Top 50 of 1940s January 31, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1940s , 9 comments
The unofficial Criterion forum has been conducting a “Lists Project” for a couple of years now. Members submit a list of 50 films from a particular decade every few months and the results are tallied into the top 100 vote getters. At the end of January, a new list for films from the 1940s will be compiled and I’ve been studiously watching and re-watching as many titles from that decade as possible. I thought I would share my contribution, which probably reaches into old Hollywood, especially film noir, more than many of the other members’ lists since that’s what interests me most from the decade. There are still a few notable films I’ve not yet seen due to unavailability, such as several classics of Italian Neorealism, but I feel pleased enough with my final list. I’ve included some brief thoughts on each title, a few of which I’ve also previously discussed.
1.) Citizen Kane (Welles, 1941) - Too easy? Perhaps, but Welles’ achievement is undeniable and his masterpiece makes almost every other film of the decade look like a relic of the past while Kane remains as fresh and vibrant as ever. It’s Welles’ own performance, especially in the film’s first half, that pushes Kane past its technological innovations and into a remarkably modern and vital piece of cinema. The perfect American film.
2.) Notorious (Hitchcock, 1946) - Hitchcock’s first true masterpiece. Cary Grant, inching further away from his persona without abandoning it, and Ingrid Bergman have incredible chemistry as possibly the best romantic couple in a Hitchcock film. Grant, in particular, is very effective as the emotionally conflicted Devlin. “Dry your eyes baby, it’s out of character.”
3.) Double Indemnity (Wilder, 1944) - The true quintessential film noir and a breakthrough for Wilder that established his unmatched versatility and set up scores of pale imitations. Somehow withstands the test of time despite numerous rip-offs and parodies; also managed to inspire a very good pseudo-spin off 35 years later with Body Heat.
4.) The Palm Beach Story (Sturges, 1942) - My favorite of Sturges’ great screwball comedies; Claudette Colbert and Joel McCrea are perfect embodiments of the Sturges style and this is the funniest of his many classics. Just thinking about the Ale and Quail Club puts me in stitches.
5.) It’s a Wonderful Life (Capra, 1946) - My favorite film of any of these, but I controlled myself on placing it higher since even I realize it’s probably not the best picture of the decade. Unfairly maligned by film snobs for its sentimentality (which is an unearned criticism since it’s much darker than its reputation), it affects me like no other film I’ve seen. One of the definitive post-war Hollywood classics and an incredible come back vehicle for Jimmy Stewart, who hadn’t made a movie for five years while on active duty for the U.S. Army Air Corps.
6.) Monsieur Verdoux (Chaplin, 1947) - I can’t possibly imagine how audiences felt after seeing their beloved Charlie Chaplin, the little tramp who had last been seen wickedly mocking Hitler, as a cold-blooded bluebeard, murdering innocent old women for their wealth. An incredibly daring and quite successful attempt at pitch black comedy from Chaplin that obliterates the sentimental tag with which he’s often labeled.
7.) Casablanca (Curtiz, 1942) - A film most everyone loves, which hinders it among arty, contrarian circles, but well deserved of its bedrock status as a classic. Still incredibly enjoyable to watch with a little bit of everything that we enjoy in movies (laughs, action, romance, intrigue, etc.).
8.) Beauty and the Beast (Cocteau, 1946) - A magical fairy tale that remains an enchanting film experience. If I can fall under its spell then any movie lover can most definitely succumb to its charming story and visual feast.
9.) The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (Huston, 1948) - Bogart appears quite a bit on my list and rightfully so, as he had an incredible string of successes in the decade, but his performance as Fred C. Dobbs is the pinnacle of his career in my mind. Huston’s portrait of greed is unmatched in American cinema and Bogart’s refusal to be pigeonholed in the good guy role was nearly unheard of for a major Hollywood star. His risk in playing the crazed and mostly unsympathetic character pays off, even if Academy voters inexplicably denied him even a nomination.
10.) His Girl Friday (Hawks, 1940) - My favorite Cary Grant comedy and the fast-paced, rapid-fire dialogue is used to perfection by Hawks. Look for the unforgettable tongue-in-cheek lines apparently ad-libbed by Grant referencing Ralph Bellamy (whose character is described as looking like the actor) and Archie Leach (Grant’s real name).
Sergeant York January 28, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1940s , 2 comments
It seems there are two camps regarding Sergeant York
Like Alvin York, I was born and raised in small town Tennessee and, despite my upbringing occurring nearly a century after his, I can still recognize much of the community we see in Sergeant York. No, I’ve never referred to cattle as “beef critters” before and my grammar and speech may be more easily deciphered than the characters in the film, but I think the basic essence is displayed fairly. This is in refreshing contrast to the treatment of the Southern United States on film in so many other movies and television shows. It’s somewhat difficult, even sixty-five years later, to come up with many portraits of the South that do not include ridicule, inaccuracy or the Tennessee Williams-ization of the region. The people of the Appalachian area portrayed in Hawks’ film have faced even more disrespect over time, in the form of everything from Ma and Pa Kettle to The Beverly Hillbillies.
The folksy, salt of the earth people that populate Sergeant York are special in film history because they are not marginalized or looked down upon for being ignorant of other societies. The arrival of the state newspaper is awaited for local news mentions instead of the glaring front page story on the war in Europe because, to the small corner of the world inhabited by these characters, Cordell Hull is more pertinent than Kaiser Wilhelm. When York finally lands in the military, his unfamiliarity with city things such as a subway and his status as a conscientious objector make him a target for derision. York takes it good-naturedly though, and proves his worth as a skilled marksman, immediately elevating both his rank and position among the other soldiers. This is another telling example of the film celebrating York’s country way of life instead of exploiting or mocking it.
The refusal to patronize or denigrate the people of Pall Mall, York’s hometown, is a big reason I find Sergeant York so charming. In telling the story of the most decorated American soldier of World War I, Hawks was forced by necessity to strictly limit the amount of time spent on battle and war related scenes. York himself was incredibly reluctant to even have his story made into a movie and, after finally agreeing with the condition that Gary Cooper play him, wanted the focus to be away from his military heroics. Thus it’s not surprising that most of the film takes place in Tennessee and centers on York, his family and the other townsfolk. The story runs through York’s rebellious young adulthood, into his maturity and (fictionalized) introduction to devout religion, and, finally, climaxes with his intial refusal to be drafted and eventual heroism in France.
The overt use of York’s story as propaganda for support of the United States entering World War II is unavoidable in the film and must be mentioned. I do enjoy certain parts of the film more than others, and prefer to mentally separate the call to arms portion in which York is called in to his superior’s office and told to go home for ten days and decide if he wants to continue with the military. I don’t care for that scene (though the famous image of him on the hill with his hound, searching for answers in an American history book and the Bible is movingly done), but it doesn’t ruin the movie for me. I suppose propaganda can be justified at times, but it’s a slippery enough slope that I’d prefer to not have my films tread. Regardless, Sergeant York must be looked at through 1941 lenses as well and it’s difficult to fault its propaganda in comparison to something like Triumph of the Will.
As for those reluctant to place Sergeant York among Hawks’ best films, I think it’s a little wrongheaded, but perhaps unsurprising. Hawks, known for his exceptional versatility, also made Ball of Fire with Gary Cooper in 1941 and had just finished Bringing Up Baby and Only Angels Have Wings the two previous years. Without getting too deep into overlapping themes or tenets found in the director’s body of work, I think his contribution to Sergeant York was vital to the film’s success. His ability to perfectly balance the rural atmosphere with the striking war scenes allows the film to succeed where it could have easily failed miserably in the hands of perhaps any other director in Hollywood at the time. The fact that neither feels clumsy or forced, with a perfect shift in tone when necessary, is surely a testament to Hawks’ unrivaled success in many different genres.
While it doesn’t seem surprising that Sergeant York was nominated for eleven Academy Awards and won two, it is a little shocking that it was the only nomination Hawks ever received. It was also the only time Walter Brennan, a three-time winner, was nominated and subsequently lost the award. Also nominated was Margaret Wycherly, who brought an impressive weariness to the role of Alvin’s mother. The British stage actress would later play “Ma Jarrett” to James Cagney in White Heat. It’s Cooper, though, who brings Alvin York and his remarkable story to life. He won his first Oscar for the role and it’s difficult to imagine the film succeeding without his performance. As I watched the movie, I kept finding myself amazed at how well and believable he delivered his lines. It wasn’t so much the accent as the naturalness he brought to the unique way people from the rural and mountainous region spoke.
As a child, even seventy years after York’s exploits, I associated him with other larger than life, almost mythical, Tennessee folk heroes like Davy Crockett and Casey Jones. I believe my first time watching Sergeant York was actually in one of my elementary school classes. It’s especially satisfying to watch the film again, nearly twenty years later, and still be proud of someone from my home state. We all bring our own prejudices and values to anything we watch, but the nostalgic fondness I have for Sergeant York is rare for me personally. I don’t believe one needs to have a similar attachment for the film to be an enjoyable experience. It’s not a perfect film and I can mostly understand how some might have disdain for it, but, regardless, I think it works beautifully as a simple story of an ordinary man’s extraordinary actions.
Scarlet Street January 24, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1940s, Fritz Lang , 2 comments
Scarlet Street
Stumbling home from a dinner with his co-workers, Chris musters up enough courage to smack a man appearing to rob an innocent woman. Even his seemingly heroic action is actually done with cowardice, as Chris fearfully raises his umbrella in defense without looking at Johnny, the attacker. His eyes light up when he realizes it’s a beautiful young woman he’s “saved” and happily walks her home. Even though he only paints as a hobby, he boastfully claims to be a successful artist instead of a lowly bank clerk, 25 years at the same job. Chris is smitten and Kitty thinks she’s found a sugar daddy. As Chris abandons any ethics he may have had in the name of lust and Kitty and Johnny devise plan after plan to bilk their new benefactor, Lang warns us to not get too attached to any of them.
All three characters ultimately receive the fate they probably deserve. Chris first seems like a simple loser unable to catch a break, but when given the opportunity, his true colors are revealed to be as unflattering as they are dark. His years of service to his job appear to be less out of loyalty than routine and stability. When he visits Kitty, he’s unwilling to see the silent mocking with which she greets him. The idea that the younger, attractive woman might have less than true intentions would spoil his fantasy. Even after several encounters with Johnny, Chris is reluctant to realize there’s more going on than mere coincidence. When he finally realizes Kitty is not only playing him, but repulsed as well, Chris comes unhinged as his embarassment turns into rage. The final, haunting scenes of Chris, doomed to perpetual ridicule, are exceptional.
Kitty’s contempt for Chris is only mildly hidden throughout the film, but he’s so desperate and enamored with the idea that she could be romantically interested in him that he suppresses any doubts and continues giving her anything she wants. There’s really no denying Kitty’s wickedness. In a film full of rotten characters, she’s the nastiest. While Chris is betrayed by his own ego and desire and Johnny is simply amoral, Kitty is well aware of the damage she’s doing to Chris and absolutely doesn’t care. Her manipulation of Chris is unceasing and we never see the two together unless Kitty is weaseling something out of him. She even finds Johnny’s despicable qualities endearing and seems to almost enjoy him roughing her up.
Each of the three actors delivers a memorable performance, in parts that could have turned the film into more typical genre fare had they been played less skillfully. Robinson’s impressive characterization strays from his tough guy image and makes Chris an easy target for Kitty’s femme fatale. Along with his supporting role in Double Indemnity, this is Robinson’s finest work in proving his versatility. Duryea was the perfect actor for his role - tall, lanky and untrustworthy enough to make you believe he’d steal a sucker from a little kid if given the chance. But it’s Bennett who perhaps makes the biggest impression, contrasting the stereotype of the helpless female who’s actually good-hearted that was prevalent in films of the era. Kitty’s neither and Bennett, who starred for Lang in three other pictures also, uses her innocent looks for shocking effect.
Interestingly, Bennett was married to the film’s producer Walter Wanger for 25 years including the production of Scarlet Street. In 1951, Wanger believed Bennett was having an affair with her agent and, after catching the two of them together, shot him twice in the groin. Wanger’s attorney used a defense of temporary insanity and he served only 98 days, at an “honor farm” in California, of a four-month sentence. Wanger’s suspicions had proven true, but he remained married to Bennett until 1965. His producing career continued after being released, but it couldn’t overcome the disaster of Cleopatra, his final film.
With the release of Scarlet Street in 1945, Fritz Lang once again delivered a shining example of a well-plotted film noir and further proved himself to be a master of pacing. He managed to move the plot along seamlessly in his best films, typified in America by Scarlet Street and the fascinating, but lengthy Hangmen Also Die which somehow never lags. The prolific German filmmaker was responsible for a dozen or more films categorizable as noir in the 1940s and 1950s, most unfortunately unavailable on DVD. While Scarlet Street suffered from numerous unwatchable DVD releases due to falling into the public domain, Kino released a revelatory version taken from a 35mm negative preserved by the Library of Congress in 2005. Though it’s not progressively transferred, the image is still very good and incredible when compared to other versions. Lang scholar David Kalat also provides a knowledgeable commentary on the Kino release.
While the qualifications that comprise the film noir label may be increasingly widening, there’s no doubt that Scarlet Street would fit under even the tightest restrictions. Its dark, cynical world is easily recognizable to noir devotees. The somewhat exaggerated characterizations of bad and worse, the shadowy lighting familiar from Lang’s German films, and the general sense of gloom and despair are all here. It’s a fairly uncompromising film and perhaps the best of Lang’s output in the United States. While the film was already well-regarded, the transfer from the Library of Congress negative proves it to be near the very top of Lang’s filmography.
(To read my review of The Woman in the Window for DVD Times click here)
Ace in the Hole January 20, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1950s, Billy Wilder , 4 comments
There are prescient movies, ahead of their time enough for modern viewers to appreciate a retained relevance or uncanny vision into how society would reflect portions of films past, and then there’s Ace in the Hole
Appropriately, Tatum is first seen behind the wheel of his car as it’s being towed down the street. He has the tow truck stop when he sees a newspaper office and talks himself into a job with the small-time Albuquerque Sun-Bulletin. The dialogue in this scene is impeccable, some of Wilder’s best (though we don’t know for sure what he wrote since there are three writers credited for the Oscar-nominated screenplay, the director’s body of work gives us a good idea), and delivered with steely precision by Douglas. The audience learns immediately what kind of sharp-witted, accomplished character we’re dealing with in Tatum and we’re assured that he’s more likely to change the paper’s principle of “Tell the Truth” than it is to change his own attitude.
After a deft cut to a year later, with Tatum desperately itching for a story to serve as his meal ticket back to the big city papers out east, the reporter is assigned to a rattlesnake hunt a few hours away and told to take along the paper’s cub photographer. On their way, they stop for gas in a tiny town and discover the fuel station’s owner was searching for Indian artifacts in a nearby cave when rocks collapsed, pinning him inside. Tatum seizes his golden opportunity, remembering the real-life incident in Kentucky where a Louisville reporter helped with the attempted rescue of the trapped Floyd Collins and won a Pulitzer Prize and nationwide attention for his troubles while Collins perished after two weeks. He soon befriends Leo, the man stuck in the cave, and, along with the sheriff he’s made a devil of a deal with, creates a literal circus around the cave site complete with ice cream, balloons and amusement park rides. People come from miles away to gawk and experience the carnival atmosphere.
It’s easy to see how audiences and critics could have avoided, even downright loathed Ace in the Hole. Wilder rarely, if ever, lets you know he’s in on the joke. Unlike many other films where the audience is immunized from the onscreen ridicule, Wilder’s movie never gives viewers the satisfaction of thinking they’re above all the madness. He directly criticizes everyone, with only Tatum’s newspaper boss and Leo’s naive father coming across as even remotely admirable, and refuses to placate the audience by giving his film a conscience. We’re all accomplices for buying Tatum’s sensationalist news and Wilder has the guts to call us on it.
If indeed we share the burden for muckrakers like Tatum then it’s not unthinkable to look at the character and still manage to recognize how much charisma the fearless Douglas manages to inject as the acerbic reporter. In an era when movie stars rarely veered away from likeable roles, or at least redeeming ones, Douglas was not afraid to play cruel when necessary, never more so than in Ace in the Hole. It seems like every word of dialogue from Tatum is both memorable and caustic. “If there’s no news, I’ll go out and bite a dog.” When asked if he drinks a lot, Tatum replies, “Not a lot. Just frequently.” I can’t say I’ve seen every performance Douglas has given on film, but I’m confident in asserting that his Chuck Tatum was never bested. The actor completely gives himself to the role, leaving any semblance of Kirk Douglas the movie star behind. He’s absolutely essential to the film’s success and he turns in a merciless, acid-tongued performance.
Amazingly, Wilder gives the audience a character who’s even more sardonic than Tatum and thankfully found an actress as talented as Jan Sterling to play the cold and ruthless Lorraine, the wife of Leo. Sterling’s dynamite as a woman unhappy in her five-year marriage and more than ready to finally escape from him and small town New Mexico. As the film progresses, it becomes obvious that she’s completely without sympathy for Leo and an undeniable femme fatale. ”I don’t pray. Kneeling bags my nylons,” she infamously says, in a line Wilder claimed was suggested by his own wife. Her frequently violent encounters with Tatum add a fascinating additional layer to the story that’s also accented by the surely intentional naming of “The Great S & M Amusement Corp.” trucks we see at the cave site.
Like the moviegoers of 1951 who made the film a financial failure, leading Paramount executives to quickly rechristen it the more cheerful sounding The Big Carnival, I was a little dismayed at the sheer bleakness of Wilder’s film the first time I saw it. I’m not sure Wilder’s other films, even cynical and nasty highlights like Sunset Blvd. and Double Indemnity, can prepare the viewer for the pessimistic nature of Ace in the Hole, darkly satirizing much of American culture and society in general. A second viewing, this time armed with a better mindset to enter the bitter world created by this atypical classic, was much more enjoyable and left me more understanding of its deserved resurgence in Wilder’s catalog. The remarkable lines that come out of Tatum’s mouth also hit harder and with more ferocious humor on subsequent viewings than the first.
A reasonable person might then ask why should we celebrate a film so unrelentingly devoid of hope and kindness. The short answer is that many people find comfort in movies reflecting their own frustration with the ills of society. It’s incredibly rare to find a studio film from this era so ruthlessly unconcerned with pleasing its audience as Ace in the Hole. If the cinema is a refuge for those reluctant to accept the harsh realities of mankind’s darkest actions, Ace in the Hole serves as a stark reminder of humans’ stunning capability to not do the proper thing. Almost no one in the film does the best thing at any given moment. Each action is a folly compounded by an increased severity and lackluster sense of selfishness.
I’ve read insinuations that the film is anti-American in its mocking of the spectacle created while a man lies dying in a cave. Obviously, that accusation has more to do with how one defines American culture and society than with the film itself. If it’s anti-American to feature oblivious participants more interested in purchasing souvenir keepsakes (fifty years before the World Trade Center site became a haven for opportunists) and ice cream cones than truly caring about the trapped man’s fate then perhaps Wilder’s film does indeed fit that description. There’s no doubt that we’re dealing with heavy satire here, though, with Wilder daring the audience to laugh at the stupidity of people who could be their own neighbors, if not themselves.
That crowd of emptyheaded onlookers is embodied by Mr. Federber (played by Frank Cady who later portrayed the character Sam Drucker on three separate sitcoms) and his family who were (proudly) the first ones to turn the site into a tourist attraction. His zeal is played for uneasy laughs, but anyone who’s ever experienced how willing people can be to gobble up tragedy will realize it rings true. Wilder also offers a sly critique of our capitalistic nature, I think, as the price of entrance to the cave site rises from free, to 25¢, then 50¢, and finally $1.00. As she apathetically passes time while her husband remains buried alive, Leo’s wife not only implements the price hike, but also rakes it in from selling burgers to the hungry crowd. The $11 she was ready to leave with, before Tatum convinced her that a grieving wife sells more papers, magically increases hundredfold.
In his later years, Wilder tended to personally rate his more popular pictures much higher than his less commercially successful ones, with the exception of Ace in the Hole. He was unflappable in his defense and held it up as a personal favorite. Yet, despite brushes with darker themes here and there, the director never made another movie anywhere near as cynical as Ace in the Hole again. He felt he’d briefly lost the audience’s trust and made a misstep as to what they’d be willing to see. Regardless of his own artistic aspirations, Wilder was keenly aware that moviegoers were the reason he was allowed to continue making films and he now realized what he couldn’t get away with from his audience. Instead, he adapted a few plays and books before finding his other great writing partner (the first being Charles Brackett, with whom he’d fallen out just before Ace in the Hole), I.A.L. Diamond, and turning his attention to some wonderful pictures beginning with Love in the Afternoon and continuing with a triumvirate of comedic masterpieces: Some Like It Hot, The Apartment, and One, Two, Three.
Given the general feeling of malaise emanating from Ace in the Hole, I suppose it’s only a little surprising that it’s never been released on VHS or DVD, as opposed to the more expected shock and outrage one might feel towards Paramount for sitting on one of Billy Wilder’s true gems. The tides may be turning, however, as theatrical screenings continue to pop up in New York and elsewhere and Turner Classic Movies is finally airing the film in both January and March. Then there’s the speckle of hope that Criterion might somehow wrangle the rights away since it’s recently come to light that they’ve acquired some other Paramount titles for release. Regardless, I hope the wait for Ace in the Hole’s home video debut is nearly over and maybe this time Wilder’s message will be a little better understood. It’ll surely provide a shock to even the most jaded of film fans, who might have a hard time getting that final shot of Tatum collapsing onto the floor in low-angle close-up out of their heads.
UPDATE - Criterion will indeed be releasing Ace in the Hole on DVD this July. You can find my review of the DVD here.
Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne January 17, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1940s , add a comment
Robert Bresson’s Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne
Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne was borne from a novelette written by Denis Diderot in 1773 and published in 1796. Like Jean-Pierre Melville, Bresson’s second feature film was partially written by Jean Cocteau, who receives screen credit for the dialogue here and had written the novel and screenplay for Melville’s Les Enfants terribles. Interestingly, the two diverse directors then took bold steps in creating their respective styles with their brilliant third films - Diary of a Country Priest for Bresson and Bob le Flambeur for Melville. Meanwhile, Cocteau followed up his work on Bresson’s film with his masterpiece Beauty and the Beast (La Belle et la bête).
While Cocteau’s filmed fairy tale is certainly an overt love story, I’d argue that the Bresson film is only superficially romantic. Hélène’s feelings for Jean are ultimately selfish and vengeful. She’s in love with him, but her actions illustrate a possessive quality more often found in modern-day thrillers than traditional romances. The film does a nice job of concealing Hélène’s exact motives (though I’m sure plenty of cinephile Sherlock Holmeses will have the entire storyline deduced from the first frame) and allows the viewer to piece together precisely what her plan is with Jean and Agnès. That Hélène can still elicit sympathy from the audience for much of the picture is a testament to the acting of Maria Casarès. There’s a great scene between Hélène and Jean about midway through the film where, even with the less than ideal picture quality, you can see tears silently rolling down her face as he’s oblivious to the love she still has for him.
I think it would also be a misnomer to describe Jean’s pursuit of Agnès as a truly romantic endeavor. He speaks of her in Cinderella-like terms to Hélène and seems charmed by the image of her as an unvarnished social misfit. As she becomes more difficult to obtain, Jean has an increased affection for her. It’s a classic example of someone unaccustomed to being refused consequently becoming more and more determined to attain his prey after being repeatedly rejected. Eventually the pursuer is more interested in the chase and the challenge than actually having what he was trying to catch. Jean’s ultimate decision at the film’s end is certainly noble, but it seems contrary to his character’s previous actions throughout the film. That audiences would most likely be repulsed and dissatisfied by the alternative presumably played a large part in how the film ends. Depressing, cynical endings are for real life, not the movies.
Regardless, it’s at least a near-great film. As I mentioned earlier, Maria Casarès as Hélène gives a stunning and memorable performance. Her cunning is really best appreciated at the end when you fully realize exactly what she’s pulled off and it’s the chilling Casarès that brings the character full circle. The actress who plays Agnès, Élina Labourdette, is also very effective and quite attractive. She’s the most redeeming part of the film’s triangle and manages to somehow retain a contradictory innocence about her. I’ve read things that place Agnès as a precursor to the female characters in Bresson’s later films and even claim that she’s the true focus of this film. Yet, I felt there was too much mystery and uncertainty in Agnès to realistically consider her as the most important or main character. We know she’s ashamed of her work in the cabaret, and all that implies, but there’s not enough information about her character to otherwise make much of an emotional connection.
Unfortunately, this worthwhile film suffers from one of Criterion’s more disappointing releases on DVD. The somewhat intimidating title itself is probably not going to entice consumers new to Bresson and the cover is, in my eyes, nearly indefensible. People can say what they will, but there’s no denying that DVD cover art plays a large role in attracting would-be consumers unfamiliar with the film inside. In addition, the only supplement on the disc is a stills gallery. The DVD transfer is so-so and certainly not at the level of what we’ve come to expect from Criterion, but it’s difficult to complain when a film over sixty years old looks this good. Plus I would assume that the company did all they could with the materials they have to work with and the disc’s producer even took the time to respond to concerns directly. Nevertheless, for the prestigious company’s first release of a filmmaker as highly revered as Bresson to be so underwhelming is a surprise.
It seems that Bresson’s films, of which Criterion has now released five on DVD, often take some getting used to for many viewers. I think this is understandable and Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne is evidence that the director himself even had to adjust to the more naturalistic style early in his career. Watching this film sort of reminds me of looking at some of Picasso’s blue period paintings. That may be an odd comparison, but, essentially, I think it’s apt. Both situations first involve a more conventional, though accomplished, work or series of works by an artist at the early stages of his career before he went on to carve out his own niche and style. Additionally, both men’s initial, more accessible work has its own merits and can be enjoyed separate from their more formidable later offerings. Bresson would soon turn his attention away from more secular works, but Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne remains one of his essential films, providing hints of better things to come.
Pan’s Labyrinth January 12, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Modern Films, 2000s , 1 comment so far
I’ll never understand American movie studios. Not only do their choices as to what to make puzzle me, but also when to release certain films. Case in point is the film that currently shares the title of best reviewed non-documentary of 2006, according to Rotten Tomatoes, with a 98% positive consensus - Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno). The Spanish language adult fairy tale premiered at the Cannes Film Festival last May to standing ovations and then had its U.S. debut as the closing night selection at the New York Film Festival in October. Common sense would lead one to believe that such prestigious honors might translate into end of the year awards recognition and the strong box office that can result from such accolades. So why would Picturehouse, the releasing studio and a subsidiary of Time Warner that formed as a joint venture between New Line and HBO, hold off on releasing del Toro’s film until December 29th and then only in four major cities? Whatever the rationale, awards’ watchers seem to agree that the late release has hindered the film’s chances for Academy Award nominations aside from an expected slot as Mexico’s entry in the Foreign Language category.
That’s a shame too, because Pan’s Labyrinth is the kind of movie sorely missed from the multiplexes nowadays. It’s not quite at the masterpiece level as some critics are portraying, but I couldn’t help but be enthralled by the sheer imagination and artistry that bursts through the screen. Movies have always thrived from their unique quality to present us with things we’ve never seen before. With the increasing use of digital effects, much of what’s been fed to us has become boringly expected in its fake carnage and slick explosions. There’s a clinical aspect that’s emerged through the over-reliance on expensive special effects more akin to video games than the cinema. Yet, without a compelling story, most of these effects-laden blockbuster hopefuls become utterly forgettable or not even worthwhile and punish their audience with a fatiguing use of superficial green-screen moviemaking.
In Pan’s Labyrinth, which del Toro also wrote, we are introduced to Ofelia and her pregnant mother just as they are to arrive at the temporary military home of Captain Vidal, who’s been assigned to eliminate opponents of the fascist Franco regime following the end of the Spanish Civil War. Ofelia’s father has been dead a few years and her mother has married the Captain, who wants to be near his new child when it’s born. Ofelia is unhappy about the move and cannot understand why her mother now asks her to call the Captain “father.” Mercedes (played by Maribel Verdú in a role so different from Y tu mamá también that I didn’t realize it was the same actress) helps take care of Ofelia and her mother while the latter is confined to bed from the pregnancy. As Ofelia is wandering around the wooded area of the military base, she discovers a labyrinth that unlocks a dark world and provides an escape from the horrific Captain. Guided by buzzing insects that turn into glowing fairies, the young girl meets the Faun and is told of her place in the history of the labyrinth. She soon courageously sets out on a number of tasks assigned by the Faun.
There’s no denying del Toro’s dazzling visuals here, powerful enough to transport the audience into the dark, uncertain world the director has impressively created. It’s easy to get caught up in a movie when it’s being projected onto a huge screen in a darkened room, but Pan’s Labyrinth goes a few steps further by placing the viewer in a completely foreign and fictional setting with creatures never before seen and startling images you don’t always want to see. Del Toro deftly balances horrific violence with uncute and unfurry fantasy elements successfully enough to more than earn the film’s ‘R’ rating. It’s far from child-friendly viewing and I almost wish the poster used a still of the first time we see Ofelia instead of the more ominously inviting picture of a little girl at the threshold of the labyrinth.
While Pan’s Labyrinth does suffer a bit from a somewhat simplistic story running parallel to the more fascinating visits to the titular labyrinth, del Toro has imbued his film with enough heartfelt sincerity to make the viewer forgive his use of a cliched evil stepfather. In most films, such a venal and mostly one-dimensional character might seem distractingly vicious, especially given how little insight we’re given into the cause of his actions apart from a broken pocketwatch. Here, however, his fascist for fascism’s sake, despite being the weakest part of the film, is made believable enough by Ofelia’s youthful innocence. If the little girl, as well as the audience, can believe in the goodness of the creatures from the labyrinth, not to mention their existence at all, then why could she not also intuit the sheer evil present in the Captain without looking for his redeeming or complicating qualities.
Even so, given the comparatively less interesting post-Spanish Civil War storyline, I would have liked to spend more time in the darkly alluring labyrinth. From the advertising campaign and the film’s title (which will surely have many moviegoers wondering about “Pan” since the English subtitles retain the Spanish-spoken name of Faun), audiences are lead to believe that the ancient labyrinth is the focus of the movie. In reality, that’s not exactly true and I found myself frequently itching to return to that magical and hypnotic world when we were instead shown the Captain’s compound. The Pale Man character was particularly interesting, with the detachable eyeballs fitting into his palms. Visually, that was my favorite scene, as we see Ofelia enter his cave through a chalk-drawn door and then realize she’s unable to recognize the forbidden feast too tempting for the young girl to resist. I was also surprised to learn that the same actor (Doug Jones) was behind the make-up of both the Faun and the Pale Man, memorizing his lines phonetically since he doesn’t speak Spanish.
Guillermo del Toro has made a beautiful movie out of grotesque ugliness. It’s certainly not for everyone, but, in transcending the typical fantasy film, it manages to appeal to a larger audience in search of darkly visual entertainment with more substance than the weekly summer blockbuster. I also found it reminiscent of master Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away, both in the theme of a young girl seeking to escape the harsh realities of life through strange, otherworldly characters and as a film that goes beyond the limits of its genre to captivate new viewers normally uninterested in such movies. It’s a bravura accomplishment and one best seen on the biggest screen possible with a sound system capable of making you feel like dragonfly fairies are buzzing around your head.
Baby Doll January 8, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1950s , add a comment
Filmed in rural Mississippi on a small budget, Baby Doll
I suppose the story is a little scandalous, as there is a sexual element involved. Karl Malden plays Archie Lee, a cotton plantation owner who’s married to the much younger Baby Doll (played by Carroll Baker) but is unable to consummate the union until she turns twenty years old. That was part of the agreement Archie had made to Baby Doll’s father, a powerful and wealthy man who was near death at the time and wished to see his little girl marry while he was still alive. The film opens with Archie’s plantation struggling and Baby Doll’s twentieth birthday only a day away. Baby Doll has an obvious contempt for her husband and still refuses him all marital intimacies, which has turned Archie into a peeping tom in his own house (the nicest one in town, but also supposedly haunted). Eli Wallach is the Sicilian Vacarro (meaning plenty of ethnic slurs) who’s nearly run Archie out of the cotton business with his more successful and modern gin. When Vacarro’s gin just happens to burn down, Archie is more than willing to help out with the needed cotton supply. Oh, and Baby Doll likes to sleep in a crib while sucking her thumb.
That last bit is most certainly a big cause of concern for the thought police who condemned the film, yet, aside from the promotional poster, the only time we see this on screen is very early on and it’s much more strange (or possibly corny) than erotic. In fact, as Eli Wallach pointed out in the featurette included on the DVD, Vacarro spends more time in the crib than Baby Doll. I have to think that the controversy that’s surrounded the film for fifty years is due in no small part to that brief image and much more lasting poster shot. It almost makes the whole fuss seem sort of manufactured since it was the film’s own promotional materials, including that jumbo size Times Square billboard with live models serving as stand-ins for Baby Doll, that impacted its notorious reputation.
Aside from the scene where Vacarro and Baby Doll share a swing while Kazan keeps the camera focused above the waist (allegedly due to the cold temperatures at the time it was shot and to hide the space heater sitting on the ground), the whole thing seems quaint even by the standards established from other controversial films of the era. While some of the featurette interviewees mention how funny the film is, I can’t share their sentiment there either. Most of the possible humor seems to land with a thud. I realize we’re in the realm of Tennessee Williams and his Southern gothic melodrama, but the Baby Doll character is much more ridiculous than outrageous. Her aunt (Mildred Dunnock) is even more inexplicably bizarre, sort of like a grandmother (who steals chocolates from hospital patients) to many of the quirky independent film characterizations we’ve been inundated with over the past two decades.
While Dunnock and Baker both received Oscar nominations, the two superior performances by Eli Wallach and Karl Malden were ignored by the Academy. The efforts from the latter two are a big reason why the film ultimately succeeds in spite of itself. Taking place over only two days and nights, Baby Doll is extraordinarily engrossing and the dialogue written by Williams himself sparkles. Even as someone normally adverse to stagy films, I can appreciate Kazan’s accomplishment here and, possibly as a result of the film being based on two separate one-act plays, I didn’t find it as theatrical as many of the other Williams adaptations. It’s not the kind of film I typically enjoy, but I can recognize its worth, if nothing else than by it keeping my interest.
Nonetheless, I do have to point out that Carroll Baker’s performance was personally annoying. Her accent was terrible and that’s just not how Southern people speak. I didn’t like how the film portrayed the South overall either, with enough focus on decay and waste to make these characters look like glorified trailer trash as if that’s the only type of people who live in the region. I’m not with the consensus who laud Williams for his contributions to Southern literature. (He moved to Missouri at the age of seven, attended college at the University of Iowa, and somehow became the person to represent the Southern United States in dramatic literature?) As in his other works, Baby Doll is not representative of the South I have grown familiar with since birth. Sure that’s a subjective complaint, but it’s still valid in regards to the atmosphere established by Williams and Kazan.
Regardless of my sensitivity to the arguably exploitative use of the South in Baby Doll, I still enjoyed much of the film. Eli Wallach, in his film debut, is very good and the performances overall are mostly up to the standard set by Kazan’s other movies of the decade. The controversy that’s surrounded it seems a little needless and exaggerated, if for no other reason than the character in the middle is nearly twenty years old. That’s a far cry from the 12-year-old Lolita from Vladimir Nabokov’s novel or even the 14-year-old version seen in Stanley Kubrick’s film a mere six years after Kazan’s film was released. The popular notion of Baby Doll as a ”child bride” also seems a tad overblown and, again, derogatory to the South’s supposed reputation of girls marrying at a young age.
As I mentioned earlier, it seems more like Kazan, Williams and the studio set out to make a taboo film or at least stretch the boundaries of so-called decency. I doubt they anticipated a full-on ban or some of the other reactions but it’s nearly impossible to imagine that they weren’t intentionally courting controversy. The scene of Baby Doll in the crib could have been excised, with a different poster used, and I’d guess the film would not have suffered creatively while avoiding the bulk of the commercially-debilitating backlash. If that were the case, though, would people have really cared about Baby Doll when it was released, much less now? I seriously question whether the interest would have been as strong over the years and perhaps therein lies the most impressive thing Kazan and Williams accomplished with their film.
Cluny Brown January 4, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1940s, Ernst Lubitsch , 1 comment so far
Cluny Brown, Ernst Lubitsch’s final completed film, is a charming enough story of two outsiders living on the country estate of a wealthy English family in the late 1930s. (That’s them in the opening titles.) The title character is a kooky young woman (Jennifer Jones, hanging on to her American accent) who’s been raised by her plumber uncle and picked up some trade skills (mostly just banging at the pipes) along the way. By chance, she meets Adam Belinski (Charles Boyer, French accent and all) after taking a service call meant for her uncle, who was otherwise occupied. Belinski, a Czech professor and writer, shows up to the same London apartment just before Cluny arrives, not realizing the friend he was intending to see had sublet his dwelling to a man who now has a clogged sink.
Their paths will cross again, after Cluny is hired as a maid at the same residence where Mr. Belinski had been taken in as a guest. This improbable reunion is highlighted by some advice Belinski had told Cluny back at their initial meeting, which she repeats aloud the first time she sees him again, just as she drops her first dinner service plate. Unconvincingly, both agree to maintain a platonic friendship despite Mr. Belinski’s obvious interest in Cluny. A large portion of the film separates the actions of each with little or no convergence between the characters. Cluny pursues another romance while Belinski endears himself to the English family who’ve graciously agreed to lodge him indefinitely as a result of a misunderstanding about his safety from the Nazis.
Lubitsch and his screenwriters gently skewer the English upper class, as well as class in general, frequently portraying them as out of touch and frivolous. Peter Lawford’s Andrew is so upset about Hitler’s impending war that he wrote a letter to the Times. He sees Belinski’s requests for money as opportunities to help show his respect for a brave and honorable man, as opposed to being taken advantage of by a layabout. His father is oblivious to world events, so much so that he’s ready to praise the Nazis when he thinks that’s the popular opinion. Meanwhile, their service staff openly disdains Cluny’s innocent blunders and is taken aback when Mr. Belinski treats them as equals.
Even more so than Heaven Can Wait, the Technicolor enriched Fox film he made just previous, Cluny Brown is a significant step down from the great Lubitsch comedies. It meanders between the two characters and often seems to suffer from a lack of focus on either. The result is sometimes disjointed and awkward, with the ending inevitable to anyone who’s ever watched a romantic comedy. Furthermore, the laughs are less prevalent than in other Lubitsch films (aside from Una O’Connor’s wheezing and hacking) and missing the thougtful undertones found in To Be or Not to Be and Heaven Can Wait, both of which often sacrificed humor for more serious themes. I also found the line between charming cad and opportunistic leach to be blurred a little too much by Mr. Bilenski. Similarly, Cluny’s ill-advised courtship with the town pharmacist stretches her naive innocence into the realm of ridiculousness.
The casting is also a notch below many of the director’s earlier pictures, as Jennifer Jones and Charles Boyer pale in comparison to other prominent Lubitsch couples (or triangles, for that matter). Boyer comes across a little too much like a poor Frenchman’s Cary Grant and Jones is a tad too ditzy. Minor criticisms aside, I found nothing especially wrong in either’s performance, but more memorable actors might have elevated the film into another level. I never felt like either lead truly owned his or her role and there are probably half a dozen actors easily imaginable in each. (Although Jennifer Jones drunkenly writhing on a couch is perfectly fine by me.)
All that’s not to say that Cluny Brown isn’t a good film. It is, but it lacks much of the ethereal, almost intangible qualities audiences came to expect from the director. Lubitsch’s career was so rich that his lesser films are judged against some of the greatest light comedies ever made. I’m certainly not aware of other movies Twentieth Century Fox was cranking out in 1946 that are as fun and witty as Cluny Brown. It’s likeable enough to put a smile on the viewer’s face and has a sophisticated flair largely unseen in modern romantic comedies. Mr. Belinski may wear the same suit for much of the picture, but it’s an undeniably snazzy one.
The 1946 film was never released on VHS and is currently unavailable on DVD in R1, but the British Board of Film Classification has recently certified it for release by the British Film Institute in the UK. There’s also a French offering with fine image quality already available. In the United States, Fox Movie Channel airs the film from time to time in a relatively good print. It’s a deserving title (as are all Lubitsch films) and hopefully Fox, or Criterion if there’s enough interest, will put something out in R1 soon.
(Edit: I reviewed the BFI release in May of 2008 for DVD Times, and was much more impressed with the film after additional viewings.)