(9/3/00)
I was very tired and this film really grated on me. A young woman has an affair with a man she finds out is married. She becomes pregnant and has an abortion, finding out afterwards that she won't be able to have any more children. She marries another man and they go on a train trip where she does nothing but whine and complain. He has a dream or a fantasy about killing her. When he tells her about it afterwards he mentions that even though they are miserable together, at least they aren't alone. They have each other.
The first scene in which the woman is restless and can't sleep is impressive. There are some lovely exterior shots of a summer idyll. That's where the married man offhandedly mentions that he has to get back to his wife soon. To the young woman's shocked, "You're married?" he nonchalantly replies, "What, did you think I wasn't?"
The whole film smacks of a close observation of human behavior. But it is just annoying here. Or at least it annoyed me on first viewing. Why does this guy stay with this woman? How can he stand her?
Ther is also a story about the husband's former lover, who coincidentally went to ballet school with the bride. She is exploited by her psychiatrist who tries to convince her that she can't function without him. This woman runs across another woman who had been in the same ballet school and who seems interested in having a lesbian relationship.
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Best Years of Our Lives. 1946. Directed by William Wyler.
(9/3/00)
This was intendedfrom the outset to be an "important" picture. It's about three men who return from service at the end of World War II to the same American town. More than that, it is a portrait of middle America at this difficult period of readjustment. It is a handsome, well-crafted picture with top-notch talent. It is long--deliberately so, I think, in keeping with its epic aspirations.
I was tired (as I so often am) and found a lot of it difficult going. I didn't find the characters or their situations very interesting although I am sure that to an audience of 1946 they were painfully relevant.
I was particularly bored by the scene in which Fredric March takes his family out for a night of drinking. Why is alcohol of such importance to Americans?
I liked the story of Fred Derry (played by Dana Andrews) and his attempts to find decent employment in civilian life. Here is a man who has proven himself in the military, but can only get menial work at home. He ends up back in his former place of employment where he is assistant to the man who was once his assistant. He can't provide his wife with a decent life, yet he doesn't want her to work.
Then there is Homer who lost his hands in combat. He is embarrassed, angry and proud and consistently rebuffs his girl Wilma who still loves him very much. As Wilma, Cathy O'Donnell shines with earnestness. She totally outdoes Teresa Wright, no mean feat.
Ayn Rand hated this movie. Why? The most obvious reason I see is the attitude towards banking. Fredric March is in charge of giving loans to ex-servicemen and he shows a total disregard for business discipline in granting one to a man who has no collateral. He defends this on grounds which "sound good:" he's gambling, yes, but only on the future of America, his combat experience enables him to tell which men are good risks and which aren't. (But what happens if the man dies or something?)
Good business sense, which has benefited so many, is mocked as greed or selfishness. But if it hadn't been for that business sense that bank wouldn't have any money to help those people who are good risks.
Then there is the attitude of the man who comes in for the loan. He feels that he isn't asking for a favor, that he has a right to this loan. This is a complex issue because after having risked his life in the defense of his country he does seem to be deserving of some aid in getting on his feet. But is this the responsibility of the bank depositors instead of the country as a whole? Anyway, the very idea of having a "right" to other people's assets is a troublesome one.
The other scene which I think would have bothered Ayn Rand is when Homer and Fred beat up the guy who believes that the Americans were suckers with regards to the war and that the war was a waste of America's time. This scene seems to reject the American principle that everyone has a right to express his opinion. And the audience was most likely expected to be in agreement with Fred and Homer who are basically very likable characters. So in that sense the scene is pretty disturbing.
Yet it is totally believable. Human nature works this way. Two average American guys who spent years away from home in combat--one of whom lost his hands--are not going to be open to the ideas of someone who tells them it was all a waste of their time. They might very well act this way, not even aware of the irony that they are betraying the very values they supposedly risked their lives for. It is a pretty disturbing scene and it is startling to find it in a picture such as this.
Myrna Loy has a great scene when Teresa Wright says that her mother couldn't understand her situation because she and her father never had any problems. Loy smiles and gives her daughter the lowdown about what happens in a marriage. Harold Russell has a great moment when he erupts at children who he thinks were watching him through the window because he has hooks for hands.
Incidentally, the scene in which Russell lighhts a cigarette or cigar with his hooks reminds me of a similar scene in Tod Browning's Freaks where a guy without arms lights a cigarette with his feet.
This was intendedfrom the outset to be an "important" picture. It's about three men who return from service at the end of World War II to the same American town. More than that, it is a portrait of middle America at this difficult period of readjustment. It is a handsome, well-crafted picture with top-notch talent. It is long--deliberately so, I think, in keeping with its epic aspirations.
I was tired (as I so often am) and found a lot of it difficult going. I didn't find the characters or their situations very interesting although I am sure that to an audience of 1946 they were painfully relevant.
I was particularly bored by the scene in which Fredric March takes his family out for a night of drinking. Why is alcohol of such importance to Americans?
I liked the story of Fred Derry (played by Dana Andrews) and his attempts to find decent employment in civilian life. Here is a man who has proven himself in the military, but can only get menial work at home. He ends up back in his former place of employment where he is assistant to the man who was once his assistant. He can't provide his wife with a decent life, yet he doesn't want her to work.
Then there is Homer who lost his hands in combat. He is embarrassed, angry and proud and consistently rebuffs his girl Wilma who still loves him very much. As Wilma, Cathy O'Donnell shines with earnestness. She totally outdoes Teresa Wright, no mean feat.
Ayn Rand hated this movie. Why? The most obvious reason I see is the attitude towards banking. Fredric March is in charge of giving loans to ex-servicemen and he shows a total disregard for business discipline in granting one to a man who has no collateral. He defends this on grounds which "sound good:" he's gambling, yes, but only on the future of America, his combat experience enables him to tell which men are good risks and which aren't. (But what happens if the man dies or something?)
Good business sense, which has benefited so many, is mocked as greed or selfishness. But if it hadn't been for that business sense that bank wouldn't have any money to help those people who are good risks.
Then there is the attitude of the man who comes in for the loan. He feels that he isn't asking for a favor, that he has a right to this loan. This is a complex issue because after having risked his life in the defense of his country he does seem to be deserving of some aid in getting on his feet. But is this the responsibility of the bank depositors instead of the country as a whole? Anyway, the very idea of having a "right" to other people's assets is a troublesome one.
The other scene which I think would have bothered Ayn Rand is when Homer and Fred beat up the guy who believes that the Americans were suckers with regards to the war and that the war was a waste of America's time. This scene seems to reject the American principle that everyone has a right to express his opinion. And the audience was most likely expected to be in agreement with Fred and Homer who are basically very likable characters. So in that sense the scene is pretty disturbing.
Yet it is totally believable. Human nature works this way. Two average American guys who spent years away from home in combat--one of whom lost his hands--are not going to be open to the ideas of someone who tells them it was all a waste of their time. They might very well act this way, not even aware of the irony that they are betraying the very values they supposedly risked their lives for. It is a pretty disturbing scene and it is startling to find it in a picture such as this.
Myrna Loy has a great scene when Teresa Wright says that her mother couldn't understand her situation because she and her father never had any problems. Loy smiles and gives her daughter the lowdown about what happens in a marriage. Harold Russell has a great moment when he erupts at children who he thinks were watching him through the window because he has hooks for hands.
Incidentally, the scene in which Russell lighhts a cigarette or cigar with his hooks reminds me of a similar scene in Tod Browning's Freaks where a guy without arms lights a cigarette with his feet.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Black Narcissus. 1947. Written, directed and produced by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.
(8/25/00)
This is a strange film and I really couldn't grasp what it was all about. A group of nuns are offered the opportunity to move into a building in the Himalayas and set up a school and provide healthcare (that's the best way I can describe it) for the villagers.
The nuns take up residence in what was known as the "House of Women"--meaning it was where a nobleman kept his concubines. There are paintings of nudes on the walls. It's hardly the kind of atmosphere in which one would expect to find a group of English nuns.
It seems to be an atmosphere which challenges them, which makes them struggle with their denials. There is an attractive man. I think he is secretary to the nobleman who offered them the use of the house. The nuns have to struggle with their reactions to this man.
They are asked to care for a teenage girl who has "gone astray," who exudes sensuality and dresses provocatively. An Indian nobleman (perhaps the one who offered the place to the nuns or his successor) asks to study at the school, although it is a girls' school. They cannot turn him down and he flaunts his finery. (I think that the title, Black Narcissus, refers to his scent.) He has an affair with the sensual wayward girl and regrets it.
One nun is so affected that she resigns. She seems to go mad. The first time we see her in civilian dress is shocking. The film's most fascinating moment is when she tries to push the man who is tolling the bell off the cliff or mountain or whatever it is, falling to her own death instead.
Eventually the nuns conclude that it is not an appropriate place for them and leave. It is a strange, exotic, elusive film. I suspect that there are riches to be found in it if I could but get my bearings.
This is a strange film and I really couldn't grasp what it was all about. A group of nuns are offered the opportunity to move into a building in the Himalayas and set up a school and provide healthcare (that's the best way I can describe it) for the villagers.
The nuns take up residence in what was known as the "House of Women"--meaning it was where a nobleman kept his concubines. There are paintings of nudes on the walls. It's hardly the kind of atmosphere in which one would expect to find a group of English nuns.
It seems to be an atmosphere which challenges them, which makes them struggle with their denials. There is an attractive man. I think he is secretary to the nobleman who offered them the use of the house. The nuns have to struggle with their reactions to this man.
They are asked to care for a teenage girl who has "gone astray," who exudes sensuality and dresses provocatively. An Indian nobleman (perhaps the one who offered the place to the nuns or his successor) asks to study at the school, although it is a girls' school. They cannot turn him down and he flaunts his finery. (I think that the title, Black Narcissus, refers to his scent.) He has an affair with the sensual wayward girl and regrets it.
One nun is so affected that she resigns. She seems to go mad. The first time we see her in civilian dress is shocking. The film's most fascinating moment is when she tries to push the man who is tolling the bell off the cliff or mountain or whatever it is, falling to her own death instead.
Eventually the nuns conclude that it is not an appropriate place for them and leave. It is a strange, exotic, elusive film. I suspect that there are riches to be found in it if I could but get my bearings.
Victim. 1961. Directed by Basil Dearden.
(9/1/00)
[Note: I have fallen increasingly behind in discussing the fils I have seem. Victim and Black Narcissus were viewed several weeks ago and hence are not fresh in my mind.]
Victim is a film about homosexuality and blackmail. It is a thriller or whodunit, but it is also a film exposing the harm done by the laws against homosexuality.
A young man flees from the police. He is caught, but before he is he attempts to destroy a scrapbook full of newspaper clippings about an important barrister. Thinking that he has destroyed this link with a man he loved and admired, he commits suicide in his cell.
The film makes a very convincing case about the harm caused by these laws and the opportunities they provide for blackmail. And it is inspiring to see an important man, played by Dirk Bogarde, have the courage to stand up and fight it out with the blackmailers, knowing that he is throwing away a prestigious career.
However, it is unfortunate that the filmmakers had to somehow exonerate this man. He was gay by inclination, but because he was a lawyer he had to deny his impulses. He never had an affair with the young man, although there is an incriminating photograph of the two of them together. Perhaps it was necessary for the filmmakers to do this, but it does mar the film. It would have been more believable if the man had been a practicing homosexual. But the film is still effective for all that.
What the film does do very well is show up the sheer nastiness of the people who want to see homosexuals punished. Nastiest of all is the mastermind of the blackmail scheme. It is a woman, of course, who is most anxious to see these deviates behind bars. On the other side of the coin there is a kindly police officer who only reluctantly supports the laws against homosexuals. He comes across as knowledgeable, sane and tolerant.
One thing I didn't like was that the film threw the audience a red herring in the form of other blackmailers. We see them hanging around the post office, so we naturally assume that they are the blackmailers that Bogarde and the others are trying to unmask--only they aren't. They are other blackmailers and that seemed rather pointless.
I very much liked the photography of exterior scenes in this film. The opening shots of the construction site from which the young man fled the police have a quality to them which reminded me of Italian neo-realism.
[Note: I have fallen increasingly behind in discussing the fils I have seem. Victim and Black Narcissus were viewed several weeks ago and hence are not fresh in my mind.]
Victim is a film about homosexuality and blackmail. It is a thriller or whodunit, but it is also a film exposing the harm done by the laws against homosexuality.
A young man flees from the police. He is caught, but before he is he attempts to destroy a scrapbook full of newspaper clippings about an important barrister. Thinking that he has destroyed this link with a man he loved and admired, he commits suicide in his cell.
The film makes a very convincing case about the harm caused by these laws and the opportunities they provide for blackmail. And it is inspiring to see an important man, played by Dirk Bogarde, have the courage to stand up and fight it out with the blackmailers, knowing that he is throwing away a prestigious career.
However, it is unfortunate that the filmmakers had to somehow exonerate this man. He was gay by inclination, but because he was a lawyer he had to deny his impulses. He never had an affair with the young man, although there is an incriminating photograph of the two of them together. Perhaps it was necessary for the filmmakers to do this, but it does mar the film. It would have been more believable if the man had been a practicing homosexual. But the film is still effective for all that.
What the film does do very well is show up the sheer nastiness of the people who want to see homosexuals punished. Nastiest of all is the mastermind of the blackmail scheme. It is a woman, of course, who is most anxious to see these deviates behind bars. On the other side of the coin there is a kindly police officer who only reluctantly supports the laws against homosexuals. He comes across as knowledgeable, sane and tolerant.
One thing I didn't like was that the film threw the audience a red herring in the form of other blackmailers. We see them hanging around the post office, so we naturally assume that they are the blackmailers that Bogarde and the others are trying to unmask--only they aren't. They are other blackmailers and that seemed rather pointless.
I very much liked the photography of exterior scenes in this film. The opening shots of the construction site from which the young man fled the police have a quality to them which reminded me of Italian neo-realism.
Zelig. 1983. Directed by Woody Allen.
(8/25/00)
Zelig is my favorite Woody Allen film. This is the first time I have ever seen it in a theater and it was a joy from start to finish. It impresses me very much as a work of imagination. It is hard to pin down what I mean, but I am impressed that Allen came up with a whole concept--both in the story and in the way it would be presented--and then executed it so brilliantly. He creates a whole world in this film. I can only wonder what it was like to make it, since he doesn't have actors playing scenes in the traditional way. Sometimes they just appear in photographs; sometimes they just appear at a distance as if caught by newsreel photographers.
Seeing it for the first time in a theater I was struck by how the black-and-white footage really looked like black-and-white. It is difficult to mix black-and-white and color because the final print would be on color stock. But Woody Allen took pains and didn't do it the easy way.
What interested me this time around was that Eudora Fletcher at first wanted to exploit Zelig just as everybody else did. She is concerned with making her reputation. But she outgrows that and it is when she does that she really becomes able to help him.
And while the exploitation of Zelig is so heartless it is hard to not get caught up in the exhilaration of it, to not delight in something like the Zelig doll and the voice of Al Jolson singing to Zelig. I found myself singing "Chameleon Days" the day before the screening, in gleeful anticipation.
Zelig is my favorite Woody Allen film. This is the first time I have ever seen it in a theater and it was a joy from start to finish. It impresses me very much as a work of imagination. It is hard to pin down what I mean, but I am impressed that Allen came up with a whole concept--both in the story and in the way it would be presented--and then executed it so brilliantly. He creates a whole world in this film. I can only wonder what it was like to make it, since he doesn't have actors playing scenes in the traditional way. Sometimes they just appear in photographs; sometimes they just appear at a distance as if caught by newsreel photographers.
Seeing it for the first time in a theater I was struck by how the black-and-white footage really looked like black-and-white. It is difficult to mix black-and-white and color because the final print would be on color stock. But Woody Allen took pains and didn't do it the easy way.
What interested me this time around was that Eudora Fletcher at first wanted to exploit Zelig just as everybody else did. She is concerned with making her reputation. But she outgrows that and it is when she does that she really becomes able to help him.
And while the exploitation of Zelig is so heartless it is hard to not get caught up in the exhilaration of it, to not delight in something like the Zelig doll and the voice of Al Jolson singing to Zelig. I found myself singing "Chameleon Days" the day before the screening, in gleeful anticipation.
Cane Toads: An Unnatural History. 1988. Directed by Mark Lewis.
(8/25/00)
This is an Australian pseudo-documentary. Supposedly, the cane crop back in the 1930s was menaced by some critter (referred to as the "cane jab" or something) and the cane toads were brought in from somewhere to eat the pests, but didn't. Instead they multiplied and multiplied and became either a menace (they carried poison) or pests.
This is in 16mm and has the look and feel of an educational documentary. But of course we know it isn't for real. It is a comedy and has a sort of Monty Python feel to it. A lot of the fun comes from the actors saying the most outrageous things with perfectly serious expressions.
I couldn't hear it well at the beginning, but my ears adjusted to it. In general, I got into it and was able to concentrate on it.
This is an Australian pseudo-documentary. Supposedly, the cane crop back in the 1930s was menaced by some critter (referred to as the "cane jab" or something) and the cane toads were brought in from somewhere to eat the pests, but didn't. Instead they multiplied and multiplied and became either a menace (they carried poison) or pests.
This is in 16mm and has the look and feel of an educational documentary. But of course we know it isn't for real. It is a comedy and has a sort of Monty Python feel to it. A lot of the fun comes from the actors saying the most outrageous things with perfectly serious expressions.
I couldn't hear it well at the beginning, but my ears adjusted to it. In general, I got into it and was able to concentrate on it.
Artists and Models. 1955. Directed by Frank Tashlin.
(8/21/00-8/25/00)
This film reminded me that there was a lot of controversy about comic books in the mid-1950s. And here it turns up in a movie with Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.
I enjoyed it for a while, but then lost interest (perhaps because I was tired). The best moment is Jerry Lewis's confrontation with the model who portays the "Bat Lady," the start of the comic book he is addicted to. We are shown the artist and the model before Lewis comes to the door, he turns aside rehearsing what he is going to say to the neighbor he is told is a successful artist, and then we get the payoff we have been waiting for as Lewis goes crazy.
The rest of the film isn't as good, alas. I couldn't understand how Jerry Lewis went from being a comic book fan to an anti-comic book panelist on a TV discussion. I didn't like Dean Martin's aggressive pursuit of the heroine. (When Sean Connery was aggressive like that it seemed entirely natural and appropriate; Martin was merely obnoxious.) The songs were pleasant but certainly not memorable. And the scene that Jerry Lewis did with Shirley MacClaine on the stairs (I can't even remember if it was a musical number) grated on me.
The whole thing about Martin's comic book inadvertently having part of a secret formula and him and Lewis being pursued by foreign spies was just irritating. That was the worst part of the whole picture.
I think that more should have been done with Martin's creating a comic feature based on Lewis talking in his sleep. That was the aspect of the story that should have been developed.
The fact that Shirley MacLaine wanted Jerry Lewis to love her for herself and not for the fact that she was the Bat Lady was of course reminiscent of Superman and Lois Lane.
This film reminded me that there was a lot of controversy about comic books in the mid-1950s. And here it turns up in a movie with Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.
I enjoyed it for a while, but then lost interest (perhaps because I was tired). The best moment is Jerry Lewis's confrontation with the model who portays the "Bat Lady," the start of the comic book he is addicted to. We are shown the artist and the model before Lewis comes to the door, he turns aside rehearsing what he is going to say to the neighbor he is told is a successful artist, and then we get the payoff we have been waiting for as Lewis goes crazy.
The rest of the film isn't as good, alas. I couldn't understand how Jerry Lewis went from being a comic book fan to an anti-comic book panelist on a TV discussion. I didn't like Dean Martin's aggressive pursuit of the heroine. (When Sean Connery was aggressive like that it seemed entirely natural and appropriate; Martin was merely obnoxious.) The songs were pleasant but certainly not memorable. And the scene that Jerry Lewis did with Shirley MacClaine on the stairs (I can't even remember if it was a musical number) grated on me.
The whole thing about Martin's comic book inadvertently having part of a secret formula and him and Lewis being pursued by foreign spies was just irritating. That was the worst part of the whole picture.
I think that more should have been done with Martin's creating a comic feature based on Lewis talking in his sleep. That was the aspect of the story that should have been developed.
The fact that Shirley MacLaine wanted Jerry Lewis to love her for herself and not for the fact that she was the Bat Lady was of course reminiscent of Superman and Lois Lane.
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Magic Box. 1951. Directed by John Boulting.
(8/17-00-8/21/00)
The British film industry paid a loving tribute to pioneer William Friene-Greene in this lovely, dignified film. Robert Donat does a fine job of portraying him at different ages and many of the British screen's most illustrious performers contributed their presences--people like Cecil Parker, Margaret Rutherford and Laurence Olivier. Jack Cardiff was the cinematographer and the film evokes the Victorian era quite nicely.
The most moving scene is probably the one with Laurence Olivier. Friene-Greene has successfully projected motion pictures in his laboratory. He has to share his moment of triumkph with someone and goes out and finds a policeman. Olivier as the officer first thinks he is dealing with a lunatic. He accompanies him back to the lab and sees the projected scenes of (I think) a parade. He doesn't understand what is going on at first, but eventually gets the idea. Donat is jubilant. Olivier underplays wonderfully and merely says, "You must be a very happy man." This scene conveys the thrill of achievement so beautifully and somehow makes up for all the sadness in the rest of the film.
The rest of the film is sad. It is about a man who is impractical, who can't protect his discovery and who is forgotten. Earlier in the film we had seen another memorable moment. Friene-Greene's son comes home from a fight with another boy. They fought about the father. The other boy shows him an encyclopedia in which Friene-Greene's name isn't even mentioned in reference to the invention of the motion picture camera. "They could have at least mentioned my name," Donat says quietly and sadly.
At the end of the film he makes a speech at a meeting of the most important people of the British film industry. Nobody pays attention to him, but as he goes on this unimportant man begins to speak with a commanding authority. He speaks with a great fervor and belief in the importance and promise of the motion picture. The he dies.
I had never heard of William Friene-Greene and I don't know what role he actually played in the development of the motion picture. I do know, now, that the British film industry held him in great esteem and paid him a dignified and deeply-felt tribute in this production.
The British film industry paid a loving tribute to pioneer William Friene-Greene in this lovely, dignified film. Robert Donat does a fine job of portraying him at different ages and many of the British screen's most illustrious performers contributed their presences--people like Cecil Parker, Margaret Rutherford and Laurence Olivier. Jack Cardiff was the cinematographer and the film evokes the Victorian era quite nicely.
The most moving scene is probably the one with Laurence Olivier. Friene-Greene has successfully projected motion pictures in his laboratory. He has to share his moment of triumkph with someone and goes out and finds a policeman. Olivier as the officer first thinks he is dealing with a lunatic. He accompanies him back to the lab and sees the projected scenes of (I think) a parade. He doesn't understand what is going on at first, but eventually gets the idea. Donat is jubilant. Olivier underplays wonderfully and merely says, "You must be a very happy man." This scene conveys the thrill of achievement so beautifully and somehow makes up for all the sadness in the rest of the film.
The rest of the film is sad. It is about a man who is impractical, who can't protect his discovery and who is forgotten. Earlier in the film we had seen another memorable moment. Friene-Greene's son comes home from a fight with another boy. They fought about the father. The other boy shows him an encyclopedia in which Friene-Greene's name isn't even mentioned in reference to the invention of the motion picture camera. "They could have at least mentioned my name," Donat says quietly and sadly.
At the end of the film he makes a speech at a meeting of the most important people of the British film industry. Nobody pays attention to him, but as he goes on this unimportant man begins to speak with a commanding authority. He speaks with a great fervor and belief in the importance and promise of the motion picture. The he dies.
I had never heard of William Friene-Greene and I don't know what role he actually played in the development of the motion picture. I do know, now, that the British film industry held him in great esteem and paid him a dignified and deeply-felt tribute in this production.
Singin' in the Rain. 1952. Directed by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen.
(8/?/00-8/17/00)
I was very tired when I saw this and the sound was turned so low that I couldn't hear all of it and what I could hear too concentration.
I didn't enjoy Singin' in the Rain as much as An American in Paris. One reason for that is that I don't think that Don Lockwood is as appealing a figure as Jerry Mulligan--although the scene in which Gene Kelly dances to "Singin' in the Rain" is unquestionably his signature scene. (And boy, was that rain one helluva downpour!) Debbie Reynolds didn't have the charm of Leslie Caron and Donald O'Connor was just a little too frenetic for my taste, especially in his solo number "Make 'Em Laugh."
"Moses Supposes" also struck me as kind of silly; perhaps I just wasn't in the mood. That happens.
It's not a favorite of mine, but Singin' in the Rain is a very enjoyable nostalgic piece about Hollywood's changeover to sound. It has a wonderful character in Lina Lamont--a silent film star who has a dreadful, wretched voice. Lina is vain, stupid and unequivocally ruthless. She believes the fan magazine publicity about Don being in love with her, yet has no scruples whatever about preventing Betty (Debbie Reynolds' character) from having her chance at stardom. She is mean-spirited to the core, yet I somehow felt sorry for her at the end when she goes too far and is revealed as a fraud before a large audience.
One of my favorite moments is when Lina gets hit in the face with a pie which was intended for Lockwood. It made me laugh out loud. It was also wonderful to hear wonderful old songs like "You Are My Lucky Star" and "All I Do Is Dream of You." I wasn't that impressed with the big surreal dance number "Gotta Dance." This obviously bore no relation to early Hollywood musicals. And this kind of elaborate "jazz ballet" (for lack of a more precise description), which was a hallmark of the Arthur Freed-produced MGM musicals, is just not as interesting to me as a more simple routine which advances the story. As an example, I'm thinking of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing to "Isn't This a Lovely Day to be Caught in the Rain?" These elaborate, surreal "ballets" just don't do it for me.
But I very much enjoyed the attempts to record Lina Lamont's voice (they can't get her to understand that she has to speak into the microphone) and the wonderful finish where she goes too far and they make Debbie Reynolds coverfor her while she sings, but raise the curtain so everyone knows what's really going on.
I was very tired when I saw this and the sound was turned so low that I couldn't hear all of it and what I could hear too concentration.
I didn't enjoy Singin' in the Rain as much as An American in Paris. One reason for that is that I don't think that Don Lockwood is as appealing a figure as Jerry Mulligan--although the scene in which Gene Kelly dances to "Singin' in the Rain" is unquestionably his signature scene. (And boy, was that rain one helluva downpour!) Debbie Reynolds didn't have the charm of Leslie Caron and Donald O'Connor was just a little too frenetic for my taste, especially in his solo number "Make 'Em Laugh."
"Moses Supposes" also struck me as kind of silly; perhaps I just wasn't in the mood. That happens.
It's not a favorite of mine, but Singin' in the Rain is a very enjoyable nostalgic piece about Hollywood's changeover to sound. It has a wonderful character in Lina Lamont--a silent film star who has a dreadful, wretched voice. Lina is vain, stupid and unequivocally ruthless. She believes the fan magazine publicity about Don being in love with her, yet has no scruples whatever about preventing Betty (Debbie Reynolds' character) from having her chance at stardom. She is mean-spirited to the core, yet I somehow felt sorry for her at the end when she goes too far and is revealed as a fraud before a large audience.
One of my favorite moments is when Lina gets hit in the face with a pie which was intended for Lockwood. It made me laugh out loud. It was also wonderful to hear wonderful old songs like "You Are My Lucky Star" and "All I Do Is Dream of You." I wasn't that impressed with the big surreal dance number "Gotta Dance." This obviously bore no relation to early Hollywood musicals. And this kind of elaborate "jazz ballet" (for lack of a more precise description), which was a hallmark of the Arthur Freed-produced MGM musicals, is just not as interesting to me as a more simple routine which advances the story. As an example, I'm thinking of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing to "Isn't This a Lovely Day to be Caught in the Rain?" These elaborate, surreal "ballets" just don't do it for me.
But I very much enjoyed the attempts to record Lina Lamont's voice (they can't get her to understand that she has to speak into the microphone) and the wonderful finish where she goes too far and they make Debbie Reynolds coverfor her while she sings, but raise the curtain so everyone knows what's really going on.
An American in Paris. 1951. Directed by Vincent Minelli.
(July or August 2000)
George Gershwin was rather unique in that he straddled the worlds of popular and classical music. This presented a problem when making a film based on his music because it seems difficult to integrate his concert music into the film. And that is what seems like the big flaw in An American in Paris. The famous Gershwin songs are irresistable and perfectly worked into the story, but the more serious music just seems out of place. Thus, when Oscar Levant has a fantasy about playing the piano with an orchestra which he is also conducting and for which he is playing multiple violins, it just seems silly.
The big ballet number "An American in Paris" takes us out of the film. As interesting as it is as a self-contained unit it doesn't add anything to the story we have become involved with. It doesn't advance the plot and it doesn't take us into the mind of Jerry Mulligan. It seems kind of ridiculous, in fact, because Jerry is at his lowest ebb right about then. He believes he has lost the girl he loves--so why would his daydream show him dancing so energetically and happily? It doesn't fit the mood of the film at that point. It was just dropped in.
Taken on its own terms the "American in Paris" ballet is very enjoyable. Gene Kelly dances against sets based on popular French painters--Raoul Dufy, Maurice Utrillo, Henri Rousseau, Toulouse-Lautrec. These are artists whose styles have trickled down into the popular imagination.
The songs are used to much more telling effect. In particular, "Our Love Is Here to Stay" makes a wonderful romantic theme which recurs several times after it is sung. It is probably my favorite Gershwin song and perfectly captures the spirit of the story.
One of the best moments in the film is when Gene Kelly and the other guy sing "'S Wonderful." Unbeknownst to each other they are both singing about the same girl. Sandwiched between them is Oscar Levant who does know.
"I Got Rhythm" is also a delight, but "Embraceable You" doesn't come off as well. It is used only as an instrumental for Leslie Caron to dance to as her fiance describes her personality to Gene Kelly. What a waste it is of one of Gershwin's most haunting songs--but it obviously wasn't possible to include everything.
It is interesting to note that this film was released in 1951 when Gerswhin died in 1937. (I think it was '37.) So the film had a nostalgic quality when it was first shown. It is a lovely fairytale of Paris and the Parisian art world--or maybe of the myth of the artist as it exists in the popular imagination.
Gene Kelly is delightful as Jerry Mulligan. He seems so vital, so open-hearted, so good-natured. He is just so positive that his pursuit of Leslie Caron seems acceptable and proper. This is no small feat because his persistance could be viewed--by today's standards--as stalking. But he can pull it off. And boy, is he ever confident about it! I love it when Leslie Caron remarks that it's a pity he doesn't have as much charm as persistance and he comes right back with: "But I do--you've only seen the aggressive side." He acts very aggressive, but he has the personality to back it up with.
Leslie Caron has all the innocence and sensitivity that her part requires. And Oscar Levant gives the whole thing just enough of an edge to keep it from seeming too sweet or schmaltzy. And there is a reasonably interesting sub-plot about a wealthy American woman who wants to help Jerry Mulligan's career, but who has designs on him as well. To take a line from one of those classic Gershwin songs: "Who could ask for anything more?"
George Gershwin was rather unique in that he straddled the worlds of popular and classical music. This presented a problem when making a film based on his music because it seems difficult to integrate his concert music into the film. And that is what seems like the big flaw in An American in Paris. The famous Gershwin songs are irresistable and perfectly worked into the story, but the more serious music just seems out of place. Thus, when Oscar Levant has a fantasy about playing the piano with an orchestra which he is also conducting and for which he is playing multiple violins, it just seems silly.
The big ballet number "An American in Paris" takes us out of the film. As interesting as it is as a self-contained unit it doesn't add anything to the story we have become involved with. It doesn't advance the plot and it doesn't take us into the mind of Jerry Mulligan. It seems kind of ridiculous, in fact, because Jerry is at his lowest ebb right about then. He believes he has lost the girl he loves--so why would his daydream show him dancing so energetically and happily? It doesn't fit the mood of the film at that point. It was just dropped in.
Taken on its own terms the "American in Paris" ballet is very enjoyable. Gene Kelly dances against sets based on popular French painters--Raoul Dufy, Maurice Utrillo, Henri Rousseau, Toulouse-Lautrec. These are artists whose styles have trickled down into the popular imagination.
The songs are used to much more telling effect. In particular, "Our Love Is Here to Stay" makes a wonderful romantic theme which recurs several times after it is sung. It is probably my favorite Gershwin song and perfectly captures the spirit of the story.
One of the best moments in the film is when Gene Kelly and the other guy sing "'S Wonderful." Unbeknownst to each other they are both singing about the same girl. Sandwiched between them is Oscar Levant who does know.
"I Got Rhythm" is also a delight, but "Embraceable You" doesn't come off as well. It is used only as an instrumental for Leslie Caron to dance to as her fiance describes her personality to Gene Kelly. What a waste it is of one of Gershwin's most haunting songs--but it obviously wasn't possible to include everything.
It is interesting to note that this film was released in 1951 when Gerswhin died in 1937. (I think it was '37.) So the film had a nostalgic quality when it was first shown. It is a lovely fairytale of Paris and the Parisian art world--or maybe of the myth of the artist as it exists in the popular imagination.
Gene Kelly is delightful as Jerry Mulligan. He seems so vital, so open-hearted, so good-natured. He is just so positive that his pursuit of Leslie Caron seems acceptable and proper. This is no small feat because his persistance could be viewed--by today's standards--as stalking. But he can pull it off. And boy, is he ever confident about it! I love it when Leslie Caron remarks that it's a pity he doesn't have as much charm as persistance and he comes right back with: "But I do--you've only seen the aggressive side." He acts very aggressive, but he has the personality to back it up with.
Leslie Caron has all the innocence and sensitivity that her part requires. And Oscar Levant gives the whole thing just enough of an edge to keep it from seeming too sweet or schmaltzy. And there is a reasonably interesting sub-plot about a wealthy American woman who wants to help Jerry Mulligan's career, but who has designs on him as well. To take a line from one of those classic Gershwin songs: "Who could ask for anything more?"
The Woman in the Window. 1944. Directed by Fritz Lang.
(July or August 2000)
Another man comes to ruin because of a woman. Fritz Lang's film is a nightmare--literally. The whole film is brutally disfigured by the ending which reveals the whole thing to be a dream.
Dream or not, there is a sadness which hangs over the film. Edward G. Robinson has an affectionate relationship with his wife who goes away on a vacation, yet he admits he hates the restrictions placed on his life and the fact that he can't seek adventure. His middle-aged friends tease him about this.
He has a dream about an involvement with a glamorous young woman, murder, blackmail and eventual suicide. It is like this film skirts dangerous territory but had to pull back and provide the relief of a dream ending. And the ending really does provide a great sense of relief.
I really enjoyed the shots of city streets at night, particularly when it was raining. The film revels in its description of police work and it is delightful when Robinson makes slips which indicate that he is more familiar with the events than he would like the others to realize. My favorite is when he and his detective friends go to visit the spot where the body was discovered and Robinson starts leading the way, like he knows just where the body was found. (He does.)
There is a real spark to the scene where blackmailer Dan Duryea comes to Joan Bennett's apartment. There is a real chemistry between the two of them.
The dream ending actually covers up at least one hole in the story. Robinson knows that Dan Duryea can't go to the police with his information because he is wanted on other charges. So why all the worry and fuss? The fact that it's a dream also takes care of the problem that Robinson and Bennett never even consider the factor that the killing was done in self-defense.
It's quite fascinating how the dead Dan Duryea is taken for the killer. This is omething which will happen again in Scarlet Street, only in that film he is quite alive when it happens. In both cases he becomes what is referred to in gangster films as "the fall guy."
Another man comes to ruin because of a woman. Fritz Lang's film is a nightmare--literally. The whole film is brutally disfigured by the ending which reveals the whole thing to be a dream.
Dream or not, there is a sadness which hangs over the film. Edward G. Robinson has an affectionate relationship with his wife who goes away on a vacation, yet he admits he hates the restrictions placed on his life and the fact that he can't seek adventure. His middle-aged friends tease him about this.
He has a dream about an involvement with a glamorous young woman, murder, blackmail and eventual suicide. It is like this film skirts dangerous territory but had to pull back and provide the relief of a dream ending. And the ending really does provide a great sense of relief.
I really enjoyed the shots of city streets at night, particularly when it was raining. The film revels in its description of police work and it is delightful when Robinson makes slips which indicate that he is more familiar with the events than he would like the others to realize. My favorite is when he and his detective friends go to visit the spot where the body was discovered and Robinson starts leading the way, like he knows just where the body was found. (He does.)
There is a real spark to the scene where blackmailer Dan Duryea comes to Joan Bennett's apartment. There is a real chemistry between the two of them.
The dream ending actually covers up at least one hole in the story. Robinson knows that Dan Duryea can't go to the police with his information because he is wanted on other charges. So why all the worry and fuss? The fact that it's a dream also takes care of the problem that Robinson and Bennett never even consider the factor that the killing was done in self-defense.
It's quite fascinating how the dead Dan Duryea is taken for the killer. This is omething which will happen again in Scarlet Street, only in that film he is quite alive when it happens. In both cases he becomes what is referred to in gangster films as "the fall guy."
Thursday, March 4, 2010
North By Northwest. 1959. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock.
(7/27/00)
I am not going to say much about this wonderful film which is one of my favorites. I am just going to set down a few thoughts that came to me this time around.
Eva Marie Saint is obviously playing a Grace Kelly part. I wonder if Kelly (in her prime) would have been better. She certainly had more of the stature of an icon to match against Cary Grant, but I wonder. Would that stature have made so much of a difference? Eva Marie Saint pulls it off with such perfect poise that Grace Kelly just somehow doesn't seem adequate.
The scene between Grant and Saint in the dining car is just done so well that it is always enjoyable, no matter how many times you see it. Saint's up-front, no-nonsense sexual invitation goes so against the manners of the time that it takes someone with the assurance of a Cary Grant to take it in stride.
I loved the scene in the bathroom at the train station when Cary Grant has to shave with Eva Marie Saint's tiny razor with another fellow looking on. I hadn't remembered that. It's just another example of the wit and imagination that flows so freely in this film.
I really enjoyed Grant's cruelty towards Saint at the auction scene. She is a woman who has been exploited and used and did what she did in order to protect herself, but yet Grant's cruel, bitter response strikes a deep chord. Perhaps it is out of a sense of feeling vulnerable to women myself. And the fact is that, whatever the reason, she really did use sex in an attempt to lure a man to his death.
North By Northwest has a closer kinship to Notorious than I had realized. In both films a woman is used by the American government to take advatage of a man who is really in love with her. The woman consents to this arrangement so she is at the same time both victim and villaness. (Vandamm's feelings towards his mistress are made clear when he refuses Grant's offer of his silence in exchange for the opportunity to send Eve Kendall to prison.)
In both Notorious and North By Northwest the villain comes across as likable. Eve says of Vandamm that she fell in love with him and saw only his charm. An argument can be made that in this film the villain really isn't even a villain at all. He imports and exports. What? "Government secrets, perhaps," says the Professor. The government is shown to be an ugly institution that plays games with people's lives and degrades the people that get enmeshed in those games. So is there anything really wrong in trying to make a profit importing and exporting its secrets? I have no doubt that the Professor and his cronies would gladly do business with Vandamm if he had anything to sell that they wanted.
The Professor refuses to lift a finger to help Roger Thornhill until it suits his interest. And then he goes to him for help and gets it by lying to him. To Thornhill's credit he then takes matters into his own hands and goes out on his own to save the damsel in distress. However, there is one bizarre twist in that it takes those government agents to save Thornhill and Kendall on the faces at Mount Rushmore.
I can't help wondering what lies they told Eve Kendall to get her to help them. These people will stop at nothing. And Cary Grant's speech about how you ought to start losing a few cold wars is simple, direct and to the point. It is an amazingly subversive thing to hear in a big-budget movie of 1959.
I marvelled at the sheer imagination that came up with something like the murder at the U.N. building. That was such a brilliant idea. I really enjoyed the scenes, early in the film, when Cary Grant is trying to get people to believe him. I liked the exterior shots from the train ride; I hadn't noticed them before and they are indeed beautiful.
The finale on the faces at Mount Rushmore didn't do much for me this time, but that is only because it made such an impression in the past.
I am not going to say much about this wonderful film which is one of my favorites. I am just going to set down a few thoughts that came to me this time around.
Eva Marie Saint is obviously playing a Grace Kelly part. I wonder if Kelly (in her prime) would have been better. She certainly had more of the stature of an icon to match against Cary Grant, but I wonder. Would that stature have made so much of a difference? Eva Marie Saint pulls it off with such perfect poise that Grace Kelly just somehow doesn't seem adequate.
The scene between Grant and Saint in the dining car is just done so well that it is always enjoyable, no matter how many times you see it. Saint's up-front, no-nonsense sexual invitation goes so against the manners of the time that it takes someone with the assurance of a Cary Grant to take it in stride.
I loved the scene in the bathroom at the train station when Cary Grant has to shave with Eva Marie Saint's tiny razor with another fellow looking on. I hadn't remembered that. It's just another example of the wit and imagination that flows so freely in this film.
I really enjoyed Grant's cruelty towards Saint at the auction scene. She is a woman who has been exploited and used and did what she did in order to protect herself, but yet Grant's cruel, bitter response strikes a deep chord. Perhaps it is out of a sense of feeling vulnerable to women myself. And the fact is that, whatever the reason, she really did use sex in an attempt to lure a man to his death.
North By Northwest has a closer kinship to Notorious than I had realized. In both films a woman is used by the American government to take advatage of a man who is really in love with her. The woman consents to this arrangement so she is at the same time both victim and villaness. (Vandamm's feelings towards his mistress are made clear when he refuses Grant's offer of his silence in exchange for the opportunity to send Eve Kendall to prison.)
In both Notorious and North By Northwest the villain comes across as likable. Eve says of Vandamm that she fell in love with him and saw only his charm. An argument can be made that in this film the villain really isn't even a villain at all. He imports and exports. What? "Government secrets, perhaps," says the Professor. The government is shown to be an ugly institution that plays games with people's lives and degrades the people that get enmeshed in those games. So is there anything really wrong in trying to make a profit importing and exporting its secrets? I have no doubt that the Professor and his cronies would gladly do business with Vandamm if he had anything to sell that they wanted.
The Professor refuses to lift a finger to help Roger Thornhill until it suits his interest. And then he goes to him for help and gets it by lying to him. To Thornhill's credit he then takes matters into his own hands and goes out on his own to save the damsel in distress. However, there is one bizarre twist in that it takes those government agents to save Thornhill and Kendall on the faces at Mount Rushmore.
I can't help wondering what lies they told Eve Kendall to get her to help them. These people will stop at nothing. And Cary Grant's speech about how you ought to start losing a few cold wars is simple, direct and to the point. It is an amazingly subversive thing to hear in a big-budget movie of 1959.
I marvelled at the sheer imagination that came up with something like the murder at the U.N. building. That was such a brilliant idea. I really enjoyed the scenes, early in the film, when Cary Grant is trying to get people to believe him. I liked the exterior shots from the train ride; I hadn't noticed them before and they are indeed beautiful.
The finale on the faces at Mount Rushmore didn't do much for me this time, but that is only because it made such an impression in the past.
Laura. 1944. Directed by Otto Preminger.
(7/25/00-7/27/00)
Clifton Webb's character Waldo Lydecker is what comes to mind most vividly when I think of Laura. We take delight in his shameless nastiness, his ability to revel in bad manners while seeming impeccably mannered and superior to all around him. His dialogue is brilliant and his delivery is completely worthy of it.
We first see Mr. Lydecker in a sunken bathtub greeting a police officer. I think he may be working at a typewriter. He is completely unflappable and in supreme command of the situaltion, making sarcastic remarks to the detective that most of us would not have the guts to say.
And yet, for all his wit and brilliance, Waldo is a pathetic man. He is very sexually vulnerable to a brilliant young woman. He befriends her, mentors her, and yet she keeps being attracted to younger men. She likes hunks, which is one thing Waldo isn't.
The thing that gets to me is that Waldo seems completely deceiving of this female. He has a lot to offer and yet, while his friendship is accepted, love seems to be out of the question. Whether they ever had sex is left an unanswered question.
Lydecker is another character who meets his downfall at the hands of a woman. When Laura is about to marry another man he attempts to kill her, actually taking another woman's life by mistake. At the end he attempts a second time to murder her. Unsatisfiable passion is the cause of his ruin. And I think that there really is love there because his sying words are a sad, "Goodbye, Laura."
The relationship between Laura, her fiance Shelby and the model Diane was confusing to me. I was never able to wuite see what was going on. Did Shelby really love Laura? Was he basically a nice guy or a creep? Was Laura attracted to him in spite of knowing better? Was Diane just throwing herself at him or was it something mutual? And what about the older woman who tells Laura that she should marry Shelby? "I know he's no good, but you can afford him," she says, or words to that effect. It all doesn't add up.
One relationship which is really interesting is that between the police detective and Laura. He becomes infatuated with her when he believes she is dead and bids on her portrait. This almost seems like a blueprint for Hitchcock's Vertigo, especially when it turns out that Laura is very much alive.
There is a haunting scene in which the detective, having fallen asleep in Laura's apartment, wakes up to find himself staring at the woman whose murder he has been investigating. Unfortunately, this scene doesn't play as well as it should. It hasn't been prepared for well enough--I don't think so, anyway. The real problem is that there is so much going on in this picture that it really doesn't have much of a chance for impact.
Waldo Lydecker sneers at the detective as he does at all of his other rivals. But his contempt is unwarranted. The detective seems to be quite competent in his field. He is certainly intelligent in his own way. I think Waldo's problem is showing a smug contempt for fleshiness while secretly craving it.
Still, as Waldo Lydecker Clifton Webb steals the show. He makes more of an impact than Gene Tierny's Laura. His great moment comes when he sees Laura alive and passes out on the floor. And it is enjoyable to see a young Vincent Price as Shelby Carpenter. It's too bad his character is so confusing.
Clifton Webb's character Waldo Lydecker is what comes to mind most vividly when I think of Laura. We take delight in his shameless nastiness, his ability to revel in bad manners while seeming impeccably mannered and superior to all around him. His dialogue is brilliant and his delivery is completely worthy of it.
We first see Mr. Lydecker in a sunken bathtub greeting a police officer. I think he may be working at a typewriter. He is completely unflappable and in supreme command of the situaltion, making sarcastic remarks to the detective that most of us would not have the guts to say.
And yet, for all his wit and brilliance, Waldo is a pathetic man. He is very sexually vulnerable to a brilliant young woman. He befriends her, mentors her, and yet she keeps being attracted to younger men. She likes hunks, which is one thing Waldo isn't.
The thing that gets to me is that Waldo seems completely deceiving of this female. He has a lot to offer and yet, while his friendship is accepted, love seems to be out of the question. Whether they ever had sex is left an unanswered question.
Lydecker is another character who meets his downfall at the hands of a woman. When Laura is about to marry another man he attempts to kill her, actually taking another woman's life by mistake. At the end he attempts a second time to murder her. Unsatisfiable passion is the cause of his ruin. And I think that there really is love there because his sying words are a sad, "Goodbye, Laura."
The relationship between Laura, her fiance Shelby and the model Diane was confusing to me. I was never able to wuite see what was going on. Did Shelby really love Laura? Was he basically a nice guy or a creep? Was Laura attracted to him in spite of knowing better? Was Diane just throwing herself at him or was it something mutual? And what about the older woman who tells Laura that she should marry Shelby? "I know he's no good, but you can afford him," she says, or words to that effect. It all doesn't add up.
One relationship which is really interesting is that between the police detective and Laura. He becomes infatuated with her when he believes she is dead and bids on her portrait. This almost seems like a blueprint for Hitchcock's Vertigo, especially when it turns out that Laura is very much alive.
There is a haunting scene in which the detective, having fallen asleep in Laura's apartment, wakes up to find himself staring at the woman whose murder he has been investigating. Unfortunately, this scene doesn't play as well as it should. It hasn't been prepared for well enough--I don't think so, anyway. The real problem is that there is so much going on in this picture that it really doesn't have much of a chance for impact.
Waldo Lydecker sneers at the detective as he does at all of his other rivals. But his contempt is unwarranted. The detective seems to be quite competent in his field. He is certainly intelligent in his own way. I think Waldo's problem is showing a smug contempt for fleshiness while secretly craving it.
Still, as Waldo Lydecker Clifton Webb steals the show. He makes more of an impact than Gene Tierny's Laura. His great moment comes when he sees Laura alive and passes out on the floor. And it is enjoyable to see a young Vincent Price as Shelby Carpenter. It's too bad his character is so confusing.
The Killers. 1946. Directed by Robert Siodmak.
(7/24/00)
The Killers is a film about betrayal. Burt Lancaster is double-crossed and betrayed by treacherous Ava Gardner. It is also--simply--the story of a man's downfall through a woman. This is a common subject in films of the period. Two examples that come to mind are Laura and Scarlet Street.
It has quite an opening. Two killers come into a diner, looking for their target. They indulge in classic "tough guy" banter. A friend goes to warn their intended victim, played by Burt Lancaster. He knows they are coming for him. He has accepted this as inevitable and doesn't even bother to run away from it. He just quietly waits in his room to be murdered.
It is fascinating and jarring that we don't see the murder. We do see the killers come to the man's room and then suddenly it is over. It seemed to be a very abrupt jump to me.
There is the planning of a robbery in Hackensack which is interesting. Ava Gardner has a great moment at the end. When her husband is shot she keeps pleading with him to say she is innocent and clear her, even though he is already dead. It really leaves a bitter taste.
Overall, I found the film complicated and hard to follow. That might be because I was very tired.
The Killers is a film about betrayal. Burt Lancaster is double-crossed and betrayed by treacherous Ava Gardner. It is also--simply--the story of a man's downfall through a woman. This is a common subject in films of the period. Two examples that come to mind are Laura and Scarlet Street.
It has quite an opening. Two killers come into a diner, looking for their target. They indulge in classic "tough guy" banter. A friend goes to warn their intended victim, played by Burt Lancaster. He knows they are coming for him. He has accepted this as inevitable and doesn't even bother to run away from it. He just quietly waits in his room to be murdered.
It is fascinating and jarring that we don't see the murder. We do see the killers come to the man's room and then suddenly it is over. It seemed to be a very abrupt jump to me.
There is the planning of a robbery in Hackensack which is interesting. Ava Gardner has a great moment at the end. When her husband is shot she keeps pleading with him to say she is innocent and clear her, even though he is already dead. It really leaves a bitter taste.
Overall, I found the film complicated and hard to follow. That might be because I was very tired.
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