“A NOIR MID-LIFE CRISIS”

By Raymond Benson

Fritz Lang, who emigrated to Hollywood in the 1930s after escaping Nazi Germany, enjoyed a long and productive career in the U.S. He was, of course, one of Germany’s preeminent filmmakers in the silent era, having made such dark and cynical masterpieces as Dr. Mabuse—the Gambler (1922) and Metropolis (1927), and the brilliant sound picture, M (1931). In Hollywood, Lang was adept at many genres, but his films noir stand out. His crime pictures are among the best in this movement that begin in the early 1940s and ran until the late 1950s.

The Woman in the Window (1944) was adapted by Nunnally Johnson from the J. H. Wallis’ novel Once Off Guard. Johnson made some changes to the original story and added a “surprise” ending. In 1944 the conclusion may very well have been a clever twist; today it’s a cliché and a bit of an eye-roller. Nevertheless, there is enough good stuff in Woman for a worthwhile 99-minutes of viewing.

Some film noir fans might consider The Woman in the Window to be astonishingly similar to Lang’s next picture, Scarlet Street (1945). Both movies star Edward G. Robinson, Joan Bennett, and Dan Duryea, they both begin with the protagonist being struck by the beauty of a woman’s painting in a shop window, and the plots involve an older, married man who is infatuated with a younger, perhaps manipulative femme fatale. The comparisons end there, though. The unfolding of the stories in each picture are quite different, and The Woman in the Window ultimately has a much happier wrap-up than Scarlet Street.

Robinson is Professor Wanley, a respected teacher who frequents a club where he and his friends, District Attorney Lalor (Raymond Massey) and Dr. Barkstane (Edmund Breon), enjoy drinks and gossip. Wanley’s wife and children are away. The three men have all noticed the painting of a beautiful woman in the window of the shop next door to the club, especially Wanley, and they muse on the woes of “middle-age” (what we today call a “mid-life crisis”). One night, after Lalor and Barkstane have left the club, Wanley wanders out to the street to gaze at the painting again. Lo and behold, the model, a young woman named Alice Reed (Joan Bennett) appears and strikes up a conversation. Wanley is all too vulnerable to accept an invitation from Alice to see more paintings at her apartment. While there, another man shows up, is angered by Wanley’s presence, and the two men get into a fight. Wanley is forced to kill the man in self-defense. Then things go the way of a Coen Brothers movie if one had been made in the 40s. Wanley and Reed concoct a rather hairbrained scheme to get rid of the body and cover up the incident. Enter the dead man’s bodyguard, Heidt (Dan Duryea), who attempts to blackmail Reed.

There are twists and turns and even some humor thrown in as Wanley begins to count all the mistakes he and Reed have made to cover up the crime. The suspense builds in waiting for the hammer to fall… or does it?

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray release of this unusually rare title is a welcome acquisition. The restoration looks terrific, and it comes with an audio commentary by film historian Imogen Sara Smith, along with the trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases.

The Woman in the Window is a must-have for fans of film noir, director Fritz Lang, and the charismatic cast members. Edward G. Robinson, especially, seems to have infrequently received recognition for his professionalism and talent. Recommended.

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“DOUBLE KEATONS”

By Raymond Benson

At least three companies have been doing restorations of Buster Keaton’s silent comedy classics from the 1920s—Kino Video is one, The Criterion Collection is another. As the films are in public domain, the separate restorations can now be copyrighted. A third entity, Cohen Film Collection, has also been re-issuing the films in high definition. Cohen just released its fourth volume in their ongoing series, and to this reviewer, the company is doing an outstanding job.

Volume 4 of “The Buster Keaton Collection” contains 4K restorations of Go West (1925) and College (1927). Most critics and fans will agree that these two titles may be the lesser of Keaton’s outstanding output of the era (Cohen released the more acclaimed pictures such as The General, Steamboat Bill Jr., Sherlock Jr., and others in previous volumes). Nevertheless, there are moments of genius in both Go West and College, but also an eyebrow-raising instance of controversy in the latter title.

Go West is a pleasant little ditty of feature length that takes penniless Friendless (Keaton) to the “West” by jumping on a freight train. There, he manages to get a job as a cowboy, but he knows nothing about milking cows, riding horses, or anything else pertaining to working on a ranch. Even the rancher’s daughter (Kathleen Myers) makes fun of him. Cue the brilliantly executed pratfalls, stunts, and sight gags that only Buster Keaton can accomplish. Friendless does become friends with a cow named Brown Eyes, who ends up following him around wherever the almost-cowboy goes. The climactic sequence in Los Angeles, with stampeding cattle on the streets of the city, provides the amusing payoff for the picture.

College follows Ronald (Keaton) after he graduates from high school at the top of his class, decidedly a bookworm with brains but no athletic interest or ability whatsoever. Unfortunately, all the girls, especially Mary (Anne Cornwall), only like the athletes. Nevertheless, Ronald enrolls in the same college as Mary and the athletes—and Ronald attempts to show her that he, too, can play sports. He can’t. One unfortunate sequence depicts Ronald getting a part time job as a soda jerk, and he performs the role in blackface. In 1927, this was not uncommon. The popular entertainer Al Jolson practically made his career out of performing in blackface (The Jazz Singer was released the same year). Of course, one might excuse this horror by stating that it was a vaudeville tradition for white comedians to sometimes wear blackface. While movies should always be examined within the context of when they were made and released, it is extremely difficult today to accept this “tradition” in any way, shape, or form. However, if one gets past the soda jerk scene, College does provide some laughs and the usual Keaton acrobatic stunts.

Cohen Film Group’s new Blu-ray release looks marvelous. The films were painstakingly restored using multiple sources, matching Volumes 1 through 3 from Cohen. These are indeed exceptional presentations. Supplements include a 1923 short of Go West, plus a nearly-hour-long audio interview with Keaton in which he talks about a television pitch he once made. Restoration trailers round out the package.

Neither Go West nor College can be counted among Buster Keaton’s best works, but they still reside in his golden period of independent silent pictures that are his important material. For Keaton fans and cinema history buffs, Cohen’s Volume 4 of the Collection is worth a look.

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“THE GODFATHER PART III REDUX”

By Raymond Benson

As he has done with Apocalypse Now and The Cotton Club, as well as early tinkering with the original Godfather movies for television, Francis Ford Coppola has now unleashed a new edit of his 1990 picture, The Godfather Part III.

Full disclaimer: The Godfather Part III is not a bad movie. While it is nowhere near approaching the masterpieces that are The Godfather (1972) and The Godfather Part II (1974), the third film in the trilogy was still honored with Oscar nominations for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Supporting Actor (Andy Garcia), and some technical categories. This reviewer feels that The Godfather Part III is a good movie, but perhaps not a great one like the first two. Still, many critics and audience members complained that it was a “failure” and threw a lot of criticism at poor Sofia Coppola. She had stepped into a major supporting role at the last minute just as cameras were rolling, replacing Winona Ryder, who had abruptly dropped out for health reasons. Sofia went on to become an extremely talented director and writer; as an actress she may have lacked that “light up the screen” charisma, but she displayed an honesty and realism that was entirely believable. In short, she was unfairly maligned.

Papa Coppola has retitled the movie Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone, which apparently was the original title he and Puzo wanted back in 1990, but Paramount balked and wanted them to go with “Part III” for the sake of the box office. The filmmaker has also made subtle edits, mostly in the first third of the movie, that affect the thrust of the picture. The new version opened in some theaters on December 4, 2020, and it was released on Blu-ray (with digital download code) on December 8.

The opening is different. The original picture displayed hauntingly empty zoom-throughs of early Corleone residences, mainly the Nevada one, with flashbacks to Fredo’s murder. Now, a scene that appeared at approximately 39 minutes into the original Part III is the first thing we see—Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) in a meeting with Archbishop Gilday (Donal Donnelly), the head of the Vatican bank. Michael offers to bail out Gilday, who has blundered management of funds and needs to cover a deficit. In return, Michael hopes to go “legit” and own the majority holding of an international real estate corporation the Vatican controls. The new cut completely deletes Michael being honored with a papal order in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York and instead goes right to the party celebration, mimicking the openings of Godfather I and II. Some scenes in the first half hour are shuffled so that this all makes sense—and it’s for the better. The financial intrigue plot is less confusing than it was in the original.

Not much else is changed, save for the deletion of a later brief scene between Michael and Don Altobello (Eli Wallach) that is inconsequential, and some extremely subtle trimming of a few sequences. The ending is also slightly altered; it wouldn’t be much of a spoiler to reveal it, but that won’t happen here. As it turns out, Coda is roughly four minutes shorter than Part III.

It can be fascinating what a little editing can do to a movie. Coppola has managed to “trim the fat” without trimming much at all. By rearranging some scenes, the story is clearer. Most importantly, the focus on Michael and his attempt at retribution—and failure at it—is emphasized. And that’s what this final chapter in the Godfather saga is all about.

Al Pacino delivers another fine performance in the picture; considering the slate of Best Actor nominations for 1990, it’s a bit of a mystery why he wasn’t included in the short list. Diane Keaton as Kay, Michael’s ex-wife, still doesn’t have much to do in the movie, but she’s fine. Andy Garcia steals the film as Vincent Mancini, the illegitimate son of the late Sonny Corleone (James Caan in the first movie). The picture sorely misses the presence of Robert Duvall, who declined to be in it. He is replaced by forgettable George Hamilton as Michael’s attorney. Joe Mantegna provides the buzz in the first half of the movie as adversary Joey Zasa until his spectacular demise in Little Italy. Talia Shire reprises her role as Michael’s sister Connie, and, like Keaton’s character, doesn’t have a lot to do except be a striking presence at Michael’s side. Oh, and keep an eye out for a cameo by Martin’s mom, Catherine Scorsese, in a street scene.

The technical aspects are marvelous. The design and look of the film complement the first two (Gordon Willis was DP on all three), the music by Carmine Coppola and Nino Rota bring back the familiar mood, and the locations in Sicily are gorgeous. All good stuff.

The Paramount Blu-ray edition looks great, but it comes with no supplements except a brief video introduction by Coppola, who explains his reasoning for recutting the movie.

Despite the revised title, the picture will probably always be known as The Godfather Part III. Fans of the original cut will likely prefer Coda; detractors may like the movie more than they did, but that’s not a guarantee. When all is said and done, The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone is still pretty much the same movie as Part III. Good, but not great.

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“WAR GAMES”

By Raymond Benson

Frank Perry was a notable director and screenwriter who in the early part of his career made some acclaimed motion pictures—David and Lisa (1962), The Swimmer (1968), Last Summer (1969), and Diary of a Mad Housewife (1970). Unfortunately, his later career was marked by problems (he directed the much-maligned Mommie Dearest in 1981, for example). The earlier films were written by or co-written with his then-wife and talented scribe, Eleanor Perry.

Ladybug Ladybug (1963) was the follow-up to his beloved David and Lisa, for which Perry was nominated for the Oscar Best Director. It is a treatise on the prospect of nuclear war, made at a time when such a thing was on everyone’s mind. Released just a year after the Cuban Missile Crisis, and a year prior to Stanely Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove and Sidney Lumet’s Fail Safe, Ladybug examines the confusion and miscommunication that could occur in a small American town if, by chance, the early warning system either fails or misfunctions. Eleanor Perry wrote the script, based on a short story by Lois Dickert (which allegedly is based on true events).

The film is notable mostly by the appearance of actors who would go on to bigger and better things—Nancy Marchand, William Daniels, Estelle Parsons, and others you might recognize as reliable supporting players. It’s a low-budget, black and white affair that immediately recalls the style and sensibility of Perry’s previous David and Lisa.

One morning at the local school (is it a middle-school?—the kids all seem to be in grades ranging from, say, third to eighth), the early warning system beeps Yellow and won’t stop. This indicates that a nuclear strike is imminently within an hour. The principal, Mr. Calkins (Daniels), isn’t sure what to do. He can’t reach anyone to confirm whether the alarm is a mistake, a drill, or what… Finally, he makes the decision to send all the students’ home, accompanied by the teachers, who each walk an assigned group of kids to their nearby rural dwellings. The story focuses on Mrs. Andrews (Marchand) and her charges. As the children break off at their various domiciles along the way, one final group of kids go to the home of Harriet (Alice Playten). Harriet’s parents aren’t there, so the girl leads her classmates into a bomb shelter, where she takes charge, evokes “rules,” and refuses to let anyone in or out of the shelter. The situation is left ambiguous—is there an imminent strike or not?

What we are left with is a sober meditation on the absurdity of how we all planned—or not—for these events back in those “duck and cover” days of the early 1960s. The message is clearly anti-nuke, and the drama comes from the Lord of the Flies ambiance that swells among the kids in the shelter. I’m sure that in 1963, this was potent stuff. Today, it’s a relic of a time and place that resides in Baby Boomers’ collective memories.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray release looks sharp and crisp in its glorious black and white. There is an audio commentary by film historian Richard Harland Smith, as well as subtitles for the hearing impaired. The theatrical teaser for this and other Kino Lorber releases are also included.

For fans of Hollywood “message” pictures of the 1960s, Ladybug Ladybug showcases a young director at the beginning of a checkered career and an ensemble of talented actors.

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“NO, SHE’S THE SANE ONE”

By Raymond Benson

Frank Perry was a notable director and screenwriter who in the early part of his career made some acclaimed motion pictures—David and Lisa (1962), The Swimmer (1968), Last Summer (1969), and this one, Diary of a Mad Housewife (1970). Unfortunately, his later career was marked by problems (he directed the much-maligned Mommie Dearest in 1981, for example). The earlier films were written by or co-written with his then-wife and talented scribe, Eleanor Perry.

Diary is a picture of its time and yet it can still resonate today with regards to the #MeToo movement. The 1970 vibe is overpowering, for this was when Women’s Liberation was on the rise and very much in the public consciousness. In this case, Eleanor Perry is the sole writer, adapting the script from a 1967 novel by Sue Kaufman. Starring newcomer Carrie Snodgress, who received an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress and won a Golden Globe in the Best Actress—Comedy or Musical category, the movie is decidedly a comment on New York City upper class society at the time, as well as an acerbic meditation on male toxicity.

Tina Balser (Snodgress) has everything going for her—a wealthy attorney husband, Jonathan (Richard Benjamin), two young daughters, and a fabulous apartment in Manhattan. She’s also smart, and she can be attractive when she’s not depressed about what’s really going on in her life, namely that Jonathan is an A-1 Asshole. He is psychologically abusive, is a cad, he constantly belittles his wife, he’s overly demanding, he expects sex because he’s “entitled” to it, and he is ingratiatingly insufferable. Tina finally has enough and seeks out fulfillment elsewhere. She meets a “famous novelist,” George (Frank Langella), and begins an affair. Unfortunately, George is also an A-1 Asshole, is psychologically abusive, is a cad, he constantly belittles Tina, and he’s ingratiatingly insufferable. Through all this, the world and people around Tina think she’s mad… but in reality, she’s the sane one in this story. Her only fault is that she doesn’t get the hell out of Dodge, leave these chauvinist, misogynist men behind, and start a new life somewhere.

All three leads are excellent, although you’ll want to punch Richard Benjamin in the face within two minutes of the movie’s beginning, and then keep punching him every time he’s on screen. The same is true with overtly handsome, young Frank Langella—I’m sure every heterosexual woman in the audience would sigh over his presence but would soon also want to punch him every time he’s on screen. Perhaps that’s why Tina goes for him (at first)—she needs some danger and excitement in her otherwise mundane, submissive, and humiliating life with her husband. Snodgress displays an elusive warmth in the picture that is vitally important to its success. As a newbie, she received third billing after Benjamin and Langella, but she carries the movie with courage, confidence, and skill, and she appears in every scene.

Look for Alice Cooper and his band performing in a party sequence, and you’ll also spot Peter Boyle in an uncredited cameo at a therapy group session.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray showcases that easily recognizable 1970s film stock, and it looks great. There are English subtitles for the hearing impaired, and the movie comes with an audio commentary by screenwriter Larry Karaszewski, with film historians Howard S. Berger and Steve Mitchell. Why Kino Lorber didn’t hire a more appropriate female audio commentator is a mystery, but these guys do a fine job anyway. The theatrical trailer for this and other Kino Lorber titles are also included.

Diary of a Mad Housewife is certainly a relic of 1970, and yet it manages to still have something to say fifty years later. In too many instances in the relationships between women and men, very little has changed.

“THE BEAUTY OF DECADENCE”

By Raymond Benson

The year 2020 is the 100th anniversary of Federico Fellini’s birth, and the home video world is seeing many restored and re-released titles from the maestro’s catalog. The Criterion Collection has just released a 14-movie box set, for example, but that exquisite package does not contain many of Fellini’s post-1973 titles because of rights issues.

Enter Kino Lorber. Their Kino Classics imprint has released on Blu-ray a gorgeously restored edition of Fellini’s Casanova (1976; released in the U.S. in early 1977). It was a big budget extravaganza capitalizing on the success of Fellini’s masterpiece, Amarcord (1973; released in the U.S. in 1974), which won the Oscar for Foreign Film of 1974 and was nominated for Best Director for ’75—yes, those eligibility rules are complicated.

Casanova was immediately a curiosity because Fellini cast none other than Donald Sutherland in the role of the notorious womanizer, artist, and writer. The film is loosely based on Giacomo Casanova’s Story of My Life, his autobiography published posthumously in, it is believed, 1822 in a censored version. Between then and today, the book has been published numerous times with additions and deletions.

Casanova lived between 1725 and 1798 and was well known in Italian society as a libertine and adventurer, but he was more infamous as a lothario. The film is an episodic journey through some of the more interesting escapades that we know about, although these are, of course, filtered through the visionary lens of Fellini. In many ways, Casanova is a film that resembles Fellini Satyricon (1969), a picture that could be called “Ancient Rome on Acid.” It’s rather obvious that Fellini was attempting to duplicate that picture’s success with the same kind of surreal, grotesque, and decadent—but beautiful—imagery. Once we get to the point when Casanova is bedding a female automaton who becomes the one “woman” who satisfies him more than living ones, we know we’re deep within Fellini’s universe.

Suffice it to say that the movie is breathtaking to look at. The sets and costumes (the latter won an Oscar) are marvels. The whole thing feels like a dream-story, and Sutherland, as the protagonist, floats through the picture with an uncomfortable presence. Fellini probably cast the actor because he does resemble the real man (from paintings). Sutherland is good enough, although he might be the first among many to wonder why he was cast.

That said, Casanova is a mixed bag. It’s at least a half-hour too long (it clocks in at two hours and thirty-five minutes), and it depends entirely too much on the visuals to keep an audience in seats. The story, as it is, is nothing too compelling. Nevertheless, Nino Rota’s musical score is lovely, as always, and other technical aspects are top-notch. Is it sexy? Yes, in a weird Cirque du Soleil kind of way. The depiction of Casanova “doing it” is more like an acrobatic circus-act than any resemblance to actual lovemaking.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray looks darned good. You have a choice whether to view the film in English with no subtitles (as it was released in the West), or in the original Italian with subtitles. It was filmed with Sutherland and certain other English-speaking actors reciting dialogue in their native language. If you go with the English version, you’ll hear Sutherland’s real voice, and the Italian actors are dubbed. In the Italian version, Sutherland’s voice is dubbed by an Italian actor. While normally this reviewer would champion viewing a film in its original language, for Casanova I recommend the English version. It’s like the Sergio Leone westerns with Clint Eastwood—we’d all rather view the dubbed versions so we can hear Eastwood’s voice (or Van Cleef’s or Wallach’s). The same is true for Casanova.

There are no supplements save for an audio commentary by film critic Nick Pinkerton and the theatrical trailer. The accompanying booklet contains an essay by film scholar Alberto Zambenedetti, PhD.

Fellini’s Casanova is for the Fellini completists and enthusiasts who want to celebrate the filmmaker’s centenary and for anyone looking for a surreal trip into an 18th Century European never-never land.

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“AN AMERICAN ‘BLOW-UP’?”

By Raymond Benson

Jerry Schatzberg made a few interesting and notable pictures, some of which you may know—The Panic in Needle Park (1971), Scarecrow (1973), The Seduction of Joe Tynan (1979), Honeysuckle Rose (1980)—but his debut feature slipped under the radar in 1970 when it was released, despite starring the charismatic and beautiful Faye Dunaway when she was Hollywood Hot.

Schatzberg began his career as a fashion photographer, and he’d made some commercials. The story goes that he wanted to make a film about a fashion model he had known. Puzzle of a Downfall Child was the result. The screenplay was written by Schatzberg and Adrian Joyce (the pen name of Carole Eastman), whose best-known work is Five Easy Pieces (also 1970).

The semi-autobiographical tale focuses on the enigmatic Lou Andreas Sand (Dunaway), a model with, well, problems. From the get-go we can see that she’s not a stable person. She’s insecure and, as it turns out, what they used to call in those days “neurotic.” She befriends Aaron, a photographer with whom she works (Barry Primus, in his debut role). Aaron is the stand-in fictional character for Schatzberg. He falls in love with Lou, and she keeps him at arm’s length. At the same time, she has no problem bedding other men, including businessman Mark (Roy Scheider in an early role). The men all treat Lou badly, and Lou treats the men the same way. Eventually, Lou has a breakdown and must reach out to Aaron once again for comfort.

That’s the movie in a nutshell, but of course, there’s more, but mostly it’s all a bunch of angst and sex and drugs and alcohol and anger. When released in the U.S., the studio forced an opening over the credits with narration by Aaron “explaining” what the movie was going to be about. Schatzberg was against the idea, but he had no choice but to comply. Fortunately for him, when the picture was released in Europe, his original opening was restored (and that’s what is on this Blu-ray disk).

Adam Holender’s cinematographer is gorgeous, but the direction takes on the style of the French New Wave in spades, which was rather common in Hollywood in the late 60s and early 70s—erratic editing, non-linear narrative, “arty” shots, and pseudo-existential themes. While there is much to admire in Dunaway’s performance, the movie comes off as an eccentric American pastiche of Antonioni’s Blow-up (1966), which also focused on the world of fashion photography (albeit in London). Puzzle may have attempted to be edgy in 1970, but there is an unfortunate pretentious amateurishness to the proceedings. Luckily, Schatzberg would improve and deliver much more accomplished pictures in his future career.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray looks marvelous and comes with English subtitles for the hearing-impaired. An audio commentary by film historian/filmmaker Daniel Kremer and film historian/podcaster Bill Ackerman accompanies the feature. Supplements include a recent interview with Schatzberg (now 93) on a Zoom call (it was shot post-Covid); the alternate studio-cut opening (not in high definition); and a “Trailers from Hell” episode on the film featuring Larry Karaszewski. Trailers for this and other Kino Lorber titles round out the package.

Puzzle of a Downfall Child will be of interest to fans of Faye Dunaway and experimental art films of the period.

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