocent and compassionate, slightly quirky but inherently kind people. For a great example of Preston Sturges genius comedic writing, and a lovely image of Margaret Sullavan before her life fell apart, check out "The Good Fairy".

The Sea Hawk

2005-12-08T08:23:00.000-08:00

If "The Adventures of Robin Hood" is the absolute pinnacle of Errol Flynn's swashbuckling sub-genre, then "The Sea Hawk" is the product of that well oiled machine. If everything came together to make "The Adventures of Robin Hood", the stars, literally in the case of Errol Flynn, Claude Rains, Olivia de Havilland and Basil Rathbone, aligned with the necessary budget to create the ideal blueprint for a great swashbuckling adventure film, then "The Sea Hawk" follows that blueprint to perfection. Not terribly original (it liberally borrows from Flynn's earlier "Captain Blood", as well as thematically lifting directly from "The Adventures of Robin Hood"), "The Sea Hawk" still manages to deliver rousing entertainment because the formula is such a winning one. Flynn is impossibly charismatic as sly naval captain Geoffrey Thorpe, a privateer in Her Majesty's navy, who makes his living plundering Spanish ships to stock the British treasury. He is aided by his hearty companion Carl Pitt, played by Flynn's hearty companion Alan Hale, and is beloved by the men of his crew. Directed with great confidence by Michael Curtiz, "The Sea Hawk" possesses all of the ingredients that made "The Adventures of Robin Hood" so appealing. A period romp, filled with impressive sets and gorgeous costumes, a beautiful girl (alas not the charming Olivia de Havilland, but the lesser known Brenda Marshall), a pompous and deceitful Claude Rains, as the girl's father of course, and a climactic duel between Flynn and Henry Daniell, who ably fills in for Basil Rathbone by matching his sneer and his skill with the sword. Flynn's career would soon come crashing down, thus "The Sea Hawk" stands as his last great movie, a perfect example of a cinematic legend dominating the screen.

As the film opens, Geoffrey Thorpe is portrayed as the "Robin Hood of the Seas". Spain is secretly assembling their Armada with designs on world domination, and the brave "sea hawks" are the thorn in their collective side. Queen Elizabeth reluctantly allows Thorpe to continue his plundering ways, but admits that Spain's power grows by the day and tells him she can no longer protect him should he be captured by the Spanish. Like a modern day CIA operative who goes deep into enemy territory, England disavows all knowledge of Thorpe and his men as they set out to Central America to rob a convoy of Spanish gold. However there is a traitor in the Queen's court; Lord Wolfingham, who betrays his country to curry favor with the Spanish, informs them of Thorpe's plans and the Spanish lie in waiting for the sea hawks. With the action shifting to Central America the film shifts to a sepia toned stock, one of the few times classic Hollywood utilized film stock to convey a mood (the other being the most brilliant reveal of color ever: when Dorothy opens the door into the land of Oz). The sepia tone works well, serving to distance this part of the narrative from the rest (a symbol of Thorpe and his crew removed from their element; a signifier of the wild, exotic jungle, far removed from the courts and castles of England) and the ambush sequence is well executed. Thorpe and his crew are cast into bondage on a Spanish war ship but when they learn of Wolfingham's betrayal they escape in a rousing action scene and race back to England, where Thorpe and Wolfingham duel moments before secret dispatches proving Wolfingham's involvement in the plot (Spain's amassing their secret Armada) can be given to the Queen. The secret revealed, the Queen vows England will gather their own forces and meet their enemy head on, with the help of her loyal sea hawks. Interestingly enough, the passionate speech the Queen gives at the end was tacked on by Warner Bros. as a call to arms in response to the looming Nazi power in Germany.

A few years later, Errol Flynn would be brought up on charges of statuatory rape. Much like it would be today, the trail was extremely sensational, as Flynn was accused of having sex with not one, but two underaged girls. The public's fondness for Flynn began to change in light of the scandal as his swagger and sexual confidence on screen, which had made him so appealing in films like "The Sea Hawk", now were seen in a different perspective: Errol Flynn the lothario. While Hollywood legend insists Errol Flynn was a hard drinking, womanizing, troublemaking head ache for the studios (see Jude Law's portrayal of him in "The Aviator"), he was beloved by fans for his charm and charisma. Throughout the trial it became evident that the Los Angeles DA was going to lose and in turn he made the trial more about the decadence and sin that plauged Hollywood. Flynn never lost his cool, and played the charming, devil-may-care persona he perfected on screen whenever he was called to the witness stand. After being acquitted, however, the public had moved on to Tyrone Power and Stewart Granger for their swashbuckling matinee idols. Flynn starred in a few more films, but none of them were on par with his Warner Bros. films of the late 1930's and early 1940's. He died in 1959 at the age of 50, which one Hollywood insider quipped was "twice as long as he deserved to live" considering what he did to his body on a daily basis. While there are sadly too few great Errol Flynn vehicles, the ones that remain stand as the absolute best of the action/adventure genre.

What A Way To Go!

2005-12-02T12:53:00.000-08:00

Featuring an incredible ensemble cast, a hilarious script by Betty Comden and Adolph Green, gorgeous gowns by Edith Head (and plenty of them!), a musical number with Gene Kelly, and a startling (for the time) dose of irreverance and irony, "What a Way To Go!" is an enigma. How does a movie with all of these things going for it get absolutely lost and forgotten. Look at that list of stars! Shirley MacLaine, Paul Newman, Robert Mitchum, Dean Martin, Gene Kelly, Bob Cummings and Dick Van Dyke. How any movie starring even two of these fine actors could fly under the radar is odd, but this movie has all of them, plus everything else mentioned above. Upon learning of this movie I immediately sought it out, and after watching it simply cannot believe that this movie is not more celebrated or well known today. So often the biggest criticism of classic comedies is that the humor of the time is simply not funny enough for today's sophisticated audiences (I tend to think it is actually the opposite, it is the audiences today that are not sophisticated enough), but this movie does things movies of the 1960's simply did not do. Filled with irreverance, irony, and absurdity, "What a Way To Go!" has inexplicably been left off of the list of great latter golden age comedies.

I am still trying to figure out how Fox was able to corral all of these stars into one movie in the first place. Shirley MacLaine plays Louisa May Foster, a simple country girl whose mother teaches her that she must marry for money and let love follow. What follows is the inexplicable, fantastical, marital adventures Louisa experiences, beginning in her home town of Crawley, Indiana, before taking her to Paris, New York, Hollywood, and ultimately back again. Louisa comes to believe that she is cursed, or rather that she curses the men she loves. But she does not curse them in a bad way, instead she curses them with wealth and success. Her first husband is mild-mannered, Thoreau-quoting Edgar Hopper, played by mild-mannered Dick Van Dyke. Edgar owns a two bit hardware store and refuses to sell it, and more importantly the land it resides on, to Lester Crawley, son of the town's richest man, and operator of the family fortune. Lester, played with typical smarmy charisma by Dean Martin, is also vying for Louisa, but she considers him a snake (the first moment I knew this movie was going to be funnier than I expected: as Louisa's voiceover tells us what she thinks of Lester, up rolls his Corvette, with a cobra in the driver's seat) and chooses the simple life with Edgar. After she sees how Edgar's pride and integrity are suffering at Lester's expense, she suggests that Edgar should take a more active role in the running of his hardware store. Almost overnight Edgar goes from lover of the simple life to crazed department store owner, determined to put Lester Crawley out of business. Edgar gets his wish, but almost immediately dies from too much hard work, leaving Louisa a small fortune, an extra last name, and heartbroken.

Escaping to Paris, Louisa meets Larry, played with bombast by Paul Newman, an idealistic young modern artist. The two immediately fall in love, and everything is fine until Louisa accidentily puts on a classical music record, which "inspire" Larry's ridiculous machines he uses to paint his hideous modern art. Soon Larry is selling the paintings for hundreds of thousands of dollars, and of course, soon the work kills him (actually the ridiculous machines "come alive" in a hilarious moment and overwhelm him). At the airport, waiting to go home, Louisa May Foster Hopper Flint meets Rod Anderson, played with macho charm by Robert Mitchum, self made millionaire/playboy, who offers her a ride on his private jet. Louisa thinks she has finally met her match, a man who is already filthy rich and successful, thus one she cannot possibly curse to any more of either! The two fall deeply in love (portrayed in a stunning dream sequence montage during which MacLaine wears literally 20 different Head gowns!), until Louisa asks Rod to give everything up and move to a farm with her. Rod accepts, liquidates his fortune, and is ready for the "simple life", until he gets drunk and tries to milk a bull (arguably the film's comedic highlight, it has to be seen to be believed).

Widowed for the third time, Louisa May Foster Hopper Flint Anderson stumbles into a small club and watches the pathetic little song and dance routine by life long clown Pinky Benson, played with a twinkle and a smile by Gene Kelly. After harmlessly suggesting Pinky perform his act (the same act he has done in the same club to the same tepid reaction for over ten years!) without his makeup, Pinky is shocked when he receives a standing ovation. This of course leads to overnight fame and fortune as a Hollywood megastar. Pinky's obsession with pink eventually gets the best of him, of course, and he dies in a tragic stampede caused by his rabid fans, and while he leaves the majority of his fortune to Louisa, he makes sure enough of it is set aside to erect a pink museum in his honor. Four times a widow, Louisa tries to give over $200 million of her fortune back to the federal government, which lands her in Bob Cummings' psychiatrist's office, where she tells him of her incredible misadventures. On her way out she bumps into the building's janitor, and is shocked to find it is none other than Lester Crawley, who now embraces his simple lifestyle! The two immediately fall in love, buy a farm and have five kids, and everything appears fine.....until Lester strikes oil! Louisa cannot believe she is about to be rich, again(!!), but as the closing credits begin to roll, two oil company men drive up and begin yelling at Lester for hitting their oil line! Louisa rejoices, she is finally in love and poor. Whew. Simply one of the funniest, gaudiest, wildest Hollywood comedies I have ever seen.

King Kong

2005-11-11T08:13:00.000-08:00

Before Peter Jackson figured out how to make a 100 minute movie into a three hour epic, spending $197 million more in the process, there was the original 800 pound gorilla. Literally. Except in reality he was 18 inches. But to audiences Kong was the 8th wonder of the world. Combining a fantastic story with (for the time) ground breaking, wildly innovative special effects, "King Kong" offered screen excitement unlike anything audiences had ever seen before. Spawned from the minds of real life action/adventure seekers Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack, Kong gave audiences what its creators most wanted in life, something daring, something different, something scary, but ultimately, an amazing ride. Filmmakers to this day are still clearly influenced by this film and its "roller coaster ride" mentality; Peter Jackson is an obvious fan, but directors like Steven Spielberg, whose films "Jaws" and "Jurassic Park" owe much to the monster-on-the-loose ground work laid down by Cooper and Schoedsack. And of course special effects as we know them today would not be the same without the efforts and innovations of Ray Harryhausen, whose stop-motion animation seems crude today, but whose work first inspired Jackson, Spielberg, George Lucas and others to step behind the camera. Why is Ray Harryhausen important? Because "King Kong" is what first inspired him. The line from the work Cooper and Schoedsack were doing in 1933 to what the biggest directors in Hollywood are doing today is clear, "King Kong" is arguably one of the most important Hollywood films ever made.

As "King Kong" begins, movie impressario Carl Denham is planning his most ambitious, and mysterious, picture yet. He assembles a crew, not a film crew, but a hardened crew of sailors, and an arsenal fit for a small army, but does not tell them where they are going or what he hopes to find. Denham also needs a beautiful young woman, who he finds in Ann Darrow, a starving actress. After setting sail, Denham reluctantly reveals that they are searching for Skull Island, somewhere deep in the South Pacific, where he has been told that an ancient race of people live, and who worship some type of primitive god. The captain, crew and Jack Driscoll, the dashing first mate, are all skeptical of the hyperbolic Denham, who swears they will find something the likes of which the world has never seen before. However their skepticism turns to wide eyed belief when they land on the mysterious island, shrouded in a thick fog, and witness what appears to be a tribal ceremony. After the natives steal Ann from the ship, the crew grabs their machine guns and stun grenades, and Denham his camera, and they sail back onto the island to rescue Ann. What they find is what Denham promised: something the world has never seen before. Summoned by a great gong, Kong emerges from the jungle, unleashing a terrifying scream and frightening the crew as well as the natives, who retreat to their huts. Ann, who has been tied to an altar screams (it is surprising Fay Wray did not lose her voice, she spends virtually the entire second half of the movie screaming at the top of her lungs), before being carried off by Kong deep into the jungle. The crew follows, but are attacked by a series of monsters, and finally have their own confrontatioon with Kong, who disposes of many of them by flinging them into a chasm. While Kong is battling the crew however, Ann nearly falls victim to a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and it is here, when Kong comes to her rescure, that we realize there is more to the giant ape than just a bloodthirsty beast.

Kong rescues Ann from the monster, defeating him in a spectacular fight that had to take months to shoot using the painstakingly tedious stop motion technique, but is subsequently saved by Jack. Following Ann back to the beach Kong is knocked cold by one of Denham's stun grenades, and is then brought back to New York. Denham does not need a movie, he has the star attraction in the flesh. Unfortunately Kong is not ready to be a sideshow curiosity, and on his "opening night" he breaks free of his bonds, smashes up the theater and an elevated train, before grabbing Ann and seeking refuge at the summit of the Empire State Building. The ending is the stuff of movie legend, and rightly so. The pathos Cooper, Schoedsack and Willis O'Brien, the model Kong's chief maipulator, evoke is stunning, as we realize Kong is in love with Ann and has taken her to the highest point he can find to escape humanity. Thus we feel iuncredibly sorry for him when biplanes cut him down with their machine guns, peppering him with bullets until he falls to his death. It is to note that before he does, seemingly with the last of his fleeting strength, Kong delicately puts Ann down, making sure she is safe. After crashing onto the street stories below, Denham remarks the film's final irony, "Twas beauty killed the beast." With that immortal line, "King Kong" would be ushered into cinema immortality, and its legacy is one still felt to this day, as Universal is banking big time on the might of "King Kong".

Oklahoma!

2005-11-11T08:01:00.000-08:00

Straight from Broadway, Fred Zinneman's (perhaps the oddest choice to direct a deliriously corny and gleeful musical ever) 1955 production of "Oklahoma!" began the successful collaboration between the dynamic music/lyricist team of Rogers and Hammerstein and 20th Century Fox. While the duo and the studio had made 1945's "State Fair" ten years prior, that would prove to be the only book and score the two ever did solely for the screen. Their far more illustrious and lucrative creations began unspooling in cinemas in 1955, starting with "Oklahoma!" and continuing the next year with "Carousel" and "The King and I", followed by "South Pacific" in 1958 and their blockbuster "The Sound of Music" in 1965. While "The Sound of Music" is arguably their finest acheivement, few people remember that that property was derived from its stage incarnation; the movie is so fondly remembered today. The other four stage-to-screen productions were all Broadway smashes, and are still revived to this day based on their success, not the latter success of the film versions. However, I find three of these films worthy of the praise bestowed upon their original Broadway productions (only "South Pacific", which fell victim to an over-enthusiastic cinematographer who experimented with a few too many filters, fails to entertain to this day), and of them, "Oklahoma!" is the best.

The story is almost rudimentary: happy-go-lucky cowboy Curly is in love with the innocent but stubborn Laurie. She spurns him and decides to go to the box social with surly ranch hand Jud Fry. That is essentially it. The movie takes place almost completely over the span of a few hours, from the moment Curly strolls on screen, singing "Oh What a Beautiful Morning", to later that day at the evening's box social. In between Curly and Laurie squabble, Will Parker returns from Kansas City to find his sweetheart, Ado Annie, involved with a scheming "peddler man", and Aunt Eller keeps a firm rule over all proceedings. The film's actual dramatic undertone is the menacing presence of Jud Fry. Betraying its otherwise harmless and happy exterior, Jud is an intriguing character to the story, one whose motives are at first thought to be sympathetic and pitiful (he desperately loves the beautiful Laurie, and is heartbroken when she regrets accepting his invitation as opposed to Curly's and leaves him humiliated and alone on the dusty highway). However he quickly loses the audience's sympathy when he turns his despair into violent revenge, attempting at first to skewer Curly with a deadly toy the peddler man unknowingly bestows upon him, and then attempts to burn Curly and Laurie alive, setting a haystack they are on ablaze. This all sounds serious and rather grim, and while it remains consistent with all of Rogers and Hammerstein's musicals, which are renowned for their family friendly scores and plots, in reality, they all possess darker subplots, such as Jud's violent revenge, the Nazi threat in "The Sound of Music", Billy Bigelow's abuse and death in "Carousel" and the plight of the young lovers in "The King and I".

Not to portray "Oklahoma!" as something its not, however, the show is still overwhelmingly light and fun. Curly and Laurie's flirting and fussing is entirely harmless and charming, the couple's love for each other obvious from the very beginning. Curly teases her with the number "The Surrey With the Fringe On Top", and "Laurie cautions him about "people talking" with her number "People Will Say We're In Love". In the slightly sillier subplot, Will Parker, having just returned from Kansas City with the $50 he needs to convince Ado Annie's father that he's "worth something", almost loses her to the peddler man, Ali Hakim, who ultimately shows his good nature by outbidding Will for Ado Annie's picnic basket, enabling Will to keep his money, but insuring himself of a "three day bellyache". Both couples united by the film's end, the entire cast breaks out into the film's titular anthem, "Oklahoma!", which lacks some of the knockout punch it delivers seeing it live on stage. However, the film has some things going for it that no stage production ever could. The technicolor is gorgeous, the locations (oddly enough, the small frontier town of Nogales, Arizona, still more convincing than the Fox backlot) are a welcome alternative, and the cast is exceptional. Fox apparently thought so too of their star duo that they brought them back the next year for their adaptation of "Carousel" (only after Frank Sinatra dropped out, but who wants to argue?). While the stage experience is usually superior, a film as special as "Oklahoma!" is one to seek out, at greater convienance and less expense.

It's a Wonderful Life

2005-10-27T13:21:00.000-07:00

Arguably the most beloved holiday classic of all time, this is a movie that is unfairly lumped into cynic's "overrated" lists because of the vague imprints this movie has left on even the least movie savvy of peoples' minds. Annual airings on television have insured that this movie is part of pop culture society whether you like it or not, and whether you and whether you know it or not. Thanks to the film's rights lapsing into public domain (due to the dissolution of the film's company, Liberty Pictures, a failed noble venture by directors Frank Capra, George Stevens and William Wyler) any television station that wanted to could air this film during the holidays. Unfortunately now people see it as some kind of joke, a film remembered more for people vaguely remembering it always being on once a year, but not for the actual film itself. It is true, the movie is pure cinematic corn, sweet to the core, and is easy fodder for contemporary cynics to tear apart. But there is also a great story here, and a great cast, led by Frank Capra's go-to "everyman" Jimmy Stewart as "everyman"George Bailey, the guy who sacrifices everything for his family, in the process not realizing how many lives he's touched. Capra's moving Christmas card is aided immensely by the presence of screen veterans like Lionel Barrymore as the evil Mr. Potter (the most intimidating man in a wheelchair ever!) and Thomas Mitchell as forgetful Uncle Billy. The screen also shines courtesy of the radiant Donna Reed in her screen debut as George's sweetheart Mary. Under the sure-handed direction of Capra, marking the first film he and Jimmy Stewart both made after their time spent in World War II, this is a film that deserves to be recognized more than just once a year.

The film opens with an Ed Wood-esque galactic matte shot. Two clusters of stars begin talking to each other, one presumably some type of higher being, and the other, an angel named Clarence. During the first half of the movie, Clarence sees the life of George Bailey, leading up to the point where Clarence has to intercede. George is by all accounts a saint. He saves his brother's life at a young age, forgoes college to work for his family's perpetually failing savings and loan company, and is the only person in town brave enough to stand up to Mr. Potter, the evil old miser who has financial control over almost all of Bedford Falls. George does all of this because he loves his family and would literally sacrifice his dreams to see them happy. However, one Christmas Eve, George's Uncle Billy loses (Mr. Potter steals) a large sum of money George needs to keep his family's company afloat, the last thing in town Mr. Potter does not own, and the only alternative poor families have to dealing with the villain. George is so distraught he plans to kill himself, leaving behind a wife and children he thinks he can no longer provide for, and a family, and town, he feels he has let down. As he is about to leap from a bridge to his death, Clarence appears and offers to show him his life if he had never been born. The point being, George, who feels he has failed, has made a far greater impact then he has given himself credit for.

The latter half of the movie involves George and Clarence omnipotently viewing Bedford Falls (now named Potter Falls) sans George Bailey. The town is in financial destitution, everyone and everything dependent on the malevolent Potter. All of the people George knows and loves are bitter and morose, and slowly George realizes he is the difference in their lives. It is not until he sees Mary, and how unhappy she is without him, that he regrets his decision and wishes to return to his real life. Reunited with his family (after running down the street screaming "Merry Christmas Bedford Falls!" in the film's impossibly satisfying climax) George realizes that his sacrifices have made a difference, not only for Bedford Falls, but for Clarence as well, who is granted his wings for helping George, a fact we find out courtesy of George's daughter who instructs us "every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings!". While the film is extremely sentimental, its message, and most importantly its heart, are definitely in the right place. It is no wonder, the original story's author, Charles Van Doren, intended to use the tale as a Christmas anecdote he would write on the backs of cards he sent to family and friends. The feeling of compassion and good will is also indicative of the mood Capra and Stewart were going for, having returned from the battlefields of WorldWar II, they were seeking to make a film that warmed audiences' hearts after years of heart ache. Perhaps audiences of 1946 were not ready for so much sacchrine however, because oddly enough, the film was a financial disappointment. It was not until countless airings on television that its true value was realized (much like George Bailey!), however, subsequent decades of being re-aired has effectively squashed its legacy to as I said, more a feeling of indifference rather than nostalgia. For those willing to cut through the cynicism, "It's a Wonderful Life" is still a magical, heart warming film that is a true classic, regardless of the season.

The Lives of a Bengal Lancer

2005-10-27T13:14:00.000-07:00

Much like "Scaramouche" is to the swashbuckler sub-genre, "The Lives of a Bengal Lancer" is to the "men-on-a-mission" action/adventure sub-genre. While "Gunga Din" is regarded as the authority here, "The Lives of a Bengal Lancer" takes almost the same plot, character archetypes and exotic locale and manages to create a fresh, fun adventure story. Maybe that is because this film was released four years before "Gunga Din"! Establishing the standard which "Gunga Din" would later mint in gold, "The Lives of a Bengal Lancer" pits three soldiers of the British Empire against seemingly an entire army of bloodthirsty natives, led by the sadistic Mohammed Khan. Led by Gary Cooper's stoic soldier-of-fortune Lieutenant MacGregor, he and his two mates, wisecracking Lieutenant Forsythe and green rookie Lieutenant Stone end up captured by Khan, tortured, then forced to watch helplessly as Khan plans his secret attack on the unsuspecting British forces. Of course the trio escapes and manages to turn the tide in the crucial, climactic battle, doing so without any assistance from a courageous water boy. Joking aside, this film captures all of the action, adventure and intrigue that "Gunga Din" is famous for, and might even surpass that film because of its incredibly visceral action scenes, an extremely impressive climactic explosion, and a shockingly graphic torture scene. While not as funny and rousing as "Gunga Din", "The Lives of a Bengal Lancer" still packs quite a punch.

As the film opens, MacGregor's men have just suffered another attack from Mohammed Khan, and he needs to call in two new recruits. The colonel's son, Lieutenant Stone, ends up being one of the men called, much to the dismay of everyone in camp, mostly because he has no field experience, let alone the perils of serving on the dangerous Indian frontier. The other recruit turns out to be wisecracking, flute playing Lieutenant Forsythe. Mac picks them both up at the train station and is definitely not happy about his new compatriots. In an art imitating life portrayal, Gary Cooper's Mac is the strong, stoic type. He likes his men to be like him, and immediately clashes with the more laid back Forsythe, and resents the rookie Stone getting such a significant responsibility. Over the course of the film however Mac begins to grow a fondness for his two new recruits. He sympathizes with Stone because he sees the way the Colonel treats him, like any other soldier, perhaps giving him even less attention. Forsythe too begins to grow on Mac, but not before he gets his comeuppance for being too laid back. After incessantly bothering Mac with his flute playing, Forsythe gets a huge scare when his music inadvertently charms a deadly king cobra. After letting him sweat it out for a moment, Mac shoots the snake, and laughs, knowing Forsythe will now think twice before letting out any more hot air.

The three men are now a tighter, more cohesive trio, a relationship which ultimately saves them as they are captured by Khan on their next scouting mission. Thrown into a dank prison cell, Khan subjects each man to sadistic torture, attempting to extract the rest of the army's location so that they can launch a sneak attack with their new gatling guns. Mac and Forsythe persevere (having burning bamboo shoots jammed under their fingernails!), despite Khan's warning "We have ways of making men talk!" (a catchphrase which would survive in film lore subsequently), however poor Stone cannot take the pain and gives up the army's location. After being returned to his cell, where Forsythe and Mac are passing the time betting on cockaroache races, and telling them what happened Mac and Forsythe know something needs to be done. After knocking out the guard Mac volunteers for the suicide sprint from their cell to a storage facility housing boxes and boxes of dynamite. With Forsythe drawing Khan's fire, Mac hopes to blow up the entire arsenal, except he gets pinned down by the gatling gun's spray of bullets. Stone who had been knocked cold, comes to and attempts to blow up the arsenal, but Mac pushes him out of the way at the last moment, saving his life in the process, but sacrificing his own. Khan's arsenal destroyed, the army easily defeats his remaining forces and Stone, Forsythe receive medals for their courage and valor, while Mac receives a posthumous honor as well. The theme of sacrifice, duty and honor is one that would be revisited in the more popular "Gunga Din", but for a film largely forgotten today, "The Lives of a Bengal Lancer" is one that strikes many positive similarities to its more celebrated counterpart, and is definitely worth revisiting.

Cleopatra

2005-10-22T12:44:00.000-07:00

The 1950's and early 1960's were the time of the period epic in Hollywood. But as with most fads and phases, something always comes along at the height of its decadence to put the nails in the coffin. "Cleopatra" effectively ended Hollywood's obsession with period/biblical epics. As it stands now, "Cleopatra" can be seen as the end of Old Hollywood. While there were still many Old Hollywood films still to come in the latter half of the 1960's, the writing was on the wall. Public tastes and audience expectations were changing, and by 1969, a mere six years after "Cleopatra", when "Midnight Cowboy" won Best Picture with an X rating, "NewHollywood" was essentially born. "Cleopatra", when considered in this context, represents one ofHollywood's last great efforts to compete with T.V., a battle it had reluctantly undertaken about ten years prior, attempting to woo people back to theaters with innovations like 3D and super formats like Todd AO, and event films like "The Ten Commandments" and"Ben-Hur". "Cleopatra" is the end of an era, but marked this passing with quite an exclamation point: one historic love affair, cast and director carousels, bloated (to put it mildly) budgets, editing butcher jobs, and over three years of principal photography. In short, the culmination of Old Hollywood's gaudy characteristics, packaged into the film which threatened to ruin 20th Century Fox, one of Hollywood's oldest studios.

In 1958, Fox had a relatively modest Cleopatra biopic set to go into production with Joan Collins as the titular Egyptian queen and stage and screen veteran Rouben Mamoulian behind the camera. Collins' schedule changed though and Fox began to consider replacements, ultimately pitching the idea to Elizabeth Taylor. Taylor dismissed the proposal, jokingly offering to do the role for the then unheard of sum of $1 million dollars (or 25% of the original Joan Collins version budget). Thinking this outlandish request would keep her out of a toga, Fox stunned Hollywood by agreeing and Taylor was shipped to England to begin work on what would now be one of Fox's tentpole event films of 1961. Mamoulian stayed on board, bringing everyone together to begin shooting only a few months off schedule. His leading men were Peter Hinch as Julius Caesar and Stephen Boyd as Marc Antony. By the time the film was released, these three men would have been long gone. The biggest delay can be attributed to the notoriously diva-like Taylor complaining of the weather so much in England that production was halted for months to allow her to "recover". When filming resumed six months later, the entire production had shifted to Rome (at an unimaginable cost to be sure), veteran Mamoulian had been replaced with veteran Joseph L. Mankiwiecz, and both Peter Hinch and Stephen Boyd had left, being replaced with (to Fox's slight credit, both substitutions are inspired choices and definitely benefit the film in my opinion) Rex Harrison as Caesar and Richard Burton as Marc Antony.

With the cast and director finally in place, filming flew by. Only two years (!!) later, Fox's $44 million dollar roll of the dice was ready for its world premiere. (For those keeping score, that would put the budget at roughly $270 million in 2005 dollars). By this point, Taylor and Burton were household names for an entirely different reason: their torrid love affair. Taylor was a known man-eater, going through husbands at an incredible rate. Burton was also a known ladies man and carrouser (fueled by his chronic drinking problem) and the star couple's affair captured the nation's fascination. Fox by this point had no choice but to release the film, after pouring the studio's financial future into it, enduring the firestorm of controversy surrounding its married stars affair, two directors, and three years of filming on two continents, they really had to roll out the red carpet and simply hope for the best. While the finished product is long (four hours and nine minutes), Mankiwiecz would later say that he envisioned two films, each three hours long, one chronicling Cleopatra and Caesar, the other Cleopatra and Antony. Fox, showing unusual modesty in regards to this project, refused, and thus a slightly disjointed, yet still lavishly sprawling epic unspooled for audiences in the summer of 1963. Some final fun facts about the film: (without even getting into the plot: Caesar comes to Egypt, falls in love with Cleopatra, is killed byRome. Antony comes to Egypt, falls in love with Cleopatra, is killed by Rome. The end.) the first 40 minutes are devoted entirely to Caesar, when Cleopatra makes her first appearance around 40 minutes in, she is rarely ever off screen again. Antony does not appear until 70 minutes in, then he too is rarely off screen. Caesar is killed at around 150 minutes in, the films effective halfway point. Taylor would ultimately make closer to $10 million for her role, thanks to a percentage of the film's gross, and her salary for production overruns and re-shoots. Is it any wonder that Hollywood stopped making films like this after 1963?

The Mark of Zorro

2005-10-22T12:42:00.000-07:00

Situated somewhere in between "Adventures of Robin Hood" and "Scaramouche" is "The Mark of Zorro". I say in between because while this is definitely (in my opinion) the definitive Zorro film, it does not share the same "definitive" status as Errol Flynn's "Adventures of Robin Hood" but also has escaped the anonymity of Stewart Granger's "Scaramouche". "The Mark of Zorro" simply stands as a fine swashbuckler, a brilliant product of Fox's system in the late 1930's to early 1940's, during which time Tyrone Power starred in virtually all of their biggest hits, and a rollicking good time. Not revered as a classic (though it should), but still celebrated in its own right. While that does not seem like an overwhelming vote of confidence, considering the praise I usually heap upon my favorite classic movies, please note: I was merely stating how I feel the film is perceived today in general. Personally I feel that the film is a wonderful example of good old fashioned action and adventure. I believe the reason that Columbia's 1998 film, "The Mask of Zorro" was so popular was because it played like an Old Hollywood film, completely devoid of any of the more cynical and less entertaining themes and motifs so common in contemporary cinema. Instead, it relished its Saturday matinee serial roots, piling on generous helpings of laughs, thrills and romance, all on a grand late 20th century budget. Most significantly, like its predecessor almost 50 years before, "The Mask of Zorro" succeeded by remembering one key thing: give the audience a good time. This is where Rouben Mamoullian's 1940 film set the standard.

While on paper the film seems missing a few key aspects, director Michael Curtiz and leading lady Olivia de Havilland most conspicuously (two key members of many of Warner Brothers' similar spectacles), Fox more than made up for it by shrewdly filling out smaller roles with familiar faces. Thus we have villain extraordinaire Basil Rathbone as Zorro's nemesis, the sneering Captain Pasquale, and Eugene Palette as the jovial Fray Felipe, themselves both key supporting players in Warners' seminal action/adventure "The Adventures of Robin Hood". Fox had its own leading man though, and Tyrone Power is extremely engaging and appealing in the dual role of Don Diego and the masked avenger, Zorro. While he lacks some of Errol Flynn's unique charisma, Power plays the fop more convincingly than the rougish Flynn ever could have, and for the Zorro story that element is crucial. Whereas Robin Hood does not have to lead a double life, Zorro is the comic book hero archetype: bored aristocrat by day, costumed administrator of justice by night (see Bruce Wayne/Batman for the most obvious parallel, but also dozens more superheroes. An interesting side note to the correlation between Zorro and Batman; in the original Batman comic, the film young Bruce Wayne was seeing with his parents the night they were killed was "The Mark of Zorro"). With these elements in place, the story is a relatively simple "origin" story, extremely common among present day comic book movies.

After finishing school in Spain, young Don Diego comes home to his father's estate in present day California. At first ignorant and uninterested in the plight of the peasants that are kept in economic destitude by the cruel taxes imposed by Diego's father and the rest of the artistocracy, as is typical with comic book heroes, they reach a point where they feel they "must" do something, because no one else can or will. In Diego's case those who would fight, Fray Felipe or the beautiful Lolita Quintero, cannot due to physical limitations, while those who could are too busy trying to feed their starving families. Thus Diego assumes the mask and sword of Zorro, fighting the fight for the people who cannot. If this sounds like the height of corn, well that is because it is. Movies like this have become cliche because they have ripped off properties like Zorro for so long, that when you consider the original material, it is unjustly viewed as old hat. Watching "The Mark of Zorro" however, the action is fresh, the script is sharp, and the sense of excitement is genuine. The final duel between Captain Pasquale and Zorro is amazing, and features one of my all time favorite "moments": when the cocky Pasquale attempts to intimidate Zorro by slicing a candle in half with his sword, a chunk of it goes flying. Zorro calmly takes a measured stroke through another candle and at first nothing happens, prompting Pasquale to laugh. Zorro then walks over to the candle and picks up the top half of it, his stroke perfectly slicing the candle in half without disturbing it. It is moments like these that make "The Mark of Zorro" so much fun, and put it on the same level as the more celebrated "The Adventures of Robin Hood".

An American in Paris

2005-09-13T13:54:00.000-07:00

George Gershwin's estate should get some serious royalties. Since the genius composer's untimely death in 1937, his songs have popped up in countless "new" Gershwin musicals, on screen, and most recently, on Broadway, in "Crazy For You" which played about ten years ago. Such Gershwin standards like "I Got Rythym", "Nice Work If You Can Get It", "Embraceable You", and "S'Wonderful" were simply too great to be stored away in some studio vault, and thus appeared and re-appeared in countless studio films throughout the golden days of Hollywood. Arguably their greatest reincarnation is Vicente Minnelli's 1951 Best Picture winning "An American in Paris". Viewed in retrospect as an "unworthy" winner, besting more dramatic fare such as "A Streetcar Named Desire" and "A Place in the Sun", a distinction made even more unfortunate by the fact that Gene Kelly's superior musical "Singin' in the Rain" would be released only the following year and not win Best Picture. While it may be a frothy choice for Best Picture, there is no denying the film's entertainment value, as well as the superb MGM production values. Despite initially being slated to film on location in Paris, the film was ultimately shot in Hollywood, but I feel that this only adds to its kitsch appeal. The magic of the movies in those days meant transforming a soundstage in southern California into anywhere in the world. Thus the extravagent sets presented in "An American in Paris", which stands as one of Arthur Freed's finest products from his assembly line at MGM.

After making it through pre-production, during which time MGM nearly balked at pouring in so much money on a "dancing picture" (umm, what? MGM's bread and butter were musicals), its leading lady, Cyd Charisse, had to be replaced because she became pregnant (I swear, she and Judy Garland just shuttled back and forth between every MGM musical from the mid 1940's to mid 1950's) the film was completed with relatively little incident, until the signature 20 minute American in Paris ballet number was nearly cut (saved by Louis B. Mayer, in a rare instance of a mogul thinking artistically and not financially). What lies in between, from when the cameras rolled to when it first screened in the fall of 1951, is where the magic happens. Gene Kelly is Jerry Mulligan, a happy-go-lucky ("fill in the blank here" occupation) ex-G.I. come painter, living in the City of Light after World War II. Jerry lives the idyllic bohemian life, selling his paintings on a quiet little street, with inspiration around every corner. He is not successful, but his life seems happy enough, spent painting and squabbling with his concert pianist friend Adam. Jerry's life changes when he meets two women, virtually on the same day. Older woman Milo Roberts (recipient of the film's best line; when she initially attempts speaking French to Jerry, he tells her "can it sister. I'm from Perth Amboy, New Jersey.") who takes a liking to Jerry's paintings and a little too great an interest in his life, and Lise Bouvier, a beautiful young girl who happens to be involved with Henri Baurel, a song and dance man, and friend of Jerry's, all unbeknownst to him of course.

Jerry's flirtation with Lise is first met with scorn, but gradually she warms to him, only to be faced with the dilemma of how to tell Jerry she is leaving for America with her fiancee so soon after they share a romantic evening along the Siene. Jerry is devastated, and his last chance to see Lise, at a black and white costume party, segues into an extended dream sequence featuring Gershwin's bombastic "American in Paris" suite, which Vicente Minnelli brilliantly fills with dazzling colors, lights, mist, costumes and dancing. The ballet, which is equal parts metaphor and plot filler essentially is the third act of the movie, because when the audience emerges from the dream haze Lise has decided to leave Henri and stay in Paris with Jerry, whom she realizes she truly loves. Henri, in true "only in the movies" magnanimity, wishes the new couple the best and then promptly heads to America, sans Lise. While all of this might not seem like fodder for Best Picture, especially in a year featuring some dramatic heavyweights, that does not make "An American in Paris" any less enjoyable, which is what a musical should be most concerned with, especially one from the Freed Unit at MGM. And enjoy and entertain it does, just as much today as it did 50 years ago when it shocked the Academy.

Gunga Din

2005-09-13T13:46:00.000-07:00

I hate beginning a post with a plug for someone else, but Leonard Maltin really does say it best: "Gunga Din" is THE action adventure spectacle of Old Hollywood. There had been films of its kind before, most notably "Lives of a Bengal Lancer" from 1935, but none combined the comedy with the requisite action and adventure like George Stevens' "Gunga Din". I attribute this to the presence of stars Cary Grant and Victor McLaglen, who consistently keep the film's tone light and the mood rollicking. Joining them is Douglas Fairbanks Jr., whose father virtually invented the action/adventure genre, although unfortunately here, his role is reduced to that of the straight man. As Sgt. Ballantine, Fairbanks gets to woo the lady, the beautiful Joan Fontaine, but also has to play the 'stick-in-the-mud', having the gall to leave his friends, Grant's Sgt. Cutter and McLaglen's Sgt. MacChesney, while on tour in the wilds of India. Of course Cutter and Mac scheme to keep Ballantine in Her Majesty's army, in the process looking for lost treasure and fighting a vicious Thuggee cult. That is what makes this movie, and others like it, so great. They portray fighting bloodthirsty "savages" as fun, something handsome young men did in the old days, and believe it or not, this jovial spirit works throughout the film, thanks to Stevens' excellent direction.

As the film begins we learn that the Thuggee have been terrorizing the British imperial colony of India. Raiding towns and killing locals and soldiers, the army decides to send its crack core of men, the regiment featuring our lead trio, after them. The film masterfully introduces its three leads characters, giving them each an opportunity to shine while engaging in an elaborate fight. Cutter has arguably the best intro, dropping the man he is brawling with from an open window after being told "let go of that man!". After narrowly escaping capture by a Thuggee war party, leaping to safety by diving into a large chasm, a sequence that still thrills today, and receiving their orders each man has his own ideas: Ballantine knows that his discharge is going to happen before setting off after the Thuggee, MacChesney longs to be reunited with his beloved elephant Annie, and Cutter and his waterboy friend, the titular Gunga Din, revel in the prospect of finding lost treasure the Thugee temples allegedly possess. Ballantine's leaving takes immediate precedence however, and the troublemaking Cutter and Mac try a number of different ruses to keep Ballantine with the regiment, many of them quite humorous. My favorite is the poison they end up giving to the man to be Ballantine's replacement. While the effects of the poison are not entirely known, a potted plant that is inadvertently put into the punch bowl spiked with the poison immediately wilts, prompting hilarious facial reactions from Cutter and Mac, and a severely upset stomach from poor Ballantine's replacement.

With Ballantine's replacement indisposed, Ballantine is forced to fall back in with the regiment for one more tour. Cutter and Mac know that the longer they keep him, the harder it will be to leave, and despite his intentions to marry Emmy Stebbins, his real love is for his friends, rabble rousing around India. After Cutter and Gunga Din stumble upon the main Thuggee temple, and of course are captured, it is up to Mac and Ballantine to come looking for them. Little do they, and the rest of the regiment, know, but the entire Thuggee army is converging to massacre the British forces. Captured in the tower of the temple, the three sergeants and Gunga Din can only watch as the Thuggee keep them pined down with gunfire, powerless to stop the impending Thuggee attack on the oblivious advancing British troops. That is until Gunga Din, in a celebrated act of bravery, leaps to the pedestal of the tower and blows the bugle call for alarm. The British troops now warned, they fan out and easily defeat the Thuggee, who were relying solely on their strategic advantage. Cutter, Mac and Ballantine join in the fight as well, each displaying courage, but none so great as Gunga Din. A somber memorial service concludes the film, as Rudyard Kipling, the writer whose poem "inspired" (an innovation not unique to 21st century Hollywood) the film, is on hand to dictate the now famous lines "you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din". One of the last things to note about this film is that much was made about it being filmed "on location". In today's Hollywood that would mean actually shooting in the deserts and steppes of India. In 1939, that meant shooting in Lone Pine, California, a whole couple hours north of Los Angeles. While the methods of filming exotic films has changed, the standard that "Gunga Din" established has not, and is one that still stands today.

Spartacus

2005-09-13T13:36:00.000-07:00

Arguably the most literate and thoughtful Hollywood epic ever. Playing more like a meditation on slavery, warfare, and humanity than the typical spectacles of the times, which were seemingly more concerned with keeping the prop and costume departments very busy, "Spartacus" owes a major debt of gratitude to cinematic auteur Stanley Kubrick. One of the oddest directorial choices ever, Kubrick, who would go on to direct some of the most claustrophobic, cerebral films ever, here cut his teeth in the studio system by "directing traffic" as directors of epics inHollywood frequently refer to the task. Despite being possibly the last person one would expect to helm a period gladiator epic, Kubrick infused the film with plenty of his subsequent trademarks: a conflicted central character fighting against an overarching evil, a distinct lack of morality and a stark depiction of the many shades of gray that humanity can take. At the center of his tale is Kirk Douglas, playing the rebel leader and titular character Spartacus. After clashing with the original director, (the more conventional choice, Anthony Mann), Douglas portrays arguably his most well rounded character, carrying the film and serving as its moral compass amidst the immoral and indifferent Romans. Despite all this talk of the film being "smart" and "cerebral" it still manages to be extremely entertaining, dragging very little considering its 198 minute running time, and for this reason, the film deserves to be celebrated.

As the film begins, Spartacus is a slave working in salt mines which might as well be Hell. The Roman Empire rules the known world and bringing them to their knees, as he eventually will, is the farthest thing from his mind. After attacking one of the guards, Spartacus should have been killed on the spot, but instead he is sold to a shameless Roman named Lentulus Batiatus, who scours the ends of the earth looking for new pupils for his gladiator training school. Batiatus is an interesting character, one who knows his place in Roman aristocracy and is actually closer to the men whose will he breaks rather than the senators and plutocrats that he sycophantically appeases. Instead of a pitiful character Batiatus is instead a breath of fresh air in the otherwise somber proceedings, thanks to a delicious performance byPeter Ustinov. While he does have a sadistic streak (making sport of what would have been Spartacus’ first time with a woman) he is also a shrewd businessman, and one who recognizes the value of his trade, thus keeping the gladiators reasonably well fed, cared for, and, despite watching from hidden doors and windows, provides them with some type of human interaction. Since the men know one day they may have to kill each other in the arena, there is an unwritten rule to not talk to one another, for fear of developing a relationship, making the inevitable that much more painful. Thus it is through Varinia that Spartacus begins to open up. He instantly falls in love with the beautiful slave girl at Batiatus’ school and is heart broken when she is sold to the cold and powerful senator Crassus, played with the perfect combination of intimidation and seduction by Laurence Olivier. Crassus indirectly puts the film’s main conflict in motion, when he kills Draba, a gladiator who refused to kill Spartacus when he had bested him in combat, instead trying in vain to kill his spectators. Compelled by Draba’s dramatic death, Spartacus rallies the other gladiators and they overtake the school, then begin terrorizing the countryside, liberating other slaves as they go, expanding their numbers.

After defeating a Roman garrison, one which sorely underestimated the power of the rebel gladiators and slaves, the army (as it soon becomes) begins to make its way to the sea, hoping to buy passage across the Adriatic via pirate ships. Fighting their way through Italy the legend of Spartacus begins to grow, and Rome grows increasingly more annoyed with this rebel and his mob. Crassus sees this uprising as his opportunity, and uses the civil unrest to assume control of the Senate. Amassing a large army designed to wipe out the slave revolt, but also to keep control of Rome once the rebellion is squashed, Crassus and Spartacus’ armies meet for a final confrontation. In a brilliant, rousing, bloody battle, (one which deserves special mention for having some extremely violent moments, especially considering this was released in 1960) Crassus’ troops are initially defeated, but eventually his numbers overwhelm Spartacus and his men. Forced to engage in a battle he hoped to avoid (the pirates, true to their nature, fell through on their half of the bargain, leaving Spartacus and his followers pinned against the coast without money or escape) Spartacus is shocked when his men, in an amazingly cinematic show of loyalty, refuse to single out their leader to Crassus, each yelling out “I’m Spartacus!”. Crassus avoids the bureaucratic Roman red tape and instead crucifies every surviving member of the rebellion, lining them up along the Appian Way as a demonstration of Roman might, and cruelty.

Much has been made of the film’s perceived homosexual undertones (and overtones in the case of Crassus seducing Tony Curtis’ slave Antoninus in a bath house) but the real “subversive” elements of this film are the statement it makes on Communism. Written by blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo, the now famous “I’m Spartacus!” scene is actually a plea to keep the solidarity in Hollywood, and not “name names”. Despite its being disowned by Stanley Kubrick later in career due to his dislike of the Hollywood studio system it came from, it is impossible to ignore his imprint on this film, and the fine, and smart, piece of entertainment he created.

Scaramouche

2005-09-13T13:29:00.000-07:00

One of the lesser known action-adventure films of the golden age of Hollywood, but definitely one worth celebrating. Filled with lush scenery, vivid Technicolor, wonderful performances from Stewart Granger, Eleanor Parker and Mel Ferrer, and some of the best on-screen swordfighting you will ever see, "Scaramouche" is I feel unjustly ignored. Packed with action, comedy and romance the film suffers from not having an iconic film star at its center like Errol Flynn, but really this is a disservice. While it is true, Stewart Granger is no Errol Flynn, he plays the role of the charming scoundrel Andre Moreau with plenty of Flynn's trademark charisma and bravado. This is really the only guess I can hazard as to why this film is not recognized as one of the great action-adventure spectacles of Old Hollywood, on an equal plane with such classics as "The Adventures of Robin Hood" and "The Mark of Zorro". MGM clearly spared no expense in the making of this film, featuring elaborate sets in addition to the several extended location shots peppered throughout the film. The large theater set in particular, centerpiece to the film's incredible duel climax, is an amazing feat of the studio's famed art direction department. Thus it should come as no surprise that legendary art director Cedric Gibbons worked on this film, further establishing it as a film MGM had full faith in, and making its mostly forgotten status today even more puzzling.

Following the superhero archetype, the film begins with Andre Moreau as a scheming, ne'er do well. He is a playboy and a fop, who lives only for women and fine clothes, and cares not for politics and justice. However, when he gets a lesson firsthand in how France is being oppressed by the aristocracy, he vows to change his ways and fight. What happens specifically is the murder of his young friend, Phillippe de Valmorin, a young idealist who had been publishing anti-aristocracy tracts under the pseudonym Marcus Brutus. When his identity is exposed by the cruel Marquis de Maynes, the Queen's cousin and chief henchman, he kills the woefully overmatched Valmorin in a duel with Andre looking on. Andre foolishly attempts to avenge his friend's death then and there, and the Marquis would have killed him, but Andre is able to escape. Andre knows that he cannot hope to defeat the Marquis without any sword fighting instruction, and in a stroke of "movies" good fortune it so happens that the Marquis' instructor, Doutreval of Dijon, is sympathetic to the rebel cause and agrees to give Andre lessons in secret. While making progress, Andre also keeps tabs on two beautiful women in his life, Lenore, his on-again-off-again girlfriend and Aline de Gavrillac, a young woman Andre believes to be his sister. Despite constantly appealing to Lenore whenever he needs a favor (in the film's inspired comedic subplot, Andre hides himself from the Marquis by assuming the masked role of the ugly clown Scaramouche in the theater troupe Lenore is a part of. Featuring several extended sequences with Stewart Granger performing as Scaramouche, the film offers an effective respite to the more significant revenge plot, and Granger displays remarkable comedic touch), Andre finds himself strangely drawn to his "sister" and sneaks away to see her as often as is safe, and sometimes when it is not.

Nearly confident in his dueling abilities, the Marquis discovers that Doutreval has been teaching his mortal enemy and while Andre puts up more of a fight in their second duel, the Marquis still overwhelms him, in a furious succession of moves in which he leaves Andre vulnerable and embaressed. Again, Andre is able to escape, this time thanks to Aline's distraction, and he seeks out Doutreval's tutor, Perigore of Paris. Fleeing to Paris with the help of Lenore, who convinces the entire troupe to relocate, enabling Andre to keep his cover, Andre finishes his instruction and begins killing off the Marquis' men in a series of duels. Finally revealing himself to the Marquis the two square off in an amazing extended sequence in which they fight throughout an elaborate theater, from the boxes overhanging the orchestra, to behind the scenes, to the main stairwell in the theater's glorious lobby. The swordplay is exceptional, Granger and Ferrer must have trained for months, and the conclusion is riveting as Andre finally bests his enemy. Overcome with a strange sensation of compassion, Andre cannot bring himself to kill the Marquis, and when he learns the truth, realizes why. It turns out that Andre, who did not know his true origin, having believed he was orphaned and adopted by a wealthy family as a child, was really brother to the Marquis, and that the woman he thought was his sister, Aline, was blood relation to his adopted father. Having spared the Marquis, who is incarcerated for his role in the tyrannical government regime, Andre is also free to marry Aline, the woman he felt oddly compelled to, and as the film ends they receive a bouquet from Lenore, who has set her sights on another member of the government, a rising young general in the army: Napoleon. The surreal ending aside (it plays hilariously though), the film is a wonderful MGM technicolor adventure and deserves a better legacy than the one it presently has.

Around the World in 80 Days

2005-09-13T13:24:00.000-07:00

If "The Ten Commandments" is the biggest story ever told, "Around the World in 80 Days" is a close second. This project (I do not think it is does this film justice to call it a film, project is really more apt) is equally breathtaking and mindboggling in its scope and size. Released at the height of the epic craze that swept Hollywood (the Best Picture nominees from this year alone included this, "Giant", "The Ten Commandments" and "The King and I", some of the most ambitious films Hollywood ever tackled), this is still impressive for the size of its cast, the number of exotic locations (distinguishing it even further from other Hollywood spectacles, this film did a ton of actual location shooting, refraining from considering 10 miles outside of Los Angeles as a suitable stand in), the amazing use of the new Todd AO widescreen technology, and the popularization (not the innovation Mike Todd assumed credit for) of the cameo role, boasting many familiar Hollywood faces, adding even more star power and event appeal to this already epic production. Based on Jules Verne's classic novel of a wealthy, bored English gentleman who accepts a bet that the globe cannot be circumnavigated in under 80 days, the project is aided infinitely by the presence of David Niven as Phileas Fogg, who grounds the at times overwhelming film experience with his British sophistication and cool, as well as giving the film a consistent air of legitimacy. As his intrepid valet, Passepartout, the Mexican actor/acrobat/stunt man/bullfighter Cantinflas provides some comic relief not in the form of cameo roles, and is a worthy foil to David Niven's dominating on-screen persona. The only other major role is the beautiful Shirley MacLaine as Princess Aouda, whom the globe trotting duo rescue in India, and who completes the jaunt with them. Sprawled across five continents and three hours of film, "Around the World in 80 Days" definitely achieves producer Mike Todd's desired effect: big!

Beginning in London, we find that Mr. Phileas Fogg is a very difficult, but highly respected man. He runs his life like a general in the army, and does absolutely not tolerate any deviations from his schedule, as he informs Passepartout, his latest in a long line of valets. At the same time as the film is introducing us to Phileas Fogg, we find that the Bank of England has been robbed of an extraordinary sum. Thus, when Fogg accepts the highly publicized wager of 25,000 pounds that he can span the entire globe in under 80 days, everyone assumes that it was Fogg, a man of incredible wealth but indeterminate means, who robbed the bank. Fogg claims he can do it because he has the entire trip mapped out, fitting with his obsessively punctual lifestyle, down to the very minute. He has also calculated for unseen hazards and obstacles, which come into play almost immediately when they miss a train and are forced to scale the Alps via hot air balloon. Hot on their trail is Mr. Fix of Scotland Yard, the befuddled detective who chases the duo across the globe, convinced Fogg is his man, but always a step behind. The first leg of the trip takes the duo through Spain, where Passepartout displays his bullfighting prowess in exchange for use of a wealthy nobleman's yacht, and then into the jungles of India, where they find Princess Aouda, rescuing her as she is about to be sacrificed to some vengeful god. Again Passepartout displays his skills as acrobat, shimmying onto the pagan temple's altar unnoticed, and providing enough of a distraction for Fogg to save the Princess.

The traveling duo now a trio, the rest of the movie virtually flies by. Wild encounters in exotic Southeast Asia, (Passepartout exposes a snake charmer, only to be chased through an elaborate market place), Japan, (thinking he's been left behind by Fogg, Passepartout reluctantly joins an acrobatic circus troupe), and the American wild west (braving a saloon in San Francisco's Barbary Coast, and surviving an Indian attack on their train bound for the East Coast) bring the duo back to England with what they think is a few hours to spare. Only immediately after setting foot on British soil, Fix arrests Fogg for robbing the Bank of England. Fogg is heartbroken, not so much for being arrested and having his name tarnished, but because he has lost his bet, which is really the reason he accepted in the first place. Fogg could care less about the money he stands to win, or the money he stands to lose for that matter; his only motivation, seemingly the only thing he can "get up for" is the thrill of winning a bet of such monumental proportions. As fate would have it, the true criminal is exposed and Fogg is released, distraught at having lost the bet, but forgetting one key fact: having crossed the International Date Line, the trio gained a day. Passepartout can hardly contain himself as he tells Fogg the news, and the sight of Fogg calmly walking into the Gentlemen's Club (during the final chime of the clock, naturally) where the bet was forged 80 days prior is absolutely priceless. His bet won, Fogg realizes, in a Henry Higgins-esque revelation, that winning the bet is not the only thing he has won: the love of the Princess, but more importantly, feeling the emotion of love. With Passepartout as the oddest third wheel ever, the trio is now happily together, and the movie ends with a wonderfully unique way of categorizing the dozens of cameos the film is peppered with throughout: an approximately six minute sequence that follows minimally animated icons representing the main characters (Fogg is a pocket watch, Passepartout a unicycle, and the Princess is a veil with eyes) as they pass through each of the film's major locales. Pausing at each one, the credits then appear, reminding you, "Oh yeah, that was Frank Sinatra as the piano player in San Francisco!". After this sublime sequence, in true epic fashion, the Exit Music plays, and "Around the World in 80 Days" comes to an end.

The Seven Year Itch

2005-08-23T08:41:00.000-07:00

Most people do not know the name of the movie featuring the famous scene of Marilyn Monroe holding her skirt down as it is blown upwards while standing over a subway grate. That image is so ingrained in American pop culture however, a mere photo of it is a personification of Monroe's legendary sex symbol status, that the fact that the movie itself is largely forgotten is unfortunate. I remember having the same reaction to "Singin' in the Rain" when I first saw it. I was already familiar with the classic dance number, situated almost exactly at the film's halfway point, yet knew nothing about the film itself. My knowledge of "The Seven Year Itch" was even less impressive, making my reaction upon actually seeing the film that much more surprising. Whereas with "Singin' in the Rain" I could have crudely fashioned together some type of description, for instance, I knew that it starred Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor and Debbie Reynolds, was obviously a musical and that at some point Kelly's character is so happy he "sings in the rain". My knowledge of "The Seven Year Itch" was confined to my awareness of that single scene, I did not even have any context for it. Her skirt blows up, a nation is entranced. I could not tell you the name of her co-stars, the film's director, the year of its release, or whether or not her skirt blowing up had anything to do with the plot. Luckily for me, I finally watched "The Seven Year Itch" one day, and found out all about it.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that this film was directed by Billy Wilder. Suddenly I had expectations for this film I knew next to nothing about. Billy Wilder, while widely recognized as a great comedy writer in his time, should today be given even more credit for being one of the greatest comedy writers of all time. His brazen scripts often pushed the envelope in terms of what was socially acceptable to make fun of, and he was making sex comedies long before Woody Allen was, they were just neutered by the Puritanical Hays Code, which governed Hollywood for far too long. Wilder's genius, and clever manipulation of the stuffy Hays Code, is refreshingly and readily apparent from the film's first frames. The titular itch we find is a clinical term for the doubt a married man begins to have about whether or not the sanctity of his marriage is more important than satisfying his primal physical wants and has been bothering husbands of Manhattan since the days when the Indians were sending their wives "up river", only to immediately be tempted by a passing beautiful woman. This scene is then repeated shot for shot, with I believe the same actors, in New York's Grand Central Station, proving that the itch is timeless and universal. It is amidst the mobs of people in Grand Central where we first meet Richard Sherman, who is packing his wife and son off to go "up river" for the summer. The city is sweltering and Richard is busy with his book publishing job, but neither issue will bother him as much as his new upstairs neighbor, the blonde bombshell who goes nameless, but who we know as Marilyn Monroe.

Richard is immediately smitten with The Girl, (how she is officially credited) and invites her over for drinks. Almost instantly he begins to have paranoid daydreams about the extent to which he is cheating on his wife, and about her somehow finding out about what he is doing with the gorgeous younger woman in their apartment. Of course, nothing happens between the two of them, and this is where Billy Wilder's comedic expertise is invaluable. Billy Wilder milks "nothing" happening between his two leads for all its worth, creating elaborate scenarios in which Richard's paranoia and neuroses are mined for laughs, fifteen years before Woody Allen became famous for making fun these same very things. The similarities between Wilder's work here and Allen's work to come are unmistakable. The Manhattan setting, the everyday guy inexplicably linked to a beautiful woman, the audience having constant, and often times hilarious insight into his male protagonist's thoughts and feelings. The funny thing is that all along, while Richard becomes more and more concerned that his wife is going to find out he is involved in all this duplicity and intrigue, the more obvious it becomes that The Girl has no intention of doing anything with Richard. She likes him well enough, and they do spend some of their evenings together, but she knows their relationship for what it is, being a beautiful woman she has many of them, a harmless married man who cannot help but fawn over her. Eventually Richard realizes this, around the time his wife and son are due back from New England, and The Girl is moving on, only in the city for the summer, to seemingly tempt Richard and pitch tooth paste on the radio. Before she leaves, however, she finds time to pause over a subway grate, thus giving birth to one of the most iconic images of classical Hollywood cinema. The rest of the movie is pretty great too though.

A Night at the Opera

2005-08-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

After a string of hugely successful films made at Paramount, the Marx Brothers, in a coup for the time, set up shop at MGM. Spurred mostly by the death of Irving Thalberg, the legendary "boy genius" producer at Paramount, the Marx Brothers relocated to MGM, whose complete dominance over A-level filmmaking was just beginning. Securing the Marx Brothers was one of their shrewdest moves, picking them up right after their first real bomb, 1933's "Duck Soup". The financial disappointment prompted the Marx Brothers (who were consummate perfectionists, going so far as to "try out" material they were about to put to film the night before in front of live audiences to see which gags worked) switched studios, added musical numbers (legitimate ones, not "Hooray for Captain Spaulding!"), and moved "straight man" brother Zeppo to a behind-the-scenes capacity. Their first venture with MGM would prove to be one of their biggest hits, both ciritically and commercially, and was seen as a return to brilliance after their bizarre deviation with "Duck Soup" (which oddly enough, now stands as their masterpiece, embraced by more sophisticated audiences). "A Night at the Opera", when it is not bogged down by its flimsy romantic subplot (which I can only attribute to MGM believing this would broaden the Brothers appeal), is quite the equal to any of their supposedly more "mad cap and zany" Paramount titles. Any film that ends with the Marx Brothers wreaking havoc during a production of Verdi's "Il Trovatore" has to be great, right?

Beginning in Italy, the film centers around an opera company, with a pompous ass of a featured tenor, Lassparri, who loves a beautiful young soprano named Rosa, who loves a handsome, but anonymous, baritone named Baroni. Forcefully inserting themselves into this romantic entanglement are the Brothers. Groucho is Otis B. Driftwood, a shyster opera producer, who is trying to woo Mrs. Claypool (played by Marx regular Margaret Dumont, who made the studio transition with the team), the opera company's owner. Chico and Harpo play two goofballs who inadvertently figure into the proceedings, their involvement in these films is never adequately explained, but somehow, a piano, harp, and tons of slapstick always ensues. This time they play two hangers on of the opera company, who along with lovesick Baroni, stow away on the steamer the company is on, bound for America. The three hide out in the stateroom of the ambulance chasing Driftwood (in this case the ambulance is Mrs. Claypool, Driftwood's meal ticket), and these cramped quarters account for the film's, and perhaps the Brothers, most celebrated sequence. The room, which is already too small for one person, let alone the three others Driftwood did not anticipate, proceeds to be filled by two chambermaids, an engineer and his assitant, a manicurist, a woman looking for her Aunt (woman: "Is my Aunt in here?" Groucho: "No, but you can probably find someone just as good!"), a cleaning woman ("I've come to mop up!"), and four stewards carrying huge trays of food. All of these people pile into Groucho's tiny little room, only to spill out when Mrs. Claypool opens the door.

Upon arriving in New York, the film builds towards the knockout finale number, in which the Brothers completely sabotage the opening production. After sneaking through customs impersonating bearded aviator brothers, and avoiding a muscle bound Detective in an inspired sequence involving two apartments, a fire escape, and the constant rearrangement of furniture, everyone converges at the Opera House. Lassparri and the other producer vying for Mrs. Claypool's money, Herman Gottlieb (played by the great character actor Sig Ruman), are ultimately shamed, Baroni and Rosa are reunited, with Baroni becoming the company's featured attraction, natch. As for the Brothers, well, their mission in each of their films always seems to be to cause as much mayhem and mischief as they can, then unite the young lovers. Ostensibly Groucho wins over the partnership of Mrs. Claypool, and Chico and Harpo probably have jobs with the company too, but really, who cares? The final number features countless gags, all while the opera is going on, including Chico and Harpo sliding the sheet music for "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" into the middle of the scores of the orchestra, selling peanuts and popcorn, and playing catch when the orchestra swings into that number, dressing up as gypsies and entering the stage to avoid the police, and absolutely trashing the hanging backdrops. Somewhere in all of this Harpo plays his harp, Chico plays "All I Do (Is Dream of You)", written by a young MGM company man, Arthur Freed, which of course would later turn up in his masterpiece, "Singin' in the Rain", and Groucho introduces Chico to the vagaries of signing a contract, famously coming to an impasse over the Sanity Clause (Chico: "You can't fool me! There ain't no Sanity Clause!"), all while negotiating the accord standing over the knocked cold body of Lassparri. Despite being slowed by studio imposed subplots and musical numbers, the film still has tons of the Brothers trademark anarchy, and coming on the heels of their other masterpiece "Duck Soup", represents their undisputed creative highpoint.

Easter Parade

2005-08-23T08:32:00.000-07:00

Before charming audiences and critics with "The Band Wagon", Fred Astaire stepped in at the last minute and saved another big budget MGM musical extravaganza. While he had appeared in several other smaller titles for the studio, this was his first of epic proportions. Initially to be directed by Vicente Minnelli, the film was instead entrusted to Charles Walters, a very young director who had already directed some profitable titles for the studio and was now reaping the rewards of his efforts by being given a critical and box office "sure thing". The reason Minnelli stepped aside was because of the film's leading lady, his wife, Judy Garland. The two had a tempestuous marriage to put it kindly, and it was advised that working together for twelve hours a day might not be the best thing for their sacred union. Joining Garland on the marquee was Gene Kelly, who was now a huge star for the studio after appearing in "Anchors Aweigh". The topper was the score, done by songwriting legend Irving Berlin, which automatically ensured the film more prestige and probably did not hurt the box office. The only problem: weeks before filming was to begin, Gene Kelly broke his ankle. In a magnanimous gesture rare for Hollywood where egos usually reign supreme, Kelly recommended Astaire for the role. In a twist of fate, this almost became the first pairing of Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse, who would later star in "The Band Wagon" for MGM, but Charisse had to back out as well, when she became pregnant. Finally having their two leads and director, MGM began production on Irving Berlin's ode to Easter, "Easter Parade".

Much like "The Band Wagon", "Easter Parade" is made exponentially better by its sharp script, written by the MGM musical/comedy duo Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich, and its star caliber supporting cast, in this case Peter Lawford and Ann Miller. The plot is typical musical fluff: Astaire and Miller are Don Hewes and Nadine Hale, a very popluar dancing team and couple. Nadine decides to break off (and break up) on her own, and in a vindictive gesture, Don boasts he can take the next person he sees and turn her into just as big a star as Nadine. That next person just happens to be Hannah Brown, a mild mannered chorus girl who is ultimately up to the task of being perfectionist Don's partner. While Nadine goes on to become a star in her own right, Don and Hannah have their growing pains, as Don is more concerned with topping Nadine and Hannah is so nervous working with such big star as Don Hewes. Once Don forgets his revenge scheme, he begins to realize that he is falling in love with the pretty but shy Hannah (who has been pursued by Don's playboy friend Johnathon, played in art-imitating-life fashion by Peter Lawford). The two do fall in love, and do become a big star duo on the vaudeville circuit (the film offers some spectacular numbers from their "act", "A Couple of Swells", "Steppin' Out With My Baby", and "When the Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam"). The film ends with the wonderful title tune, the MGM backlot Manhattan street brilliantly filled with light and color, and Don and Hannah happily arm and arm.

This film really should be recognized as the impetus to Fred Astaire's "second" career. After the resounding success he experienced with this, as well as his enjoyment working within the Freed Unit, Astaire worked as feverishly as ever. Over the next nine years he would make nine more musicals, and then had what you could call a "third" career, in which he played charming older men in supporting roles, all after he claimed he was "retired". The driving creative force behind many of the Astaire/MGM musicals was producer Arthur Freed. In the 1930's Freed was a renaissance man for the studio, doing some writing, producing, composing, and writing lyrics. By the 1940's he had become one of the studio's top producers and was quite prolific, as the "Freed Unit" as his stable of actors, writers, directors and songwriters came to be known, produced 42 films in a little under two decades. Working with such titans of the industry as actors Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra, directors Vicente Minnelli, Stanley Donen and the versatile Kelly, writers Albert Hackett, Frances Goodrich, Betty Comeden, Adolph Green, and Alan Jay Lerner, and composers Irving Berlin and Cole Porter, Freed was quite the power broker in Hollywood. His films were all known for their cheerful stories, charming humor, vibrant use of color, and of course, their wonderful music. For a near perfect blend of these elements, "Easter Parade" is a wonderful example of the Freed Unit in action.

The Band Wagon

2005-08-23T08:29:00.000-07:00

Fred Astaire, befitting the age old knock against Hollywood that there are not enough roles for older actresses, enjoyed two careers in Hollywood. His first came in the 1930's when he co-starred with Ginger Rogers in nine films in the decade. However, almost as if prohibited by the passing of the decade, Ginger Rogers career quickly petered out in the 1940's. She still had a career, she won an Academy Award in 1940 for "Kitty Foyle", but the films she appeared in were mostly B level light comedies, and perhaps most egregiously, were not singing and dancing musicals! Fred Astaire, however, had an entire second career apart from his co-star of the 1930's. His second career began in the early 1940's when he started making films with younger, hotter actresses of the time, such as Rita Hayworth. But then his second career completely blew up in the later 1940's with "Yolanda and the Thief", a relatively innocuous title, but more signficantly his first Technicolor MGM musical. Over the next fifteen years Astaire would go on to star in eight MGM musicals, all in beautiful Technicolor, and while his co-star would always change, the Arthur Freed unit touch and Astaire's beguiling charm and legendary dancing skills were always the constants. One of that combinations most successful collaborations was 1953's "The Band Wagon". An absolute powerhouse of a production, the film boasted direction by Vicente Minnelli, a script by Betty Comden and Adolph Green, music by longtime MGM musicians Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz, and strong supporting turns by Oscar Levant, Nanette Fabray and Jack Buchanan, as well as the dazzling Cyd Charisse, and the incandescent Astaire, effortlessly gliding through one of the classics of his second career.

The plot is reminiscent of some of the corniest musicals from the Busby Berkely era, revolving almost entirely around the "Hey gang! Let's put on a show!" sentiment, which merely served as a medium for Berkely to display his immense choreography talents. That sentiment holds true here as well, except the character actors, witty script, and subtle jabs at present day goings on in both Hollywood and Broadway distinguish this from just another back stage spectacle. Fred Astaire plays Tony Hunter, a song and dance man who began on Broadway and then made it big in Hollywood (sound familiar?) who is currently in between gigs. Mulling a return to Broadway, Tony comes back to New York at the behest of his old friends, a husband and wife writing duo (sound familiar?), named Lester and Lily Martin. They reluctantly get a committment from him on a script they have for a new show, to be directed by Jeffrey Cordova, an egomaniacal Broadway impressario. Tony is extremely unassuming, he knows he's just a common hoofer who is good at what he does, and accordingly never strays from his bread and butter. Naturally he is concerned at the Faustian tale Cordova seems intent on putting on, and also balks at his co-star, ballerina Gabrielle Gerard. Reluctantly the cast and crew come together, under the brash direction of Cordova, who continues taking the production in bizarre directions, turning it into some kind of warped Greek tragedy, in the process alienating Tony, Lester and Lily even more. When opening night on the road finally rolls around, the production is an absolute disaster, and the backers, who thought they had a huge hit on their hands thanks to the incredible assemblage of talent, now stagger from the theater as if coming from a funeral. Of course the happy-go-lucky Tony bonds with the "great gang of kids" who make up the chorus and crew, and decide to put on the show that Lester and Lily originally wrote. To the surprise of everyone, Cordova agrees with them, and consents to appearing in the new production as the most unlikely song and dance partner Fred Astaire might have ever had!

The new production, which plays like a revue long on elaborate sets and costumes, but short on plot (each number seems like its from an entirely different production, and the only one that has something resembling a plot is the knockout finale, a Mickey Spillane/Mike Hammer influenced dance melodrama, in which Astaire is the gumshoe and Charisse is the femme fatale). Of course during this time Tony and Gabrielle have fallen in love. Usually in the Astaire MGM films this happens as more of an afterthought, with the duo embracing for the first time at the very end, a big "of course I love you!" moment clinching everything. "The Band Wagon", however, contains one of the most romantic and provocative moments Astaire ever put to film, as he and Charisse literally fall in love before their own eyes, and the audience's, while dancing to the ethereal strains of "Dancing in the Dark", a beautiful scene shot on a perfect MGM recreation of New York's Central Park. The production saved, and a love affair gained, "The Band Wagon" closes with the film's most enduring number, "That's Entertainment", a rousing show business anthem second only to "There's No Business Like Show Business". Unlike most films of the time, this was extremely self-referential, with Astaire, Oscar Levant and Nanette Fabray essentially playing himself, Adolph Green and Betty Comden, respectively. The film also includes plot parallels concurrent with Astaire's career at the time, the same production concerns (Cyd Charisse being "too tall" a co-star for Astaire equates to Gabrielle Gerard being too tall for Tony Hunter), and the character of Jeffrey Cordova was widely known to be a play on actor/producer Jose Ferrer, who like his on screen alter ego, was producing four plays at the time and starring in a fifth. The film also precludes Mike Todd's "creation" of the cameo by three years, having Ava Gardner appear briefly in the beginning as herself. I credit all of this Hollywood intrigue to the brilliant screenwriting team of Comden and Green, but the film succeeds on so many other levels, from Vicente Minnelli's brilliant use of color and comedy, and the wonderful, off the wall supporting turn by Jack Buchanan, who also turns out to be quite game for the latter half of the film's musical numbers. By 1953 the Arthur Freed unit was humming like a well oiled machine, and this product is one of its very best.

Lawrence of Arabia

2005-08-14T13:27:00.000-07:00

Yet another movie that not only is an epic film, but an example of epic filmmaking. A huge undertaking, filming across three continents, a cast of thousands, a 216 minute running time, and the debut of the actor playing the titular, legendary character T.E. Lawrence, Peter O'Toole. A star literally by virtue of his attachment to this role, O'Toole's dynamic presence on screen perfectly embodied the mysterious, maniacal, charismatic, egocentric Lawrence. An obscure British officer dropped into the middle of a thousand year war between rival Turkish and Muslim factions (amidst the chaos of World War I), Lawrence ultimately unites the warring Arab factions into a coherent fighting army through sheer force of will. To say that O'Toole carries the film is an understatement, and a disservice to the other equally great cavalcade of actors director David Lean and uber-producer Sam Spiegel assembled. It is an understatement because the part literally calls for someone to transcend the part, Lawrence is a mythical figure, and to sell the role, to sell the film, the actor portraying him has achieve the same effect. It is a disservice because the cast includes Omar Shariff, Alec Guiness, Anthony Quinn, Jack Hawkins, and Claude Rains, each of whom perfectly realize their roles. Winner of 7 Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Director, the glarring omission would have to be Best Actor, which might represent the greatest Oscar snub in history (the 1939-1940 debacle in which Jimmy Stewart lost for "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" in 1939 followed by his consolation prize the next year, in the process snubbing Henry Fonda for "The Grapes of Wrath"), if it were not for Gregory Peck turning in an equally staggering performance as Atticus Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird". The unfortunate fallout from this was that O'Toole, who would never have a role of this magnitude again, has still never won a competitive acting Oscar.

The Oscar drama aside, the film is truly magnificent. The film opens with the stunning realization that Lawrence, who would risk his life countless times in the hours to come, fighting his enemies as well as the elements, would die far from his beloved Arabia, back in England, the victim of a relatively innocuous motorcycle accident. At the funeral for him journalist Jackson Bentley, who we find would witness Lawrence during some of his most daring deeds, praises Lawrence to a random passerby, then as an aside says "he was also the most shameless exhibitonist since Barnum and Bailey". This dichotomy, Lawrence as hero vs. Lawrence as madman, are what propel the film's narrative. When we first meet Lawrence, he is a bored young officer, stuck drawing maps at some distant outpost in Northern Africa. He virtually leaps at the oppurtunity to serve as an ambassador of Her Majesty's service to the camp of Prince Feisal, one of the most powerful Arab chieftains. From this point on Lawrence's life will never be the same. His first superhuman feat is to cross the Nefud desert, something no white man has ever done. Not only does Lawrence successfully lead a convoy of Feisal's troops across it, he actually goes back deep into the desert to rescue a fallen comrade. After emerging from the blazing abyss Lawrence negotiates a reluctant truce with Auda abu Tayi, another powerful chieftain, and together the two factions launch a surprise attack of Aqaba, a strategically placed Turkish stronghold buffered by an ocean on one side and the desert on the other. After easily conquering Aqaba Lawrence's legend is born. He returns to Cairo where the British officers can hardly believe Lawrence's tale, in addition to hardly believing the extent to which he has "gone native", appearing in the gentlemen's club in a dusty tunic. His first major success under his belt, Lawrence is given more authority to act on his own initiative in Arabia, and returns with a steadfast resolve to unite the fractured Arab tribes and vanquish the Turks.

For a time, Lawrence is extremely successful, engaging in bold guerrila warfare tactics, blowing up railroad tracks and massacring all Turks. He also, foolishly, begins to believe his own legend, remarking at one point to Jackson Bentley, "I'm not hurt at all. Didn't you know? They can only kill me with a golden bullet?" It is because of this complete lack of concern for his own well being that Lawrence foolishly attempts to infiltrate the Turkish city of Deraa. Almost immediately captured, Lawrence is subjected to painful torture at the hands of the local Bey, played with a cold cruelty by Hollywood veteran Jose Ferrer, and is released a broken man. Lawrence was always dangerously close to letting his darker sider consume him, and in the wake of his tortue, he does succumb to it, mercilessly attacking Turkish troops, forgetting all sense of his role not only as soldier, but also as leader. After leading a brutal attack on Demascus, Lawrence is both disappointed and disgusted, not only in himself, but in both the Arabs and the British, respectively. He is disappointed because he realizes his dream of a united Arab nation will never happen under his command, as he witnesses the different factions again splintering, arguing over petty disputes and feuds. He is disgusted with the British and their imperialistic nature, as the politicians convene on Demascus, absorbing all of Lawrence's conquests into their empire.

With nothing left to fight for, literally and figuratively, Lawrence returns to England, sadly exclaiming "I pray that I may never see the desert again. Hear me, God." A sentiment that ultimately comes true, as Lawrence, poet, scholar, and warrior, lives the rest of his life in relative obscurity, thousands of miles from the vast desert where he gained international renown. It is this deep sadness and despair that Peter O'Toole conveys with stunning realism, portraying the broken Lawrence (in my opinion the far harder of the two sides of his nature) with great clarity and understanding. After writing all of this about Peter O'Toole, director David Lean too, should be rightly celebrated for crafting such an articulate, and almost impossibly smart, sprawling epic. Done in the larger-than-life Old Hollywood style, yet infused with new sensibilities reflected in the acting style of Peter O'Toole, as well as deeper psychological issues, such as meditations on sanity, war and imperialism, David Lean's film is an epic example, in every sense of the word, of the changes Hollywood would soon experience.

Giant

2005-08-14T13:23:00.000-07:00

Arguably the biggest soap opera ever, "Giant" is aptly titled, despite the fact that the title has nothing to do with the plot. It is merely an adjective for everything the movie is: not just big, literally Giant! Portraying three different generations of the Benedict family, this Texas epic is definitely Texas sized at 201 minutes. Beginning with stubborn Benedict bachelor, Jordan, played by matinee idol Rock Hudson, and his courtship of Eastern blue blood Leslie, played by the gorgeous Elizabeth Taylor, this is merely the first layer of the tale to come. Inexplicably glossing over their marriage (a sin made even more confusing when you consider the film skimps on absolutely nothing else), the narrative rolls into Texas, where it will spill out over the next three hours. In that time Jordan and Leslie become parents and grandparents. There is great romance (mostly courtesy of Jordan and Leslie, when they are not butting heads that is), great drama (mostly courtesy of ranch hand turned billionaire Jett Rink, apparently channeling Hunter S. Thompson with his bizarre performance) and great use of its Texas setting, brilliantly captured by Hollywood veteran George Stevens, who was a veritable jack-of-trades, writing, directing, producing, and shooting dozens of films throughout his time in Hollywood. He would need all of these attributes to tackle this, his largest film ever, but his hard work eventually paid off, as he was awarded Best Director. "Giant" is not simply a bloated Hollywood epic, however. The film contains a powerful subtext which runs throughout, that of racial tolerance, which separates it from other hollow, superficial Hollywood spectacles of the time. This can be attributed to George Stevens, who was also responsible for "A Place in the Sun", "The Diary of Anne Frank" and "Shane", all three films which, for their time, took unflinching looks at the evils of society. This is what elevates "Giant" however, what distinctly places it in the realm of Old Hollywood is the stars.

Rock Hudson, in a rare challenging role, not clowning with Doris Day, is Jordan Benedict, owner of Reata, one of the largest ranches in Texas and also one of the richest. Sprawled over 595,000 acres, and home to some 50,000 head of cattle, Reata is not so much a place, as it is a state of mind to Jordan and its inhabitants. It is big, old, and rich. Those three adjectives make up how Jordan Benedict sees himself, Reata being an extension of him, and this does not sit well with his new wife, Leslie. Leslie comes from Maryland and is at first ignorant of Texas custom, then decides to fight it. She frequently quarrels with her husband over his indifference towards the Mexican ranch hands and house servants, who live in a poor, disease riddled village on the fringes of the Benedict land. She also chafes at the position Jordan would prefer she stay in, as the quiet, subservient Texas wife. Their marriage is virtually saved by the birth of the children, first twins, then later another girl. Shortly after though, Leslie is again challenged by Jordan's "old ways" preference, and she takes their children back to Maryland with her, for a "break" from Jordan, but also for a break from Texas. Initially arriving in Texas, Leslie was a headstrong idealist but did not have the physical makeup to match. This was a point of frequent contention with Jordan's sister, Lux, who regarded Leslie with mild scorn, and subtly tried to keep her from adjusting. After her untimely death however, Leslie assumes more of a command role at Reata, but still cannot avoid disputes with Jordan. Showing the first signs of the overall softening of his stubborn character, Jordan comes to Maryland, literally hat in hand, and asks Leslie to come back to Texas. She tells him she has not changed, and to her pleasant surprise Jordan says that is fine, he simply wants his wife back. This is merely the first significant change Jordan will undergo in the latter half of the film.

The second half of the film is devoted to Jordan's other major problem: Jett Rink. A troublesome ranch hand, Jett loathes Jordan, (the feeling is mutual), and when he finds that Lux left him a small patch of land in the middle of Reata, he smugly refuses to sell it back to Jordan, even for the inflated rate Jordan is offering. He would much rather be a literal thorn in Jordan's side, and takes wicked delight in the displeasure it causes Jordan. The problem of Jett Rink is exponentially made worse when Jett strikes oil on his land, now dubbed Little Reata, becoming a billionaire over night. Now it is Jett in the position of buying, and he offers exorbitant sums to purchase more of Reata, the dollar signs dancing in his eyes as he imagines the gold mine Jordan is too stubborn to realize. Jordan is steadfast about using his land as a ranch, not as an oil field, and the fued between the two takes grows to Texas sized proportions.

Eventually Jett, with a government contract in his pocket, convinces Jordan to relinquish some of Reata. By this point Jordan's world is crumbling, and losing some of Reata is simply another chink in the armor. His son, Jordan Benedict III, becomes a doctor, turning his back on the life Jordan had pre-destined for him: assuming control of Reata. He also marries a Mexican girl, something Jordan cannot comprehend, but simply goes along with. His twin sister marries a simpleton farmer whom Jordan initially dislikes, then resents even more for refusing to take over Reata, preferring something smaller and simpler. And finally, the youngest daughter, Lux, channeling her namesake, finds she prefers the company of Jett Rink. Jordan tolerates a lot in his old age, but he blindly ignores his daughter's blossoming romance with the now thoroughly deranged (or maybe that was just how James Dean played him?) Jett Rink, and creates a huge scene at the opening of Jett's new downtown Dallas hotel, much to Lux' embaressment. The film ends with Jordan's world in pieces. His three children are spread to the winds, all of them rejecting life on Reata. His grandchildren are part Mexican, forcing Jordan to embrace a people he had all his life treated with equal parts indifference and ignorance. All he has left is Leslie to keep him company as he enters his twilight years, Reata's twilight years, because after all, the ranch is an extension of Jordan. Jordan finally realizes he has changed, because, literally, Texas has changed.

The Ten Commandments

2005-08-14T13:18:00.000-07:00

I would say the title of "biggest" epic ever would go to either MGM's "Ben-Hur", 20th Century Fox's "Cleopatra" or Paramount's "The Ten Commandments". What separates "The Ten Commandments" from the former two films is its director, Cecil B. DeMille. William Wyler, director of "Ben-Hur" was an extremely capable Hollywood veteran, he had even served as an assistant director on the 1925 version of "Ben-Hur", and handled the immense production about as well as could be expected of something so physically and financially big. Joseph L. Mankiewicz, director of "Cleopatra", was a sophisticated writer-director who almost immediately was swallowed up by the soap opera of making such an epic film. The end result, while extremely competent, bears the mark of a troubled production, albeit one funded with a blank check. That leaves "The Ten Commandments", directed by legendary showman Cecil B. DeMille. DeMille's strategy on his films was to anticipate problems, a sentiment which served him extremely well as he was almost always undertaking a film of prohibitive cost and scope. Thus when the day called for the frame to be filled with thousands of extras, human and animal alike, as the Exodus sequence does in "The Ten Commandments", DeMille was perfectly in control, and no matter what drawback, such as the heart attack he suffered while scaling a ladder to examine a mounted camera for this very scene, the production would continue. Nearly all of his films are big, but this is clearly his biggest, and would also be his last film, and what a fitting epitaph for his career that he would go out having made arguably the "biggest" epic of them all.

While not "the greatest story ever told", that distinction going to the life of Christ (a subject biblical auteur DeMille had already tackled once before with "King of Kings" in 1927, and would be revisited by fellow gargantuan filmmaker George Stevens in "The Greatest Story Ever Told" in 1965), the story of Exodus is still quite compelling and DeMille, through his own opening introduction, puts a contemporary spin on the biblical tale, citing this as the beginning of the fight against slavery and inequality. The story really is quite perfect (whoever was writing down these stories really knew some good ones): a prophecy warns the Pharaoh, Sethi, that one among the enslaved Jewish people will rise against him, destroying Egypt. An order goes out that all newborn slave babies be killed, but one is spared, Moses, who is put adrift in the Nile, washing ashore at the palace of the Pharaoh himself, where his mysterious arrival is kept secret by his adoptive mother, Bithiah, Sethi's sister. Raised as "Prince of Egypt", Moses is completely ignorant who he really is, yet he is markedly different from his "brother" Ramses. Moses, played with conviction by Charlton Heston, is compassionate (he gives the slaves the Egyptian grain surplus and allows them to observe their Sabbath day), a stark contrast to the cold, cruel Ramses, played by the physically imposing Yul Bryner. After learning of his true identity Moses refutes Sethi's decree that he pledge himself to the Egyptians and not the Hebrews, and is put into exile by Ramses. He stumbles upon a kindly desert chieftain, Jethro, and marries his oldest daughter, Sephora. While in exile, Moses keeps hearing stories of Ramses' crulety to the Jews, his people, in Egypt, but refuses to believe he is their deliverer. Only after scaling the summit of Mount Sinai, where he encounters the burning bush, does Moses dare return to Egypt, filled with the power and (this being the Old Testament) wrath of God.

The final third of the film is the most powerful and impressive. It is here where DeMille truly earns his title as master showman. Upon his return to Egypt, Moses issues his famous decree to Ramses: "Let my people go!". Ramses scoffs at him, dismissing the omen of Moses staff turning into a snake and swallowing that of Ramses' whole. Though it clearly breaks his heart, after all, Moses still considers Ramses his brother, even if Ramses has long forgotten it, Moses imposes the ten plauges of Egypt, via God's might. He turns the river Nile into blood, sends flies, locusts and pestilence that kills all the Egyptian animals and crops, and launches a hailstorm that turns to a massive fire. Throughout all of this, Ramses' stubborness to be bested by some "heathen" god, prohibits him from letting the Jews go free, despite the growing concern among his people that maybe Moses really is the administrator of a force more powerful than their own heathen gods. The final plauge is the worst and cows even Ramses' fierce pride. Believing he will crush the Hebrew's faith in Moses, Ramses states that the first born of every Jewish family will be put to death. The final plauge, Moses warns, will turn into whatever Ramses threatens, thus the Angel of Death (portrayed by a streaking white light) comes into Egypt, leaving a trail of wailing and crying. Sparing only the Jews (who marked their homes with lamb's blood, thus creating the Passover ritual), the plauge has now personally hit Ramses, whose young son was killed.

Wracked with guilt, he permits Moses and the Hebrews to leave Egypt. DeMille fills the Exodus sequence with thousands of extras, throwing a cameo to his old friend H.B. Warner, who was his Jesus almost 30 years before in "King of Kings". The Hebrews make it to the Red Sea before Pharaoh's forces, in one last attempt to impose the might of their Egyptian gods, corner them. Moses famously parts the Red Sea (a sequence which single-handedly won the special effects supervisor an Oscar), then closes it on Pharoah's army. Ramses returns in shock to Egypt, where he utters my favorite line of the entire film "His God IS God". The Hebrews now free of the pursuing Egyptian army almost betray Moses while he once again climbs Mount Sinai to collect the Ten Commandments. The Jewish traitor Dathan (played with suitable ham by Edward G. Robinson, in my opinion equivalent to having Dennis Hopper appear in "Schindler's List") nearly convinces the Hebrews to return to Egypt, constructing a massive golden calf to offer to Ramses to sate his wrath. When Moses returns (the Ten Commandments sequence is equally impressive, the writing etched in stone by lightning) he deplores the Hebrews actions, and finally leads them from their ignorance to the Promised Land. I realize that this post has been extremely long, but I feel it is fitting for a 220 minute film, one that, if not the greatest story ever told, is surely the "second"; but also for my money the "biggest" story ever told!

The Sound of Music

2005-08-14T12:58:00.000-07:00

I don't know if anyone realizes that with its domestic gross adjusted for inflation, this movie has grossed approximately $800 million dollars. And while "Singin' in the Rain" is still my vote for greatest musical of all time, this statistic leaves no doubt that "The Sound of Music" is the most successful and beloved musical of all time. An irresistable star turn by Julie Andrews as care free nun/governess Maria, a terrific, instantly memorable score by Rodgers and Hammerstein, and incredibly lush scenery and locations, these are a few of my favorite things! Already a smash hit on Broadway, the film version was sure to be a blockbuster, and 20th Century Fox pulled out all of the stops, garnering Best Picture for their efforts. Today, while "The Sound of Music" is associated with the highest of corn, it is easy to forget just how great this movie is. The performances are all top notch, including the aforementioned Julie Andrews, who scored her second overwhelming success in a family friendly movie musical, after "Mary Poppins", as well as Christopher Plummer as the von Trapp patriarch who runs his family as tight as he did the ships in his Navy, former screen siren Eleanor Parker as the beautiful but cold Baroness, and the perfectly cast and brilliantly portrayed children, all seven of them. The score is one of the most famous ever, boasting such classics as "Do Re Mi", "My Favorite Things", "Edelweiss", "Climb Ev'ry Mountain" and the title number. And this being the age of epics, the film was shot on location in Salzburg, Austria, and the stunning mountain locales and stately mansions add a powerful element to the production.

As the film opens, Maria is singing "The Sound of Music", and it is the perfect introduction to her character. She is vibrant, imaginative, and also forgetful, as she is slapped with the realization that she is late for afternoon prayer at the convent where she lives. As Maria races back into town we are greeted with another introductory song for Maria, entitled "Maria", in which the nuns describe someone who is careless, forgetful, and ditzy. The important thing her Mother Superior notes though, is that Maria has a good heart, and that she yearns to be free, which is why she sets Maria up with the von Trapp family as the childrens' nanny. At first Maria is scared of leaving the convent, and her doubts are magnified by the childrens' initial disdain towards Maria; putting pine cones on her seat at dinner and scaring her with frogs. This is nothing compared to the cold reception Maria initially gets from the Captain. Maria immediately draws his ire by refusing to answer to a whistle call, as all seven of the children do. With these anxieties in mind, Maria gratefully bonds with the children during a thunderstorm, singing "My Favorite Things" to them. The children now adore Maria and soon she has them singing and dancing all throughout Salzburg, done in a tremendous montage set to "Do Re Mi". When the Captain finds out his children are traipsing around town dressed in "play clothes" Maria made from old curtains, he is furious. Maria knows the Captain really loves his children and she implores him to let them have a little fun. The truth is the Captain has more pressing matters on his mind, including romantic implications with the Baroness, a woman the children despise and Maria politely defers to, as well as the ominous advances of Nazi Germany, which the fiercely patriotic Captain has tried to avoid at all costs.

Ultimately Maria and the Captain fall in love, resolving the issue of the Baroness, however Nazi Germany is not so easily stopped. The von Trapp's conspire to flee Austria, which will soon be completely under Nazi rule, but the night of their escape, coincidentily the same night the family wins a local music festival, they are betrayed by oldest daughter Liesl's boyfriend, Rolfe, who has joined the Hitler Youth. They manage escape but their mode of transportation is compromised, forcing the family to flee to the Alps, where they incredibly walk to safety. This ending is quite fantastic and would seem unbelievable, but is a true story, the entire family emerged in tact in Switzerland, making their feat even more remarkable. The film was a smash success with critics and audiences alike, winning five Oscars and grossing nearly ten times its budget, a feat virtually non-existent in today's Hollywood save for only the cheapest of indie successes. Some other interesting notes of the film: Marnie Nixon, who made a career out of dubbing major Hollywood actresses such as Audrey Hepburn, Natalie Wood and Deborah Kerr, has a small role as one of the nuns in the opening scene. Needless to say Julie Andrews did not need anyone dubbing her singing in this, or any other film. The original Broadway stars, Mary Martin and Theodore Bikel, were given passing consideration at best. Mary Martin, however, served as a co-producer of the film, and this shrewd move would eventually net her tens of millions of dollars. Theodore Bikel, who had a very nice stage career, never really translated that into screen notoriety. Perhaps his most lasting movie role is as Zoltan Karpathy, the "dreadful Hungarian" who until Eliza Doolittle was Professor Higgins' greatest pupil. Before agreeing on Christopher Plummer, the studio considered Yul Bryner, Sean Connery and Richard Burton for the role of the Captain and allegedly considered Audrey Hepburn for the role of Maria, in addition to Doris Day, who nearly secured the role herself. As was the case with almost all Hollywood epics, amidst all the cast permutations, directing changes (William Wyler segued to Robert Wise) and script revisions, the end product came out brilliantly unscathed, and remains a seminal childrens classic to this day.

The Maltese Falcon

2005-07-28T15:21:00.000-07:00

Upon his arrival in Hollywood, Humphrey Bogart had essentially been reduced to playing bad guys, appearing in countless Warner Bros. stock company productions, usually in gangster movies. He had significant supporting roles in "Angels With Dirty Faces" and "The Roaring Twenties" and towards the latter end of the 1930's finally cracked through with some starring roles, in "The Petrified Forest" and "High Sierra", but both of these roles were ambiguously heroic at best. It was not until the 1941 production of Dashiell Hammett's hard boiled detective novel, "The Maltese Falcon" that Bogart was elevated to full blown leading man status. As brilliant and bitter detective Sam Spade, Humphrey Bogart would create his best and most vivid screen persona, until he eclipsed it a year later in "Casablanca" and then traded off it as Phillip Marlowe in "The Big Sleep". But it was here first that Humphrey Bogart's star first exploded into the realm of Hollywood royalty.

Like any good hard boiled detective story, the plot is not what it first appears. Initially Spade and his partner are contracted to follow a man, a simple enough request in the private eye business. When Spade's partner turns up dead later that night while tailing the man however, Spade finds himself first suspected by the San Francisco police, and gradually gets drawn into a web of intrigue involving femme fatale Mary Astor as Brigid O'Shaughnessy and an assorted cast of characters, all of whom are desperately searching for the titular Maltese Falcon. As only a hard boiled detective can, Spade keeps everyone off of his back, while working to the bottom of the mystery. The deeper Spade digs the more he finds out about the lady he thought he was protecting, Ms. O'Shaughnessy, who it turns out has been frantically trekking across the globe, doggedly pursued by Kaspar Gutman, and his two henchmen Joel Cairo and Wilmer Cook. The falcon itself is a 16th century golden bird, studded with precious gems, but coated in a black enamel to distort its true value. Many have died tried to find this bird, and O'Shaughnessy and Gutman are two of the most ruthless people hot on the bird's trail, and it is just Sam Spade's luck that they turned up in San Francisco looking for it, the violence and intrigue netting Spade in the process. By the end of the film, a fake bird has been revealed, Gutman and his goons are bound for some new exotic location following a tip, and O'Shaughnessy is in the hands of the San Francisco police, via the hands of Sam Spade himself. As only Bogart can, he tells the prison bound O'Shaughnessy that he will wait for her, then casually goes back to sipping his gin and smoking his cigarettes, as if he kisses girls off to Alcatraz everyday.

The beauty of this film lies in its character work. Sam Spade and Rick Blaine might as well be the same character, just in different locations. Both are noble but loathe admit it. Both are extremely cynical and bitter, yet are bound to romantic deeds and actions. Both are tough and smart, playing multiple sides off of each other until a safe (for your's truly of course) resolution presents itself. The film too utilizes many of the same noirish elements that later turn up in "Casablanca", specifically smoky interiors and a brilliant use of darkness and shadow. Another notable similarity is the presence of Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre, working together here for the first time. The duo would later appear in eight other films together, becoming a B movie odd couple duo, what with Greenstreet's imposing girth and Lorre's pitiful appearance. The weak link here however is Mary Astor as Brigid O'Shaughnessy. While she plays the damsel in distress part adequately, the few scenes she is required to carry as the femme fatale are not as convincing as say Barbara Stanwyck in "Double Indemnity" or Rita Hayworth in "Gilda". Physically both are more appealing, and both display the necessary backbone required for the part of a conniving, scheming woman. While Mary Astor does not ruin the film, even more remarkable considering this was John Huston's directorial debut, her presence does weaken it, however Bogart is in impeccable form, Dashiell Hammett's mystery is top notch (what else to expect from the man who also gave us Nick and Nora?) and the supporting cast is also perfect. For these reasons, "The Maltese Falcon" is an extremely worthy detective story, after all, it's "the stuff dreams are made of".

Some Like it Hot

2005-07-28T14:43:00.000-07:00

When considering the legacy of a comedy, obviously one of the most important traits a movie must display to be worthy of "classic" status from generation to generation is "is it still funny?" If the movie is dated the humor of the film usually suffers. Concessions can be made though, when considering a film's historical significance. This is where "Some Like it Hot" adamently maintains its "classic" status. To say that this film is dated though, does it a disservice. The jokes and gags still hold up brilliantly, however the film's main conceit, that stars Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis dress as women for the majority of the film, today seems dated. This ties into my second point however. While Billy Wilder was hardly the first director to realize the comedic potential of putting a man in a wig and a dress, his spin on it has to be recognized as the blueprint for how to successfully pull it off, mining it for as many laughs as it will yield. Dozens of imitators have come and gone in the 45 years since its release in 1959, but revisiting Billy Wilder's seminal cross-dressing comedy is well worth the time.

The film, unlike most screwball comedies, has a surprisingly strong and succinct plot. Musicians Joe and Jerry (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon, respectively) witness the infamous Saint Valentine's Day Massacre in Chicago. Fearing for their lives the two become Josephine and Daphne and join Sweet Sue's Society Syncopaters, an all girl band bound for Miami Beach. Among the obvious problems and complications that arise simply trying to maintain their masculine selves, Joe falls for Sugar Kane, the volutuous singer/ukelale player of the band, played (in an art imitating life manner) by Marilyn Monroe, and randy old millionaire Osgood Fielding III falls for Daphne. The genius of Billy Wilder's comedy writing is wonderfully apparent during the film's time in Miami, specifically Joe's plan to win over Sugar. In another gender bending switch, Joe becomes "Junior" a Cary Grant-esque playboy who "can't fall in love". Shrewdly utilizing vacant yachts and perfectly nailing Grant's cockney accent and "Bringing Up Baby"'s tortoise shell glasses Joe manages to seduce Sugar Kane into falling in love with him, as Junior of course. Jerry, however, while initially keen on marrying a millionaire, soon finds his attention drawn to another problem: Spats Colombo, the Al Capone-esque mob boss of Chicago, has chosen the resort hotel Joe and Jerry are staying at with the band as his meeting place for a convening of Mafioso. Joe and Jerry of course avoid Spats, played with coin-flipping flair by George Raft as a parody of....himself, and Joe ends up revealing his identity, his real one, to Sugar, while Jerry tries desperately to convince Osgood that marriage would never work, finally informing him that he's a man, prompting Osgood's classic final line "Nobody's perfect".

While I mentioned earlier that Marilyn Monroe plays Sugar in an art-imitating-life manner, the truth is that the vulnerability and melancholy that plague Sugar are the same demons that cursed Monroe through much of her life. Despite being beautiful and talented, Sugar cannot find love and happiness, a perfect summation of Monroe's tumultuous love life, which saw her married three times; her husbands included baseball superstar Joe DiMaggio, and powerhouse playwright Arthur Miller, as well as numerous (alleged and substantiated) affairs, most famously both Kennedy brothers. While Sugar eventually does find Joe, Monroe's life unfortunately did not end with the same happiness, as she was found dead of an apparent suicidal drug overdose just three years after "Some Like it Hot" was released. It is extremely telling that as her career (what would turn out to be) wound down, Monroe's characters became more and more reflective of herself, and it is no surprise that she was the studio's choice to play Holly Golightly. While I do not know if this would have been the right choice, Truman Capote's novella is definitely darker and more melancholy than Blake Edwards' film, and perhaps Monroe's channeling of her own inner demons would have translated extremely well into the emotionally scarred Holly. We will never know; instead we are left with the roles of Sugar Kane and her role in "The Misfits" another somber, late career "comedy" in which the real Marilyn Monroe truly inhabits her roles, an ominous sign of the tragedy which would soon follow.

The Searchers

2005-07-27T10:47:00.000-07:00

One of the most melodramatic, melancholy westerns ever, this came in the latter half of John Ford and John Wayne's careers. After making a living (and a legacy) directing and starring in westerns, respectively, often working with each other, the two collaborated here to create a deconstruction of the Western myth. John Wayne's Ethan Edwards is no different from many of his other characters: a natrual born leader, war hero, gunslinger, tough, brave, but also an outcast. This is where John Ford dared to break new ground. Ethan Edwards is such a similar character, yet so strikingly different. His family is scared and confused by him: he disappears for years at time, is indiscriminately violent and malevolent towards Native Americans (this in itself is a key difference from many Ford and Wayne films, where Native Americans were often portrayed in a more sympathetic light, mostly because Ford forged friendships with many tribes, using them as extras and on his crews for many years), and his titular mission of finding his missing niece borders on an unhealthy obsession. Many of the John Ford elements are on display here as well, including: spectacular Monument Valley landscapes, Ward Bond's presence, and an overarching theme of family and reunion, but still, the character of Ethan Edwards dominates the entire proceedings.

After returning to his brother's family's ranch, several years after the end of the Civil War, in which time it is alluded to that Ethan had been doing mercenary work, Ethan finds himself alienated from his brother and sister-in-law, whom he secretly loves. Shortly after his return the family is massacred by a Comanche war party and the youngest of the children, Ethan's niece Debbie, is kidnapped by the tribe. Ethan vows to find her and bring her back, and the man who loves her, half-breed half-brother Martin, pledges his service to his "uncle" Ethan. Ethan is an extremely complicated man however, he resents Martin's mere presence (owing to the Indian blood which runs through his veins), and a simple (in theory) resuce mission becomes a five year obsession, in which Ethan searches virtually every inch of the American South West, before taking his crusade into Mexico. Never really going on much more than hearsay and hunches, Ethan soon fixates his vengeance on the figure of Scar, the war chief of the Comanche tribe that took Debbie and killed his brother's family. Throughout their search Ethan's behavior becomes incresingly violent (he ruthlessly shoots as many buffalo as he can in the hopes of starving as many Comanche as he can), and Martin becomes increasingly concerned that Ethan intends to kill Debbie upon finding her, since she undoubtedly would have been "corrupted" by her time spent with the Comanche. Finally, after tracking Scar deep into Mexico, Ethan and Martin find Debbie, resulting in a climactic chase where Martin valiantly puts himself in the way of Debbie and the wrathful Ethan. Humanity wins Ethan over though, as he cannot bring himself to kill his niece and the trio somberly returns to the ranching community where they set out from so many years ago.

The reunion now intact, one would think that John Ford would be content to let the film play out "into the sunset", with the happy couple reunited, Ethan redeemed, etc, but instead, keeping with Ethan's ambiguous character and the film's tonal deconstruction of the western mythology, the film ends with Ethan perhaps even more of an outcast than he was when the film began. As the film ends Ethan slips out from the party and steps through the front door in one of the most iconic shots in cinema history. The void between him and his reunited family is dramatically portrayed in the space of a few feet as he steps out from the festive atmosphere in the house to the bright, wide open spaces before him of Monument Valley. Ethan pauses for a moment by the front door, clutches his arm (in a nod to his late friend Harry Carey), then continues on, leaving behind the family he spent five years of brutal searching to reunite. The statement is grim but bold, Ethan has no place in a happy family. This is not the family's fault, he simply is filled with too much hatred and too much vengeance to ever be contented with a normal happy life of settling down and farming. Whereas John Wayne's characters usually end up happily in the arms of a young lady, the town villain dead, Ethan Edwards returns to the wilderness, to the roaming expanses of the southwestern desert, where he truly is home. This film is the first of the John Ford/John Wayne reflective, deconstructionist westerns they would make in the later 1950's and into the 1960's; among others are "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance", "Cheyenne Autumn" and "How the West Was Won". All are exceptional, especially considering their contrast to the gung-ho, jingoistic Westerns they two had become famous for, and this sentiment of their "need to tell the real story of the West" is brilliantly realized in that stunning final shot.

Duck Soup

2005-07-27T08:35:00.000-07:00

Only in a Marx Brothers movie could a man named Rufus T. Firefly be president of a country. Only in a Marx Brothers movie would someone who looked like Groucho be president of a country. But that is the nature of the Marx Brothers. They took the inexplicable and played it for laughs, a full 40 years before irony and irreverance was a standard form of comedy. While most of their comedy was based on slapstick and word play (all of it funny mind you), when they really set out to lampoon a sacred institution, in this case politics, they proved themselves to be masters of satire and social humor. Rufus T. Firefly, for instance, insists he must go to war because "I've already paid a month's rent on the battlefield". He also instructs one of his subordinates to build trenches six feet deep so they won't need any soldiers. It is jokes like these that set the Marx Brothers apart from other, different comics of the time. Not to take anything away from the genius of Chaplin or Keaton, but their comedy was more predicated on emotion and pathos. The Marx Brothers could seemingly care less about making you cry, or think. All they wanted from their audience was laughter. All of their movies are funny, but in movies like "Duck Soup" and their other classic "A Night at the Opera", the Marx Brothers pushed the bar into the stratosphere, with countless jokes, gags, and pratfalls.

The film opens with the coronation for new dictator Rufus T. Firefly, who of course has overslept and arrives via firemen's pole. Relations with neighboring Sylvania are strained and Firefly is not exactly a diplomatic diplomat. Prone to insulting anyone and everyone, he makes quick work of Sylvania's ambassador Trentino, who has designs on the Freedonian throne and its biggest patron, Mrs. Teasdale. Trentino, representing the much stronger nation of Sylvania, would still prefer to marry Mrs. Teasdale and peacefully segue onto the Freedonian throne, but Firefly proves to be more of a challenge than he anticipated and soon the two countries are preparing for war. To help the Sylvanian attack Trentino enlists two spies, Chicolini and Pinky, to infiltrate Freedonia and steal military secrets. That is all well and good, except the two spies happen to be the clueless Chico and the silent Harpo, who spend more time frustrating a lemonade vendor than they do shadowing Firefly. As the film progresses little things like plot and characterization become less and less of a priority as the jokes and gags continue to pile up. In one scene Firefly is offering Chicolini a post in his cabinet, and the next he's on trial for espionage. The trial scene is a hilarious example of Marx Brothers nonsense. Groucho, always playing foil to some stuffed shirt, inexplicably comes to Chicolini's defense and then leads the entire congregation, err, courtroom in a bizarre folksy rendition of "Freedonia's Going to War!", complete with choreographed dance moves. What follows is in my opinion the Marx Brothers greatest sustained sequence from all of their films.

The final "war" scene is literally overflowing with gags and jokes. After Firefly calls in the reserves (cut to men, women, children, dogs, cats, monkeys, elephants, etc.) we cut to presumably the last safe house in Freedonia, where Firefly, Chicolini, Pinky, Bob Roland (boring name for the boring Marx, Zeppo) and Mrs. Teasdale are desperately avoiding the Sylvanian assault. Peppered throughout this sequence are 1) Pinky "combing the countryside for new recuits" (walking amidts tanks and bombs with a sandwich board that reads 'Join the Navy, See the World!'), 2) Pinky getting locked in a closet full of explosives which of course all go off, 3) Firefly wearing five different military costumes (my favorite being the Davy Crockett ensemble) and getting a large water jug stuck on his head, which Pinky helps identify as Firefly by drawing his likeness on it, 4) Groucho keeping score of the number of Sylvanian troops the men disengage as he would a billiards game, then declaring game when they capture Trentino, and 5) pelting Trentino with fruit until Mrs. Teasdale begins wailing the Freedonian anthem, then turning the fruit on her. This extended, bravura sequence is a worthy finale for the Marx Brothers, for after this film their careers, while thriving for almost another decade, were never the same. "Duck Soup" was the Brothers last film for Paramount, and with their change to MGM came momentum-killing musical numbers (not the silly irreverent tunes all of their Paramount films had), silly romantic subplots (usually involving Kitty Carlisle and Alan Jones and said momentum-killing musical numbers) and no Zeppo, which frankly, was not really a loss. The Marx Brothers definitely reached their zenith with "Duck Soup", but for several years were still going strong at MGM with "A Night at the Opera", "A Day at the Races", and the underrated "At the Circus". But pound for pound, "Duck Soup" is their funniest, most sustained comedic masterpiece. "Hail! Hail, Freedonia!"

Mary Poppins

2005-07-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

This movie smacks of Walt Disney. The imagination, innovation, creativity, and emotion are all Disney trademarks, and this was one of the last films Disney himself personally oversaw throughout production. That being said, I do not know how much of P.L. Travers' book actually appears here on screen and how much sprang from the mind of Walt Disney, but I am willing to bet that Disney endowed this film with plenty. One thing he can definitely be credited for: shrewdly casting Julie Andrews in her first leading role, after the much ballyhooed fallout from "My Fair Lady", Andrews was a star waiting to happen, and Disney rolled the dice by putting an otherwise unproven box office draw in his lavish and extremely expensive production. Walt Disney's imagination is definitely the showcase here, but so much of this movie is perfect, specifically the casting of Dick Van Dyke as jack-of-all-trades Bert, David Tomlinson as the frustrated Banks patriarch, and Jane Darwell, in her last role, as the "bird woman", and the Sherman Brothers wonderful score. So many of these songs are still used today in children's videos and materials, not to mention frequently revived for various Disney endeavors. "Step in Time", "Spoonful of Sugar", "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious", "Let's Go Fly a Kite", "Jolly Holliday" and "Chim Chim Cheree" are some of my personal favorites. To fully discuss a movie like this, with so many little asides, gags, and spurts of imagination, let alone the bravura set pieces like the extended scene within the chalk painting, and the knockout song-and-dance number on the rooftops of London at the end of the film, would require much more space than I have here. To anyone who has not seen this film then, let this be a hearty recommendation, and to those who have, simply a recounting of how "practically perfect" it is.

As the film opens Bert introduces us to Cherry Tree Lane, where the unhappy Banks' household is. Mr. Banks is a grumpy, exasperated father of two, who has no time for his children and devotes all of his attention to pleasing his impossible bosses at the Bank. Mrs. Banks is a little more sympathetic than Mr. Banks, but she too virtually ignores her children, spending her time marching and rallying for womens' suffrage. Viewing this from high above London on a cloud is Mary Poppins, and she descends with quite a flourish, blowing away the multitude of nannies who have lined up at the Banks' house to assume responsibility of Jane and Michael. Mary Poppins barely gives Mr. Banks a moment to speak and before he can protest any further she is sliding up the bannister, to the shock of the children. Mary Poppins immediately dazzles the children with her tricks, pulling potted plants and 5 foot tall lamps out of her hand bag, and making beds make themselves and toys put themselves away simply by snapping her fingers. But nothing the children see prepares them for or could compare to their leap into a chalk drawing. Together with Bert, the amiable renaissance man who befriends the children, the quartet leap into Bert's drawing of an idyllic country setting, enjoying a ride on a merry go-round, dancing with penguin waiters, and partcipating in a fox hunt come horse race, which of course Mary Poppins wins.

The second half of the film is a bit darker, as Mary Poppins' real motive becomes apparent: she appeared to help reunite the Banks family, not to be the children's permenant nanny. After a series of emotional and intense episodes, Mary Poppins heartbreaking song "Feed the Birds", the children go to work with their father, inadvertently cause a panic at the Bank and run away, causing Mr. Banks to be fired and humiliated, the film upticks in grand Disney fashion. Bert finds the children in a dark alley, and together with Mary Poppins takes them on a tour of London from a perspective they never could have imagined: its rooftops. Traveling via staircases made of black smoke the children then are treated to the rousing "11:00 number" "Step in Time" by a multitude of chimney sweeps, which spills down into the living room of the Banks house. By this point Mr. Banks has returned to his home utterly devastated (the scene in which he is dismissed from the bank is almost comical in its cruelty. The bank's cranky manager's son turns Mr. Banks' umbrella inside out, crumples the flower in his lapel and punches a hole through his bowler hat) and wanders into the basement. The children are also depressed because they see the how distraught their father is and because Mary Poppins will be leaving the next morning. When they awake however they get an extremely pleasant surprise: Mr. Banks had spent the entire night in the basement fixing the children's kite and the film ends as the whole family, seemingly the whole of London, goes to fly a kite. Mary Poppins, her work done, takes off in the same way she landed, presumably back to her cloud, waiting to work wonders for another estranged family. And so ends in my opinion the best family film ever.