Sterling
Hayden was often cast as the gangster, the hooligan, the nutsy general, the
petty criminal with brawn but little brains… and yet here we have him as the
hero of a sticky film noir from 1954 as the chief of police of an urban
setting (southern California?) who loses his job because of allegations of
police brutality. Hayden is perfectly cast, and this is said without sarcasm.
Naked
Alibi
was directed by Jerry Hopper, who made well over a dozen B-movies in the crime,
adventure, western, and melodrama categories in the late 1940s to mid-50s, and
then moved smoothly into television and helmed an abundance of television
episodes for various long-running series into the 70s. Alibi does play
like an extended episode of one of the late 50s TV crime dramas like Naked
City, except with more violence, implied sex, and gritty adult themes.
Unfortunately,
the picture doesn’t come off well, mainly due to the over-the-top and often
histrionic performances of the main cast, and a needless aggression towards
women. Poor Gloria Grahame gets slapped around numerous times, and yet she
stoically barely flinches through most of the assaults. It’s not pretty.
Chief
Joe Conroy (Hayden) has his eye set on pinning some robberies and ultimately a
cop-murder on Al Willis (Gene Barry), a seemingly innocent, married-with-child
baker who happens to get hot-headed and into fights when he drinks too much—an
all too frequent habit. When no physical evidence supports Conroy’s pursuit,
the now-ex-chief shadows Willis on his own, following him to “Border Town†in
Mexico, where he discovers Willis is not so innocent (much of the movie was
shot in Tijuana). Marianna (Grahame) is Willis’ mistress there, and he has fed
her a load of bull about marrying her (and withholding the fact that he’s
already married). Furthermore, Willis is associating with some criminal types
there and has his own gang of cohorts. Conroy sets about wooing Marianna to his
side, making several felonies stick to Willis, forcibly moving the hood back to
the USA, and arresting him. Things become increasingly dangerous for Conroy and
Marianna, and Willis grows progressively more psychotic.
This
probably sounded decent on paper, but the execution is serviceable, at best.
For one thing, Barry is miscast and spends most of the movie jumping from calmness
to out of control at the drop of a hat, and it’s cause for some eye-rolling.
Grahame, whom albeit looks hotter than the streets of the border town, seems
bored and without energy through much of the picture. Again, the way she simply
takes her beatings is another point of unbelievability. As for Hayden, he, too,
could have used a stronger hand at direction, for he tends to chew the scenery
at times when a little restraint would have been more effective.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration is suitably and overly grainy if one
likes one’s film noir in that condition. It comes with English subtitles
for the hearing impaired, as well as an audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger.
The theatrical trailer for this and other Kino Lorber titles complete the
presentation.
Naked
Alibi is
recommended strictly for Sterling Hayden and/or Gloria Grahame fans, and for film
noir completists.
This
British gem was considered a lost film until a print was somehow discovered a
little over ten years ago and re-released in art houses and on home video. The
Queen of Spades, from 1949, was one of only nine pictures helmed by Thorold
Dickinson, a Norwegian director who worked mostly in the UK but also in Europe
and Africa. He was perhaps most known for directing the original British
version of Gaslight (1940), which George Cukor and MGM suppressed when
they remade it as a Hollywood movie in 1944 (with Ingrid Bergman). There are
some who believe Dickinson’s Gaslight is the better of the two.
Dickinson
has been re-appraised in recent years by the likes of filmmakers such as Martin
Scorsese and Wes Anderson, and by critics with a taste for genuine style and
substance in their movies. The Queen of Spades was nominated for a BAFTA
award for Best Picture in its year and is now deemed as one of the better
atmospheric dramas of the supernatural, fitting nicely beside such
psychological fare as The Haunting (1963).
Interestingly,
Dickinson was hired as a replacement director mere days before shooting was set
to commence. He replaced co-screenwriter Rodney Ackland (who wrote it with
Arthur Boys), because apparently there were disagreements between Ackland and
the star, Anton Walbrook, and the producer, Anatole de Grunwald (who was also a
colorful character in British cinema). Dickinson did a few days of preparation
and then showed up on the set on a Monday morning ready to work. The result is
quite impressive.
The
tale, based on an Alexander Pushkin short story, is set in St. Petersburg, Russia,
in the early 1800s. This alone provides the filmmakers with a broad canvas for
set design, art direction, and elaborate costumes, which are all gorgeous in
glorious black and white (and it’s arguable that the movie would not have
worked as well had it been in color).
Captain
Herman Suvorin (Walbrook, who had appeared in several Michael Powell and Emeric
Pressburger productions), is a haughty, ambitious man who desires the “secretâ€
to winning a fortune at a popular card game called “Faro.†He learns from a
creepy bookseller that the aging and wealthy Countess Ranevskaya (Dame Edith
Evans, in her first film role at the age of sixty!) had “sold her soul to the
devil†many years ago when she learned this secret. Herman sets out to get to
the countess and extract the knowledge from the old woman by any means
possible, the easiest being to seduce the countess’ innocent and beautiful
ward, Lizavetta (Yvonne Mitchell), and infiltrating the spooky palace through
her. Meanwhile, Lizavetta is being wooed by Herman’s friend, Andrei (Ronald
Howard), who is buddies with the countess’ grandson, Fyodor (a young Anthony
Dawson, whom cinema fans will recognize from Dial M for Murder and Dr.
No). Conflict arises between Herman and Andrei, but things really get
sinister and ghostly once the captain eventually confronts the countess.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration shows off Otto Heller’s dreamy cinematography,
and the film comes with an audio commentary by film critic Nick Pinkerton, as
well as English subtitles for the hearing impaired. Supplements include a short
video introduction by Martin Scorsese; a rather dry video analysis by film
critic/author Philip Horne; a 1951 audio interview with Dickinson at the
British Federation of Film Societies; and a 1968 audio introduction to a
screening of the film by Dickinson in front of an audience. The theatrical
trailer for this and other Kino Lorber releases complete the package.
The
Queen of Spaces is
a fascinating and moody piece of work, certainly for fans of British cinema,
period drama, and things that go bump in the night.
There
were many motion pictures made in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s that depict New York
City as a less than desirable place to be. A hell on earth full of crime,
grime, sin, debauchery, drugs, gangs, and corruption. You know the titles—The
Out of Towners, Midnight Cowboy, Joe, Taxi Driver…
While
the portrayal may very well have been true, to a certain extent, this reviewer
lived in Manhattan over a decade during the relevant years and found it to be
the most exciting, vibrant, culturally potent, and beautifully stimulating
environment. Not only that, the #6 IRT train (the “Pelham 1:23,†hence the
title) is one this reviewer rode almost daily, so the stops, the milieu, and
the atmosphere were dead-on familiarities. As some of us like to say today in
the age when 42nd Street and Times Square have been “Disney-ized,†we miss the
old days when New York had “character,†and we’re not talking about Elmos and Iron
Men hawking photos with tourists.
One
must add to the above list of New York films the marvelous thriller, The
Taking of Pelham One Two Three, from 1974. Director Joseph Sargent
delivered a gritty and accurate nail-biter that displayed Manhattan in its visceral
authenticity, especially regarding the underground subway system, where most of
the movie takes place. New York’s Transit Authority (MTA) cooperated with the
filmmakers, however there is a disclaimer that they didn’t advise or take part
in the story details or provide information on how the trains worked. The one
condition the MTA made to allow filming in the subway was that no graffiti
could be seen in the movie. At the time, graffiti was everywhere, and subway
trains and stations were primary targets for the artists. Throughout the 70s
and 80s, the MTA was at war with graffiti artists—it was a never-ending battle
to keep the cars clean. Thus, the unmarked subway cars seen in the film are the
only thing about it that could be called unrealistic.
Pelham
is
terrific. One unexpected element that makes it so good is the humor exhibited
in the dialogue and by the superb performances of the actors, especially those playing
the Transit Police and the MTA employees. The likes of Walter Matthau, Dick
O’Neill, Jerry Stiller, and Tom Pedi keep the proceedings lively and
entertaining.
Four
armed men (Robert Shaw, Martin Balsam, Hector Elizondo, and Earl Hindman) in
similar disguises (hats, overcoats, mustaches) board the #6 Downtown train,
each using the pseudonym of a color (Mr. Green, Mr. Blue, etc.—nearly twenty
years before Reservoir Dogs, and it is acknowledged by Quentin Tarantino
that Pelham was an influence). At around 28th Street, they hijack the
train, separate the front car from the rest, and park it between stations in
the dark of the tunnel. They hold seventeen passengers and a conductor hostage
and demand $1 million in cash from the city within one hour. Lt. Garber
(Matthau) of the transit police oversees the negotiations and getting things
moving. A mayor downtrodden with the flu (Lee Wallace, who uncannily resembles
future New York mayor Ed Koch, although Koch was not mayor at the time the
picture was made) must approve the payout, the bank must gather the dough, and
the police need to deliver the bundle to the hijackers on time before they
start executing hostages.
It’s
the perfect example of a “ticking clock†thriller, and director Sargent,
screenwriter Peter Stone (adapting from John Godey’s novel), and the actors
pull it off with finesse. Another major component to the film’s success
is the funky, brassy score by David Shire.
Kino
Lorber’s Blu-ray restoration looks and sounds great, and it comes with an audio
commentary by actor/filmmaker Pat Healy and film programmer/historian Jim
Healy. Supplements include a recent interview with actor Elizondo, who provides
several amusing stories about the making of the film and the other actors
involved; a recent interview with composer Shire; and one with editor Jerry
Greenberg. A “Trailers from Hell†episode with Josh Olson, an animated montage
of stills and posters, and the original theatrical trailer round out the
package.
In
short, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three is a seminal “New York Movie,â€
a quintessential “1970s picture,†and one of the better thrillers ever made.
Note: It was remade in 1998 as a TV movie and in 2009 as a theatrical film, but
neither of these comes close to the power and ingenuity of the original.
The
Group,
the 1966 film directed by Sidney Lumet, is based on Mary McCarthy’s 1963
best-selling novel that broke ground by presenting the extraordinary notion
that young women graduating from college in the 1930s had liberating thoughts
in their heads regarding politics, independence, sex, marriage, career, and
motherhood (SARCASM). In all seriousness, the novel did push the envelope, given
the time it was published. It challenged the notion of the All-American Girl’s
only role in society was to get married, have children, and serve her husband.
The
film, which was adapted for the screen and produced by Sidney Buchman, is a
reasonably faithful rendition of the novel, and, seeing that it was released in
that nebulous in-between period between the demise of the Hollywood Production
Code and the institution of the Movie Rating System in America, it is frank and
revealing—but perhaps not enough.
What
is most fascinating about the picture today are the performances by the eight
leading ladies, most of whom were just arriving on the scene and would go on to
bigger and better things. For example, The Group is Candice Bergen’s
first screen appearance.
The
time is 1933 at a fictional women’s college in New England (in the novel it is
explicitly Vassar). Eight women who are close friends refer to themselves as
“the Groupâ€â€”there is Lakey (Bergen), the most beautiful and popular one; Dottie
(Joan Hackett), the seemingly sensible one who makes some rash choices; Priss
(Elizabeth Hartman), politically liberal but too submissive when contested;
Polly (Shirley Knight), perhaps the most independent of the bunch; Kay (Joanna
Pettet), the most materialistic and the most victimized; Pokey (Mary-Robin
Redd), who we don’t get to know as well as the others; Libby (Jessica Walter),
who is the most ambitious and competitive; and Helena (Kathleen Widdoes), who
is perhaps the smartest one. The story follows the eight women’s lives after
graduation over the rest of the decade to the beginning of World War II, mostly
in and around New York City, as they date, get jobs, fall in love (or not),
marry, and have children (some successfully, others not so).
Aside
from a couple of exceptions, the men in their lives are portrayed as selfish,
abusive, and cruel. They are played by the likes of Larry Hagman, Richard
Mulligan, Hal Holbrook, James Broderick, and James Congdon. We also slightly
get to know some of the girls’ parents (one father, played by Robert Emhardt, deemed
as having a mental illness, insists on moving in with his daughter) and other
friends.
While
there is some attempt to give each of the eight ladies their “story,†the movie
focuses mostly on Kay (Pettit), whose emotional range is expertly displayed
throughout as she works to support her caddy, cheating husband; and Polly
(Knight), who approaches her love affairs with an arm’s length attitude and is
too attached to her father. On the second tier of screen time are Libby
(Walter), Dottie (Hackett), and Priss (Hartman), all of whom deliver fine performances
along with Pettet and Knight. Bergen’s character disappears after the first ten
minutes, goes to Europe, and doesn’t return until the last act of the movie.
Sidney
Lumet’s direction is assured as he moves the complicated and many-faceted
storylines along—and yet the picture is too long (at 2-1/2 hours). A lot is
packed into it, though, and something like this might have worked better as a
three-part television mini-series. (In a way, it is Sex and the City for
eight women instead of three, and in quite a different decade from that HBO
show.)
Most
notable about the movie is its dealing with topics not normally discussed on
screen in 1966, the year it was released—birth control, mental illness,
adultery, free love, liberal politics (in the 1930s, Left was LEFT!),
and even lesbianism.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration looks quite good and comes with English
subtitles for the hearing impaired. Unfortunately, there are no supplements
other than the theatrical trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases.
The
Group is
an interesting time capsule of a specific time in cinema history that shines a
light on a particular era in American history that, in turn, examines a distinctive
social class of gender-exclusive characters.
Reiner shares the movie with Alan Arkin, who made
his feature film debut with his portrayal of a Russian submarine political
officer, along with a marvelous supporting cast of character actors who all
have comedic turns. Penned by Oscar-nominated William Rose (who had written or
co-written The Ladykillers and It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad,
Mad World, and would win the Oscar the following year for Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner), The Russians are Coming, the Russians
are Coming focuses on the conflict between a group of
misplaced Soviet submariners and the panicky townsfolk of a New England island
off the coast of Massachusetts after the summer tourists have left. What it’s
really about, though, is communication, or rather, the lack of it, and how a
series of incidents that are lost in translation might lead to
misunderstandings. Director Jewison delivers that message to the audience
wrapped neatly in a barrel of laughs.
Reiner is Walt Whittaker, a playwright who has
spent the summer on the island with his wife (Eva Marie Saint) and two
children, and the family is ready to depart. His rented house on the coast
happens to be near where the Russians’ submarine accidentally runs aground. The
captain (Theodore Bikel) sends Lt. Rozanov (Arkin), officer Alexei Kolchin
(John Phillip Law), and seven other men to go find a boat, commandeer it, and
bring it back so they can tow the sub away from the island. Things begin
promisingly, and then all hell breaks loose as one mishap after another foils
the Russians’ scheme. Police Chief Mattocks (Brian Keith), his deputy Norman Jonas
(Jonathan Winters), and, ultimately, war veteran and head of the citizens
militia, Hawkins (Paul Ford), receive conflicting reports of the “invasion†and
set about investigating it in their own misguided ways (although Mattocks is
indeed the sensible one). Throw in a sudden romantic attraction between Alexei
and the Whittaker’s babysitter, Alison (Andrea Dromm), the antics of phone
operator Alice (the splendid Tessie O’Shea), and a drunk “Paul Revere†who
spends the entire film trying to catch his horse (Ben Blue), and you’ve got a
recipe for a comedy classic. The climax, however, is surprisingly suspenseful
when the Russians and Americans finally reach a standoff at the harbor—until an
unrelated crisis occurs that shakes everyone out of the mob mentality.
The straight man role was something Carl Reiner
could do well; he always brought a heightened intensity to his parts that was
simultaneously boisterous and believable, and yet amusing, too. Arkin, whose
dialogue is 85% authentic Russian throughout the picture, immediately proved to
the world what an amazing actor he is (he received an Oscar nomination for his
performance and won a Golden Globe). Winters and Ford both provide much of the
insane humor. O’Shea is hilarious, especially in the scene in which she and
Reiner are gagged and tied together and attempt to escape. Law, a newcomer at
the time, is a striking and likeable presence, and he masters the Russian
language and the accented English with aplomb.
It’s all great stuff, punctuated by Johnny Mandel’s
score of American patriotic music mixed with Russian folk songs. Along with
Arkin’s nomination, The Russians are
Coming… was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Adapted
Screenplay (Rose), and Best Editing (Hal Ashby was co-editor).
Kino Lorber’s high definition restoration looks
good enough, despite some washing out of color in some places, as well as blemishes
and artifacts that can be seen in some of the images. The only supplements are
an informative and entertaining “making of†featurette with an interview with
Jewison, and the theatrical trailer.
In short, The
Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming is grand
fun, and it’s a fitting showcase for the late, great Carl Reiner.
Nobody
wants the legacy of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy to disappear. Young people may
have heard of the comic duo, but few have seen them these days. This is understandably
disturbing to cinephiles or those of us of an older generation who have admired
since childhood the genius on display when the pair performed in front of the
camera. While RHI Entertainment issued a fabulous DVD set in 2011 (10 disks in
the U.S.) that contained most of Laurel and Hardy’s output for Hal Roach after
sound kicked in, a new Blu-ray treasure chest has just been released by
MVDvisual that contains stunning restorations in high definition of a
respectable number of titles.
Laurel
and Hardy—The Definitive Restorations could be a holy grail for members of Sons of
the Desert, the International Laurel and Hardy Society that is devoted to
keeping the lives and works of Stan and Ollie before the public “and have a
good time doing it.†It is also a must for anyone who has even a passing
interest in the history of film comedy or film in general.
The
four-disk set contains two of the duo’s most revered feature films—Sons of
the Desert (1933) and Way Out West (1937) along with seventeen
classic shorts released between 1927 and 1933. Two of the shorts, Berth
Marks (1929) and Brats (1930) are presented twice, each with two
different soundtracks—one with the original Vitaphone track and the other with the
re-issued 1936 version.
Sons
of the Desert might
be the definitive Laurel and Hardy movie. In it, both boys must deceive their
suspicious wives about attending the Shriners-like “Sons of the Desertâ€
convention in Chicago. Of course, one lie turns into a hundred and they keep
digging their holes deeper. Way Out West is a western, naturally, with
the boys attempting to deliver a gold mine deed to the rightful owner, only to
be hoodwinked by the villains. The picture contains the celebrated dance
routine Stan and Ollie performs while the Avalon Boys sing “At the Ball, That’s
All.â€
All
of the shorts are marvelous. The Oscar-winning The Music Box (1932) is
there, plus favorites such as the two with different soundtracks, and Hog
Wild (1930), Come Clean (1931), County Hospital (1932), and Busy
Bodies (1933). But the shining star of the set is the long “lost†but
recently found silent gem, The Battle of the Century (1927), which
contains the pie fight to end all pie fights. This is a seminal work in the
Laurel and Hardy canon, and it had seemed that since 1957 only three minutes of
footage of the approximately twenty-minute film was thought to exist. In 1980,
Leonard Maltin found the bulk of reel one in the archive of the Museum of
Modern Art (what, they didn’t know they had it?). In 2015, film historian John
Mirsalis discovered the complete reel two. There are still two to three minutes
missing—the new set makes up for it by including stills and intertitles—but with
The Definitive Restorations we now have an almost complete version on
home video. The film comes with a new music track by Donald Sosin. Look for a
young Lou Costello as an extra in the crowd ringside during the early boxing
match sequence! In short, the inclusion of The Battle of the Century is worth
the price of admission.
The
restorations by Jeff Joseph/SabuCat in conjunction with the UCLA Film and
Television Archive and Library of Congress are simply beautiful. The
contributions by film historians, archivists, and Laurel and Hardy scholars
Randy Skretvedt and Richard W. Bann can’t be understated. Bann commented to the
reviewers, “I saved the nitrate film from being disposed of and gave it to
UCLA. We did our own commercial restoration and preservation for the Eastern
hemisphere (though 35mm fine grains were provided at cost to the Western
Hemisphere copyright proprietor, which generated what you see on TCM and in the
Essential Laurel and Hardy DVD box set). Once I steered the nitrate to
UCLA, Jeff Joseph donated money and oversaw the institutional restoration and
preservation, as well as the digital upgrade, something we did not do for
Munich originally, owing to time and cost considerations, as well as because
the technology was less advanced during the 1985-2002 period. I supplied the
still photos for the extras, except for those which came from Oliver Hardy’s
collection. I consulted on the matter of rights clearances. I loaned studio
documents, pressbooks, etc., to be scanned for inclusion with the extras, and I
loaned the Kodachrome print of The Tree in a Test Tube.â€
The
nearly nine hours of supplements are just as spectacular as the films
themselves. Skretvedt and Bann share the commentary duties (Bann is on The
Battle of the Century and The Music Box, while Skretvedt does the
rest). The combined knowledge of these two film aficionados about the history
of Laurel and Hardy and Hal Roach Studios makes the set a must-have for
devotees of the boys. In addition, there are 2,500 rare photos, posters, and
studio files; film and audio interviews with many of the duo’s co-workers and
Sons of the Desert society attendants of the 60s; a 50s-era interview with
Hardy aboard the ship sailing from England during the period depicted in the
recent biopic, Stan and Ollie (and it’s amazing how much the aging Hardy
resembles the made-up John C. Reilly!); a restoration from 16mm Kodachrome of
the rare 1942 color short produced by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, The
Tree in a Test Tube;and trailers. The interviews, mostly conducted
by Skretvedt in the early 1980s, are of varying audio and visual quality. Unfortunately,
when asked what the chances are of locating a print of the ultra-rare lost 1927
silent film, Hat’s Off, Bann answered, “In the words of Oliver Hardy,
‘Null and void!’ We will cover all bets for finding Hat’s Off giving 100
to 1 odds.â€
This
isn’t just “another nice mess†they’ve got you into, it’s a gorgeous nice
mess. Laurel and Hardy—the Definitive Restorations is highly and most
enthusiastically recommended.
For
information about the Sons of the Desert, visit www.sonsofthedesertinfo.com.
The society was founded in 1965 by John McCabe, who wrote the first true
biography of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy in 1961. McCabe wanted to start an
organization dedicated to the love of the duo along the lines of The Baker
Street Irregulars (honoring Sherlock Holmes). McCabe had Laurel’s blessing, as
long as no one referred to the society as a “fan club.†“Fan†is short for
“fanatic,†and he didn’t want that. The society has been going strong with
worldwide chapters—called “tentsâ€â€”ever since.
Recently
there was hue and cry about the new streaming service HBO Max and their
decision to remove the 1939 Oscar-winning classic Gone with the Wind
from their lineup because of its no-question-about-it racial stereotypes. While
the intention might be admirable, there is also the danger of destroying a part
of cultural history that should be studied and learned from, rather than
rendering it invisible. Besides, viewers have a choice to watch a movie,
unlike, say, gazing at a statue on public display that is there for all to see
no matter what.
Another
Hollywood classic from the same era that certainly falls into identical
“problem†areas is William Wyler’s Jezebel, which earned Bette Davis her
second Oscar, awarded supporting actress Fay Bainter a trophy, and was
nominated for Best Picture of 1938. It, too, is set in the antebellum south
(New Orleans, to be exact) a few years prior to the Civil War.
What
makes Jezebel a shockingly potent film for today is that a) its
protagonist, Julie Marsden (Davis) is the type of white-privileged, spoiled,
and arrogant young woman who would be called a “Karen†on today’s social media
for causing a scene in public; b) the obvious racial inequalities, which are
inevitable when dealing with stories of the time; and c) the pandemic of yellow
fever—“Yellow Jackâ€â€”is a rampant plot point, and we see many characters wearing
masks!
Jezebel
was
rushed into production by Warner Brothers due to the huge success of the
publication of Gone with the Wind and the furor over MGM’s preparations
of adapting it into a film. Bette Davis was offered the lead role in Jezebel
after it was clear that she wasn’t going to be cast as Scarlett O’Hara in Wind.
Thus, Jezebel capitalized on the interest in Wind and was
released 21 months earlier!
The
story in a nutshell: Julie is staying at the plantation of her Aunt Belle
(Bainter) to escape the yellow fever epidemic that has hit where she lives. She
has her eyes set on banker Preston Dillard (Henry Fonda), but she has no qualms
with leading on the more rakish Buck Cantrell (George Brent). After Julie
causes a scandal by wearing a red dress at a ball in which all virginal,
unmarried women wear only white, Preston drops her and goes north on business.
Upon his return, Julie is surprised that he’s brought with him a “Yankee†wife,
Amy (Margaret Lindsay). Julie continues her bad behavior, egging on Buck to
insult both Preston and Amy, which leads to tragic consequences. Meanwhile, the
pandemic is getting worse and the disease is encroaching on New Orleans—drastic
measures are being taken to contain the outbreak, and it’s not pretty.
The
cast is quite good. Bette Davis is indeed spectacular in the role, and her
Oscar win is justified. For a picture released in 1938, her performance
contains unusual subtlety and nuances that were not typically a component of
screen acting of the era. Fonda is his reliable self, a man of principle and
honor, and he always does that well. Brent is suitably smarmy and yet likable.
The production is well made—director William Wyler at the time was becoming one
of Hollywood’s stalwart filmmakers; this early success assured his place on the
road to greater heights.
The
picture’s treatment of African-American characters is exactly what one would
expect from a Hollywood movie about the south as seen through the prism of
1938. Eddie Anderson (“Rochester†on The Jack Benny Show) makes an
appearance as one of servants working for the family. It’s not indicated that
all the black people on the plantation are slaves, but that’s what they are. In
stereotypical Hollywood fashion, they are all “happy slaves,†and in fact they
gather one night for a ritual sing-a-long to Julie. Yes, the scene is cringe-worthy
today, but one must critique movies within the context of when they were made.
Julie’s
behavior in the story may be abominable by the standards of the society
portrayed in the film, but isn’t she just asserting her independence and feminism?
Perhaps. Still, she does some nasty things to the men around her. This may
cause some audiences to have trouble buying her sudden turn toward redemption
at the film’s end.
Warner
Archive’s new Blu-ray edition looks marvelous. As a straight port-over in high
definition from the original DVD release, the feature comes with an audio
commentary by film historian Jeanine Basinger. Supplements include a featurette
on the making of the movie, a vintage musical short with Jimmy Dorsey and his
Orchestra, a vintage cartoon (“Daffy Duck in Hollywood,†one of the greatest!),
a promotional featurette with Davis on the Warners lot, and the theatrical
trailer.
If
you’re a Bette Davis fan, or an aficionado of classic William Wyler and/or
Hollywood fare, then Jezebel is for you. It does act as a time capsule
for a certain era in Tinsel Town, and for that alone it is a fascinating relic.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM THE CINEMA RETRO MOVIE STORE
Here’s
an interesting lesson in filmmaking. Students of the art might learn something
by watching the two different cuts of this motion picture to see what happens
when a movie is edited down—especially when the original was made by bona fide artists
as opposed to a slick Hollywood producer who, albeit successful, might not
know everything.
David
O. Selznick was a powerhouse producer and head of his own personal studio (he
had, after all, produced Gone with the Wind, Rebecca, Spellbound,
and many other Hollywood classics). “The Archers†were a unique British directing/writing/producing
team and production company that consisted of the brilliant Michael Powell and
Emeric Pressburger, who, for a solid decade, delivered some of the most
engaging and beautifully-rendered works of cinematic art in the 20th Century.
It is true that Powell and Pressburger were perhaps not as appreciated during
their time as they should have been, but their work has been re-evaluated and
newly appraised (by the likes of filmmakers such as Martin Scorsese, among
others). Nevertheless, today there is no debating that The Archers made a
handful of masterpieces between 1941 and 1951, including The Life and Death
of Colonel Blimp, A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus,
and The Red Shoes.
In
1950, Powell and Pressburger teamed up with American producer Selznick to make Gone
to Earth, which was based on the 1917 novel by Mary Webb. The story takes
place in the country-lands between England and Wales in the late 1800s, thereby
automatically opening it up to scenic beauty and a cinematographer’s dream. Gone
to Earth stars Selznick’s then-wife, Jennifer Jones, as Hazel, a
free-spirited, unsophisticated and superstitious “nature girl†who has an
affinity with all animals (except, significantly, dogs) and especially a wild
young fox, “Foxy,†that she keeps as a pet.
Edward
Marston (Cyril Cusack) is a Baptist minister new to the nearby village, and he
immediately becomes smitten with Hazel. She reluctantly agrees to marry him,
even though she has already met and is intrigued by the arrogant, handsome, and
wealthy squire Jack Reddin (David Farrar), who lives in quite the palace-like
manor, complete with a feisty servant (Hugh Griffith). Oddly, it’s implied that
Edward does not consummate the marriage with Hazel. It isn’t long before she
runs off to engage in (again, it’s implied) carnal passion with Jack. As
expected, things don’t turn out well for Hazel.
The
plot of Gone to Earth might remind viewers of David Lean’s Ryan’s
Daughter, which was released twenty years later. What the earlier film has
going for it is Jones, who is splendid—despite being slightly miscast, in this
reviewer’s opinion—and the gorgeous Technicolor photography by Christopher
Challis. This is a “mood picture,†in that it’s really all about the setting,
the period, and the attitudes of the characters rather than the story.
Enter
Selznick. He did to Gone to Earth what he did to Vittorio De Sica’s Terminal
Station three years later. This Italian production, directed by the great
Neo-Realist filmmaker and produced by Selznick, also starred Jennifer Jones
(see the Cinema Retro review here). Selznick didn’t like
the original film, but he had the right to recut it for the American release,
which he did, turning the picture into Indiscretion of an American Wife
against De Sica’s wishes.
With
Gone to Earth, Selznick also infuriated the original filmmakers by deleting
nearly a half hour from the 110-minute running time, adding “Overture†and
“Exit Music†title cards and music, and even having shot a couple of new scenes
(directed by uncredited Rouben Mamoulian). Selznick released the new version as
The Wild Heart in the USA in 1952.
Neither
version did very well financially or critically in their respective releases at
the time, although Powell and Pressburger’s original Gone to Earth, like
all The Archers’ movies,has received considerable reassessment and
acclaim.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray edition presents both pictures in glorious,
colorful restorations, with The Wild Heart as its main feature, and Gone
to Earth as a supplemental attraction. The former exhibits the better
transfer, with clear, sharp imagery. The latter is almost as good, but it is
obvious that it came from different source material. There are English
subtitles for the hearing impaired. Each film sports an audio commentary—The
Wild Heart by film historian Troy Howarth and Gone to Earth by film
historian Samm Deighan. Other trailers featuring actress Jones round out the
package.
Gone
to Earth was
the second-to-last production by Powell and Pressburger working together. It’s
not in the top tier of their pictures, to be sure, but it’s still a worthwhile
and fascinating pastoral meditation on life in Britain in those days. The
Wild Heart serves as another example of Hollywood meddling, but an
interesting study piece for filmmakers and editors.
Enter
beat cop Nestor Patou (Jack Lemmon), who is 2/3 honest and enthusiastic, and
1/3 very naïve. On his first day on the job, he attempts to arrest all the
women, which of course gets him fired. His chief, Inspector Lefevre (Herschel
Bernardi), protects the prostitution racket because, well, it’s tradition. But
Nestor has met Irma in the process, and the two of them fall in love. Nestor
proceeds, then, to become her mec after coming to blows with Hippolyte. Things
become more complicated when Nestor has the silly idea of borrowing a large
amount of money from Moustache, disguising himself as a wealthy British man,
“Lord X,†and paying Irma the money simply for “conversation and
companionship.†Irma then hands over the money to Nestor, which makes him look
good to all the other pimps, and then Nestor repays Moustache. The scheme
works… until it doesn’t.
The
whole thing is farcical and hopelessly improbable, and yet Lemmon and MacLaine
(and Jacobi) are so winning that one can’t help but go along for the ride.
There are plenty of laughs, much bawdy humor, and tons of witty dialogue. The
problem with Irma la Douce is that it is simply too long. The picture
runs 2 hours and 20 minutes, and very few comedies can sustain that kind of
length. A half hour could easily have been trimmed out of the movie. It’s not a
fatal flaw, but one that keeps Irma from residing among the top tier of
Wilder classics.
Interestingly,
the Irma role was supposed to have been played by Marilyn Monroe, but she died
before production began. What would Irma la Douce have been like with a
re-teaming of Lemmon and Monroe? One can only imagine. Instead, we got the
genuinely satisfactory reunion between Lemmon and MacLaine, who had made The
Apartment for Wilder three years earlier.
Watch
for a young James Caan in a walk-on role as an American G.I. customer of one of
the poules, and yes, that’s Louis Jourdan’s voice as the narrator in the
beginning sequence.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration beautifully shows off Joseph
LaShelle’s Oscar-nominated cinematography—the colors are rich and vivid in
their widescreen glory. There are English subtitles for the hearing impaired,
along with two separate audio commentaries—one by film historian Joseph
McBride, author of How Did Lubitsch Do It?, and another by film
historian Kat Ellinger. The theatrical trailer and other Kino Lorber release
trailers and reversible sleeve artwork round out the package.
Irma
la Douce is
for fans of Wilder, Lemmon, and MacLaine, and for movie aficionados who can
appreciate a picture within the context of when it was released. Nudge-nudge,
wink-wink.
There’s
no question that the 1966 film adaptation of Edward Albee’s 1962 Tony-winning
play, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, is one of the most important and
influential motion pictures of the 1960s. It not only showcased four
superlative acting performances, a jaw-dropping impressive directorial debut
(by Mike Nichols), brilliant black and white cinematography and editing, but it
also changed the Hollywood movie industry.
By
the mid-60s, the archaic Production Code, which had been in force since July
1934, was in its death throes. When Otto Preminger began releasing titles in
the 1950s without the Production Code Seal of Approval (The Moon is Blue,
The Man with the Golden Arm, Anatomy of a Murder), he proved to
the powers-that-be that the Code was not infallible. Then along came such fare
as Psycho, Lolita, and The Pawnbroker in the early 60s, and
it was clear that the American public wanted to see more “adult†pictures.
The times-they-were-a-changing. By 1966, the Code was all but demolished, and
Jack Valenti was appointed the head of the MPAA. As Valenti states in one of
the documentary supplements on the Warner Archive Blu-ray release of Virginia
Woolf, he had already begun thinking about implementing the movie ratings
system (which would launch in late 1968) because he, too, felt that America
could handle subjects for mature audiences.
Albee’s
Broadway play was shocking for its language—curse words galore—and its frank
sexual implications. Its portrayal of a failed marriage perhaps mirrored many
such unions across middle-class USA, and this alone made the material
controversial. Jack Warner, in a canny move, must have seen the way of the future
and bought the film rights early on. It was another four years before the
picture was made, but he allowed it to be adapted faithfully, with most of the
dialogue intact, and with top-notch talent involved in every aspect of the
production.
The
great Ernest Lehman was hired to adapt the play, but he made it a condition of
his employment that he also be made producer. Warner agreed. Lehman wanted
Elizabeth Taylor to play Martha, and this casting choice raised eyebrows.
Taylor was 20 years too young and had so far not shown anything near the
dramatic chops required to play the demanding role. Taylor, in turn, insisted
that her husband at the time, Richard Burton, portray George. The two
supporting roles of Nick and Honey were filled out by George Segal and Sandy
Dennis (her second film appearance), and this quartet has proven to be one of
the most successful casting coups in cinema history.
George
and Martha are in their fifties—he an associate professor at a New England
college and she the daughter of the college president. Perhaps their marriage
was one of convenience and career-making years earlier, but now it is bitter,
cruel, and spiteful. One late night after a faculty party, they return home,
drunk, and Martha reveals she has invited another couple, Nick and Honey—he a young
and handsome professor at the college and she an introverted housewife—to stop
by for more drinks. Once the quartet is together, the games begin. These are
psychological battles of emotional will which begin between George and Martha,
but soon envelope Nick and Honey. Secrets emerge. Lives are shattered. The dark
underbelly of love and marriage is upended and revealed for all to see.
It
doesn’t sound like a good time at the movies, does it? Forget it! This is
riveting stuff. The acting alone is so astonishingly good that you will hang on
to every line of dialogue. Haskell Wexler’s Oscar-winning black and white cinematography
(the last year this category was utilized) brings the audience up close and
personal in such a way that the film version may very well be more effective
than the stage play. Virginia Woolf ended up being nominated for
thirteen Academy Awards and in every category for which it was eligible,
including Best Picture, Director, and Adapted Screenplay, and all four actors received
nods in their respective slots. Taylor and Dennis won in their categories
(Actress and Supporting Actress). The crime, however, is that Richard Burton
did not win. While Paul Scofield was brilliant in A Man for All Seasons,
Burton’s performance is generally considered by many critics to be the actor’s
career-best (all of the talking heads in the supplemental documentaries are of
this opinion, including Albee, critic Richard Schickel, and Wexler.)
The
Warner Archive Blu-ray is a port-over from the “Special Edition†2-disk
anniversary DVD that came out four years ago. The high definition remastering
looks gorgeous, and it comes with two audio commentaries: one with DP Wexler,
and the other with Nichols and filmmaker Steven Soderbergh. The extensive
supplements (not in high definition) include an hour long TV special from 1975
about Elizabeth Taylor’s career; a vintage interview with Nichols; Sandy
Dennis’ screen tests; two featurettes on the making of the film and its impact
on the industry; and the theatrical trailer.
Who’s
Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is a powerful punch to the gut. It may be a rough ride,
but it’s a thoroughly engrossing one, and you’ll come out on the other side
enlightened. Highly recommended.
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