(9/29/01)
This film is almost a blueprint for Dallas and the character Paul Newman plays is like a precursor of J. R. Ewing. He's younger, though, and exudes a more direct animal magnetism. Newman is well-matched by Melvyn Douglas as the crusty old rancher who seems like a model for Jock Ewing. Douglas really held his own against Newman and it was startling to me to consider that this is the same actor who exuded such cool sophistication opposite Greta Garbo in Ninotchka. Patricia Neal is also quite memorable.
I think that the pleasure of Hud comes from watching these actors do their stuff. And from James Wong Howe's evocative cinematography which captures a gritty atmosphere. The night scenes are particularly atmospheric, especially the shots of the main street of a Texas town at night.
I didn't find the story that involving and I'm not sure why. Hud is a rake and a scoundrel, but his nephew hero-worships him. The nephew becomes disillusioned and turns his back on Hud by the film's end. Hud's father is a cattle rancher who learns that his entire herd is infected with foot-and-mouth disease and has to be destroyed, wiping out his wealth. What I found interesting was watching the different personalities interact.
Some of Hud may have lost its impact over the years because it's been imitated. The father-son conflicts are straight out of Dallas and while they were interesting to watch they probably didn't have the same kind of impact that they might have had in 1963. But the presence and magnetism of Paul Newman shine through undimmed.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Dawn to Dawn. 1933. Directed by Joseph Berne. (Titled "Black Dawn" on print.)
(9/19/01)
As I watched Dawn to Dawn I couldn't help thinking about how it bears the same date as Machaty's Ecstasy. The two films resemble each other. In both films a woman is trapped with an older man and seeks escape with a younger one. Both films seem to exult in nature and in both there is a minimum of dialogue. They both have a frankness about matters of sex. They both end on a note of defeat for the young lovers. And they both have a rich photographic beauty.
Dawn to Dawn is very, very good. It has a very simple story. A young woman lives on a farm with her father who is disabled in some way. He is possessive of her and keeps her away from other people, especially men. She is out ploughing the fields (or something similar.) She takes a nap and is found by a young stranger. She wakes and they make love. He wants to stay with her, but of course the father will not permit it. The stranger wants her to go away with him and she almost does, but she cannot leave her father. The stranger goes, taking with him her only chance for escape and the father appears to die.
The characters in Dawn to Dawn are more like archetypal figures than particular people. They really convey a sense that this is a universal drama being enacted rather than a story about these particular individuals. On that level the film is very convincing.
One thing I liked very much is that the young woman was no great beauty. She had an ordinariness about her which made the film that much more convincing. The young man's voice was somehow disappointing and didn't go with his appearance. He was a stranger who just appears out of nowhere and perhaps because of that his voice should have had a more special quality to it. I'm not sure what it was, but his appearance from nowhere had an impact, but when he started to speak the effect was, well, maybe not shattered, but certainly not enhanced.
The photography captured the atmosphere of this beautiful location--nature full of life and growth and sunlight which is paradoxically a prison. It is beautiful and oppressive at the same time. And the outcome was such a waste because the stranger was willing to stay and help work the land. I wish the woman had been assertive enough to give the father a choice--accept the stranger, who would certainly have been able to pull his weight, or lose her. But she didn't.
As I watched Dawn to Dawn I couldn't help thinking about how it bears the same date as Machaty's Ecstasy. The two films resemble each other. In both films a woman is trapped with an older man and seeks escape with a younger one. Both films seem to exult in nature and in both there is a minimum of dialogue. They both have a frankness about matters of sex. They both end on a note of defeat for the young lovers. And they both have a rich photographic beauty.
Dawn to Dawn is very, very good. It has a very simple story. A young woman lives on a farm with her father who is disabled in some way. He is possessive of her and keeps her away from other people, especially men. She is out ploughing the fields (or something similar.) She takes a nap and is found by a young stranger. She wakes and they make love. He wants to stay with her, but of course the father will not permit it. The stranger wants her to go away with him and she almost does, but she cannot leave her father. The stranger goes, taking with him her only chance for escape and the father appears to die.
The characters in Dawn to Dawn are more like archetypal figures than particular people. They really convey a sense that this is a universal drama being enacted rather than a story about these particular individuals. On that level the film is very convincing.
One thing I liked very much is that the young woman was no great beauty. She had an ordinariness about her which made the film that much more convincing. The young man's voice was somehow disappointing and didn't go with his appearance. He was a stranger who just appears out of nowhere and perhaps because of that his voice should have had a more special quality to it. I'm not sure what it was, but his appearance from nowhere had an impact, but when he started to speak the effect was, well, maybe not shattered, but certainly not enhanced.
The photography captured the atmosphere of this beautiful location--nature full of life and growth and sunlight which is paradoxically a prison. It is beautiful and oppressive at the same time. And the outcome was such a waste because the stranger was willing to stay and help work the land. I wish the woman had been assertive enough to give the father a choice--accept the stranger, who would certainly have been able to pull his weight, or lose her. But she didn't.
This Property Is Condemned. 1966. Directed by Sydney Pollack.
(9/6/01-9/19/01)
This film was "suggested" by a one-act play of Tennessee Williams. I can't help wondering how much of Tennessee Williams is in it and whether it bears the same kind of relationship to its source as The Killers did to the Hemingway story on which it was based. In any case, it does retain the spirit of Williams pretty well (based on my regrettably limited knowledge of the playwright) and strikes me as an example of serious adult movie fare during the 1960s.
The film had a theatrical quality in the sense that it had the feel of a stage play. Many of the scenes felt just like that--scenes, with actors playing parts and reciting lines. Of course, the actors recited the lines well and it was enjoyable watching them. The film occasionally "opened up," such as the scenes set outdoors in New Orleans. It didn't all mesh together smoothly.
Robert Redford has quite a presence. He is attractive and engaging as the railroad hatchet man who stays at the boarding house from which Natalie Wood is dying to escape. He is attractive, projects a sexual confidence, but at the same time is a sensitive enough actor to create a portrait of a man who is stuck with a distasteful job.
I have to wonder, though, how Redford's character lets himself get into the situation where he is beaten up by the locals. He has done this job before and is certainly aware of the hostility that comes with the territory. You would think he would know better than to get involved with the local belle and squire her in public. That is the only thing in the film which just doesn't ring true.
Natalie Wood's character's situation is very interesting. Her mother wants to use her sexuality as a means to escape a drab environment. It is a sad situation this woman is in and it is made quite vivid, whether through acting or writing. I felt especially sad, too, for poor lonely Mr. Johnson who is trying to buy Wood's company even though he knows--or should know--that she isn't interested. He is a sad, pathetic character.
I very much liked the young actress who played Natalie Wood's kid sister.
It is interesting that we don't see Natalie Wood again after the final confrontation with her mother who attempts to destroy--and I'm not sure how successfully--her one chance for happiness, by telling Redford how she had married Charles Bronson and rolled him. We don't see the end of the story, but only hear from the young sister how Wood's character had died.
This film was "suggested" by a one-act play of Tennessee Williams. I can't help wondering how much of Tennessee Williams is in it and whether it bears the same kind of relationship to its source as The Killers did to the Hemingway story on which it was based. In any case, it does retain the spirit of Williams pretty well (based on my regrettably limited knowledge of the playwright) and strikes me as an example of serious adult movie fare during the 1960s.
The film had a theatrical quality in the sense that it had the feel of a stage play. Many of the scenes felt just like that--scenes, with actors playing parts and reciting lines. Of course, the actors recited the lines well and it was enjoyable watching them. The film occasionally "opened up," such as the scenes set outdoors in New Orleans. It didn't all mesh together smoothly.
Robert Redford has quite a presence. He is attractive and engaging as the railroad hatchet man who stays at the boarding house from which Natalie Wood is dying to escape. He is attractive, projects a sexual confidence, but at the same time is a sensitive enough actor to create a portrait of a man who is stuck with a distasteful job.
I have to wonder, though, how Redford's character lets himself get into the situation where he is beaten up by the locals. He has done this job before and is certainly aware of the hostility that comes with the territory. You would think he would know better than to get involved with the local belle and squire her in public. That is the only thing in the film which just doesn't ring true.
Natalie Wood's character's situation is very interesting. Her mother wants to use her sexuality as a means to escape a drab environment. It is a sad situation this woman is in and it is made quite vivid, whether through acting or writing. I felt especially sad, too, for poor lonely Mr. Johnson who is trying to buy Wood's company even though he knows--or should know--that she isn't interested. He is a sad, pathetic character.
I very much liked the young actress who played Natalie Wood's kid sister.
It is interesting that we don't see Natalie Wood again after the final confrontation with her mother who attempts to destroy--and I'm not sure how successfully--her one chance for happiness, by telling Redford how she had married Charles Bronson and rolled him. We don't see the end of the story, but only hear from the young sister how Wood's character had died.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Yankee Doodle Dandy. 1942. Directed by Michael Curtiz.
(9/4/01-9/5/01)
Yankee Doodle Dandy holds up as a high-energy picture full of memorable scenes. It is a well-made, pleasant, entertaining film. There really isn't much more to say about it.
I never realized before how much Douglas Croft adds to this picture as the young George M. Cohan. His scenes are really good and set the stage for Cagney's character--cocky, brash, but endearing just the same.
The whole cast shines. Walter Huston is perfect as the father. George Tobias and S. Z. Sakall contribute delightful little bits, but its Cagney's show all the way. He's terrific to watch in the musical numbers. I think that Cagney's aggressive, staccato delivery was a perfect match to George M. Cohan's songs. And he made Cohan into a believable and endearing character. The brashness and cockiness exude a quality that many tend to think of as "American," without coming across as obnoxious. Cohan was a man of patriotism and family values and Cagney manages to embody this aspect of the man as well. And he brings off the tenderness and vulnerability of the scene at his father's deathbed beautifully.
The musical numbers are stylishly antique. They capture the flavor of a theater that was old-fashioned even in 1942. I wish there had been more of Cagney's dancing, but I guess the rule is to leave the audience wanting more. I especially like the scenes of Cagney doing "Yankee Doodle Dandy," but I found the "Grand Old Flag" number tacky, especially with Walter Huston marching around as Uncle Sam. But this was 1942 and that scene has historical value as it reflects at least a segment of popular feeling at the time. And I suppose it's kind of amusing if one is in the right mood.
Among my favorite scenes are Cohan's encounter with Fay Templeton and the one in which Cohan and another writer pretend that they have practically sold Cohan's show to S. Z. Sakall's rival and get him to practically beg them for it. And the scene in which the stage-struck girl comes to Cohan's dressing room, believing him to be the old man of his stage character. Wonderful scenes all, well-planned and well-played.
This film is a beautiful, energetic tribute to Cohan's music which succeeds in putting a human face on it. And for a lot of us Yankee Doodle Dandy created the images which spring to our minds when we think of the name George M. Cohan.
Yankee Doodle Dandy holds up as a high-energy picture full of memorable scenes. It is a well-made, pleasant, entertaining film. There really isn't much more to say about it.
I never realized before how much Douglas Croft adds to this picture as the young George M. Cohan. His scenes are really good and set the stage for Cagney's character--cocky, brash, but endearing just the same.
The whole cast shines. Walter Huston is perfect as the father. George Tobias and S. Z. Sakall contribute delightful little bits, but its Cagney's show all the way. He's terrific to watch in the musical numbers. I think that Cagney's aggressive, staccato delivery was a perfect match to George M. Cohan's songs. And he made Cohan into a believable and endearing character. The brashness and cockiness exude a quality that many tend to think of as "American," without coming across as obnoxious. Cohan was a man of patriotism and family values and Cagney manages to embody this aspect of the man as well. And he brings off the tenderness and vulnerability of the scene at his father's deathbed beautifully.
The musical numbers are stylishly antique. They capture the flavor of a theater that was old-fashioned even in 1942. I wish there had been more of Cagney's dancing, but I guess the rule is to leave the audience wanting more. I especially like the scenes of Cagney doing "Yankee Doodle Dandy," but I found the "Grand Old Flag" number tacky, especially with Walter Huston marching around as Uncle Sam. But this was 1942 and that scene has historical value as it reflects at least a segment of popular feeling at the time. And I suppose it's kind of amusing if one is in the right mood.
Among my favorite scenes are Cohan's encounter with Fay Templeton and the one in which Cohan and another writer pretend that they have practically sold Cohan's show to S. Z. Sakall's rival and get him to practically beg them for it. And the scene in which the stage-struck girl comes to Cohan's dressing room, believing him to be the old man of his stage character. Wonderful scenes all, well-planned and well-played.
This film is a beautiful, energetic tribute to Cohan's music which succeeds in putting a human face on it. And for a lot of us Yankee Doodle Dandy created the images which spring to our minds when we think of the name George M. Cohan.
Passage to Marseilles. 1944. Directed by Michael Curtiz.
(9/4/01-9/5/01)
Claude Rains is the very picture of benevolence in this picture. He is wise and understanding. This is definitely one of his best--certainly one of his most endearing--performances.
I don't believe I ever realized before how much of a Warner Brothers prison picture Passage to Marseilles really is. In fact, it bears a very strong resemblance to Each Dawn I Die in which James Cagney plays a crusading journalist (as Bogart does here) who is framed and sent to prison. Only here the prison is Devil's Island and it's a war picture as well. But it's a prison picture, nonetheless, made by a studio that specialized in prison pictures.
Humphrey Bogart plays the classic Bogart character--the reluctant hero. He is sick of the whole rotten system and when the escapees swear an oat to fight for France the camera moves in on his silent face. It's quite obvious that he is playing the Bogart character, but it is a character that audiences of 1944 responded to. And not just audiences of 1944; Bogart's reluctant hero captured the hearts of later generations as well. (His popularity was huge in the late 60s.)
This film has a few wonderful little character vignettes. Vladimir Sokoloff is touching as the old man on Devil's Island they call Grand-Pere. And Billy Roy lingers in the memory as the cabin boy who is so anguished when the Germans attack the ship. He adds so much to the picture in only a few minutes of screen time. On the other hand, Michele Morgan doesn't contribute that much as the heroine. Perhaps they didn't want an actress with a strong presence because this was basically a man's picture.
The film as a whole didn't have the impact it had on me thirty years ago when I used to watch it on late-night TV. Alas. I was especially disappointed when Claude Rains reads the letter that Bogart had wanted to send to the son he had never seen on his birthday. I used to really like that scene. This time around it just seemed trite.
Claude Rains is the very picture of benevolence in this picture. He is wise and understanding. This is definitely one of his best--certainly one of his most endearing--performances.
I don't believe I ever realized before how much of a Warner Brothers prison picture Passage to Marseilles really is. In fact, it bears a very strong resemblance to Each Dawn I Die in which James Cagney plays a crusading journalist (as Bogart does here) who is framed and sent to prison. Only here the prison is Devil's Island and it's a war picture as well. But it's a prison picture, nonetheless, made by a studio that specialized in prison pictures.
Humphrey Bogart plays the classic Bogart character--the reluctant hero. He is sick of the whole rotten system and when the escapees swear an oat to fight for France the camera moves in on his silent face. It's quite obvious that he is playing the Bogart character, but it is a character that audiences of 1944 responded to. And not just audiences of 1944; Bogart's reluctant hero captured the hearts of later generations as well. (His popularity was huge in the late 60s.)
This film has a few wonderful little character vignettes. Vladimir Sokoloff is touching as the old man on Devil's Island they call Grand-Pere. And Billy Roy lingers in the memory as the cabin boy who is so anguished when the Germans attack the ship. He adds so much to the picture in only a few minutes of screen time. On the other hand, Michele Morgan doesn't contribute that much as the heroine. Perhaps they didn't want an actress with a strong presence because this was basically a man's picture.
The film as a whole didn't have the impact it had on me thirty years ago when I used to watch it on late-night TV. Alas. I was especially disappointed when Claude Rains reads the letter that Bogart had wanted to send to the son he had never seen on his birthday. I used to really like that scene. This time around it just seemed trite.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Pursued. 1947. Directed by Raoul Walsh.
(9/4/01)
Pursued is another of those films that I didn't like very much at the beginning, but which grew on me as it went along.
One reason why I didn't like it at first was that it had a very abrupt beginning. Or so it seemed to me. My impression was that we weren't properly introduced to the characters. And it took me a while to settle into it.
Pursued tells a strange and intense story. A young boy is taken from a scene of violence by a widow with two children. It is clear that there is a history of violence between his family and the widow's family. There is a man who is intent on destroying him. But no one ever tells the boy just what it's all about. He is hated and hunted down without ever knowing why.
There is a tension between the boy and the widow, played by Judith Anderson, who simply tells him not to ask questions. And there is tension between him and the son of the family. And then he falls in love with the daughter of the family, movingly played by Teresa Wright.
It's like a Romeo and Juliet story, but it is more painful because the lovers do not understand the forces which are determined to keep them apart. This is compensated for by the fact that the lovers prevail.
Robert Mitchum is fine as the bewildered, tortured soul. I had a little difficulty accepting him in this part because I am most familiar with his more sinister roles--Night of the Hunter and Cape Fear. Those are the only two other Robert Mitchum films that I can think of. It took me some time to adjust.
Teresa Wright and Judith Anderson both contribute a lot to this film. I think that Anderson's best moment comes after the inquest, when Mitchum has been exonerated of the killing of her son. He approaches her as she and Wright are preparing to leave in their wagon and Anderson tells him to never come near her again.
I also liked the scene when Wright attempts to murder Mitchum but can't. She married him planning to kill him, but what is fascinating is that he knew what she was planning to do, but also knew that she wouldn't be able to do it. He knew her that well. That was a surprising and gratifying moment.
I very much liked the photography of the scene where they buried Prentice, the young man who was manipulated into picking a fight with Mitchum. That scene had an eerie quality which impressed me.
I never did figure out just what happened when the hero was a little boy. The explanations either came out too quickly at the end or else the "restored" sound quality was so poor that I couldn't make them out. It didn't really matter, anyway. What mattered was the story of this man, caught up in an impossible, bewildering situation and how he dealt with it.
Pursued is another of those films that I didn't like very much at the beginning, but which grew on me as it went along.
One reason why I didn't like it at first was that it had a very abrupt beginning. Or so it seemed to me. My impression was that we weren't properly introduced to the characters. And it took me a while to settle into it.
Pursued tells a strange and intense story. A young boy is taken from a scene of violence by a widow with two children. It is clear that there is a history of violence between his family and the widow's family. There is a man who is intent on destroying him. But no one ever tells the boy just what it's all about. He is hated and hunted down without ever knowing why.
There is a tension between the boy and the widow, played by Judith Anderson, who simply tells him not to ask questions. And there is tension between him and the son of the family. And then he falls in love with the daughter of the family, movingly played by Teresa Wright.
It's like a Romeo and Juliet story, but it is more painful because the lovers do not understand the forces which are determined to keep them apart. This is compensated for by the fact that the lovers prevail.
Robert Mitchum is fine as the bewildered, tortured soul. I had a little difficulty accepting him in this part because I am most familiar with his more sinister roles--Night of the Hunter and Cape Fear. Those are the only two other Robert Mitchum films that I can think of. It took me some time to adjust.
Teresa Wright and Judith Anderson both contribute a lot to this film. I think that Anderson's best moment comes after the inquest, when Mitchum has been exonerated of the killing of her son. He approaches her as she and Wright are preparing to leave in their wagon and Anderson tells him to never come near her again.
I also liked the scene when Wright attempts to murder Mitchum but can't. She married him planning to kill him, but what is fascinating is that he knew what she was planning to do, but also knew that she wouldn't be able to do it. He knew her that well. That was a surprising and gratifying moment.
I very much liked the photography of the scene where they buried Prentice, the young man who was manipulated into picking a fight with Mitchum. That scene had an eerie quality which impressed me.
I never did figure out just what happened when the hero was a little boy. The explanations either came out too quickly at the end or else the "restored" sound quality was so poor that I couldn't make them out. It didn't really matter, anyway. What mattered was the story of this man, caught up in an impossible, bewildering situation and how he dealt with it.
Objective, Burma! 1945. Directed by Raoul Walsh.
(8/30/01-9/1/01)
I generally don't like war films. I can't get interested in them and in consequence found Objective, Burma! hard to follow. But I do admire it for its raw, unvarnished look--it seems like a newsreel or documentary--and for Errol Flynn's performance.
Flynn portrays the hero, but without the poetry, the pagentry or the romance. We get right down to the bare bones--the essence--of his hero characterization and he shows us that it's more than just the trappings. Flynn is noble and courageous even without the swords, the cape--or Olivia de Havilland. There is not a single female character in Objective, Burma!
One thing I like very much about the picture is the way the characters become progressively more dishevelled. They really look as if the war is taking its toll on them. The faces become sweatier and lined with stress. Stubble appears on their faces. The film has a very down-to-earth look about it.
Not too much happens in the first part (first half?) of the picture. The men are dropped into Burma to blow up a radio station. It is a straightforward account of how they do this and I didn't find it all that interesting. It is when the plane can't land to pick them up and they become stranded that things become exciting. They are given up for dead by their superiors at one point.
There is a fascinating scene where the men come upon a Buddhist temple where a massacre has taken place. A place of peace has become a place of violence. And the final battle was certainly exciting enough. Objective, Burma! builds into a rousing war film.
George Tobias provides some appropriate comic accents. I'm not going to comment on the portrayal of the Japanese as all brutes because this was, after all, a patriotic war film made during World War II. "Consider the source."
I generally don't like war films. I can't get interested in them and in consequence found Objective, Burma! hard to follow. But I do admire it for its raw, unvarnished look--it seems like a newsreel or documentary--and for Errol Flynn's performance.
Flynn portrays the hero, but without the poetry, the pagentry or the romance. We get right down to the bare bones--the essence--of his hero characterization and he shows us that it's more than just the trappings. Flynn is noble and courageous even without the swords, the cape--or Olivia de Havilland. There is not a single female character in Objective, Burma!
One thing I like very much about the picture is the way the characters become progressively more dishevelled. They really look as if the war is taking its toll on them. The faces become sweatier and lined with stress. Stubble appears on their faces. The film has a very down-to-earth look about it.
Not too much happens in the first part (first half?) of the picture. The men are dropped into Burma to blow up a radio station. It is a straightforward account of how they do this and I didn't find it all that interesting. It is when the plane can't land to pick them up and they become stranded that things become exciting. They are given up for dead by their superiors at one point.
There is a fascinating scene where the men come upon a Buddhist temple where a massacre has taken place. A place of peace has become a place of violence. And the final battle was certainly exciting enough. Objective, Burma! builds into a rousing war film.
George Tobias provides some appropriate comic accents. I'm not going to comment on the portrayal of the Japanese as all brutes because this was, after all, a patriotic war film made during World War II. "Consider the source."
Monday, January 24, 2011
King's Row. 1942. Directed by Sam Wood.
(8/21/01)
I have heard some films described as "soap operas." King's Row might fit that description. I had the feeling that the events of this film could occupy a daily TV serial for about six months. And that's a problem because the result is that the film overwhelms one with material and none of it has much of a chance to make a deep impression.
Individual scenes are certainly touching, but the film as a whole didn't make much of an impact on me emotionally. It all went rushing by. Then, too, I was at a disadvantage because I already knew about the big shock of the picture--that a mean-spirited surgeon amputates a man's legs unnecessarily. So the impact of that was lost on me.
I had the feeling that there was just too much of the grotesque in the town of King's Row to ring true. But I wonder if that is so. There is the sadistic surgeon and there is the tragedy of a man who marries an insane woman and has a daughter whom he tries to keep from the world because of her latent insanity. Then he kills her and himself because the young doctor he is training wants to marry her. Well, maybe all that is a little bit much. Anyway, it seems strange because this is a respectable production which outwardly looks like a slice of small-town life at the turn of the century. It doesn't look like it was meant to be a horror film or anything similar.
It is certainly a fine production with all the resources of the Warner Brothers' studio in full force. I am surprised, however, that I found Erich Wolfgang Korngold's music annoying in places.
Claude Rains was excellent as the doctor. Mysterious, forbidding, yet strangely likable he is a character we really don't come to understand until he is dead. I think it is possibly one of Rains' best roles. Robert Cummings is almost an archetype of American innocence--warm, open-hearted and somewhat bewildered when faced with evil and/or corruption. I am tempted to say that he is ingenuousness personified, though there is one scene that he doesn't quite bring off.
I believe that King's Row is the film for which Ronald Reagan is best known and it is a fine performance. At first I thought he was something of a con artist a la Jack Carson as Hugo Barnstead. (That from the sequence where he wants to marry one woman, but has to excuse his stepping out with someone else.) Then he shows himself to be a steadfast friend to Robert Cummings and then he becomes an embittered amputee. Reagan pulls it all off as he does the finale in which Cummings finally tells him the truth about what happened to him. It is a great finale to the film and it took me totally by surprise.
I was impressed, I should add, by the conflict Cummings has when he discovers the truth about the surgeon amputating his friend's legs unnecessarily. He wants to cover it up, thinking that his friend will not be able to handle the truth, and is tempted to have the surgeon's daughter committed to an institution rather than allowing her to tell what she knows--which she needs to do for the sake of her own mental health. Cummings goes through an agonizing ethical conflict which is fascinating for the audience. (And I'd like to emphasize how strange I think it was for Warner Brothers to make a major film with such grotesque subject matter as a surgeon amputating someone's legs needlessly and maliciously.)
And it was certainly nice to see Judith Anderson adding her own special intensity as that surgeon's wife and--later--widow.
I have heard some films described as "soap operas." King's Row might fit that description. I had the feeling that the events of this film could occupy a daily TV serial for about six months. And that's a problem because the result is that the film overwhelms one with material and none of it has much of a chance to make a deep impression.
Individual scenes are certainly touching, but the film as a whole didn't make much of an impact on me emotionally. It all went rushing by. Then, too, I was at a disadvantage because I already knew about the big shock of the picture--that a mean-spirited surgeon amputates a man's legs unnecessarily. So the impact of that was lost on me.
I had the feeling that there was just too much of the grotesque in the town of King's Row to ring true. But I wonder if that is so. There is the sadistic surgeon and there is the tragedy of a man who marries an insane woman and has a daughter whom he tries to keep from the world because of her latent insanity. Then he kills her and himself because the young doctor he is training wants to marry her. Well, maybe all that is a little bit much. Anyway, it seems strange because this is a respectable production which outwardly looks like a slice of small-town life at the turn of the century. It doesn't look like it was meant to be a horror film or anything similar.
It is certainly a fine production with all the resources of the Warner Brothers' studio in full force. I am surprised, however, that I found Erich Wolfgang Korngold's music annoying in places.
Claude Rains was excellent as the doctor. Mysterious, forbidding, yet strangely likable he is a character we really don't come to understand until he is dead. I think it is possibly one of Rains' best roles. Robert Cummings is almost an archetype of American innocence--warm, open-hearted and somewhat bewildered when faced with evil and/or corruption. I am tempted to say that he is ingenuousness personified, though there is one scene that he doesn't quite bring off.
I believe that King's Row is the film for which Ronald Reagan is best known and it is a fine performance. At first I thought he was something of a con artist a la Jack Carson as Hugo Barnstead. (That from the sequence where he wants to marry one woman, but has to excuse his stepping out with someone else.) Then he shows himself to be a steadfast friend to Robert Cummings and then he becomes an embittered amputee. Reagan pulls it all off as he does the finale in which Cummings finally tells him the truth about what happened to him. It is a great finale to the film and it took me totally by surprise.
I was impressed, I should add, by the conflict Cummings has when he discovers the truth about the surgeon amputating his friend's legs unnecessarily. He wants to cover it up, thinking that his friend will not be able to handle the truth, and is tempted to have the surgeon's daughter committed to an institution rather than allowing her to tell what she knows--which she needs to do for the sake of her own mental health. Cummings goes through an agonizing ethical conflict which is fascinating for the audience. (And I'd like to emphasize how strange I think it was for Warner Brothers to make a major film with such grotesque subject matter as a surgeon amputating someone's legs needlessly and maliciously.)
And it was certainly nice to see Judith Anderson adding her own special intensity as that surgeon's wife and--later--widow.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Hello, Sister! 1933. Directed by Edwin Burke and Alfred Werker (and Erich von Stroheim and Raoul Walsh, uncredited.)
(8/20/01)
Hello, Sister!, on the surface of it, has the look of an unpretentious, low-budget production. Yet, it is both intense and startling. It is certainly startling for its candor which is totally unexpected in a Hollywood movie of 1933.
Two young women decide to go for a stroll on Broadway one evening in hopes of meeting some nice young men. They get picked up and one is sexually aggressive in a way that is uncomfortable to watch. When they take the girls home he bluntly offers her a supposedly expensive ring for her favors. Upon being rebuffed he turns his attentions on a neighbor who is happy to oblige. But the ring turns out to be a fake.
The woman who did the rebuffing takes up with the other of the two men. They begin seeing each other. But then she goes to a doctor who tells her that she is expecting.
All of this is quite startling to find in an American film of the 1930s. But it is all very Erich von Stroheim and this is another film that was taken away from Stroheim and reworked by others.
A dog is hit by a car. As the couple walk over planks Zasu Pitts falls into an open sewer. Very von Stroheim. And the situation between the young man and the young woman (having been lied to by others, he has come to distrust her) is resolved by a building catching on fire, which recalls the climax of Foolish Wives.
It is all very adult fare and it is gripping. This film certainly has something to say about how loneliness in the big city makes women vulnerable. In fact, the whole picture struck me as a savage criticism of modern urban society.
Zasu Pitts is the only name in the cast that I'm familiar with. She plays the part of a spinsterish woman with a lot of repressed anger that comes out in one fabulous scene. She asserts that she has had lots of boyfriends and then lies about her friend Peggy's behavior towards her boyfriend which leads to him temporarily backing out of the marriage. (And Peggy is pregnant.) That scene is true, real, and painfully human.
Hello, Sister! stands up, in its present form, as a fine little film. I suppose one can wonder what it was like at the first preview before it was virtually remade, but I don't.
Hello, Sister!, on the surface of it, has the look of an unpretentious, low-budget production. Yet, it is both intense and startling. It is certainly startling for its candor which is totally unexpected in a Hollywood movie of 1933.
Two young women decide to go for a stroll on Broadway one evening in hopes of meeting some nice young men. They get picked up and one is sexually aggressive in a way that is uncomfortable to watch. When they take the girls home he bluntly offers her a supposedly expensive ring for her favors. Upon being rebuffed he turns his attentions on a neighbor who is happy to oblige. But the ring turns out to be a fake.
The woman who did the rebuffing takes up with the other of the two men. They begin seeing each other. But then she goes to a doctor who tells her that she is expecting.
All of this is quite startling to find in an American film of the 1930s. But it is all very Erich von Stroheim and this is another film that was taken away from Stroheim and reworked by others.
A dog is hit by a car. As the couple walk over planks Zasu Pitts falls into an open sewer. Very von Stroheim. And the situation between the young man and the young woman (having been lied to by others, he has come to distrust her) is resolved by a building catching on fire, which recalls the climax of Foolish Wives.
It is all very adult fare and it is gripping. This film certainly has something to say about how loneliness in the big city makes women vulnerable. In fact, the whole picture struck me as a savage criticism of modern urban society.
Zasu Pitts is the only name in the cast that I'm familiar with. She plays the part of a spinsterish woman with a lot of repressed anger that comes out in one fabulous scene. She asserts that she has had lots of boyfriends and then lies about her friend Peggy's behavior towards her boyfriend which leads to him temporarily backing out of the marriage. (And Peggy is pregnant.) That scene is true, real, and painfully human.
Hello, Sister! stands up, in its present form, as a fine little film. I suppose one can wonder what it was like at the first preview before it was virtually remade, but I don't.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Algiers. 1938. Directed by John Cromwell.
(8/19/01)
Algiers got better as it went along. The opening didn't impress me--police officers discussing the difficulty of extracting a fugitive from the Casbah. This includes an illustrated lecture about this section of Algiers. But by the end it was riveting. This film has great moments, fascinating performances and an abundance of atmosphere.
Charles Boyer shines in his signature role and Algiers is probably the film he will be most remembered for. He is commanding and pathetic. He reminds me of Sean Connery with a French accent. He plays the part of a strong man, an individualist brought down by the world around him. This is truly the story of a man against society. And it is woman that is his downfall.
Joseph Calleia really surprised me as the policeman or detective who engineers Pepe le Moko's downfall. He represents society, but it is a very malicious picture of society and I don't think he garners any sympathy. There doesn't seem to be anything noble about his attempts to draw Pepe out of the Casbah and capture him--it seems to be simply the pleasure of bringing someone down that motivates him. I suspect that he envies Pepe's power and ability to live on his own terms (sort of) and simply wants to prove himself better than Pepe. And he is not above using the most underhanded means to do so. And our sympathy is entirely with Pepe.
Hedy Lamarr is beautiful and exotic. She doesn't really do much, but she has presence. It is easy to understand Pepe's loving her and it is easy to understand her attraction to him. Boyer and Lamarr do generate a chemistry in their scenes together.
I think that one reason why Joseph Calleia's quest seems malicious or at least unsympathetic is that Boyer--whom he wishes to imprison--is already in a kind of prison. He is trapped. He can't return to his beloved Paris or even leave the Casbah--so why not leave the poor devil alone? Capturing Pepe le Moko doesn't seem to serve any purpose except gratifying one mean-spirited individual.
The Casbah itself is one of the main attractions of the film. It is mysterious, shadowy, labyrinthine, a place where one actually can be safe from the forces of law and the order they represent and from which a man who dares oppose the rules must be lured if he is to be caught. James Wong Howe's cinematography (and, I assume, the art direction) creates this magical underworld which retained much of its magic even in a 16mm print. (I would love to see Algiers in 35mm.)
The film has a number of gripping moments. The one that comes to my mind most is when a man who has betrayed one of Pepe's friends to the police comes back alone. Pepe and friends force him into a card game, waiting until their friend comes back. The man who knows he is to be found out is in a state of abject terror. (Boyer plays this scene so well.)
And when Pepe is going crazy with his sense of entrapment, the feeling is emphasized by the loud blaring of a phonograph. I would like an opportunity to compare Algiers with the French film on which it is based just to see how much of its qualities were present in the original.
Algiers got better as it went along. The opening didn't impress me--police officers discussing the difficulty of extracting a fugitive from the Casbah. This includes an illustrated lecture about this section of Algiers. But by the end it was riveting. This film has great moments, fascinating performances and an abundance of atmosphere.
Charles Boyer shines in his signature role and Algiers is probably the film he will be most remembered for. He is commanding and pathetic. He reminds me of Sean Connery with a French accent. He plays the part of a strong man, an individualist brought down by the world around him. This is truly the story of a man against society. And it is woman that is his downfall.
Joseph Calleia really surprised me as the policeman or detective who engineers Pepe le Moko's downfall. He represents society, but it is a very malicious picture of society and I don't think he garners any sympathy. There doesn't seem to be anything noble about his attempts to draw Pepe out of the Casbah and capture him--it seems to be simply the pleasure of bringing someone down that motivates him. I suspect that he envies Pepe's power and ability to live on his own terms (sort of) and simply wants to prove himself better than Pepe. And he is not above using the most underhanded means to do so. And our sympathy is entirely with Pepe.
Hedy Lamarr is beautiful and exotic. She doesn't really do much, but she has presence. It is easy to understand Pepe's loving her and it is easy to understand her attraction to him. Boyer and Lamarr do generate a chemistry in their scenes together.
I think that one reason why Joseph Calleia's quest seems malicious or at least unsympathetic is that Boyer--whom he wishes to imprison--is already in a kind of prison. He is trapped. He can't return to his beloved Paris or even leave the Casbah--so why not leave the poor devil alone? Capturing Pepe le Moko doesn't seem to serve any purpose except gratifying one mean-spirited individual.
The Casbah itself is one of the main attractions of the film. It is mysterious, shadowy, labyrinthine, a place where one actually can be safe from the forces of law and the order they represent and from which a man who dares oppose the rules must be lured if he is to be caught. James Wong Howe's cinematography (and, I assume, the art direction) creates this magical underworld which retained much of its magic even in a 16mm print. (I would love to see Algiers in 35mm.)
The film has a number of gripping moments. The one that comes to my mind most is when a man who has betrayed one of Pepe's friends to the police comes back alone. Pepe and friends force him into a card game, waiting until their friend comes back. The man who knows he is to be found out is in a state of abject terror. (Boyer plays this scene so well.)
And when Pepe is going crazy with his sense of entrapment, the feeling is emphasized by the loud blaring of a phonograph. I would like an opportunity to compare Algiers with the French film on which it is based just to see how much of its qualities were present in the original.
The Prisoner of Zenda. 1937. Directed by John Cromwell.
(8/18/01-8/19/01)
I generally am disapointed by David O. Selznick's productions. They have a coldness or stiffness--or something--about them that I just don't respond to. I was disappointed in Intermezzo and I was disappointed in this one.
It is a handsome production. Maybe it is just too self-consciously a "prestige" picture. And in some ways it didn't sparkle. The dialogue wasn't quite memorable enough and the action scenes weren't quite exciting enough. They weren't enough to rouse the film from its lethargy. It certainly paled in comparison to Robin Hood--maybe because of the simple fact that John Cromwell wasn't Michael Curtiz.
And Madeleine Carroll seemed particularly uninteresting as the heroine.
Yet, it was a rare pleasure to watch Ronald Colman as the impostor-king. He was at his peak when this picture was made and radiated regality. His best moment comes, I think, after he has been coronated when he really seems to take on the role of king, being commanding and giving orders.
Colman plays a double role--the king and a distant relative from England who doubles for him when he is unable to attend his coronation. Colman shows what a fine actor he is by vividly contrasting the two characters--the noble, gentlemanly Englishman and the frustrated, unhappy man who does not want to be king. Colman is both a fine actor and a star and I tend to think of the Englishman as being the real Colman part and the king as being ... something else. In other words, the impostor fits Colman's star persona while the other character is just another person in the film or another role played by an actor. I sort of forget it is Colman.
C. Aubrey Smith is also memorable. He plays in effect a Fate figure--he represents the unalterable law which the characters must submit to. He is dignified, but hard and rigid. He is unyielding in what he stands for and personal concerns and needs do not sway him. I can't think of another actor more appropriate for this part than C. Aubrey Smith. Like Colman, he has a majestic, distinctive voice. It is moving to hear him declare, "Fate sent you here." He had another great line which I am ashamed to say I forgot.
The film brings up the issue of illegitimacy. The king's half-brother, Rupert, covets the throne believing that it is rightfully his. As he is the eldest there is perhaps some justice in his cause although he himself is a pretty unsumpathetic figure. But this issue is subtly underlined by the fact that the Englishman, distant cousin to the king, is the descendant of an illegitimate sibling and turns out to be more truly kingly than the nominal king. So I think that there is a comment here on the stigma attached to illegitimacy.
I generally am disapointed by David O. Selznick's productions. They have a coldness or stiffness--or something--about them that I just don't respond to. I was disappointed in Intermezzo and I was disappointed in this one.
It is a handsome production. Maybe it is just too self-consciously a "prestige" picture. And in some ways it didn't sparkle. The dialogue wasn't quite memorable enough and the action scenes weren't quite exciting enough. They weren't enough to rouse the film from its lethargy. It certainly paled in comparison to Robin Hood--maybe because of the simple fact that John Cromwell wasn't Michael Curtiz.
And Madeleine Carroll seemed particularly uninteresting as the heroine.
Yet, it was a rare pleasure to watch Ronald Colman as the impostor-king. He was at his peak when this picture was made and radiated regality. His best moment comes, I think, after he has been coronated when he really seems to take on the role of king, being commanding and giving orders.
Colman plays a double role--the king and a distant relative from England who doubles for him when he is unable to attend his coronation. Colman shows what a fine actor he is by vividly contrasting the two characters--the noble, gentlemanly Englishman and the frustrated, unhappy man who does not want to be king. Colman is both a fine actor and a star and I tend to think of the Englishman as being the real Colman part and the king as being ... something else. In other words, the impostor fits Colman's star persona while the other character is just another person in the film or another role played by an actor. I sort of forget it is Colman.
C. Aubrey Smith is also memorable. He plays in effect a Fate figure--he represents the unalterable law which the characters must submit to. He is dignified, but hard and rigid. He is unyielding in what he stands for and personal concerns and needs do not sway him. I can't think of another actor more appropriate for this part than C. Aubrey Smith. Like Colman, he has a majestic, distinctive voice. It is moving to hear him declare, "Fate sent you here." He had another great line which I am ashamed to say I forgot.
The film brings up the issue of illegitimacy. The king's half-brother, Rupert, covets the throne believing that it is rightfully his. As he is the eldest there is perhaps some justice in his cause although he himself is a pretty unsumpathetic figure. But this issue is subtly underlined by the fact that the Englishman, distant cousin to the king, is the descendant of an illegitimate sibling and turns out to be more truly kingly than the nominal king. So I think that there is a comment here on the stigma attached to illegitimacy.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The King on Main Street. 1925. Directed by Monta Bell.
(8/10/01-8/18/01)
Bessie Love may be adorable but this is Adolphe Menjou's show all the way. He is suave and sophisticated as only Adolph Menjou can be in a witty and peppy picture about the king of an impoverished country who comes to America to raise money, only to be charmed by the delights of Coney Island and a young lady from Little Falls, New Jersey.
I somehow forget a lot of the details, but remember the film as being enjoyable with a good pace to it. There is an amazing scene of a rollerr-coaster ride done with a lot of subjective photography. It's a damn exciting scene to watch.
I remember, too, that Bessie Love meets the king by spilling food on him. She is flustered and he registers sophisticated amusement as only Adolphe Menjou can. And then there is that touching moment when the boy who shows the king around Coney Island trades him a harmonica for a knife which was given to him--we later learn--by the king of Spain.
Much as I like Adolphe Menjou's performance there are a couple of things that I find unsatisfying. There is his whole cavalier attitude to the business deal that he hopes will save his country. This is important. Menjou's character may be a playboy but at the same time he seems matue enough to recognize the importance of the situation and act on it. His disregard doesn't make sense to me.
I am also bothered by the fact that he submits to blackmail at the end in order to save Bessie Love's reputation. This would be fine and dandy if he himself were being blackmailed, but he is actually selling out his country for personal reasons. That left a bad taste in my mouth. However, the print was incomplete so we may not know all the details about this. I suspect this because the film ends with the king agreeing to marry to save his country. Since this was precisely what the business deal was intended to avoid things seem a bit unclear. Yet, since the business deal was so unfavorable to the country the marriage may indeed have been necessary.
But the last part of the film is confusing and I am sure it is due to the incompleteness of the print. There is the matter of the locked door. The king and the young lady are accidentally locked on the balcony. It is presumed that they will have to stay there all night. But later someone comes and opens the door as if it hadn't been locked at all. This is confusing. And just what did go on on that balcony? The blackmailer accuses the king of abusing his host's hospitality. This may havejust been a false accusation, but not very much seems to have gone on on that balcony. There is not even enough to suggest that the king and the young lady had developed really serious feelings for each other. Yes, the king was attracted to her, but they both seemed to have been basically cordial to each other.
Whatever. In what I saw there really wasn't much for Bessie Love to do and that was disappointing. I also didn't like the ending in which the king unhappily gives up his freedom for his country. That was a disappointing ending to a film that had such zest until the final reel or so. The downbeat ending might have worked better if we had been left with assurance that the king's amorous adventures would continue despite his marriage. (Maybe we were expected to conclude that on our own.)
Bessie Love may be adorable but this is Adolphe Menjou's show all the way. He is suave and sophisticated as only Adolph Menjou can be in a witty and peppy picture about the king of an impoverished country who comes to America to raise money, only to be charmed by the delights of Coney Island and a young lady from Little Falls, New Jersey.
I somehow forget a lot of the details, but remember the film as being enjoyable with a good pace to it. There is an amazing scene of a rollerr-coaster ride done with a lot of subjective photography. It's a damn exciting scene to watch.
I remember, too, that Bessie Love meets the king by spilling food on him. She is flustered and he registers sophisticated amusement as only Adolphe Menjou can. And then there is that touching moment when the boy who shows the king around Coney Island trades him a harmonica for a knife which was given to him--we later learn--by the king of Spain.
Much as I like Adolphe Menjou's performance there are a couple of things that I find unsatisfying. There is his whole cavalier attitude to the business deal that he hopes will save his country. This is important. Menjou's character may be a playboy but at the same time he seems matue enough to recognize the importance of the situation and act on it. His disregard doesn't make sense to me.
I am also bothered by the fact that he submits to blackmail at the end in order to save Bessie Love's reputation. This would be fine and dandy if he himself were being blackmailed, but he is actually selling out his country for personal reasons. That left a bad taste in my mouth. However, the print was incomplete so we may not know all the details about this. I suspect this because the film ends with the king agreeing to marry to save his country. Since this was precisely what the business deal was intended to avoid things seem a bit unclear. Yet, since the business deal was so unfavorable to the country the marriage may indeed have been necessary.
But the last part of the film is confusing and I am sure it is due to the incompleteness of the print. There is the matter of the locked door. The king and the young lady are accidentally locked on the balcony. It is presumed that they will have to stay there all night. But later someone comes and opens the door as if it hadn't been locked at all. This is confusing. And just what did go on on that balcony? The blackmailer accuses the king of abusing his host's hospitality. This may havejust been a false accusation, but not very much seems to have gone on on that balcony. There is not even enough to suggest that the king and the young lady had developed really serious feelings for each other. Yes, the king was attracted to her, but they both seemed to have been basically cordial to each other.
Whatever. In what I saw there really wasn't much for Bessie Love to do and that was disappointing. I also didn't like the ending in which the king unhappily gives up his freedom for his country. That was a disappointing ending to a film that had such zest until the final reel or so. The downbeat ending might have worked better if we had been left with assurance that the king's amorous adventures would continue despite his marriage. (Maybe we were expected to conclude that on our own.)
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Peter Pan. 1924. Directed by Herbert Brenon.
(8/7/01-8/10/01)
I really wasn't able to get into the right spirit for Peter Pan. I'm sorry about that. The fun of the battle on the ship was pretty much lost on me.
But I did love Nana the dog. That dog, played by George Ali, had so much personality and was a delight. So was Ernest Torrence as Captain Hook. He doesn't quite live up to the rapturous description of his performance in Classics of the Silent Screen--but then, who could? Actually, that description does his performance a disservice because it leaves you paying more attention to him than you really should.
I was quite moved by Esther Ralston as Mrs. Darling. She has a truly aristocratic bearing. I thought she was so poignant in the scene where the children return and she thinks she's imagining it, although that scene itself somehow did not work as far as I was concerned.
As for Betty Bronson, I am ambivalent. It is traditional, I know, to have Peter Pan played by a female on stage, but on a movie screen it just feels wrong. That's my reaction, anyway. There is inevitably an androgynous quality about Bronson's Peter which bothers me in scenes such as the one in which Wendy teaches him/her about kissingt. It seems unnatural and I don't see any point in it. Would it have been better with a boy as Peter? Frankly, I don't know. (However, Bronson is nonetheless moving in scenes such as the one in which Peter tells how he had run away, but then came home only to find the window barred.)
The film changed the locale from England to America. (At least they had an American flag.) I don't think that adds any improvement and somehow the story of Peter Pan seems to belong more to an English setting. And perhaps a female Peter Pan just seems to fit better in a production with an English background.
Differnt parts of this film don't seem to go together well. The exterior scenes don't really feel as if they belong in the same film with the scenes of Never Never Land. The different scenes have different textures which at least jar and possibly break the spell.
Some things happen too quickly--or too abruptly--in this picture. I almost missed it when the crocodile spit out Captain Hook's hook and when Wendy is shot down by an arrow at Tinker Bell's instigation it happens too quickly for me. I remember feeling that I had missed something--or almost missed something.
The photography of the fairies was quite amazing, but, again, I missed Tinker Bell coming back to life. Perhaps I was distracted by having to clap my hands and assert my belief in fairies. When Tinker Bell is poisoned Peter asks the audience to clap their hands to show that they believe in fairies(which will save Tinker Bell's life.) This breaking down of the barrier between reality and the illusion being projected before us is unsettling. It made me uneasy and I really felt that being asked to affirm a belief in fairies was an imposition.
There is actually quite a bit to the story of Peter Pan--more than I had remembered. There is the fact that he has suffered a terrible psychological trauma. He had run away from home--flown away, to be precise--but had come back only to find the window barred and another boy sleeping in his bed.
Peter Pan is supposedly a boy who will not grow up, but when Wendy wants to return home he goes to her home to shut the window and make her think her family is rejecting her, but changes his mind when he sees their grief. This act of genuine compassion is a very grown-up thing to do.
It is also interesting to me that Peter is offered what he really wants--a family--but at a price he considers unacceptable. He will not grow up and go to work in an office. This is an act of self-assertion that shows real integrity and self-knowledge. This is not the action of a simplistic "boy who will not grow up."
And then there is that very strange ending in which Mrs. Darling says that Wendy can go to Peter's land for one week every year. It strikes me as a beautiful act of compassion and on some level a reward for Peter's act of maturity. But I can't help wondering if it has even more significance. It seems to echo the mythe of Persephone going to the underworld for half of the year.
I really wasn't able to get into the right spirit for Peter Pan. I'm sorry about that. The fun of the battle on the ship was pretty much lost on me.
But I did love Nana the dog. That dog, played by George Ali, had so much personality and was a delight. So was Ernest Torrence as Captain Hook. He doesn't quite live up to the rapturous description of his performance in Classics of the Silent Screen--but then, who could? Actually, that description does his performance a disservice because it leaves you paying more attention to him than you really should.
I was quite moved by Esther Ralston as Mrs. Darling. She has a truly aristocratic bearing. I thought she was so poignant in the scene where the children return and she thinks she's imagining it, although that scene itself somehow did not work as far as I was concerned.
As for Betty Bronson, I am ambivalent. It is traditional, I know, to have Peter Pan played by a female on stage, but on a movie screen it just feels wrong. That's my reaction, anyway. There is inevitably an androgynous quality about Bronson's Peter which bothers me in scenes such as the one in which Wendy teaches him/her about kissingt. It seems unnatural and I don't see any point in it. Would it have been better with a boy as Peter? Frankly, I don't know. (However, Bronson is nonetheless moving in scenes such as the one in which Peter tells how he had run away, but then came home only to find the window barred.)
The film changed the locale from England to America. (At least they had an American flag.) I don't think that adds any improvement and somehow the story of Peter Pan seems to belong more to an English setting. And perhaps a female Peter Pan just seems to fit better in a production with an English background.
Differnt parts of this film don't seem to go together well. The exterior scenes don't really feel as if they belong in the same film with the scenes of Never Never Land. The different scenes have different textures which at least jar and possibly break the spell.
Some things happen too quickly--or too abruptly--in this picture. I almost missed it when the crocodile spit out Captain Hook's hook and when Wendy is shot down by an arrow at Tinker Bell's instigation it happens too quickly for me. I remember feeling that I had missed something--or almost missed something.
The photography of the fairies was quite amazing, but, again, I missed Tinker Bell coming back to life. Perhaps I was distracted by having to clap my hands and assert my belief in fairies. When Tinker Bell is poisoned Peter asks the audience to clap their hands to show that they believe in fairies(which will save Tinker Bell's life.) This breaking down of the barrier between reality and the illusion being projected before us is unsettling. It made me uneasy and I really felt that being asked to affirm a belief in fairies was an imposition.
There is actually quite a bit to the story of Peter Pan--more than I had remembered. There is the fact that he has suffered a terrible psychological trauma. He had run away from home--flown away, to be precise--but had come back only to find the window barred and another boy sleeping in his bed.
Peter Pan is supposedly a boy who will not grow up, but when Wendy wants to return home he goes to her home to shut the window and make her think her family is rejecting her, but changes his mind when he sees their grief. This act of genuine compassion is a very grown-up thing to do.
It is also interesting to me that Peter is offered what he really wants--a family--but at a price he considers unacceptable. He will not grow up and go to work in an office. This is an act of self-assertion that shows real integrity and self-knowledge. This is not the action of a simplistic "boy who will not grow up."
And then there is that very strange ending in which Mrs. Darling says that Wendy can go to Peter's land for one week every year. It strikes me as a beautiful act of compassion and on some level a reward for Peter's act of maturity. But I can't help wondering if it has even more significance. It seems to echo the mythe of Persephone going to the underworld for half of the year.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Under the Antioquian Sky (Bajo el cielo antioqueno). 1925. Directed by Arturo Acevedo Vallarino.
(8/3/01)
I really didn't like this film very much. Part of the reason is probably that, although ballyhooed as a major restoration, the film was shown in an unattractive print that looked as if it had been patched together from a number of prints of varying quality.
It is certainly interesting as a panoramic view of Colombian, or upper-class Colombian, life in the 1920s. We see a convent, the streets, a well-to-do household, a courtroom, a cruise ship, the coffee fields. And the film is interesting from that standpoint. But I didn't find the characters or the story particularly interesting.
It has a very slow beginning in which the heroine is brought home from the convent. Alicia Arango de Meija plays Lina, the heroine, who instead of being full of life just seems silly. The scene in which she hides in front of--not underneath--her father's desk while he reads a letter from her beloved which she has just left for him just seems ridiculous.
There were a couple of interesting moments, however. Lina elopes with her beloved, but changes her mind when she meets a beggar woman who had done the same. She gives the woman her jewels in appreciation. Ironically--and horribly--this act of generosity causes the woman's death for she is murdered for those jewels.
The hero hits a black boy with his car, then brings him home to recuperate. The lad is not terribly hurt and has a few good moments as he enjoys the hospitality of the wealthy household.
It is difficult to judge the attitude of this film to its material. This may be due partly to the poor quality of the print, but also perhaps that it addressed an audience of a different time and place who no doubt understood (or "read") it quite differently than I do.
I really didn't like this film very much. Part of the reason is probably that, although ballyhooed as a major restoration, the film was shown in an unattractive print that looked as if it had been patched together from a number of prints of varying quality.
It is certainly interesting as a panoramic view of Colombian, or upper-class Colombian, life in the 1920s. We see a convent, the streets, a well-to-do household, a courtroom, a cruise ship, the coffee fields. And the film is interesting from that standpoint. But I didn't find the characters or the story particularly interesting.
It has a very slow beginning in which the heroine is brought home from the convent. Alicia Arango de Meija plays Lina, the heroine, who instead of being full of life just seems silly. The scene in which she hides in front of--not underneath--her father's desk while he reads a letter from her beloved which she has just left for him just seems ridiculous.
There were a couple of interesting moments, however. Lina elopes with her beloved, but changes her mind when she meets a beggar woman who had done the same. She gives the woman her jewels in appreciation. Ironically--and horribly--this act of generosity causes the woman's death for she is murdered for those jewels.
The hero hits a black boy with his car, then brings him home to recuperate. The lad is not terribly hurt and has a few good moments as he enjoys the hospitality of the wealthy household.
It is difficult to judge the attitude of this film to its material. This may be due partly to the poor quality of the print, but also perhaps that it addressed an audience of a different time and place who no doubt understood (or "read") it quite differently than I do.
Lady Windermere's Fan. 1925. Directed by Ernst Lubitsch.
(8/3/01)
[Note: I saw this film on June 30 and it is now August. I am just going to make some brief notes about it.]
Lady Windermere's Fan is consistently interesting from beginning to end. The characters are all interesting. It is a sophisticated film--which is exactly what one would expect from Lubitsch.
It was kind of unsettling to see Ronald Colman playing a rake. This is no reflection on Colman's acting, but is because he later established a screen character of a noble gentleman. This is an example of a film becoming a little bit less successful because of what came later.
It was pointed out in the notes to the screening that in making a silent film of an Oscar Wilde play Lubitsch had to sacrifice Wilde's witty dialogue, but replaced it with his own visual wit. The primary example which caught my attention was the way he characterizes the changing status of a relationship by the way the man knocks at the woman's door. This seems to be a Lubitsch touch. What this really shows--to me--is that the story of Lady Windermere's Fan lends itself to wit and Lubitsch didn't need Wilde's because he was quite capable himself in that department. It also shows what a good tale-spinner Wilde was, in that he could write a play that didn't need to rely on his own dialogue--memorable as that was--to be successful.
I am not going to go into the story of Lady Windermere's Fan except to say that the point of its social criticism that had an impact on me was that this was a social milieu that absolutely depended on lies and deceit. Lady Windermere never discovers that the woman her husband has been paying off is her mother and the mother insists that she never tell her husband the true facts of how she nearly ran off with Ronald Colman's character. Relationships are inauthentic. It may be a comedy, but it has a very bitter undercurrent indeed.
I found the character of Lady Windermere's mother very interesting, even if I can't remember her name. This is a woman who sees the situation exactly as it is and works it for her own ends. She is human and she prevails. She is a survivor. I wonder if she really thought she was sacrificing her own future for her daughter--though I believe she would have--or if she knew all along that she would come out on top. A nice note of ambiguity at the end of a very nice adaptation of a classic play.
[Note: I saw this film on June 30 and it is now August. I am just going to make some brief notes about it.]
Lady Windermere's Fan is consistently interesting from beginning to end. The characters are all interesting. It is a sophisticated film--which is exactly what one would expect from Lubitsch.
It was kind of unsettling to see Ronald Colman playing a rake. This is no reflection on Colman's acting, but is because he later established a screen character of a noble gentleman. This is an example of a film becoming a little bit less successful because of what came later.
It was pointed out in the notes to the screening that in making a silent film of an Oscar Wilde play Lubitsch had to sacrifice Wilde's witty dialogue, but replaced it with his own visual wit. The primary example which caught my attention was the way he characterizes the changing status of a relationship by the way the man knocks at the woman's door. This seems to be a Lubitsch touch. What this really shows--to me--is that the story of Lady Windermere's Fan lends itself to wit and Lubitsch didn't need Wilde's because he was quite capable himself in that department. It also shows what a good tale-spinner Wilde was, in that he could write a play that didn't need to rely on his own dialogue--memorable as that was--to be successful.
I am not going to go into the story of Lady Windermere's Fan except to say that the point of its social criticism that had an impact on me was that this was a social milieu that absolutely depended on lies and deceit. Lady Windermere never discovers that the woman her husband has been paying off is her mother and the mother insists that she never tell her husband the true facts of how she nearly ran off with Ronald Colman's character. Relationships are inauthentic. It may be a comedy, but it has a very bitter undercurrent indeed.
I found the character of Lady Windermere's mother very interesting, even if I can't remember her name. This is a woman who sees the situation exactly as it is and works it for her own ends. She is human and she prevails. She is a survivor. I wonder if she really thought she was sacrificing her own future for her daughter--though I believe she would have--or if she knew all along that she would come out on top. A nice note of ambiguity at the end of a very nice adaptation of a classic play.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Dick Turpin. 1925. Directed by John G. Blystone.
(6/30/01)
This film came alive for me sporadically. I had trouble following it at first, but after a while I was able to follow it better. Set in eighteenth-century England it is a very handsome production.
Tom Mix was likable enough, but I just didn't find him a very interesting presence. He's basically a product--a name one associates with westerns that feature a lot of action and stunts. He does have one very moving scene in Dick Turpin, however. It is the scene when his horse is killed. Mix brings that scene off, but I find I have more feeling for the horse than for him.
None of the human characters in Dick Turpin were really all that interesting. They went through their paces supporting an action story about a highwayman who rescues a damsel in distress. They were all a supporting cast.
The horse, though, was interesting all the way through. Early on, Mix leaves it on its own to follow him, which it does.
For all of the quality of the production, some of the action sequences weren't as exciting as they should have been. I'm thinking of the boxing sequence in which Turpin hides from his pursuers by impersonating a boxer in the ring--this scene just seems to hang there--and the final chase which just seems to go on forever.
This film came alive for me sporadically. I had trouble following it at first, but after a while I was able to follow it better. Set in eighteenth-century England it is a very handsome production.
Tom Mix was likable enough, but I just didn't find him a very interesting presence. He's basically a product--a name one associates with westerns that feature a lot of action and stunts. He does have one very moving scene in Dick Turpin, however. It is the scene when his horse is killed. Mix brings that scene off, but I find I have more feeling for the horse than for him.
None of the human characters in Dick Turpin were really all that interesting. They went through their paces supporting an action story about a highwayman who rescues a damsel in distress. They were all a supporting cast.
The horse, though, was interesting all the way through. Early on, Mix leaves it on its own to follow him, which it does.
For all of the quality of the production, some of the action sequences weren't as exciting as they should have been. I'm thinking of the boxing sequence in which Turpin hides from his pursuers by impersonating a boxer in the ring--this scene just seems to hang there--and the final chase which just seems to go on forever.
Harlan County, U.S.A. 1977. Directed by Barbara Kopple.
(6/17/01)
Harlan County was considered an important film--at least, I magine it was--when I was in college and taking film classes. I certainly think it was the kind of film that would have appealed to Alida Walsh. So it had a kind of nostalgic appeal for me.
I was surprised that it was in color. I would have thought that it was in black-and-white. The color was muted and looked as if it had been shot in 16mm and blown up to 35mm--or maybe it was just that the print was faded. Anyway, I think that the mood did fit the mood of the picture.
It has a feel of authentic Americana. This film is the real stuff, about American lives and American problems. It also has an epic quality, as its subject matter is a hard fought war against injustice. And for a documentary, and not a dramatic recreation, it was pretty absorbing.
This is a film about plain, hard-working folk--about as plain and hard-working as they come--who are killing themselves in mines and not even paid a decent living. They die--either in the mines or because of them. A lot of them can't afford to retoire, even though they are old enough. And they are for all intents and purposes owned by the company.
What impressed me in this film was the power of group energy. People working together were able to overcome some pretty heavy odds. I was also impressed by the power of song to uplift and to motivate.
I found the film hard to follow, probably because I don't know very much about its subjects. I don't know much about mining and I don't know much about striking. There was something about some murders and then it was afterwards and I realized that I had missed the gist of it.
I was tired and out of it when I saw this picture. I really should see it again.
(6/21/01)
I wanted to mention something else about Harlan County, U.S.A. After the strikers win after a long struggle we are made to understand that this is just the beginning. It seems that one of the things they won was the right to strike--which I didn't realize they hadn't had since they were striking. And it looks like their game plan is to just continue striking over and over, demanding more and more. One of the miners or their leaders actually says something to the effect that there is no end to the struggle, that it is something that goes on and on, with no end in sight.
Up until this part of the film it is impossible not to feel sympathy with the miners, even if I question some of their tactics such as the blocking of roads. But at this point I felt myself losing sympathy for them and their escalating demands and starting to wonder about the effect of their actions on the economy. In fact, it crossed my mind that they seemed like spoiled children.
Harlan County was considered an important film--at least, I magine it was--when I was in college and taking film classes. I certainly think it was the kind of film that would have appealed to Alida Walsh. So it had a kind of nostalgic appeal for me.
I was surprised that it was in color. I would have thought that it was in black-and-white. The color was muted and looked as if it had been shot in 16mm and blown up to 35mm--or maybe it was just that the print was faded. Anyway, I think that the mood did fit the mood of the picture.
It has a feel of authentic Americana. This film is the real stuff, about American lives and American problems. It also has an epic quality, as its subject matter is a hard fought war against injustice. And for a documentary, and not a dramatic recreation, it was pretty absorbing.
This is a film about plain, hard-working folk--about as plain and hard-working as they come--who are killing themselves in mines and not even paid a decent living. They die--either in the mines or because of them. A lot of them can't afford to retoire, even though they are old enough. And they are for all intents and purposes owned by the company.
What impressed me in this film was the power of group energy. People working together were able to overcome some pretty heavy odds. I was also impressed by the power of song to uplift and to motivate.
I found the film hard to follow, probably because I don't know very much about its subjects. I don't know much about mining and I don't know much about striking. There was something about some murders and then it was afterwards and I realized that I had missed the gist of it.
I was tired and out of it when I saw this picture. I really should see it again.
(6/21/01)
I wanted to mention something else about Harlan County, U.S.A. After the strikers win after a long struggle we are made to understand that this is just the beginning. It seems that one of the things they won was the right to strike--which I didn't realize they hadn't had since they were striking. And it looks like their game plan is to just continue striking over and over, demanding more and more. One of the miners or their leaders actually says something to the effect that there is no end to the struggle, that it is something that goes on and on, with no end in sight.
Up until this part of the film it is impossible not to feel sympathy with the miners, even if I question some of their tactics such as the blocking of roads. But at this point I felt myself losing sympathy for them and their escalating demands and starting to wonder about the effect of their actions on the economy. In fact, it crossed my mind that they seemed like spoiled children.
Insomnia. 1997. Directed by Erik Skoldbjaerg.
(6/10/01)
Insomnia has an interesting situation. A detective from Sweden comes to Norway to investigate a murder. He and his colleagues set a trap for the murderer. While chasing the killer the detective, disoriented by fog, accidentally kills one of the other officers. He attempts to cover it up, but the killer knows what has happened and uses it to blackmail him.
The film is an engaging thriller--but several weeks later I find that I hardly remember anything about it. It is an interesting depiction of a professional who is compromised and who abuses his position to save himself. And it also shows his guilt and his loneliness--having this terrible thing on his conscience and not being able to share it with anyone.
I didn't like the way the film blends the objective with the subjective. A lot of it is Detective Engstrom's dreams and fantasies or hallucinations. It just seemed blurry and annoying. I couldn't see where it served any purpose.
I didn't like the ending. Another detective, a woman with whom Engstrom has been working, hints to him that she has figured out what is going on. She doesn't say what she intends to do, but we see Engstrom leaving so I suppose it is implied that she is going to keep her mouth shut. As we see him leave--on a plane or in a car--black shadows form around his eyes. I just thought that was cheap and hokey.
There was one scene that I did like and remember. Engstrom takes a friend of the murdered girl to the spot where the body was found. The friend, who feels that she could have prevented the tragedy, comes apart. It is a sad, touching scene.
Insomnia has an interesting situation. A detective from Sweden comes to Norway to investigate a murder. He and his colleagues set a trap for the murderer. While chasing the killer the detective, disoriented by fog, accidentally kills one of the other officers. He attempts to cover it up, but the killer knows what has happened and uses it to blackmail him.
The film is an engaging thriller--but several weeks later I find that I hardly remember anything about it. It is an interesting depiction of a professional who is compromised and who abuses his position to save himself. And it also shows his guilt and his loneliness--having this terrible thing on his conscience and not being able to share it with anyone.
I didn't like the way the film blends the objective with the subjective. A lot of it is Detective Engstrom's dreams and fantasies or hallucinations. It just seemed blurry and annoying. I couldn't see where it served any purpose.
I didn't like the ending. Another detective, a woman with whom Engstrom has been working, hints to him that she has figured out what is going on. She doesn't say what she intends to do, but we see Engstrom leaving so I suppose it is implied that she is going to keep her mouth shut. As we see him leave--on a plane or in a car--black shadows form around his eyes. I just thought that was cheap and hokey.
There was one scene that I did like and remember. Engstrom takes a friend of the murdered girl to the spot where the body was found. The friend, who feels that she could have prevented the tragedy, comes apart. It is a sad, touching scene.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Brakhage films.
(5/27/01)
Films by Stan Brakhage:
Preludes 1-6. 1995; Preludes 7-12. 1996; Preludes 13-18. 1996; Preludes 19-24. 1997; The "b" series. 1995; The Lost Films. 1996; Beautiful Funerals. 1996; Blue Value. 1996; Concrescence. 1996. In collaboration with Phil Solomon; Polite Madness. 1996; Sexual Saga. 1996; The Fur of Home. 1996; Through Wounded Eyes. 1996. In collaboration with Joel Maertling; Two Found Objects of Charles Boultenhouse. 1996. In collaboration with Charles Boultenhouse; Zone Moment. 1996. (Restored from the 1950s.); Cat of the Worm's Green Realm. 1997; Commingled Containers. 1997; Divertimento. 1997; Self Song/Death Song. 1997; Shockingly Hot. 1997; Persian Series 1-5. 1999; Coupling. 1999; Wom and Web Love. 1999; The Dark Tower. 1999; Cloud Chamber. 1999; Moilsome Toilsome. 1999; Stately Mansion Did Decree. 2000; Persians 6-12. 2000; Water for Maya. 2000; Dance. 2000; The God of Day Had Gone Down upon Him. 2000; The Jesus Trilogy and Coda. 2000; The Thread of Occam. 2000.
I regret to say that after a month I remember very little about these films. I found them enjoyable to watch at the time, but I can't even remember most of them.
A great many of these are hand-painted films, although they are more than simply-hand-painted. The original painted strip of film have been manipulated through an optical printer with the aid of a technician. Thus, the hand paintings are superimposed on each other and there are effects such as one of the painted strips being frozen while another layer continues over it.
These films are, in Brakhage's words, "visual music" and are pleasant to experience on that level, although I think they suffer when a lot of them are shown together. The colors are bright and beautiful, however, and like Jackson Pollock, Brakhage manages to squeeze a large variety of effects out of his method. Sometimes the colors appear against a clear ground, but sometimes there seems to be a dark background. These moving paintings cause a visceral response. Fpr ionstance, when there is a lot of dense, congested movement on the screen and it stops--freezes or goes to more openness in the frame--you can feel it in your body.
Brakhage uses even the little marks that accidentally obtrude upon the film's surface. These are what looked to me like specks of dirt--but Brakhage said were hairs--and he used them creatively, causing them to dance across the screen. That was cute as well as aesthetically pleasing.
While these painted films seem like "just" visual music, they do--some at least--have subjects. At least they did to Brakhage. So--we were told--The Jesus Trilogy and Coda really does have something to do with Christianity, even if that significance is lost on a lot of the audience. And I do think that that is a problem with Brakhage's films.
Of the other films, my favorite was The God of Day Had Gone Down upon Him. This fil;m is a beautiful portrait of Vancouver Island. Devoid of a lot of camera movement it has a serenity to it and strikes me as one of Brakhage's most accessible films. He told us that he saw it as a meditation on old age and the growing awarenes of one's mortality that comes with it. I did not mae that association; to me it was simply a beautiful film about a place.
I liked Moilsome Toilsome quite a lot. The film (says Brakhage) shows water and shore from a whale's point of view. It has an infectious giddiness about it and the water and the light are beautifully photographed. It is a fresh, lighthearted film.
Zone Moment--a rediscovered "lost" film--is interesting for bringing back the feel of the 1950s. It's about a woman walking around a park where some boys are playing--or something like that. It seemed very serious in a youthful way. I didn't follow it very well, but I would like to see it again. The fact that it is a preservation copy made from a print probably adds to its flavor of nostalgia.
One of the found objects by Charles Boultenhouse was film of a dancer. I remember that I didn't find that very interesting.
Films by Stan Brakhage:
Preludes 1-6. 1995; Preludes 7-12. 1996; Preludes 13-18. 1996; Preludes 19-24. 1997; The "b" series. 1995; The Lost Films. 1996; Beautiful Funerals. 1996; Blue Value. 1996; Concrescence. 1996. In collaboration with Phil Solomon; Polite Madness. 1996; Sexual Saga. 1996; The Fur of Home. 1996; Through Wounded Eyes. 1996. In collaboration with Joel Maertling; Two Found Objects of Charles Boultenhouse. 1996. In collaboration with Charles Boultenhouse; Zone Moment. 1996. (Restored from the 1950s.); Cat of the Worm's Green Realm. 1997; Commingled Containers. 1997; Divertimento. 1997; Self Song/Death Song. 1997; Shockingly Hot. 1997; Persian Series 1-5. 1999; Coupling. 1999; Wom and Web Love. 1999; The Dark Tower. 1999; Cloud Chamber. 1999; Moilsome Toilsome. 1999; Stately Mansion Did Decree. 2000; Persians 6-12. 2000; Water for Maya. 2000; Dance. 2000; The God of Day Had Gone Down upon Him. 2000; The Jesus Trilogy and Coda. 2000; The Thread of Occam. 2000.
I regret to say that after a month I remember very little about these films. I found them enjoyable to watch at the time, but I can't even remember most of them.
A great many of these are hand-painted films, although they are more than simply-hand-painted. The original painted strip of film have been manipulated through an optical printer with the aid of a technician. Thus, the hand paintings are superimposed on each other and there are effects such as one of the painted strips being frozen while another layer continues over it.
These films are, in Brakhage's words, "visual music" and are pleasant to experience on that level, although I think they suffer when a lot of them are shown together. The colors are bright and beautiful, however, and like Jackson Pollock, Brakhage manages to squeeze a large variety of effects out of his method. Sometimes the colors appear against a clear ground, but sometimes there seems to be a dark background. These moving paintings cause a visceral response. Fpr ionstance, when there is a lot of dense, congested movement on the screen and it stops--freezes or goes to more openness in the frame--you can feel it in your body.
Brakhage uses even the little marks that accidentally obtrude upon the film's surface. These are what looked to me like specks of dirt--but Brakhage said were hairs--and he used them creatively, causing them to dance across the screen. That was cute as well as aesthetically pleasing.
While these painted films seem like "just" visual music, they do--some at least--have subjects. At least they did to Brakhage. So--we were told--The Jesus Trilogy and Coda really does have something to do with Christianity, even if that significance is lost on a lot of the audience. And I do think that that is a problem with Brakhage's films.
Of the other films, my favorite was The God of Day Had Gone Down upon Him. This fil;m is a beautiful portrait of Vancouver Island. Devoid of a lot of camera movement it has a serenity to it and strikes me as one of Brakhage's most accessible films. He told us that he saw it as a meditation on old age and the growing awarenes of one's mortality that comes with it. I did not mae that association; to me it was simply a beautiful film about a place.
I liked Moilsome Toilsome quite a lot. The film (says Brakhage) shows water and shore from a whale's point of view. It has an infectious giddiness about it and the water and the light are beautifully photographed. It is a fresh, lighthearted film.
Zone Moment--a rediscovered "lost" film--is interesting for bringing back the feel of the 1950s. It's about a woman walking around a park where some boys are playing--or something like that. It seemed very serious in a youthful way. I didn't follow it very well, but I would like to see it again. The fact that it is a preservation copy made from a print probably adds to its flavor of nostalgia.
One of the found objects by Charles Boultenhouse was film of a dancer. I remember that I didn't find that very interesting.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Toby Dammit. 1968. Directed by Federico Fellini.
(5/27/01)
Toby Dammit is a section of an omnibus film based on stories by Edgar Allan Poe. The story that Fellini's episode was based on was not identified, which was a disappointment because I would like to have read it.
The story is updated to then-contemporary Italy. An actor comes to Italy to appear in the first Catholic western. He is interviewed and then goes to an awards show at which he is expected to speak. He drinks, is dissipated and is obviously disgusted with the whole business. All he really cares about is a fancy car which he is to be given. When he gets it he drives off and seems to get lost in a kind of maze. He is haunted by the image of a young girl with a ball. At the end he finds her on the other side of a breach in the road. He attemps to cross the space in his car, but crashes.
This really impressed me for the sheer style, the sheer personality of Fellini. It is full of his baroque or bizarre imagery--this time in color. It is simply that the director's strong personality comes through so clearly that I found interesting. Other than that, there isn't that much that I have to say about this piece. Nino Rota's music, though the work of another man, is an important part of Fellini's style.
Terence Stamp does sort of resemble Edgar Allan Poe, although he is blonde and Poe was dark. He is further linked to Poe through his drinking and his moodiness. There is a sense here of show business as shabby and grotesque, which we had seen before in 8-1/2. It is sickening, disgusting and we can appreciate Toby's revulsion with the whole sordid business, the vulgarity.
Toby says that he doesn't believe in God but believes in the Devil. Somewhere (I think) the girl with the ball is identified with the Devil. What does it all mean? Is Fellini saying that without a belief in God all is hopeless? I don't know. I didn't understand this film.
Toby Dammit is a section of an omnibus film based on stories by Edgar Allan Poe. The story that Fellini's episode was based on was not identified, which was a disappointment because I would like to have read it.
The story is updated to then-contemporary Italy. An actor comes to Italy to appear in the first Catholic western. He is interviewed and then goes to an awards show at which he is expected to speak. He drinks, is dissipated and is obviously disgusted with the whole business. All he really cares about is a fancy car which he is to be given. When he gets it he drives off and seems to get lost in a kind of maze. He is haunted by the image of a young girl with a ball. At the end he finds her on the other side of a breach in the road. He attemps to cross the space in his car, but crashes.
This really impressed me for the sheer style, the sheer personality of Fellini. It is full of his baroque or bizarre imagery--this time in color. It is simply that the director's strong personality comes through so clearly that I found interesting. Other than that, there isn't that much that I have to say about this piece. Nino Rota's music, though the work of another man, is an important part of Fellini's style.
Terence Stamp does sort of resemble Edgar Allan Poe, although he is blonde and Poe was dark. He is further linked to Poe through his drinking and his moodiness. There is a sense here of show business as shabby and grotesque, which we had seen before in 8-1/2. It is sickening, disgusting and we can appreciate Toby's revulsion with the whole sordid business, the vulgarity.
Toby says that he doesn't believe in God but believes in the Devil. Somewhere (I think) the girl with the ball is identified with the Devil. What does it all mean? Is Fellini saying that without a belief in God all is hopeless? I don't know. I didn't understand this film.
Male and Female. 1919. Directed by Cecil B. DeMille.
(5/21/01/-5/24/01)
I saw this film a couple of years ago and liked it very much. I didn't like it so much this time around. It took a long time getting started and there were very lengthy titles which were a bit tiresome.
Thomas Meighan plays a butler in a wealthy and/or aristocratic English family. He secretly likes the daughter, although he looks down at her superficiality and shallowness. (Then why does he like her so much? I can't help wondering.) But he knows his place and keeps silent about his feelings. Then, when he accompanies the family on a yachting expedition they are shipwrecked and the whole picture changes. The butler, through his sheer competence at survival, becomes king of the hill and is about to marry the woman he desires. Just then they are rescued.
Back in England things revert to normal. People revert to their previous places in society. Except that the daughter can't forget her feelings for this man and decides that she wants to marry him. He overhears this and knows that it just won't work. So he marries the maid, who has loved him all along, in order to save the woman he really loves from making a big mistake.
I would have imagined this to be a pure indictment of the social structure. Nobody wins. But it doesn't end like that; there is a postscript in which we see the butler and maid, who have gone to America, as a happily married couple. So the film, which indeed criticizes the social order, ends by affirming the value of submitting to it, or of submitting to the natural order of things, or to the way things are.
I didn't find Gloria Swanson all that interesting, although this is an example of her work when she was a major star. I thought Thomas Meighan was too much of a sourpuss in the first part, although I suppose that was understandable given his situation.
The film does come to life when the family is shipwrecked and have to struggle to survive. (It's sort of like Robinson Crusoe.) It is particularly interesting to see the women falling all over Thomas Meighan and fighting over who gets to serve him.
There is one really bizarre sequence that is pure DeMille--or at least what we like to think of as pure DeMille. The butler keeps reading a poem which says something like "When I was a king in Babylon/And you were a Christian slave." When he rescues Gloria Swanson from a tiger or other animal there is a sort of flashback in which he is a king who throws a woman to a lion or tiger for refusing him sexually. She curses him. Is this a scene from a past life and is his current position a punishment for that act? It's probably more of a fantasy and what it really is is a chance for DeMille to throw in some ancient spectacle. It's fun to watch, though I got a little confused over which woman in Meighan's current life was the one he gave to the animal. That confusion was probably exacerbated by the fact that he had just saved a woman from an animal.
There is a sense of sadness when these people discover that they can be rescued. There is a feeling that they were really happier on that island and would have preferred to stay there, but just couldn't resist the seductions of "civilization." I kind of wish that Gloria Swanson had suggested to Thomas Meighan that they go back, but I suppose that wouldn't have worked so well if they had just gone by themselves. Of course, she had a friend who married her chauffeur who then couldn't get work, so maybe the two couples could have turned their backs on English society and formed a commune, but that just wasn't done.
I believe (my memory is a little rusty) that the butler and the maid went off and started a new life in America. That ending shows the popular idea of America as a land of promise, where people could turn their backs on their dictated places in society and strike out for a new beginning.
I saw this film a couple of years ago and liked it very much. I didn't like it so much this time around. It took a long time getting started and there were very lengthy titles which were a bit tiresome.
Thomas Meighan plays a butler in a wealthy and/or aristocratic English family. He secretly likes the daughter, although he looks down at her superficiality and shallowness. (Then why does he like her so much? I can't help wondering.) But he knows his place and keeps silent about his feelings. Then, when he accompanies the family on a yachting expedition they are shipwrecked and the whole picture changes. The butler, through his sheer competence at survival, becomes king of the hill and is about to marry the woman he desires. Just then they are rescued.
Back in England things revert to normal. People revert to their previous places in society. Except that the daughter can't forget her feelings for this man and decides that she wants to marry him. He overhears this and knows that it just won't work. So he marries the maid, who has loved him all along, in order to save the woman he really loves from making a big mistake.
I would have imagined this to be a pure indictment of the social structure. Nobody wins. But it doesn't end like that; there is a postscript in which we see the butler and maid, who have gone to America, as a happily married couple. So the film, which indeed criticizes the social order, ends by affirming the value of submitting to it, or of submitting to the natural order of things, or to the way things are.
I didn't find Gloria Swanson all that interesting, although this is an example of her work when she was a major star. I thought Thomas Meighan was too much of a sourpuss in the first part, although I suppose that was understandable given his situation.
The film does come to life when the family is shipwrecked and have to struggle to survive. (It's sort of like Robinson Crusoe.) It is particularly interesting to see the women falling all over Thomas Meighan and fighting over who gets to serve him.
There is one really bizarre sequence that is pure DeMille--or at least what we like to think of as pure DeMille. The butler keeps reading a poem which says something like "When I was a king in Babylon/And you were a Christian slave." When he rescues Gloria Swanson from a tiger or other animal there is a sort of flashback in which he is a king who throws a woman to a lion or tiger for refusing him sexually. She curses him. Is this a scene from a past life and is his current position a punishment for that act? It's probably more of a fantasy and what it really is is a chance for DeMille to throw in some ancient spectacle. It's fun to watch, though I got a little confused over which woman in Meighan's current life was the one he gave to the animal. That confusion was probably exacerbated by the fact that he had just saved a woman from an animal.
There is a sense of sadness when these people discover that they can be rescued. There is a feeling that they were really happier on that island and would have preferred to stay there, but just couldn't resist the seductions of "civilization." I kind of wish that Gloria Swanson had suggested to Thomas Meighan that they go back, but I suppose that wouldn't have worked so well if they had just gone by themselves. Of course, she had a friend who married her chauffeur who then couldn't get work, so maybe the two couples could have turned their backs on English society and formed a commune, but that just wasn't done.
I believe (my memory is a little rusty) that the butler and the maid went off and started a new life in America. That ending shows the popular idea of America as a land of promise, where people could turn their backs on their dictated places in society and strike out for a new beginning.
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