(5/21/01)
I am sure that I didn't get what this film is all about. A peasant woman, considered crazy by her neighbors, meets a shepherd on a hillside. She is convinced that he is St. Joseph and wants him to take her to heaven with him. It's an interesting beginning for a film, but it is bizarre because the woman does this lengthy monologue, talking on and on while the shepherd just sits looking at her and not saying a word. Why? What does that mean? The woman is played by Anna Magnani and the situation certainly gives her an excuse to perform, but that doesn't really explain it.
The next thing we know the woman is pregnant and convinced that the child she is carrying is Jesus Christ. This is interesting in that Saint Joseph really wasn't the father of Jesus who was immaculately conceived. Does that mean something?
Anyway, the woman is scorned by her neighbors and leaves the village and wanders around--and wanders and wanders. There is just a lot of footage of her wandering. Finally, in a cave she has her child and the picture ends.
Magnani is interesting to watch and the whole film has the raw, earthy quality that we associate with neo-realism. The only thing I can find to say by way of interpretation is that the film is about the need we all have--which can become desperate--to feel important.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Difficult Life (Una vita difficile). 1961. Directed by Dino Risi.
(5/21/01)
This film, too, was shown without subtitles. I had no idea what it was all about, but it looked like a pretty interesting film. A lot went on in it. Alberto Sordi had a presence about him and it was a pleasure to see Lea Masari again. (I only know her from L'Avventura.)
One scene made an impression on me. Masari is Sordi's wife or ex-wife and she seems to have rejected him. She is out with some people and he follows her into an outdoor nightclub and makes a fool of himself. They leave and he follows them into the street. It is dawn and I think he attacks the car and it drives off leaving him alone on that deserted street with just the bouncer of the club looking at him. Something like that. I may have the details wrong, but it was an interesting scene.
At the end Sordi pushes a man who seems like a boss or a rich client into a swimming pool, thereby rejecting him and his money. That reminded me of Clark Gable pouring the water over Sydney Greenstreet's head in The Hucksters.
This film, too, was shown without subtitles. I had no idea what it was all about, but it looked like a pretty interesting film. A lot went on in it. Alberto Sordi had a presence about him and it was a pleasure to see Lea Masari again. (I only know her from L'Avventura.)
One scene made an impression on me. Masari is Sordi's wife or ex-wife and she seems to have rejected him. She is out with some people and he follows her into an outdoor nightclub and makes a fool of himself. They leave and he follows them into the street. It is dawn and I think he attacks the car and it drives off leaving him alone on that deserted street with just the bouncer of the club looking at him. Something like that. I may have the details wrong, but it was an interesting scene.
At the end Sordi pushes a man who seems like a boss or a rich client into a swimming pool, thereby rejecting him and his money. That reminded me of Clark Gable pouring the water over Sydney Greenstreet's head in The Hucksters.
Four Steps in the Clouds (Quatro passi tra le nuvole). 1942. Directed by Alessandro Blasetti.
(5/21/01)
I was truly disappointed that this film was shown without subtitles. I had seen it in 1978 and, having enjoyed it, was looking forward to seeing it again.
It has an engaging, homely quality about it. A married salesman is persuaded by a young woman he meets on his travels to accompany her to her family's home and pretend to be her husband, as she is an unwed mother. Her father in particular seems to be a difficult man. The family searches the man's luggage and finds pictures of his wife and children which (I guess) suggest that he is a bigamist. He tells them the truth and it appears that this stranger who comes out of nowhere straightens out this dysfunctional family before returning to his humdrum existence.
I continue to like the character of the grandfather especially--the old man who plays checkers by himself, moving from one side of the table to the other. If I remember right he gets the salesman to use his samples of candies as the checkers and quickly eats a couple of themwhile the other man isn't looking.
I was truly disappointed that this film was shown without subtitles. I had seen it in 1978 and, having enjoyed it, was looking forward to seeing it again.
It has an engaging, homely quality about it. A married salesman is persuaded by a young woman he meets on his travels to accompany her to her family's home and pretend to be her husband, as she is an unwed mother. Her father in particular seems to be a difficult man. The family searches the man's luggage and finds pictures of his wife and children which (I guess) suggest that he is a bigamist. He tells them the truth and it appears that this stranger who comes out of nowhere straightens out this dysfunctional family before returning to his humdrum existence.
I continue to like the character of the grandfather especially--the old man who plays checkers by himself, moving from one side of the table to the other. If I remember right he gets the salesman to use his samples of candies as the checkers and quickly eats a couple of themwhile the other man isn't looking.
The Adventures of Robin Hood. 1938. Directed by Michael Curtiz and William Keighley.
(5/21/01)
After all these years and all these viewings, Warners' Robin Hood remains one of my favorites. There is a freshness and a richness about it which I love. I don't know of a more beautiful film in color. It was as if Technicolor found its perfect subject in this film. The pagentry and spectacle of medieval England are just dazzling to behold. It conjuires up a whole world which probably never existed--but should have. It is a first-class job all the way.
And Technicolor was especially suited to this production because so much of Robin Hood takes place outdoors. The color brought Sherwood Forest vibrantly to life--as well as the archery contest and the near-hanging. The scene where Marian starts to warm up to Robin somehow seems more memorable for being set outdoors. And the cinematographers made excellent use of the locations to create striking images. One favorite of mine is when Robin escapes from the castle and we have the long shot of him riding down the hill on horseback.
Erich Wolfgang Korngold outdid himself with the music. Considered by some to be his greatest film score, it is undoubtedly his most colorful. It brings the film to life. And then there is all that wonderful dialogue, delightful still after repeated viewings.
And then there are the performances. This film has a gallery of vividly-drawn characters who really seem to belong in an old story that we enjoy listening to again and again. In some cases it seems as if the actors had found a perfect context for their screen personas. Was there ever a better use for Eugene Pallette's gruffness than as Friar Tuck? Well, I supposed he was used as well in It Happened One Night--but he still gives me the sense of having been destined by his maker to play Tuck. And wonderful Una O'Connor--I don't think that her talents ever found a better outlet. Her romance with Much--the miller's son who never had a sweetheart--is so endearing and adds so much.
I guess that the characters remind me of Chaucer's pilgrims--not least of all because of the medieval English setting. Also just right is Ian Hunter as Richard the Lion-Hearted. The moment when he reveals his identity to Robin and his men gives me goosebumps. If Hunter ever had a better moment on the screen I have yet to hear of it.
And then there is Claude Rains as Prince John. He is irresistable. I really think that this is my favorite Claude Rains performance, probably because he seems to be enjoying himself so thoroughly. And he has so much fun with the dialogue which, after all, was written to be enjoyed. And he makes it clear that, after all, he's not really hurting people and causing suffering; he's just there to be the obstacle that the hero needs to oppose. His performance reassures us that it's all in good fun.
And then we come to Errol Flynn. He never looked better. He's perhaps a little more poised than in Captain Blood and that green suit he wears is most becoming. He cuts a fine figure in Technicolor. He plays here not a hero but a legend. Olivia de Havilland is likewise enhanced by Technicolor. The two of them retain the chemistry that they had in that earlier film and go through the paces of an antagonism (here only on the woman's part) which is dissolved into love and admiration. It's an old story, but one the world never tires of.
I shouldn't fail to mention another of my favorite images in this film: the moments in the duel between Robin and Sir Guy of Gisborne when we see the shadows of the duellists against a gigantic column. That's the sort of bravura, larger-than-life touch with which this film abounds.
After all these years and all these viewings, Warners' Robin Hood remains one of my favorites. There is a freshness and a richness about it which I love. I don't know of a more beautiful film in color. It was as if Technicolor found its perfect subject in this film. The pagentry and spectacle of medieval England are just dazzling to behold. It conjuires up a whole world which probably never existed--but should have. It is a first-class job all the way.
And Technicolor was especially suited to this production because so much of Robin Hood takes place outdoors. The color brought Sherwood Forest vibrantly to life--as well as the archery contest and the near-hanging. The scene where Marian starts to warm up to Robin somehow seems more memorable for being set outdoors. And the cinematographers made excellent use of the locations to create striking images. One favorite of mine is when Robin escapes from the castle and we have the long shot of him riding down the hill on horseback.
Erich Wolfgang Korngold outdid himself with the music. Considered by some to be his greatest film score, it is undoubtedly his most colorful. It brings the film to life. And then there is all that wonderful dialogue, delightful still after repeated viewings.
And then there are the performances. This film has a gallery of vividly-drawn characters who really seem to belong in an old story that we enjoy listening to again and again. In some cases it seems as if the actors had found a perfect context for their screen personas. Was there ever a better use for Eugene Pallette's gruffness than as Friar Tuck? Well, I supposed he was used as well in It Happened One Night--but he still gives me the sense of having been destined by his maker to play Tuck. And wonderful Una O'Connor--I don't think that her talents ever found a better outlet. Her romance with Much--the miller's son who never had a sweetheart--is so endearing and adds so much.
I guess that the characters remind me of Chaucer's pilgrims--not least of all because of the medieval English setting. Also just right is Ian Hunter as Richard the Lion-Hearted. The moment when he reveals his identity to Robin and his men gives me goosebumps. If Hunter ever had a better moment on the screen I have yet to hear of it.
And then there is Claude Rains as Prince John. He is irresistable. I really think that this is my favorite Claude Rains performance, probably because he seems to be enjoying himself so thoroughly. And he has so much fun with the dialogue which, after all, was written to be enjoyed. And he makes it clear that, after all, he's not really hurting people and causing suffering; he's just there to be the obstacle that the hero needs to oppose. His performance reassures us that it's all in good fun.
And then we come to Errol Flynn. He never looked better. He's perhaps a little more poised than in Captain Blood and that green suit he wears is most becoming. He cuts a fine figure in Technicolor. He plays here not a hero but a legend. Olivia de Havilland is likewise enhanced by Technicolor. The two of them retain the chemistry that they had in that earlier film and go through the paces of an antagonism (here only on the woman's part) which is dissolved into love and admiration. It's an old story, but one the world never tires of.
I shouldn't fail to mention another of my favorite images in this film: the moments in the duel between Robin and Sir Guy of Gisborne when we see the shadows of the duellists against a gigantic column. That's the sort of bravura, larger-than-life touch with which this film abounds.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Sunrise. 1927. Directed by F. W. Murnau.
(5/14/01-5/21/01)
Sunrise is well-established as a classic. However, having seen it a number of times now I think I have to be honest and admit that I really don't like it that much. It's just not a favorite of mine. I wonder if I will ever learn to appreciate and love it, to really see what it is that other people admire about it.
I didn't like the way the film shifted gears. The first part is a stark piece about a man who is persuaded to kill his loyal wife so that he can be with another woman. At the last moment he discovers that he can't do it. This part of the film is executed withgrim seriousness. Then he has to win back his wife's trust. But then, with everything for the moment resolved, the film turns into a series of silly comic vignettes in the city. Husband and wife go to a photographer to have their picture taken and knock over a statue of the winged victory or Venus De Milo and think they've broken it. There is an episode at a carnival with a drunken pig after which (or maybe before which) they do the peasant dance. I suppose that it can be said that life is like this, but in the film it just doesn't work. For me. And when the storm comes at the end and we think that the wife has indeed drowned I just couldn't get interested. Maybe I was too tired.
Another problem was that I didn't find Janet Gaynor appealing or even interesting. She did nothing for me--to put it bluntly. On the other hand, I was quite impressed with the performance which Murnau got out of George O'Brien. He walks around like a zombie in the first part of the film when he is under the spell of the temptress from the city. (He pulls it off and it isn't laughable.) And then he is awkward and poignant as he tries to win his wife back. And he is touchingly ill-at-ease in the big city. Not bad for someone who is known primarily as a b-Western star.
The film does have its own special texture, its own special flavor. One thing I did like was the montage that illustrates night life in the city that the villainess describes to the man. This was very reminiscent of the European avant-garde of the twenties. And I vaguely rememberthat there was a sohisticated use of titles. I think that when the villainess suggests to the man that he kill jis wife the words seem to melt on the screen--or grow and become more emphatic--something like that.
The first part of the film is very different from the average American film--of the 20s or otherwise. Instead of having scenes that are acted out it unfolds in a series of what you might call living photographs. Or tableaus. Shots in which the participants are posed, but really don't do anything as people do in real life. It was very stylized.
I was tired when I saw it, but I have seen it on other occasions and Sunrise just isn't one of my favorites. As much as I admire its photography and set designs and so forth I really don't enter into it emotionally.
Sunrise is well-established as a classic. However, having seen it a number of times now I think I have to be honest and admit that I really don't like it that much. It's just not a favorite of mine. I wonder if I will ever learn to appreciate and love it, to really see what it is that other people admire about it.
I didn't like the way the film shifted gears. The first part is a stark piece about a man who is persuaded to kill his loyal wife so that he can be with another woman. At the last moment he discovers that he can't do it. This part of the film is executed withgrim seriousness. Then he has to win back his wife's trust. But then, with everything for the moment resolved, the film turns into a series of silly comic vignettes in the city. Husband and wife go to a photographer to have their picture taken and knock over a statue of the winged victory or Venus De Milo and think they've broken it. There is an episode at a carnival with a drunken pig after which (or maybe before which) they do the peasant dance. I suppose that it can be said that life is like this, but in the film it just doesn't work. For me. And when the storm comes at the end and we think that the wife has indeed drowned I just couldn't get interested. Maybe I was too tired.
Another problem was that I didn't find Janet Gaynor appealing or even interesting. She did nothing for me--to put it bluntly. On the other hand, I was quite impressed with the performance which Murnau got out of George O'Brien. He walks around like a zombie in the first part of the film when he is under the spell of the temptress from the city. (He pulls it off and it isn't laughable.) And then he is awkward and poignant as he tries to win his wife back. And he is touchingly ill-at-ease in the big city. Not bad for someone who is known primarily as a b-Western star.
The film does have its own special texture, its own special flavor. One thing I did like was the montage that illustrates night life in the city that the villainess describes to the man. This was very reminiscent of the European avant-garde of the twenties. And I vaguely rememberthat there was a sohisticated use of titles. I think that when the villainess suggests to the man that he kill jis wife the words seem to melt on the screen--or grow and become more emphatic--something like that.
The first part of the film is very different from the average American film--of the 20s or otherwise. Instead of having scenes that are acted out it unfolds in a series of what you might call living photographs. Or tableaus. Shots in which the participants are posed, but really don't do anything as people do in real life. It was very stylized.
I was tired when I saw it, but I have seen it on other occasions and Sunrise just isn't one of my favorites. As much as I admire its photography and set designs and so forth I really don't enter into it emotionally.
Between Two Worlds. 1944. Directed by Edward L. Blatt.
(5/14/01)
I have a feeling that this film might have seemed somewhat pretentious in 1944. On the other hand, it was made at a time when death was very much in the air and thus probably seemed timely. It has a sophisticated, a very modern look about it and seems quite appropriate for a score by Erich Wolfgang Korngold as a "modern" composer rather than a sound-illustrator for historical pagents.
While it has a seriousness about it, I don't think it can be taken seriously as a depiction of what happens after the breath leaves the body. It is affirmative in that the suicides (or the suicidal man, really) come to see the value of life and wish to return. And it is even more affirmative in that the powers that be allow him to, as they even allow John Garfield the chance (if I read it correctly) to change on the other side. The idea that you can still strive and learn and improve on the other side is a radical view--but a reassuring one. (I don't get why he can have another chance, but not the rich man nor the unfaithful wife. Ah, well. . .)
One of the real pleasures of Between Two Worlds is watching performers with such diverse acting styles--or maybe just diverse personalities. They are woven together like different melodies or different timbres into a kind of dramatic symphony. John Garfield (perhaps he overacts; I think he acts like a stage performer), Paul Henreid, George Tobias, Sydney Greenstreet, Sara Allgood and Edmund Gwenn--it is wonderful watching these people interact. I think I was most moved by George Tobias who thinks he is on his way home to see his new baby, though Sara Allgood is touching as is the minister who has decided to finally go out and see the world. Sydney Greenstreet strides into the film right when things need to be livened up--and liven them up he does. And Edmund Gwenn--a suicide who is condemned to sort of play ferryman forever and ever is--on second thought--probably just as poignant as George Tobias. His great moment is when he pleads with Sydney Greenstreet not to condemn the young woman to the same fate as he has known. Greenstreet doesn't answer him except to say, "good man" and walk down the stairs. But he does grant the kindly man's request.
Paul Henreid seems to overdo it a little bit as the suicide. That's how it seems, but I think the problem is that we don't have a chance to get to know him before he gets to the end of his rope. That's not his fault; it's just the way the film was laid out.
This is not a profound film; it may even be a cliched one. But it's very enjoyable.
And I did love George Tobias's good luck charm--a little doll he calls the Hohokus.
I have a feeling that this film might have seemed somewhat pretentious in 1944. On the other hand, it was made at a time when death was very much in the air and thus probably seemed timely. It has a sophisticated, a very modern look about it and seems quite appropriate for a score by Erich Wolfgang Korngold as a "modern" composer rather than a sound-illustrator for historical pagents.
While it has a seriousness about it, I don't think it can be taken seriously as a depiction of what happens after the breath leaves the body. It is affirmative in that the suicides (or the suicidal man, really) come to see the value of life and wish to return. And it is even more affirmative in that the powers that be allow him to, as they even allow John Garfield the chance (if I read it correctly) to change on the other side. The idea that you can still strive and learn and improve on the other side is a radical view--but a reassuring one. (I don't get why he can have another chance, but not the rich man nor the unfaithful wife. Ah, well. . .)
One of the real pleasures of Between Two Worlds is watching performers with such diverse acting styles--or maybe just diverse personalities. They are woven together like different melodies or different timbres into a kind of dramatic symphony. John Garfield (perhaps he overacts; I think he acts like a stage performer), Paul Henreid, George Tobias, Sydney Greenstreet, Sara Allgood and Edmund Gwenn--it is wonderful watching these people interact. I think I was most moved by George Tobias who thinks he is on his way home to see his new baby, though Sara Allgood is touching as is the minister who has decided to finally go out and see the world. Sydney Greenstreet strides into the film right when things need to be livened up--and liven them up he does. And Edmund Gwenn--a suicide who is condemned to sort of play ferryman forever and ever is--on second thought--probably just as poignant as George Tobias. His great moment is when he pleads with Sydney Greenstreet not to condemn the young woman to the same fate as he has known. Greenstreet doesn't answer him except to say, "good man" and walk down the stairs. But he does grant the kindly man's request.
Paul Henreid seems to overdo it a little bit as the suicide. That's how it seems, but I think the problem is that we don't have a chance to get to know him before he gets to the end of his rope. That's not his fault; it's just the way the film was laid out.
This is not a profound film; it may even be a cliched one. But it's very enjoyable.
And I did love George Tobias's good luck charm--a little doll he calls the Hohokus.
The Sea Hawk. 1940. Directed by Michael Curtiz.
(5/8/01)
The Sea Hawk looks more visually polished than Captain Blood but it is not as good a film. The main problem with it is that it's all politics. The film is about a struggle between England and Spain and we are told that England is the good side and Spain the bad. It doesn't have the level of human interest of Captain Blood which is a moving story about one man.
Errol Flynn struck me as somewhat stiff in this film as compared with Captain Blood. I had a sense of him as a professional instead of a heroic young man. (For some reason the word "professional" suggests detachment to me, a lack of passionate engagement.) He was less attractive, less earnest, less passionate, less gallant. It was like he was already starting to lose interest.
Brenda Marshall did not have the sparkle of Olivia de Havilland in her films with Flynn. There was no real excitement in their scenes together, even though she was initially resistant to him. And Claude Rains was wasted in an uninteresting role.
There is not much atmosphere or sense of place. At least, not any that you would take home with you. I did like Korngold's exotic music for the tropical locale, but that was about it. It is really a straightforward action picture.
It doesn't have the comic accents of Captain Blood. The monkey running around the palace with the nightcap on his head just seemed silly. I did enjoy Flora Robson's Queen Elizabeth after watching Bette Davis's flamboyant portrayal the week before.
This film is highly regarded--at least it was by the authors of The Films of Errol Flynn--but I was disappointed in it. But perhaps it only suffers by contrast with Captain Blood. Seen by itself it might have been an enjoyable experience.
The Sea Hawk looks more visually polished than Captain Blood but it is not as good a film. The main problem with it is that it's all politics. The film is about a struggle between England and Spain and we are told that England is the good side and Spain the bad. It doesn't have the level of human interest of Captain Blood which is a moving story about one man.
Errol Flynn struck me as somewhat stiff in this film as compared with Captain Blood. I had a sense of him as a professional instead of a heroic young man. (For some reason the word "professional" suggests detachment to me, a lack of passionate engagement.) He was less attractive, less earnest, less passionate, less gallant. It was like he was already starting to lose interest.
Brenda Marshall did not have the sparkle of Olivia de Havilland in her films with Flynn. There was no real excitement in their scenes together, even though she was initially resistant to him. And Claude Rains was wasted in an uninteresting role.
There is not much atmosphere or sense of place. At least, not any that you would take home with you. I did like Korngold's exotic music for the tropical locale, but that was about it. It is really a straightforward action picture.
It doesn't have the comic accents of Captain Blood. The monkey running around the palace with the nightcap on his head just seemed silly. I did enjoy Flora Robson's Queen Elizabeth after watching Bette Davis's flamboyant portrayal the week before.
This film is highly regarded--at least it was by the authors of The Films of Errol Flynn--but I was disappointed in it. But perhaps it only suffers by contrast with Captain Blood. Seen by itself it might have been an enjoyable experience.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Captain Blood. 1935. Directed by Michael Curtiz.
(5/8/01)
Errol Flynn was simply irresistable, to use a hackneyed phrase, in his first major film. He had presence and personality and a relaxed naturalness before the camera. I was quite surprised, seeing Captain Blood a week after Anthony Adverse as to how much better a film it was. Bothwere elaborate costume films produced in 1935 by the same studio, but Captain Blood is a lot more fresh and alive and entertaining. It is consistently interesting. I suppose that can be ascribed to the fact that it was made by a first-class director.
Olivia de Havilland is far more alive and interesting here than in Anthony Adverse. Yes, there was that chemistry between her and Flynn. There is a wonderful tension set up between them which is based on the motif that each is in turn "owned" by the other. Then there is Basil Rathbone with that delicious French accent. The duel between him and Flynn is a highlight, climaxed in that shot of him dead on the shore against those chords of Korngold's music.
The humor is well done, providing expert comic relief, perfectly placed accents. The two inept doctors, the gouty governor and blustering Lionel Atwill--none of them seem forced or strained or out-of-place.
There is a beautiful visual atmosphere about this film. Ithas a very old-fashioned "look" about it, almost as if it were an artifact of its time. And there is a sense of place, of the Caribbean (and especially Jamaica) as an exotic locale. This is very much a film about a place. I love that wonderful beach where Flynn and Rathbone have their duel.
While writing about the visual atmosphere, I want to mention a couple of shots with large shadows on the wall. I think these could be described as "chiaroscuro," but I'm not sure. I'm thinking of one in particular that was in the first part of the film. I think it is when Flynn is dragged off to prison.
This film has a good story, a human story. It is about a man who is wronged, a noble man who is viewed by the world as a criminal and who in fact does turn criminal. It is about his vindication and his return to a position of respectability. It may be an old story, but one that has a lot of meaning for us, and it is here given a first-class treatment.
And that scene, towards the end, when Lord Willoughby--played with so much dignity by Henry Stephenson--tells Errol Flynn that King James has been dethroned and that King William has pardoned him and his men brought tears to my eyes. The long struggle, the time of being outcasts is finally over.
Errol Flynn was simply irresistable, to use a hackneyed phrase, in his first major film. He had presence and personality and a relaxed naturalness before the camera. I was quite surprised, seeing Captain Blood a week after Anthony Adverse as to how much better a film it was. Bothwere elaborate costume films produced in 1935 by the same studio, but Captain Blood is a lot more fresh and alive and entertaining. It is consistently interesting. I suppose that can be ascribed to the fact that it was made by a first-class director.
Olivia de Havilland is far more alive and interesting here than in Anthony Adverse. Yes, there was that chemistry between her and Flynn. There is a wonderful tension set up between them which is based on the motif that each is in turn "owned" by the other. Then there is Basil Rathbone with that delicious French accent. The duel between him and Flynn is a highlight, climaxed in that shot of him dead on the shore against those chords of Korngold's music.
The humor is well done, providing expert comic relief, perfectly placed accents. The two inept doctors, the gouty governor and blustering Lionel Atwill--none of them seem forced or strained or out-of-place.
There is a beautiful visual atmosphere about this film. Ithas a very old-fashioned "look" about it, almost as if it were an artifact of its time. And there is a sense of place, of the Caribbean (and especially Jamaica) as an exotic locale. This is very much a film about a place. I love that wonderful beach where Flynn and Rathbone have their duel.
While writing about the visual atmosphere, I want to mention a couple of shots with large shadows on the wall. I think these could be described as "chiaroscuro," but I'm not sure. I'm thinking of one in particular that was in the first part of the film. I think it is when Flynn is dragged off to prison.
This film has a good story, a human story. It is about a man who is wronged, a noble man who is viewed by the world as a criminal and who in fact does turn criminal. It is about his vindication and his return to a position of respectability. It may be an old story, but one that has a lot of meaning for us, and it is here given a first-class treatment.
And that scene, towards the end, when Lord Willoughby--played with so much dignity by Henry Stephenson--tells Errol Flynn that King James has been dethroned and that King William has pardoned him and his men brought tears to my eyes. The long struggle, the time of being outcasts is finally over.
True Heart Susie. 1919. Directed by D. W. Griffith.
(5/8/01)
True Heart Susie is a very modest film from Griffith. It is not a big spectacle and it doesn't have any wrenching dramatic scenes. It is a simple story of a boy and a girl in a small-town or country milieu. It has a quaint, old-fashioned look about it.
Lillian Gish plays a girl who secretly finances the education of the boy she loves. She expects him to marry her, but he marries someone else instead.
The treatment of Susie is psychologically insightful. It is a study of a woman who sees what she wants to see. When the hero makes a comment about how men don't marry women who wear a lot of makeup and fancy clothes, Susie misinterprets it. She develops a whole fantasy in her mind that she and this guy are engaged, writing in her diary about when they will be married. Griffith doesn't develop this theme and Susie's devotion does in the end win out. And this tendency she has to fantasy, or a warped view of the situation, is only a discordant note mixed in with genuinely fine qualities. And that is actually true-to-life.
Lillian Gish has a primness which I personally find off-putting. It is contrasted with Carol Dempster who brings the film to life as the woman who marries Robert Harron for security only to then be (probably) unfaithful to him. I do resent Griffith's equation of the desire to party and have a good time with "badness."
This film has the charming, tender flavor of an old-fashioned Valentine one might find preserved between the pages of a very old book.
True Heart Susie is a very modest film from Griffith. It is not a big spectacle and it doesn't have any wrenching dramatic scenes. It is a simple story of a boy and a girl in a small-town or country milieu. It has a quaint, old-fashioned look about it.
Lillian Gish plays a girl who secretly finances the education of the boy she loves. She expects him to marry her, but he marries someone else instead.
The treatment of Susie is psychologically insightful. It is a study of a woman who sees what she wants to see. When the hero makes a comment about how men don't marry women who wear a lot of makeup and fancy clothes, Susie misinterprets it. She develops a whole fantasy in her mind that she and this guy are engaged, writing in her diary about when they will be married. Griffith doesn't develop this theme and Susie's devotion does in the end win out. And this tendency she has to fantasy, or a warped view of the situation, is only a discordant note mixed in with genuinely fine qualities. And that is actually true-to-life.
Lillian Gish has a primness which I personally find off-putting. It is contrasted with Carol Dempster who brings the film to life as the woman who marries Robert Harron for security only to then be (probably) unfaithful to him. I do resent Griffith's equation of the desire to party and have a good time with "badness."
This film has the charming, tender flavor of an old-fashioned Valentine one might find preserved between the pages of a very old book.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex. 1939. Directed by Michael Curtiz.
(5/8/01)
[I have fallen very far behind on my film notes. Those that follow will be necessarily sketchy.] [through 5/27/01]
I don't think that this film works. And it isn't because of Errol Flynn's acting. He has a role that is difficult to pull off. At the end Essex explains to Queen Elisabeth that he loves her but that he has a desire for power that he can't control and which is stronger than his love for her. So even if she pardoned him he knows he would try and seize power from her. So it is better for both of them that he should die.
So what we have to believe is that this man who is so ambitious for power that he can't control himself has such self-awareness that he can analyze and discuss the situation so objectively. Something about it doesn't work, doesn't come off. If this man were really that driven I would expect him to use all his wiles to get the queen to pardon him so that he could try once more to become ruler.
I really think that this film is just too cerebral. By that I mean that the characters tell us about their feelings, but we don't experience them along with those characters, those feelings don't become real to us. Essex is a hero, the darling of England. He can have any woman he wants, but loves only this dowdy old woman. We are told that he loves her, but we aren't shown that love in a way that makes it believable. And that's not because of the acting, it is in the writing.
There is that one scene when Elizabeth and Essex let their hair down and enjoy each other's company after his confrontation with Sir Walter Raleigh. Both become human figures in that scene, but it isn't enough.
I liked Errol Flynn better than Bette Davis during much of the film. He seems so natural before the camera while she seems to be working so damn hard. (And the saying goes that the highest art lies in the concealment of that art.) I think that Davis was shown to a great disadvantage by being made to look so unattractive--especially with that wig--in color. It was garish. This was probably her first color film and I suspect that her portrayal of Elizabeth might have worked better in black-and-white. I will say that her portrayal gained in power towards the end.
The film was disappointing, too, in that most of it was set inside the castle. It was cold and chilly and there was a claustrophobic atmosphere. The exterior scenes appeared to be grafted on to the drama, not really integrated. The costumes were beautiful, though, as was the beautiful cushion on Elizabeth's throne.
I did appreciate Elizabeth's loneliness and the film did bring across the difficulty of being a female sovereign. Elizabeth constantly has to assert herself as an authority figure. She is constantly on the defensive and suspicious, always tending to view herself as challenged. I enjoyed Alan Hale very much, as I always do. His scenes with Errol Flynn are some of the liveliest in the film, if not the liveliest.
[I have fallen very far behind on my film notes. Those that follow will be necessarily sketchy.] [through 5/27/01]
I don't think that this film works. And it isn't because of Errol Flynn's acting. He has a role that is difficult to pull off. At the end Essex explains to Queen Elisabeth that he loves her but that he has a desire for power that he can't control and which is stronger than his love for her. So even if she pardoned him he knows he would try and seize power from her. So it is better for both of them that he should die.
So what we have to believe is that this man who is so ambitious for power that he can't control himself has such self-awareness that he can analyze and discuss the situation so objectively. Something about it doesn't work, doesn't come off. If this man were really that driven I would expect him to use all his wiles to get the queen to pardon him so that he could try once more to become ruler.
I really think that this film is just too cerebral. By that I mean that the characters tell us about their feelings, but we don't experience them along with those characters, those feelings don't become real to us. Essex is a hero, the darling of England. He can have any woman he wants, but loves only this dowdy old woman. We are told that he loves her, but we aren't shown that love in a way that makes it believable. And that's not because of the acting, it is in the writing.
There is that one scene when Elizabeth and Essex let their hair down and enjoy each other's company after his confrontation with Sir Walter Raleigh. Both become human figures in that scene, but it isn't enough.
I liked Errol Flynn better than Bette Davis during much of the film. He seems so natural before the camera while she seems to be working so damn hard. (And the saying goes that the highest art lies in the concealment of that art.) I think that Davis was shown to a great disadvantage by being made to look so unattractive--especially with that wig--in color. It was garish. This was probably her first color film and I suspect that her portrayal of Elizabeth might have worked better in black-and-white. I will say that her portrayal gained in power towards the end.
The film was disappointing, too, in that most of it was set inside the castle. It was cold and chilly and there was a claustrophobic atmosphere. The exterior scenes appeared to be grafted on to the drama, not really integrated. The costumes were beautiful, though, as was the beautiful cushion on Elizabeth's throne.
I did appreciate Elizabeth's loneliness and the film did bring across the difficulty of being a female sovereign. Elizabeth constantly has to assert herself as an authority figure. She is constantly on the defensive and suspicious, always tending to view herself as challenged. I enjoyed Alan Hale very much, as I always do. His scenes with Errol Flynn are some of the liveliest in the film, if not the liveliest.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Anthony Adverse. 1936. Directed by Mervyn LeRoy.
(4/?/01-4/11/01)
Anthony Adverse is a piece of good old-fashioned moviemaking. It has a baroque sweep to it across time and space. It is a beautiful production to look at and admire and it is enjoyable to sit there in the company of old friends like Claude Rains, Olivia de Havilland, Fredric March, Edmund Gwenn and Gale Sondergaard. I think perhaps that this film is notable as a vehicle on which to hang the production values and performances rather than as a film in itself.
It's an old-fashioned story, something from a nineteenth-century novel. A nobleman's young wife has an illegitimate child and dies. The nobleman leaves the child at a convent and tells the world that the baby died. The child is raised as an apprentice by his grandfather who makes him his heir, except that the second in line for the inheritance, a scheming mistress, attempts to keep him from claiming it. The hero is separated from his beloved on their wedding day and returns to search for her. By the time he finds her she becomes the mistress of a powerful man--Napoleon, no less--and the hero leaves for the new world with his newly-discovered son. In between these events he goes to Africa and gets involved with slave-trading.
That's a hell of a lot for one movie. And, to be honest, it didn't make that deep of an impression, although it is an enjoyable film to sit through. I think it faltered towards the end when Claude Rains attempts to kill March on the road and when Olivia de Havilland becomes Napoleon's mistress. And the ending is a letdown. Anthony Adverse goes through all these ordeals and trials and doesn't even get the girl at the end. The ending does have some truth in it, I suppose, but somehow it just didn't seem to fit the film.
The scenes in Africa seemed a bit much as well, but I could see thatit was Anthony's coming to knowledge of evil, especially of the capacity for evil within himself or shadow side, and he comes back into civilization a more mature person. Perhaps it is even the myth of the "fall of man." So that part seemed appropriate after all to this larger-than-life canvas.
Olivia de Havilland didn't impress me as the aspiring opera singer, especially as her singing was so obviously--perhaps I should say blatantly--dubbed. Fredric March was earnest as Anthony, but didn't really grab my attention. Claude Rains was appropriately nasty as the villain, yet I could understand him as an aging man married to a beautiful young woman who doesn't love him. Gale Sondergaard was nasty and villainous, though I couldn't quite understand kindly Edmund Gwenn succumbing to her wiles. As for Edmund Gwenn, he had the most touching scene in the whole film when he is told that her daughter is dead, although he isn't all that interesting later on.
Anthony Adverse is a piece of good old-fashioned moviemaking. It has a baroque sweep to it across time and space. It is a beautiful production to look at and admire and it is enjoyable to sit there in the company of old friends like Claude Rains, Olivia de Havilland, Fredric March, Edmund Gwenn and Gale Sondergaard. I think perhaps that this film is notable as a vehicle on which to hang the production values and performances rather than as a film in itself.
It's an old-fashioned story, something from a nineteenth-century novel. A nobleman's young wife has an illegitimate child and dies. The nobleman leaves the child at a convent and tells the world that the baby died. The child is raised as an apprentice by his grandfather who makes him his heir, except that the second in line for the inheritance, a scheming mistress, attempts to keep him from claiming it. The hero is separated from his beloved on their wedding day and returns to search for her. By the time he finds her she becomes the mistress of a powerful man--Napoleon, no less--and the hero leaves for the new world with his newly-discovered son. In between these events he goes to Africa and gets involved with slave-trading.
That's a hell of a lot for one movie. And, to be honest, it didn't make that deep of an impression, although it is an enjoyable film to sit through. I think it faltered towards the end when Claude Rains attempts to kill March on the road and when Olivia de Havilland becomes Napoleon's mistress. And the ending is a letdown. Anthony Adverse goes through all these ordeals and trials and doesn't even get the girl at the end. The ending does have some truth in it, I suppose, but somehow it just didn't seem to fit the film.
The scenes in Africa seemed a bit much as well, but I could see thatit was Anthony's coming to knowledge of evil, especially of the capacity for evil within himself or shadow side, and he comes back into civilization a more mature person. Perhaps it is even the myth of the "fall of man." So that part seemed appropriate after all to this larger-than-life canvas.
Olivia de Havilland didn't impress me as the aspiring opera singer, especially as her singing was so obviously--perhaps I should say blatantly--dubbed. Fredric March was earnest as Anthony, but didn't really grab my attention. Claude Rains was appropriately nasty as the villain, yet I could understand him as an aging man married to a beautiful young woman who doesn't love him. Gale Sondergaard was nasty and villainous, though I couldn't quite understand kindly Edmund Gwenn succumbing to her wiles. As for Edmund Gwenn, he had the most touching scene in the whole film when he is told that her daughter is dead, although he isn't all that interesting later on.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Pollock. 2001. Directed by Ed Harris.
(4/9/01-4/11/01)
I wasn't that crazy about Pollock. I had planned to say that I probably enjoyed it as much as I did because I was so interested in the subject matter. Perhaps the truth is that I already have an image of Pollock and the story of Pollock in my mind and I didn't like the film because it didn't conform to what already existed in the back of my mind.
Portraying Pollock has the same problem inherent in portraying Nixon, though to a lesser degree. Pollock wasn't a continuous television presence, but he is familiar both from photographs and from his words. And, like Richard Nixon, I think that Pollock had more presence and interest than the actor who portrayed him.
Harris plays Jackson Pollock as a sort of freak. I just don't buy it that he was that dysfunctional. Maybe it's true, but I don't accept it. When Lee Krasner first comes to visit Pollock at his studio he can barely say a word to her. She takes him to her family's house for dinner and he acts really . . . well, strange when he hears jazz records. It doesn't ring true, although I suppose I can believe Pollock urinating in the fireplace in Peggy Guggenheim's apartment during a reception. But I wish that scene had been better prepared for.
On the other hand, I think that Mr. Harris did a remarkable job of changing into an older Pollock--the one with flab and a beard. That was a remarkable feat for an actor.
The movie doesn't give any clue as to what caused Pollock to be so dysfunctional. Perhaps there wasn't room in a two-hour movie to explore this in depth, but it was what I wanted to know. And maybe I missed the point. Maybe the film wanted to explore what it was like for a dysfunctional person to have a great talent and what it was like for a woman to see this and accept the role of his caretaker.
Lee Krasner comes across as a much more interesting character than Pollock. She just seems much more alive. When she first walks into his apartment it is clear that she will be the dominant figure in the relationship, leading him around by the nose almost. Of course, Pollock is violent and willful, but Krasner still seems to me to be the dominant one in the relationship.
I liked Marcia Gay Harden as Lee Krasner very much, particularly her Brooklyn accent. Amy Madigan was quite memorable as Peggy Guggenheim. I also liked the young woman who played Pollock's love interest in the final scenes. She was sexy and had a presence. I guess it was the ladies who walked away with the picture.
However, it was Pollock's art and the making of it that really interested me. I found the film enjoyable from that aspect because I am familiar with Pollock's work and MoMA's 1998 Pollock exhibition is still reasonably fresh in my mind. It was exciting to see works that I know sitting around Pollock's studio when Lee Krasner first comes to visit. It was fascinating watching Pollock actually painting Male and Female and the enormous Mural that he did for Peggy Guggenheim's apartment. That was real movie magic.
However, I didn't quite buy it that Pollock got the idea for the drip paintings when paint dripped off a brush he was holding onto the floor or onto a canvas. That didn't ring true, especially since I know that he experimented with the drip technique a couple of years earlier. And from the quotes of Pollock that I know--even though some of them were actually used in the film--I can't really accept that he was as inarticulate as they made him out to be.
I liked very much seeing Pollock draw on Male and Female with a tube of paint. I never guessed that was how he did that "writing" on some of his work. I may try that myself--so I learned something about making art from this film. One other moment that had an impact on me was when Pollock and Krasner were discussing abstraction with reference to one of Pollock's canvases. Krasner insists that abstraction has to be based on nature and Pollock says, succinctly, "I am nature." That says a lot about the nature of his art.
There is a lot that the film doesn't cover. It doesn't mention the doctor who treated Pollock so successfully and whose sudden death had a lot to do with his decline. I suppose that it just wasn't possible to include everything, but I thought that was an important part of the story. And we were shown that Pollock was acting pretty strangely on the last day of his life. But why?
I was impressed with how well-researched this film was. Pollock plays a Billie Holliday record which I know was in Pollock's jazz collection. So that impressed me.
There were a couple of bits of flashy film technique. In one shot taken outside the camera seems to move forward while zooming back, making the perspective change. And during the final drive in the car the soundtrack goes dead, presumably as Pollock is tuning out the voices around him. Both of those moments were interesting to watch, nothing more.
I wasn't that crazy about Pollock. I had planned to say that I probably enjoyed it as much as I did because I was so interested in the subject matter. Perhaps the truth is that I already have an image of Pollock and the story of Pollock in my mind and I didn't like the film because it didn't conform to what already existed in the back of my mind.
Portraying Pollock has the same problem inherent in portraying Nixon, though to a lesser degree. Pollock wasn't a continuous television presence, but he is familiar both from photographs and from his words. And, like Richard Nixon, I think that Pollock had more presence and interest than the actor who portrayed him.
Harris plays Jackson Pollock as a sort of freak. I just don't buy it that he was that dysfunctional. Maybe it's true, but I don't accept it. When Lee Krasner first comes to visit Pollock at his studio he can barely say a word to her. She takes him to her family's house for dinner and he acts really . . . well, strange when he hears jazz records. It doesn't ring true, although I suppose I can believe Pollock urinating in the fireplace in Peggy Guggenheim's apartment during a reception. But I wish that scene had been better prepared for.
On the other hand, I think that Mr. Harris did a remarkable job of changing into an older Pollock--the one with flab and a beard. That was a remarkable feat for an actor.
The movie doesn't give any clue as to what caused Pollock to be so dysfunctional. Perhaps there wasn't room in a two-hour movie to explore this in depth, but it was what I wanted to know. And maybe I missed the point. Maybe the film wanted to explore what it was like for a dysfunctional person to have a great talent and what it was like for a woman to see this and accept the role of his caretaker.
Lee Krasner comes across as a much more interesting character than Pollock. She just seems much more alive. When she first walks into his apartment it is clear that she will be the dominant figure in the relationship, leading him around by the nose almost. Of course, Pollock is violent and willful, but Krasner still seems to me to be the dominant one in the relationship.
I liked Marcia Gay Harden as Lee Krasner very much, particularly her Brooklyn accent. Amy Madigan was quite memorable as Peggy Guggenheim. I also liked the young woman who played Pollock's love interest in the final scenes. She was sexy and had a presence. I guess it was the ladies who walked away with the picture.
However, it was Pollock's art and the making of it that really interested me. I found the film enjoyable from that aspect because I am familiar with Pollock's work and MoMA's 1998 Pollock exhibition is still reasonably fresh in my mind. It was exciting to see works that I know sitting around Pollock's studio when Lee Krasner first comes to visit. It was fascinating watching Pollock actually painting Male and Female and the enormous Mural that he did for Peggy Guggenheim's apartment. That was real movie magic.
However, I didn't quite buy it that Pollock got the idea for the drip paintings when paint dripped off a brush he was holding onto the floor or onto a canvas. That didn't ring true, especially since I know that he experimented with the drip technique a couple of years earlier. And from the quotes of Pollock that I know--even though some of them were actually used in the film--I can't really accept that he was as inarticulate as they made him out to be.
I liked very much seeing Pollock draw on Male and Female with a tube of paint. I never guessed that was how he did that "writing" on some of his work. I may try that myself--so I learned something about making art from this film. One other moment that had an impact on me was when Pollock and Krasner were discussing abstraction with reference to one of Pollock's canvases. Krasner insists that abstraction has to be based on nature and Pollock says, succinctly, "I am nature." That says a lot about the nature of his art.
There is a lot that the film doesn't cover. It doesn't mention the doctor who treated Pollock so successfully and whose sudden death had a lot to do with his decline. I suppose that it just wasn't possible to include everything, but I thought that was an important part of the story. And we were shown that Pollock was acting pretty strangely on the last day of his life. But why?
I was impressed with how well-researched this film was. Pollock plays a Billie Holliday record which I know was in Pollock's jazz collection. So that impressed me.
There were a couple of bits of flashy film technique. In one shot taken outside the camera seems to move forward while zooming back, making the perspective change. And during the final drive in the car the soundtrack goes dead, presumably as Pollock is tuning out the voices around him. Both of those moments were interesting to watch, nothing more.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Man of Marble (Czlowiek z Marmuru). 1977. Directed by Andrzej Wajda.
(4/8/01)
Man of Marble contains two stories. One is the rise of a bricklayer turned labor leader in communist Poland. The other is of a young student filmmaker who wants to make a film of his life and tell a story that the powers that be don't want told. The structure reminds me of Citizen Kane.
I've forgotten a lot of this film since I saw it on March 17. I do remember that the labor leader was a kind of wide-eyed innocent who didn't comprehend the corrupt nature of the system he was involved in.
There is a fascinating scene in which the bricklayer and his friend go to see a bureaucrat. The friend goes into the bureaucrat's office and never comes out. The bureaucrat and his secretary try to tell him that he came in alone, but he doesn't buy it. All this may seem ridiculous, but I think the point is that in a communist country an aware person would simply have understood what had happened and stopped asking questions. The hero of Man of Marble doesn't. He keeps on asking questions, even after being warned to stay out of it, and is eventually sent to prison himself.
His story is paralleled by that of the young filmmaker who pokes her nose into a closed case. She is told a couple of times to stop, but she doesn't and in the end she will not be given film or the the use of a camera to complete her project. In her case, I thought to myself, "Well, what did she expect?" She wouldn't listen, but on the other hand she was young and enthusiastic.
Krystyna Janda did very well with a juicy part. She is a tough cookie, a determined young woman who will let nothing stand in her way. She invades people's privacy, attempts to tape them without permission, distracts a museum curator so that her cameraman can take pictures in a storage room which is off limits. Yet, she seems so vulnerable in the scene withher father after she learns that she won't be permitted to complete her film. But she doesn't let the setback get her down and goes off to Gdansk to seek out and talk to her subject. (Why does she do this as an after-thought and one suggested by her father at that?)
Man of Marble was not allowed to be completed as Wajda originally intended and I think that the ending we have is inconclusive. She goes to Gdansk and meets the son of the man she is seeking. He tells her that his father is dead. But then she comes back either the next day or later that same day, meets the son and walks along happily with him. What is that telling us? It could be that the father is not dead after all, that she is going to interview the son, or possibly that she intends to strike up a friendship or romance with the son. The latter interpretation could be a way of signifying that she has decided to choose the present over the past. Anyway, I was left hanging at the end.
This film was quite enjoyable to watch. It kept me interested and I would very much like to see it again. The only films of Wajda I had previously seen were the famous ones from the 1950s--Ashes and Diamonds and Kanal. It was a pleasure to see what a fine film he made twenty years later.
Man of Marble contains two stories. One is the rise of a bricklayer turned labor leader in communist Poland. The other is of a young student filmmaker who wants to make a film of his life and tell a story that the powers that be don't want told. The structure reminds me of Citizen Kane.
I've forgotten a lot of this film since I saw it on March 17. I do remember that the labor leader was a kind of wide-eyed innocent who didn't comprehend the corrupt nature of the system he was involved in.
There is a fascinating scene in which the bricklayer and his friend go to see a bureaucrat. The friend goes into the bureaucrat's office and never comes out. The bureaucrat and his secretary try to tell him that he came in alone, but he doesn't buy it. All this may seem ridiculous, but I think the point is that in a communist country an aware person would simply have understood what had happened and stopped asking questions. The hero of Man of Marble doesn't. He keeps on asking questions, even after being warned to stay out of it, and is eventually sent to prison himself.
His story is paralleled by that of the young filmmaker who pokes her nose into a closed case. She is told a couple of times to stop, but she doesn't and in the end she will not be given film or the the use of a camera to complete her project. In her case, I thought to myself, "Well, what did she expect?" She wouldn't listen, but on the other hand she was young and enthusiastic.
Krystyna Janda did very well with a juicy part. She is a tough cookie, a determined young woman who will let nothing stand in her way. She invades people's privacy, attempts to tape them without permission, distracts a museum curator so that her cameraman can take pictures in a storage room which is off limits. Yet, she seems so vulnerable in the scene withher father after she learns that she won't be permitted to complete her film. But she doesn't let the setback get her down and goes off to Gdansk to seek out and talk to her subject. (Why does she do this as an after-thought and one suggested by her father at that?)
Man of Marble was not allowed to be completed as Wajda originally intended and I think that the ending we have is inconclusive. She goes to Gdansk and meets the son of the man she is seeking. He tells her that his father is dead. But then she comes back either the next day or later that same day, meets the son and walks along happily with him. What is that telling us? It could be that the father is not dead after all, that she is going to interview the son, or possibly that she intends to strike up a friendship or romance with the son. The latter interpretation could be a way of signifying that she has decided to choose the present over the past. Anyway, I was left hanging at the end.
This film was quite enjoyable to watch. It kept me interested and I would very much like to see it again. The only films of Wajda I had previously seen were the famous ones from the 1950s--Ashes and Diamonds and Kanal. It was a pleasure to see what a fine film he made twenty years later.
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